if I asked you about your love
what would you speak of?
Hello,
How are you this week? What do you love?
Dear Friends,
This letter is a brief one.
I am still recovering after the May hospital stay. I recently learned that what I thought was simply burnout is actually Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, developed from this health emergency. This news—alongside other deep internal and external shifts I am observing and facilitating these weeks—requires me to move through the days gently. I am making space for tears when they come, for anger, and for deep pain. I am taking care of myself the best I can and in the ways available to me.
I hope you understand that I will not write much (at least not yet) about what this all means. I trust you will see it in my future letters, whether I choose to name it directly or let it show itself in how I arrange words and what messages want to come through. This is a deep kind of recalibration.
By the means of this letter, I invite you to offer yourself kindness today. Whether it be stepping away from your work desk and onto grass for a moment, touching and smelling flowers, deciding “this is enough for today,” raising your beautiful face to receive the sun’s kiss, or stroking your own head, forehead, cheeks, shoulders with tenderness—these tiny acts of invisible kindness are what we often long for and wait to receive from others, unaware of our own capacity to become the nurturers of self.
One way we may begin to heal our deep wounds is by becoming our own source of maternal energy. Holding ourselves gently, we enter a new way of being in the world—one unstained by cultural conditioning, the demands of a capitalist system that often reduces life to either transaction or self-sacrifice, free from the rigid rules of superficially defined gender and societal roles that deny us both their power and sacredness, unaffected by the separation from nature and land, and still feeling connected amidst the chronic isolation in an “overpopulated” world.
Sovereignty and integration on our life path come from emotional regulation and deep inner attunement—not control. Let yourself fall back on the invisible hands of your ancestors, the well-wishes of those who love you, and your own capacity to be—still here, even when everything around seems to crumble down.
We are never alone in the struggle. A cry torn out of a throat in the thickness of the night is echoed and carried by a thousand voices across the globe and the lineages, illuminating the darkness like the countless stars illuminate the boundless, yet intimate sky.
I hope that through offering yourself gentleness, courageous kindness, and iron-spined softness, you can begin to hear those voices interlaced with yours.
I miss you, and I am looking forward to writing to you again when I feel more recovered. While my usual cadence is weekly, you might have noticed (or not! in which case, bless your tender heart focused on things other than the screen) that last week your inboxes did not receive a letter from me. I am unsure of the cadence for the upcoming weeks. But I assure you that even when I do not write a letter, this space is welcoming you at any time. And I hold you all in my heart.
Today, I would like to offer you another poem from my drawer to carry you through the week. An invitation to step into the love that you are.
If I asked you
about your love what would you speak of? Would you tell me about the sky— pink and vast and full of light? Would you tell me about that night when you held yourself like a child? Would you speak of those unheard— or would you say that the bejewelled bird rises with the sun, and that its song is meant for all— and no one. Would you share about the hand you once held to your cheek but can reach no more? Would you take my hands and place them on my cheeks, so that I can know? Or would you beloved, let yourself be love.
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Before you go:
A gentle prompt to aid you in this week’s reflection:
What kindness will you offer yourself today?
May you be your best, loving mother of you that you have ever been. Heal deeply and in the space/time it takes. 💜
Dear Justyna,
Glad that you are recovering.
Thank you for sharing, as always!
Love
Myq