Warm Hugs
Yesterday I gave myself a hug. A real hug, as if it was coming from someone else holding me, and when I was about to let go, squeezing a little harder because that is what I would do with someone else, so why not give myself the extra love too? It wasn’t prompted from within, but from my therapist.
Yesterday was hard, for no particular reason other than, well, holidays and, well, life. In a moment of pause and sitting across from each other (virtually—video therapy is actually kind of awesome being able to sit in a safe, familiar space…and also to not be late since I don’t have to drive anywhere) she said, “This may sound a little strange, but I want you to wrap your arms around yourself in a big hug and sit with it.”
It was a little awkward at first. Yet as I kept hugging myself it actually felt like a warm hug from someone else, external love moving internally. Tears slowly began to flow down my cheeks.
“Good, Lindsey. Let it be.”
She is just the best.
Giving myself a hug is quite the improvement from a couple of weeks ago.
A couple of weeks ago I unknowingly chipped my front tooth trying to pull open part of my Pendleton Swiss army knife by gripping it with my teeth. All those comments that guardians make warning those in their care to not use their teeth to open things? Yeah, there is a reason for that and now at 35 I’ve learned the hard way.
I didn’t realize it was chipped until that evening, running my tongue across my top teeth and feeling an unfamiliar, unusual, jagged sensation. It couldn’t be true. Teeth don’t chip for no reason, and I didn’t have a reason for having a chipped tooth. That is, until I retraced my bites of the day.
Aw yes, ornery Swiss army knife. Using my teeth to get a good grip on the blade. Metal and teeth don’t exactly play nice.
Next time you see me, don’t look too closely. I don’t have dental insurance right now, so filing it down isn’t a priority at the moment. It’s just cosmetic, right? (Insert awkward laugh). I don’t think it’s too noticeable…too noticeable. Well, either way, just don’t look at my teeth if we run into each other…and especially don’t stare. This ruins my strong selfie game.
Gotcha.
I’m too awkward to have a strong selfie game.
A couple of weeks ago, the day after I chipped my tooth, I found a rogue, 2 inch long blonde hair growing from my forehead. How is that possible?! I mean, I know I have room for improvement in the grooming and shower department (which, for all concerned parties I am actively working on), but not noticing a 2 inch long hair growing out of the middle of my forehead? That’s another level.
I do look in the mirror at least once a day to ensure that I am presentable enough to be in public. So, how did I miss it? I highly doubt that it magically sprouted up a few minutes earlier. Or maybe it did? I sure hope it did anyway, otherwise I’ve been walking around with a chipped tooth and a long hair growing from my forehead and not one person chose to mention that they noticed and offered their help, or at least their empathy for my sad scenario.
It’s bad enough that I have to pluck 80 chin hairs a day (again, please don’t look too closely next time you see me as I likely missed a few and they also grow back in about 15 seconds after I pluck them), but now forehead hairs? My body could have at least given me three so that I could do something like braid them, but it was just one. One lonely, long forehead hair.
This season really has been the best.
In 10th grade I was in a couple of different dance classes—tap and jazz. I so badly wanted to be good and graceful.
I wasn’t.
I was that awkward tall girl that basically grew overnight and wasn’t quite sure what to do with her body. I’d pretend and “delicately” throw my arms around or act like my leaps were me soaring across the floor with each leg pointed at opposite walls, demonstrating my “obvious” flexibility. The reality is that I could barely leap and I’d be lucky to get my legs a couple feet off the floor at the same time. I think you get the picture—dance was not my strong suit.
For the holidays we did a little show at the studio for family and friends. It was out in front of the studio and the sidewalk was our stage. Looking back it was a little odd to take a sidewalk show so seriously, having to buy dance costumes and wear full makeup for a 3 minute performance. I didn’t want to to be the only one not dancing in the show, so I got the costume and participated in all of my dancing glory, even though it may have been a little ridiculous.
There are only three things that I remember about that night:
ONE: We did a lyrical dance (think jazz mixed with ballet, clearly the kind of dancing that I excel in) and we were wearing these shiny red leotards that had long sewn in knee length skirts made of the same stretchy material. I actually still have this outfit in my dress-up box (yes, I have a dress-up box and yes, I have more than one and it’s gotten its best use since that day for spontaneous costume needs). I can’t tell you what song we performed, I just know what I wore and that it was an oddball holiday sidewalk dance show.
