Friday, September 6, 2013


I am enough.  Brene Brown says that is the one thing to remember.  If I can remember that, then I can allow myself to be vulnerable which leads to connection and joy.  If I can't, then I live in shame and fear.  Simple little words, hard truth. 

I have struggled all my life to believe that I am enough. That I don't have to work even harder when someone is not pleased with me.  I don't have to be nicer, or quieter, or kinder, or easier.  If I am working harder than the other person is, then it's time to stop.  If someone asks me to do something for them and then they but up roadblocks or put down everything I suggest, I'm working harder than they are and it's time to stop. 

It makes my brain hurt to think about this and how to change it.  But it makes my heart soar.  I've been trying it out and it's scary, hard work but oh, the payoff!  I have been jumping through hoops for a group that said they needed my help.  Finally, I realized that I was working really really hard for them but they didn't like anything I did.  Every time I checked off a box, they added another one.  I've been in relationships like that too.  Every time I checked off a box, another one appeared.  There is no winning there.  I will never be good enough there, but I can be and am enough. 

I am enough.  And when I am in relationship with myself and/or another who sees, life opens up into joy and ease and grace.  And when two people treat each other as if they are enough, just as they are...that is love, that is grace, that is friendship.  That is a gift beyond value.  And it is more than enough.  More than enough to change a life, to change the world.

Trust me,  there are no qualifiers:  YOU ARE ENOUGH. 

1 comment:

  1. In Heaven It Is Always Autumn
    by Elizabeth Spires

    "In Heaven It Is Always Autumn"
    John Donne

    In heaven it is always autumn. The leaves are always near
    to falling there but never fall, and pairs of souls out walking
    heaven's paths no longer feel the weight of years upon them.
    Safe in heaven's calm, they take each other's arm,
    the light shining through them, all joy and terror gone.
    But we are far from heaven here, in a garden ragged and unkept
    as Eden would be with the walls knocked down,
    the paths littered
    with the unswept leaves of many years, bright keepsakes
    for children of the Fall. The light is gold, the sun pulling
    the long shadow soul out of each thing, disclosing an outcome.
    The last roses of the year nod their frail heads,
    like listeners listening to all that's said, to ask,
    What brought us here? What seed? What rain? What light?
    What forced us upward through dark earth? What made us bloom?
    What wind shall take us soon, sweeping the garden bare?
    Their voiceless voices hang there, as ours might,
    if we were roses, too. Their beds are blanketed with leaves,
    tended by an absent gardener whose life is elsewhere.
    It is the last of many last days. Is it enough?
    To rest in this moment? To turn our faces to the sun?
    To watch the lineaments of a world passing?
    To feel the metal of a black iron chair, cool and eternal,
    press against our skin? To apprehend a chill as clouds
    pass overhead, turning us to shivering shade and shadow?
    And then to be restored, small miracle, the sun
    shining brightly
    as before? We go on, you leading the way, a figure
    leaning on a cane that leaves its mark on the earth.
    My friend, you have led me farther than I have ever been.
    To a garden in autumn. To a heaven of impermanence
    where the final falling off is slow, a slow and radiant happening.
    The light is gold. And while we're here, I think it must
    be heaven.

    From Now the Green Blade Rises. © W.W. Norton, 2002.