The Deeper Call was featured on ’s Writers at Work this week. This is my first Substack interview, it is such an honor. In the piece I share about who I write for, advice for struggling writers, and the empowering practice of doing less, in life, and here on Substack. I hope you enjoy it.
Dear One,
I hope this letter finds you with your feet on the ground and your hands on your heart. I’ve been thinking about those of you who commented on my last essay about the pains of fostering. I am feeling held by each of you. Thank you for your vulnerability and willingness to engage in such a necessary and meaningful conversation. It was one of my glimmers from the week.
I am taking a bit of time for myself today to breathe, stretch, mourn, and write this letter next to our son Zen who is napping. I can’t help but hold my children tighter these days. I can’t help but worry about them even more. I can’t help but try harder to be the kind of guardian and protector they deserve.
My shoulders have been tense, my belly tight, my throat scratchy, my mind scattered. My body has been processing a great deal, but I didn’t fully feel just how much until I gifted myself a body work session last Wednesday. I knew that I needed an extra layer of support to get through the week.
The session was uncomfortable. My muscles were tight. There were areas where I had been gripping and others were I unconsciously clamped down. Towards the end of the session the massage therapist worked on the inside of my cheeks to help release tension in the fascia in my face, mouth, and jaw. I have clenched my jaw through the night most of my life. This type of fascia work is powerful for me. It helps me access ease in places that I haven’t been able to get to with breathing or somatic work. By the time I got off the massage table I felt a bit sore yet resourced enough to find my way through the rest of the week.
I have been in a continual process of mourning. As soon as the waves of grief are seemingly beginning to slow, they pick back up. The cycle repeats. I struggle to find my sea legs as I fumble my way through the messiness, heaviness, and vulnerability of this time. I am increasingly aware that mourning needs to become an intentional part of my daily practice. I want to develop a deeper relationship with mourning, one that can hold more of what I am experiencing.
Too often the focus is on feeling good in our culture. I get it. There was a long period in my life where I sought peak experiences. I craved the highs after a cathartic breathwork practice. I chased the feelings of learning to surf. I traveled to places with spiritual vortextes like Machu Picchu in Peru and sat in ceremonies with all kinds of healers hoping to hold onto feeling good for as long as possible. What I didn’t learn in all those years, was how to tend to my grief. What I didn’t learn, was how to mourn.
There are seasons of practice just as there are seasons of life. This season of practice is about connecting more intentionally to the process of mourning. It’s about holding the deep truth that my body can handle it. My heart can handle it. I have the tools and practices that I need to anchor myself through this grief and heartbreak.
This season of mourning has been one of the most confronting times in my life. I have been asked to stretch and expand much further than I would have chosen to if it were left up to me. I am also holding that I have been training and practicing for this season for years. As much as my younger self longs to be rescued by someone from the outside, in this unbelievably destabilizing season I can take care of her, assure her, and soothe her. I can show up and be the person I needed when I was younger. I can rescue myself.
My ability to stay with myself in as many moments as possible is keeping me available for connection, healing, and mourning. It is helping me orient toward a future that I want for all our children even on days when it feels impossible. Out of reach. Like the longest shot in the world.
My willingness to pause, to feel my feet on the earth, and inhale the regenerative oils from the pine trees brings me back to center. To right here right now. The only place mourning is possible. Each time I engage with practices that support mourning like breathing, touching the earth, placing my hands over my heart, and exploring the land with my family, I open myself up to the courage it takes to mourn. I also break cycles of pain and trauma that I do not want to pass on. Each time I choose vulnerability over judgement, slowing down over hustling, living the work over sharing a highlight reel, mourning over numbing, I am growing my capacity to embody the teachings and wisdom that here, even when they feel far away.
Amid the layers of uncertainty, grief, heartbreak, and exhaustion that weave through each day, I am brought back to the courage it takes to show up. The courage it takes feel. The courage it takes to mourn. And the courage it takes to keep our hearts open.
May we find a moment to inhale and exhale slowly.
May we feel our feet on the earth.
May we develop our capacity to be with what is.
May we overcome difficulties, no matter how long it takes.
May we create the space to mourn with intention.
May we remember the gifts that we carry with us, that we carry on.
Thank you as always for being here.
With deep care,
Ashley
What a gift you are giving yourself to know and understand you must grieve and that no one needs to rescue you. You are your best healer. Sending healing, loving vibes your way. 🙏
Thank you for giving grief and mourning an honored place at the table....a technique I learned was about welcoming whatever shows up, wanted or not, as a dinner guest. To include it as a regular practice, allowing ongoing space for it...now THAT is a real growing edge....