Sometimes, being authentic means acknowledging when things aren’t going so well.

I hate that.

I like to think that I am a lemons into lemonade kind of girl.  I am a survivor, blessed, luckier than if I had been kissed by a leprechaun myself.   But today, walking around in a state of bliss just didn’t feel right.  It felt forced and not accurate.  And the thing about bliss, I think it cheapens it to pretend even if pretending is sometimes so much more pleasant.

Its fine. Really. Its all fine. I promise. No really. This problem, this pain, this heartache…its all good. Really.


It is easy to count my blessings.  When I am feeling kicked in the butt, I have taken to looking at all the wonder in my life and trying to hold it as precious. Its raining, but I am here to watch the rain. And as a strategy its not a bad idea. But sometimes, I think, all that counting is just an excuse for me not to face the uglier parts of life–its an excuse not to look them in the eyes, to face them head on.  As I am finding that when I ignore those grimy, unclean, unhappy parts, when I don’t deal with them they get bigger and bigger and more and more difficult to tame, and my bliss begins to feel tarnished and I begin to feel that I am just fooling myself.

But try as I might to deny it, life is not always pretty.  There are ugly things that happen here, that happen to me, to us.  There are financial problems.  There is bad news.  There are mistakes to contend with and consequences to be sorted out.  There are colds, and broken hearts, and problems that seeem unsolvable.  They are what they are–not bigger than me–but there nevertheless, sometimes lurking in the corner, sometimes breathing down my neck.  Today I am learning (again) that I can’t wish them away with positive thinking and unconditional love.  I am learning that sometimes I need to look them in the face, acknowledge the havoc that they have caused, the pain, the panic, the sadness and then figure out where to go next. 

So thats why I have been listening to the blues, painting the room with the gritty, raw sounds.  Swaying, moving, singing and diving into the blues.    Reminding myself that pain, sorrow, bad luck and bad times can sometimes give birth to beauty, but only if we first claim the ugliness.

Sometimes the only thing for a kindhearted woman to do is to sing the blues and then get back to work.

3 Responses to “Kindhearted Woman Blues”

  1. Jena Says:

    We are so on the same page tonight, Meg.

    Is it Mercury?!?

    Yes, always trying to do better, even in how I relate to the hard stuff. And this week, finally played with giving in, giving up, giving over, not fighting the fighting.

    Much love.

  2. Trish Says:

    W.O.W.: Reminding myself that pain, sorrow, bad luck and bad times can sometimes give birth to beauty, but only if we first claim the ugliness. W.O.W.

    You are writing my emotions and feelings this week. Ever so grateful for your place in my life.


  3. Kara aka Mother Henna Says:

    Meg, just sending lots of hugs your way. Seems to be a lot of this feeling going around — at least it is on my own radar, so I’m seeing it in others a lot. Keep trying to be as patient and kind with myself as I am with others who are grieving. I tell them, feel the feeling. Let is come, let it pass, let the next feeling come. In Fred Rogers style, I offer his words: everything mentionable is manageable and everything in mentionable. When I remember these things I seem to have less fear of facing my humanness, feeling it, swaying to blues, and letting the next moment come, too.

    Maybe the hardest thing for me is just sitting with it. I want to fix it or cure it or figure out what I did wrong so I can make it right, etc. But just sitting with it. Well. It feels so … ??

    And funny thing about a mantra: when I don’t *feel* it, it seems totally absurd. For instance, sitting and chanting to myself, “All is well” or “I am safe” when I don’t *feel* either of those — ugh! Today though, I happened upon something very helpful. A friend asked how I was. And I looking him in the eye. I didn’t turn away. And I said, “Not good.” And just held his eye. He didn’t turn away either and didn’t try to cover it up or make conversation over it. We just *Saw* each other.

    Cannot explain how helpful it was.
    Didn’t change anything really. But changed everything or some things. ??

    So this is me, holding your eye. I see you. I am not turning away, and I won’t cover it up or make more conversation. I just *See* you.