TWO: Since I was in a less advanced dance class (hard to believe, I know), we only had one number. The studio stars, as I call them as of this moment, danced in multiple numbers with multiple costumes, and exuded all of the grace and flexibility and confidence that I wished I’d had when dancing. (I really pursued some unfortunate hobbies growing up, and yet somehow made it through without overwhelming embarrassment, although I don’t know how.) One of the dances they did was to Santa Baby, with a guy dressed up as Santa sitting in a chair while they danced around him, on him, doting over him. I was unsure of what to think about it, but clearly it made some sort of impression if I can vividly remember the details and my discomfort.
THREE: While lined up before our dance, I stood there just, ya know, being me, by myself, towering above my peers, standing quietly since I didn’t really have any friends in my dance class, trying to appear confidently cool when I was in fact the exact opposite—one of the weirdest kids on the block. I tried really hard to hold onto the confidently cool façade, but it hastily dissipated internally when one of the girls standing directly behind blurted out, “Oh my gosh, EW! You have a really long hair growing out of your back!” At 15 years old, it was mortifying. Understandably so, I don’t remember much after that moment other than trying to play it off like it wasn’t a big deal. I do have this vague, sinking feeling that I may have asked one of them to pull it out. Or maybe I tried to do it myself, reaching over my shoulder attempting to feel for it and pluck it with my fingers. Or maybe I just let it live there until I finished the dance and went home. Apparently I blocked out the rest as self-preservation. And apparently rogue lone, long hairs growing from my body in peculiar places started at a young age.
Someone recently told me that I am cool and that they wish we could’ve known each other earlier in life. I almost started laughing out loud. Don’t get me wrong, the teenage Lindsey still lives within and is appreciative that her “confidently cool loner façade” may be working and that she actually received a genuine “cool” compliment.
The truth is, it’s just that, a façade. I’m a big dork with poor timing of jokes (especially dad jokes), appreciates poop humor, can burp loudly, feels like a hot mess, lets fear too often dictate what I do (or don’t do), am so out of touch with actual cool culture, am a jane of few trades, master of one—awkwardness.
I’m the person with a chipped tooth that she can’t afford to fix it right now and has unwelcome hair growing from my face. As if I wasn’t already feeling pretty vulnerable and humble over here, let’s add a chipped tooth and forehead hair to the mix.
But you know what? It’s okay.
It’s okay.
It was okay in the past and it will be okay in the future, which means that it can be okay now. (It’s also okay if it’s not okay; but today it’s okay and I am using that as a gentle reminder that the not okay feelings don’t last forever.)
I have come to accept my special, charming ways and learn to lean into them with a bit more wisdom and awareness, acknowledging the places that could use a shift and the places that although odd, make me who I am.
As someone dear to me has said over the years, “Humans are weird and take themselves too seriously—just watch them.”
Just watch us.
Many of us are trying and often try too hard. I love observing people, especially the ones that have fully embraced themselves, owning who they are with all their quirks. Those that live loudly, threatening what is socially acceptable or norms of some appearance of “cool”. It’s my favorite and it is so refreshing.
Winter Solstice was yesterday, which means winter is here (for the Northern Hemisphere). Winter Solstice represents birth, very different than what I’ve understood winter to be. Though winter comes with things dying or going dormant, it is in preparation to come to life once more. The days now will begin to lengthen, moving to the unfurling that will occur from the transition of winter into spring. Preparation for change, for new, for quiet rest to better make space to receive.
I’ve never contemplated this or understood it. Winter was always about cold and dying and darkness; yet it is quite the opposite.
How much more hopeful as we move from this year and this decade to the next, as we wait for the promise of a birth that gives life to redemption, restoration, wholeness, presence, joy, peace, light, and the greatest of these, love.
Partly because of my own, personal season paired with the overarching season of expectation of the promise of a holy birth, I am finding more quiet, more stillness. I am breathing deeper, listening more closely, grieving fully, waiting with as much patience as I can muster, letting the being have its place over doing. It is my small rebellion, hushed resilience, my silent night.
Acceptance,
Space,
Holding,
Letting go.
With every breath, the rhythm continues.
A couple of weeks ago I was a little more scattered, not sure of what my feelings held, going through the motions of each day to get through it—and chipping teeth and growing forehead hairs. Since then little tiny moments, some that I chose and some that chose me, have gently led me to winter, to pause, to find a bit more settledness and hopefulness for that which is ahead. In this place I feel open to receiving, anticipation to giving and contentedness in being, knowing that a warm hug for myself is accessible at any time.