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Thursday, January 8, 2015

Falling Apart

Dear you,

It's been a long, long time since I've come here to write to you and I really don't know what I'm going to say. I do know that there is a world, an ocean, a vast open sea of stuff inside me that wants so much to speak. 

And I know I don't want to speak it in someone else's way. 

Often I don't speak because I get overwhelmed. How does one express a vast open sea? How does one put into words the cries, the deep longing, the celebration, the sorrow, the ache, the questions, the intense JOY? 

How does one get over their own doubts, paralysis, overwhelm, sadness, insecurity and just begin?

So, this is me beginning. Showing up. Saying what wants to come next. 

I'm tired of trying to have a plan, of thinking I should have a plan. I'm tired of trying to appear as together when, really, I'm falling apart. And really, this is a very good thing. 

I'm falling apart and this is a good thing. 

*                    *                     *

The more I watch myself, the more I become the one who observes the other one (and by "other one" I mean the scared, scattered, overwhelmed, unsure, anxious one), the more I really see her. 

And I'm amazed a little. Amazed that, after all this time, after reading a bazillion spiritual books, after showing up and sharing big chunks of my heart, I can still be so deeply afraid and hesitant, so full of doubt and hold back. 

And I see that this is my pain. This sadness is really a deep longing to be me. To let myself speak. To stop standing in my own way. To stop trying to get mine to look like theirs. This is what it's always been about. I think I can say with some confidence that, at the root of all of our pain, is the deep, deep desire to just be who we are. To be seen, to be Known - to be Known by our own selves. To know that it is enough to be who we are. To know that we are worthy already. Whole already. That there is nothing to add or subtract or change or fix. Nothing that is wrong. Nothing we need get rid of.

Nothing to get rid of. Not even the doubts, paralysis, overwhelm, sadness, insecurity. Not even the scared, scattered, overwhelmed, unsure, anxiousness. 

There is room for it all. 

Imagine dropping, really setting down, who we think others want us to be, who we think we should be, and just being who we are. Who we already are. 

So what if some people stop liking us, stop "following" us, stop being our friend. 

Imagine if we stopped thinking parts of us aren't okay. Imagine if we opened up wider and embraced our sadness, allowed ourselves to rest inside it, just as much as we allowed ourselves to open to big, wide eyed, wide armed joy? 

What a fucking relief this would be. 

So, my big YES, and I see that it's been my yes for a long, long time (and it continues to deepen and deepen), is to say YES to me, to me exactly as I am. To you, just as you are. To LIFE just as it is - now. 

To show up with all of it. No matter what.

I'm growing far too tired to care about what others may or may not think.  I think we all are. Plus, I have absolutely no control over other people's thoughts. None.

A couple days after Christmas, in one middle of the night moment, I felt like I would be swallowed up by sadness, like it would swallow me and there would be no me left. I sobbed silently in bed, I felt an indescribable heaviness, a kind of hopelessness that words can't touch. I let myself feel it, really feel it. And, here's the thing - it didn't swallow me. It opened me. It made my heart more tender, more receptive, more full of love.

When I shared about this sadness in my/our YES group, one of the precious women in there sent me the following words, words that (as dramatic as it sounds) have saved my life in a certain way. Here are those words, written by one of the most beautiful, pure, true humans I have come across - Jeff Foster

"Let it come closer, let it engulf you if it must.
Until there is no division between 'self' and 'sadness'.
Until you cannot call it 'sadness' at all. 
Until there is only intimacy.
Sadness keeps you soft and flexible.
It reminds you, when you have forgotten, 
of the beautiful fragility underneath all things.
In the softness of the heart lies its capacity to love.
Sadness is not the opposite of joy, but its gateway." Jeff Foster

In the softness of the heart lies its capacity to love. Sadness is not the opposite of joy, but its gateway. 

Such holy words.

My hope for me, for you, for each and every one of us, is that we can drop who we think we're supposed to be and show up just as we are, right now, in THIS very moment. That we can let it all BE just what it is. 

This kind of open, free, REAL BEing-ness is what The YES Movement is all about. It's holy inside that YES space. If you feel called in the deepest part of you to enter that kind of space, you can read more HERE. 

It's a brand new year and I send each of you so, so much love.



  1. Hey there, Julia. Thank you for sharing so honestly and vulnerably and powerfully in this post/article. It really IS such a fucking relief ... even to think about it -- I really do get what you're sharing here. And I'd like to share it further; may excerpt and link to this post (I'll send along a direct email about that). In the meanwhile, BE, and be well.

    Jamie (Sophia's Children)

    1. Jamie, thank you so much for these words. I sent you a private message.

      Yes, it is such a fucking relief. So happy you get what I'm saying.

      Sending you so much love.

