I couldn’t understand why when good things showed up, the gifts I had asked and wished for, they arrived arm-in-arm with shadows of overwhelm and fear.
I couldn’t understand the anxious movements, the tightness in my chest.
But what I did understand was my tools.
So many tools.
I used EFT to tap into the fear. NLP to travel deep, tracing old and warn paths, where maybe I had left stones unturned, trauma unearthed.
I followed therapeutic routes into old truths – and lies – hoping to find something belonging to these new and pressing sensations.
I tremored and I cried, gambling that the release needed was physical, that the body might expel its experience and allow me – mind, soul, consciousness – to continue with jobs at hand.
And yet the tension persisted.
The shallow breath.
Constrictions sewing themselves tighter and tighter.
I knew my arrows were sound, sharp. But my target was off, each shot flying high over the discomfort.
Until one day, I sat down to meditate.
Really, in desperation, I sat down to pray.
Instead of process and tools and all I have learned, I asked to be granted greater capacity.
I prayed for more space inside myself, to hold goodness and excitement and dreams realised.
I prayed to grow and stretch that part of my body so easily full.
And instantly my chest gave way.
It turns out I did not need to be cured, to rid myself of anything.
I did not need to be fixed, to remove an undiscovered trauma, to hold less.
I needed only to expand, to grow, to help my body hold more.
I needed only to ask for space.
I had been drowning, searching for a plug to pull, to help release the water around me.
I had not yet asked to become a better swimmer.
