Anchor.
Let go.

My body tells me what I need to do.

When I don’t listen, my body gets LOUDER. Well, not so much louder as much as just giving me hemorrhoids.

Yes, this is On Brand.

The last couple of weeks have been chaotic. Probably longer than the last couple of weeks; likely the last couple of months, as my body doesn’t start with hemorrhoids. It’s like working with children, how you use your reasonable and soft voice when making a request, and the voice gets louder, and louder, and pretty soon you’re going to HEAR SOME YELLING OR AT LEAST SPEAKING THROUGH CLENCHED TEETH.

Anchor Into Clues Around You

Anchor.
Let go.

Over the last couple of weeks, the concept of letting go was EVERYWHERE. During my own therapy and trauma recovery coaching appointments, during appointments I had with clients, during grief groups, conversations that had nothing to do with me, TV shows, movies, books, stuff online.

Let go. Letting go. Having to let go. EVERYWHERE. And maybe it was because I noticed the hemorrhoids that I started noticing the letting go, but I don’t think that’s how any of that works.

There are plenty of clues about what you need, where to go, and what to do, if you know how to look for them.

Anchor into Making a Choice

Anchor.
Let go.

When sitting down, it became very obvious that I could no longer work my full-time day job and run a trauma recovery and grief recovery business. I was stretched too thin. I felt like crying every day from frustration, the smallest tasks were becoming overwhelming, I wanted to isolate from people.

These are all warning signs that my mental health is sliding downhill. Signs that I have ignored in the past. How did that work for me, you ask? Not well. Not well at all.

This time, I decided to pay attention. I decided that it was time to make a choice.

It was time to let go.

Remembering the Word of 2022

Anchor.
Let go.

I sat in “my” chair on the back deck and considered the idea of letting go of my physical and tangible security. The security of doing everything myself, ferocious self-reliance (yes, ironically, this is a trauma response and I know that). The security of a regular paycheck at steady intervals. The security of knowing what was going to happen every day, every week, every year.

Sitting there (on the right cheek, for more comfort), I had a flash of memory. Last Solstice Day, December 2021. Walking the labyrinth at the Portland Grotto. Letting go of what was no longer needed, inviting in light. Asking for and receiving my Word for the Year.

Anchor. My word for 2022 was Anchor.

What Does Anchor Mean?

Anchor.
Let go.

I remember feeling curious at the time. Anchor? Oh, interesting. A solid word. Digging in. Staying put. Stillness, even.

A perfect companion to the concept of letting go.

Sitting there on my back deck, I thought about anchoring. I envisioned a huge anchor, like on a military ship, dropping with a splash and falling to the ocean floor, digging into the sand at such a depth that the boat floated but stayed in place.

Movement and stillness. Forward and present.

What am I anchoring to? I asked.

The foundation that I have been building for two decades. Anchoring into all that I have built. Anchoring into the certainty of who I am and my purpose right now, in this moment.

Time to Practice Letting Go

Anchor.
Let go.

Today I gave my notice. I am quitting the day job.

After all, that day job is not where I need to find security.

I find the security inside myself, in the questions and uncertainties. In the adventure. In the unknown.

Anchoring to let go.

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