Erica Staab

“The deeper your scars, the more room there is to fill them up with love.  Don’t hate your scars, appreciate their depth.”

—Daniel Chidiac

 At times these quotes can be very comforting, and at times they can rub just the wrong way… feeling frustrated that we have scars, angry that they are so deep, hurt that something so large happened to us… And that is how it is when we are deep in healing work, comfort often comes cloaked in many disguises and sometimes changes costumes mid-play.

Since my recent post about the dilemma of “Merry” Christmas I have been reminded of what an incredible gift permission is.  We don’t allow ourselves often in this culture the permission to be where we are at… we spend so much of our time looking backwards pining for what was, feeling the loss so deeply, wanting to “fix” whatever is broken, or we spend time fantasizing of what “could” be, what we want and punishing ourselves for not being there yet…

What if instead we allowed ourselves permission to be where we are at?

Sometimes that means handling things with grace, poise and composed, and sometimes that means handling things no better than a toddler having a tantrum in the middle of the mall.

Sometimes things will bring comfort that didn’t before, and as your healing takes root, as you move forward the things that used to comfort may not, and you may be looking for a new perspective, a new way of looking at things, a new way of feeling about them.  Your experience may shift from pain into a gift, a new perspective may help you reframe things.  Sometimes you recoil against anything else changing, anything else shifting, it is enough just to walk upright in the world.

I give you permission to handle your life with grace and poise, and I give you permission to have a loud, ugly, tearful temper tantrum that leaves you feeling exhausted but refreshed.

I give you permission to not know what the next step, but the assurance that there will be a next step laid out for you.

I give you permission to be where you are at, and to promise that you won’t be there forever.

I give you permission to stop, to stay in this wave of grief until it subsides.

I give you permission to ride this wave of joy, to feel to the tips of your toes the sheer delight of the first genuine smile as your heart thaws and you feel yourself coming back to life.

I give you permission to feel the hurt, the pain, but also the promise and possibility of the life that will beckon you towards love.

I give you permission to allow the totality of you, with an invitation to travel your own journey in your time, in your way, with the support of all those who love you by your side.

You have permission to be you.