  2. Julia, thank you for this beautiful, wise, and much needed post as I struggle to find the me I've tried to cover over with so much unimportant crap over the years. You are a beautiful, gentle, and compassionate soul. I see you. xoxo

    1. Tina, thank you for seeing me - I don't think there is a greater gift than seeing and being seen. I receive your words with a wide open heart and so much gratitude.

      Love to you, beautiful one. I hope you will let yourself be uncovered because you are so beautiful.

  3. Julia, you beautiful person. Thank you for saying all this even though you didn't know what would spill out. It's all so exhausting, I know. We forget that we are already enough without DOING anything.

    1. Naomi, thank you.

      It all is so exhausting and I think getting really, really tired is actually a really, really good thing because then we stop having the energy to pretend. And then we can just BE.

      I send you so much love.

  4. Julia, I heard every word you spoke here - You are not alone - Many of feel like this, but are afraid to attach words to their thoughts - You Did - So Inspiring - You are being REAL - You are being the true you - Continue to do so, and this was a reminder I needed, as well - Just Be - YOU! - And you will be seen, Clearly!
    Hugs from Boston,

    1. Thank you for hearing me, Kristine. What a gift this is, to be heard.

      So happy these words serve as a reminder for beautiful you.

      Blessings and so much love.

  5. I think one of the best things about getting older (and, believe me, I don't like much about it) is that you truly do, more and more, stop giving so many fucks what people think. I'm not cured of it yet, but each year brings me closer. So do people like you, who are worth a thousand of the ones who don't get me. xoxo

    1. "who are worth a thousand of the ones who don't get me." Yesyesyes! So perfectly said, J. I agree, giving less fucks is definitely one of the best side effects of getting older. What a relief it is to care less...

      And to have YOU here with me.

  6. What wonderful words they shared. So fitting and so true.

    I was up and awake half the night and during these insomniac nights, my mind wanders to random different things. One thought was what if I had met my former self--what would I tell her? Experiences notwithstanding, I would have told her to let go of a lot of her feelings, to stop hanging on to the past. I would have said it's ok to fall apart as long as you put yourself back together. There's much more out there waiting--and yeah it's a scary world, yes things are going to be rough, but it's better than being inside of a shell.

    I guess it's a lesson I learned eventually, just would have loved to have heard it sooner.
    I see you and others in this community as supportive and loving and if it weren't for my own experiences in my dark moments, I'd have a hard time understanding why you would feel down. Just know you are loved, you are heard, and your voice makes a difference. :)

    1. It's certainly better than being inside a shell, I so agree, Karin.

      The dark moments are a gift in that they open us to understanding and compassion...I am really seeing that the pain is not something to push away or to try to avoid or to call bad at all. It's really an opportunity for us to open our arms wider, to stop judging. To listen deeply. I'm seeing that there are great messages in the pain if we're willing to listen.

      "you are loved, you are heard, and your voice makes a difference." Thank you so much, Karin...this is really all I could want. :)

      Thank you for sharing here, Karin. I love hearing from you.

  7. Julia, your commitment to showing up—and showing up with so much love—is an inspiration. “There is room for it all.” Mmm….I love this, even as I sometimes struggle to believe it. Sometimes the pain, the sadness, the confusion feels too overwhelming, and I want to run, to deny, to reject. I love that you have included this Jeff Foster poem in your post. Oh my goodness, this poem…I have returned to it over and over again. These words, they are so important, so beautiful; they are holy. They make my heart feel quiet, less scared, softer, more open.

    “My hope for me, for you, for each and every one of us, is that we can drop who we think we're supposed to be and show up just as we are, right now, in THIS very moment. That we can let it all BE just what it is.” ….. YES to this! This is my hope, too, for you, for me, for everyone.

    Thank you for showing, precious Julia. Your words always reach into my heart, and they remain there. I can never read your writings quickly and move on (and I never want to!); your words always invite me to pause, to sit with them. They make me feel held and understood….seen.

    Julia, you are so beautiful exactly as you are. I see you, and everything about you that makes you human—the sadness, the messiness, the confusion, the pain, the longing, the joy, the light, the love—makes you beautiful. ALL OF IT.

  8. Jenna, precious Jenna. I so need to sit with you in person so I can say all I need/want to say to you. There is so much.

    First, thank you for each and every word you wrote to me here. I breathed them all in and how they've opened my have a gift at doing that, you know? Opening hearts. You really do. I've met very few people in my life who are so FULL of love and are so willing to give it to see this in me, because you have it in you. You are so beautiful and full of light.

    I hope you can feel how deeply grateful I am for you, for your SEEing of me, your willingness to love so fully.

    I love you big...


What are you thinking/feeling? I'd really love to know...

♥ Julia