“If you ask your body, is there another feeling underneath this exhaustion? Could it be grief?” my therapist asks me.
We ask my body because it knows the truth; the mind has a habit of getting in the way.
“It says… Maybe,” I respond.
Something inside of me immediately wants to answer yes, if I don’t give myself time to think about it. This is my intuition, I’ve learned. And even though I’ve been practicing trusting this subtle response for some time, I still have trouble quieting my conscious mind and trusting it.
“Where is it?”
“My chest?” I know this is the answer but my voice contains the hint of a question.
“Okay, place your hand over your heart, and ask it: What is this grief telling me?”
And with that, the tears. “I’m not doing a good job. It’s not good enough.”
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This is a personal essay on my relationship with work and worthiness, letting go of the need to achieve, and the medicine that helped me get there.
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