You are never alone.

The meditation experience yesterday has been more challenging than usual to articulate—like trying to catch a whisper in the wind. There was no image or word that came immediately to mind. The sensations started a couple of weeks ago during the BYOB course.* At that point, the words I heard were, “I’ll teach you to love.” It was almost too extravagant to believe—that I could access love, much less that some internal part of me was ready to be my teacher. It felt overwhelming, like a door opening, and I didn’t even attempt to put it into words. Now, though, the theme is repeating, and the sensations are becoming more believable and trustworthy… if that makes any sense. This image of otters from an Oracle card deck I have nailed the feeling. It was a lovely adventure to "accidentally" come across this image this morning and a perfect match. (image source: Colette Baron Reid Animal Spirit Oracle Cards.)

I realize I’ve built such an amazing protective system—my own emotional Fort Knox—that I barely knew it was there. My behaviors were and are so ingrained that only now am I learning to decipher what is kind and what is, well, not so much. On some level, admitting this feels vulnerable, maybe even a tad embarrassing. I know that “love,” like “God,” triggers my defenses. I’ve sidestepped both words, trading them in for something more palatable, less fraught. I wrote them off as too generic, overused, or packed with associations I wasn’t ready to unpack. They came loaded with guilt and sadness, worthiness and lack. The other day, I was watching movie trailers and realized just how much Hollywood has tried to define love for us—sunsets, slow-motion kisses, tragic misunderstandings. They make you feel as though they’ve cornered the market on defining love. But expectations are a funny thing; they lead to judgment, comparison, manipulation, and control. And, of course, once those enter the picture, love (and God) quietly slips out the back door.

Looking back, I’m amazed and astounded at how far I’ve come. I didn’t set out to redefine love with this journey. My goal was to bring my soul and personality into alignment, to quiet the nasty inner critic that’s made a home in my head. Along the way, it felt right to become a friend to my body, to actually try befriending my physical self. It’s funny, but that’s something I hadn’t tried before. I’ve negotiated with my “inner rebel” at times, even made some headway, but befriending myself? That was new territory.

And here I am now, with this unexpected invitation—an opening I hadn’t anticipated. I’m only 29 days into this practice, and I’m looking forward to seeing where this journey of self-compassion leads. Befriending my body is like learning a new language—awkward at first, but with a little practice, surprisingly rewarding. It’s little things, like listening to what I need or taking a few minutes to just breathe. And I’m grateful for the mantras I’ve adopted lately. Simple words, maybe, but they feel like shelter and direction when I need them most: There is nothing to fear. There is nothing to prove. There is nothing to fix. There is nothing wrong, and there is nothing missing.

​Each mantra brings its own kind of sanity. “Nothing to fear” invites courage, a reminder that life is safe to explore and that fear is 90% delusional. “Nothing to prove” tells me to let go of perfectionism, to stop comparing and judging my worth based on others’ expectations I’ve unknowingly taken on. “Nothing to fix” is a potent reminder that, most likely, “it’s not my circus and not my monkeys.” The chances are high that I am not responsible for fixing anything because, with a slight shift in perspective, everything is perfectly perfect as it is. And “nothing is missing” is my favorite of all—a deep reassurance that everything I need is already here within me.

Each phrase whispers a different invitation: release worry, drop expectations, step back from control, recognize completeness. These words are like a gentle hand on my shoulder, guiding me away from the need to do and toward the ability to simply be. With each reminder, I feel a bit closer to the friend I want to be to myself, someone who offers gentleness instead of judgment, who listens rather than insists.
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So, here’s to 29 more days of not tripping over my own self-discovery—and a big shout-out to my Guardian for the patience of a saint. Many thanks to whomever is tuning in to assist with this transmission. All is well.

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