When Needs Can't Be Met.

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Over the course of the last two weeks, I've been sharing resources and guidance to support you in the navigation of your emotional body.

This conversation about the emotional body and getting your needs met is so vital.

Why does this matter? Who cares about feeling? About leaning in to the emotional body?

What's the point of all of this feeling?! It's hard work. It's challenging. It takes courage and devotion to continually arrive. To keep showing up for your feelings.

I would be lying if I said it was easy. But here's the truth: 

The purpose of the emotional body is not just to expand your experience as a human being, but to help you get the nourishment you need in this life. The nourishment that you so desperately yearn for.

This task of emotional body literacy is not easy for this one reason. 

It's part of your soul's journey to be well fed by life- to get what it what it needs in order to thrive. It's a process of growth, stretching, leaning in, creating, creating again, re-shaping, endlessly trying. Like a plant, reaching towards the sunlight.

The first step is to show up for your emotional body. To practice this arriving. Then you can harvest the needs underneath the emotions. 

Once you arrive in this place of identification, of confrontation, of discovery... now what?!

You've found your core need, but what do you do about it?

The majority of your needs can be met- somehow, some way. They can be discovered and uncovered. They can be used as resources to get the nourishment you need. This is an empowering place to arrive.

But what happens when needs can't be met?

What happens when needs have no way of being resolved?

This is the territory,  the inner terrain, I find myself in right now- as I navigate deep grief and loss.

I'm approaching the anniversary of my mother's sudden passing. I'm identifying so many needs. So many needs that are a result of this loss. My heart longs for her. It longs for the way that she showed up in my life. Ways that no one else can satisfy.

What do you do with these needs? The needs that are connected to loss, to grief, to the holes that can't be filled?

I need her voice. I need her touch. I need her daily reminders. I need her affirmations. I need the way she chose to support me with her unyielding love, with her loving words.

This is the hole that can't be filled. 

No matter how many affirmations I receive. No matter how many relationships choose to show up for me with presence. No matter how many times I declare my needs to others, this hole remains.

I'm hearing these needs loud and clear. I'm choosing to attend to my grief with intention and devotion right now. Honoring these wounds within that can never be filled. The void. The holes. Left by loss.

I am conscious about navigating this inner space. 

I know I could fill it mindlessly. I know I could throw things and people and food and avoidance into this hole. Part of me wants to be rescued- by my boyfriend, by family members or friends, by someone or something; a dangerous desire that will only create more malnourishment. 

I know this dangerous road because I've tried all the most popular avoidance tactics. 

Most people choose the unconscious path. The path of mindlessly filling voids and holes- all the places that long for stillness and presence.

But instead I choose to linger. In the vastness of my pain. In the emptiness of these inner longings. In the longing. For my mother. For my father. For the nourishment and love only they can provide.

I'm conscious of the fact that huge needs are present in me. That I want them to find wholeness. And yet- no one can actually be or say or arrive as my mother would. As my father would. I'm conscious of this. 

And yet the pain remains. And yet the needs remain.

How do I attend to these needs with presence, with heart-centered devotion? 

How to reach out and ask for support with these gaping needs? 

Can these needs truly be attended to?

There is no healing, truly. There is only change and co-creation. There is awakening to, arriving. There is the simplicity of this moment and that moment. There are moments of nourishment and moments that beckon for more.

So I dance. I create. I sing and make music. I express it and share my pain. And I encounter this longing within- again and again. 

I notice all the ways in which it could drive me to unconsciousness, to avoidance, to resistance, to anger at other people. I notice how this hole within me stings and bites- myself and others.

This hole, with its many needs, is teaching me to stay present. 

It is keeping me conscious, present. It keeps me returning to this place of emptiness within- again and again. 

It is my reminder that some things cannot be fixed. 

It is my reminder that there is actually nothing to fix.

It is a space within that could drive me to more unconsciousness or it can move me towards greater consciousness. In my life, this painful hole, is teaching me the power of my grief journey. It is the power of awakening through loss.

I know many of you understand the challenges, hardship, and the deep pain of loss. I know you're navigating grief- likely alone, in isolation, without the holding and support that you need.

Like so many, we do this powerful grief work alone. But I know your grief is begging you to reach out and extend your branches, to get your needs met- in new ways, more conscious ways.

I am committed to supporting you in your path awakening, helping you transform your pain into fertile, creative space. Space that can lead you to possibility, openness and joy.

It's a powerful time of year for turning inward. 

In the coming days, I'll be sharing special resources for those of you walking the grief journey- who want to use this pain, hardship and loss as a path of profound spiritual awakening. 

I'll also be sharing more about a special offering for those of you who are ready to heal and awaken through your darkness.

Did you miss out on my Space Clearing the Heart workshop?! 
You can listen to Part One for *free* right now. Listen now, it's only available for a few more days. Listen Now