Over the edge and needing tenderness

This is the first in the TENDERNESS series.

It has been awhile since I've reflected in public. My last newsletter back in April focused on edges, indeed, I've faced a few recently -- in myself and others. That means now I need to put the focus on what to do once we've gone over the edge.

Over the last months, and especially in the last few days, I've been reminded that it is important to slow down and to keep my finger on the pulse inside me. So this is a message about the practice of tenderness and why it is important to stay in practice -- both personally and with others.

Here is the first thread in the series from my recent experience:

In the face of fire, earthquakes, ruptures & disasters

I was on a call last week hosted by Bob Stilger from New Stories intending to offer a space for those impacted by the Spokane fires in Washington State. On the call were a circle of people from around the world who had experienced disasters.

They reminded us that sometimes the biggest challenges and losses don't come during a natural or manmade disaster, they come long after, as people whose social fabric and foundation has disappeared try to keep going. 

Often we are so obsessed with action that we forget to take time for grief and the honouring of that which is no longer and might never come again. Before we can become who we will be, we need to let go of who we were.

Natural disasters are disruption on an overwhelming magnitude. There is shock, trauma, grief, and despair that comes alongside such a disruption. There is a gravity to this kind of disruption that lasts.

 Bob's wrote a post on LinkedIn about his grief around the land he loves: https://lnkd.in/p/eHucfvPq: One of the comments came from Germany speaking about the grief around cherished childhood nature haunts as the draught dried up all the streams and killed the trees in 2018.

Here’s what I wrote as a comment on that post:

“I am sitting with that felt sense that human beings have that there is something in nature that feels eternal. And perhaps that’s why we go there for solace because although nature is continually changing there seems to be something so solidly present and unchanging about it.

The magnitude and scale of dramatic loss is overwhelming. I had a mini version of that when I returned home in July and walked down a street I love which had been lined with blossoming trees when I last saw it in April. This time when I walked down the street I could see construction equipment, and the trees were simply gone. I stood on the street and cried. Their loss was physical.”

I am allowing myself to be in the grief of the moment and to be open to the grief and loss others also feel. I continue to ask myself how we can welcome this big energies into the work we all are doing.

It is natural to want to move beyond loss as quickly as we can, but how do we not become lost to ourselves as a result? How can we prioritise tenderness to ourselves, others and the place itself?