Gutted, Grown, and (still) Grateful: A Reflection on Strength, Surrender, and Softness

This past year kicked my ass.

Yeah, I know, I’m not supposed to swear and there’s probably some eloquent poetic prose written by Robert Frost or Shakespeare that would capture it better. I know. But that’s not the vibe today, so we’re going with what we’ve got.

I haven’t posted in a while, and despite having about 27 half-finished posts, not a single one felt good enough to share with the world. The post graveyard currently has hits titled “The Precious Intimacy of Small Things,” and “On The Beauty in the Void” and “Same Pain, Different Phase,” or, “Different Days….” I’m not even sure anymore, they might as well be the same thing. Maybe one day I’ll have a few glasses of wine and feel another spark of creativity and they’ll actually get written.

Nevertheless, 38 did not start on a happy note. You know when you start something – a movie, a job, a book, a recipe – and pretty soon into it, you already know it’s going to be bad? Like, the kind of bad when you make waffles and get baking soda and baking powder confused, and then add a few tablespoons (instead of teaspoons) of salt and end up with a waffle monster that tastes like salty, vanilla-y bread? No one asked for it, no one liked it, and as my parents, or the Beast from my all-time favorite movie Beauty and the Beast, would say, “you can eat this, or nothing at all!!!”

Now, brunch isn’t always a tragedy just because the waffles aren’t perfect. Although, let’s be honest, it kind of is, especially if the ONLY reason you made the entire effort to get up, shower, get dressed, and take a $3,594 Uber there was specifically for the waffles…. Then it is. But, the coffee is usually decent, the mimosas might still be tolerable, and after two or three of those, the salty, vanilla-y monster-waffle isn’t so awful anymore.

And really, who goes to brunch alone? No one. (And if you do, hit me up, we’ll start a brunch club, or a brunch cult, whichever one feels up your alley.)

Sometimes, I’d look at the menu and think “Lemon custard banana ginger cookie dough coffee tart?? That sounds awful, what else is on here? Ohhh yes, of course, salmon fried pancakes with honied reduction of asparagus? Whose idea was any of this?” (In case you are wondering, it was in fact the Universe deciding that’s what’s on the menu.)

So here we are, sitting around the table having an overpriced, mediocre brunch, in some newly opened, Tik-Tok made-famous cafe, drinking burnt coffee and mimosas, and inevitably, someone would say “We’ll, why don’t we just try that sous-vide apple tart with caramelized onion confit anyway.” Ah yes, delicious.

But guess what. After begrudgingly tasting whatever absurdity came out, sometimes, it actually turned out surprisingly delicious. (I hate to report that other times, it did in fact, taste just as awful as it sounded…)

Or, that’s kind of how it went.

Did I want to be there? Sometimes. Maybe? Truthfully, mostly not.

Did I want to try the salty, vanilla-y, waffle monster? No, not really.

Did I appreciate that I was dragged out from under the blankets, where I was comfortably snuggled up with Scruffles, scrolling those IG accounts planning my next 368 art projects that will never come into existence, while having my not burnt coffee in the silence of my own home? Absolutely.

Did I end up leaving with a few new friends, taking a leap, trying new things, and knocking a few bucket list items (and wine glasses) off? Also, yes.

I have been trying to figure out what the universe has been trying to teach me recently. On countless occasions, I have whined, wined, wallowed, and whimpered that I feel like I’m constantly dealing with the same stuff, just showing up to my door dressed up differently. Even my trusty horoscope apps (Susan Miller and The Pattern… looking at you) kept telling me that “some patterns are re-emerging to challenge my ways of thinking, being, and existing.” Thanks – super helpful. Can I get a little more specific, detailed information? (Lottery numbers would be welcome too…)

But lately, leading up to my big old 39, the frequency of these “re-emerging patterns” became quite intense, and has in fact, given me a bit more clarity. Perhaps it is also what has prompted me to write again, or maybe the sheer unawareness and stark realization of “oh, wow, I do actually do that…!!??!!” rattled me a bit.

“It hurts me that you never allow me (or from what I can see, anyone else) to actually do nice things for you, without it being a fight” was the gist.

Well, ouch. Don’t get me wrong, I haven’t met a single human being who doesn’t like having a nice thing done for them. But, we’re all pretty busy people, with our own stuff going on. Right? I’m a big girl, I can do it myself, if I don’t know how, I can watch a YouTube video, finagle it, figure it out as I go along, lose a finger, maybe cause a flood. No matter what, “I got it” will be my famous last words.

Makes sense, right?

(Yes is the only right answer here in case you need just a little bit of guidance here.)

It does. Except for the teeny-tiny, itty-bitty, small part where I was m informed that my resistance to kind deeds actually makes others feel “unwanted, unwelcome, unneeded, and as though I can’t and don’t contribute to your life, the way that you do to mine.” If I’m being totally honest, I probably wouldn’t have even thought twice about it if it didn’t came from someone who is somewhat of an acquaintance saying it, then repeated by friends who actually know me, completely unprovoked. I guess I didn’t hear it when it was a drizzle so the universe must have gotten impatient and amped it up.

I thought I was winning karma-brownie-points and being a good citizen of the world by not “burdening” anyone, while here I’m being accused of giving off “unapproachable” vibes.

So, stubborn as I am, I conducted a little survey for myself, looked back on the last year, and concluded that this was in fact about 93% true.

I’m not even sure what was more devastating, the fact that I was so unaware, or the fact that it took me having to go through the same crap that ends in exhaustion to figure it out. And when I say exhaustion, it’s not the kind bed-rotting one day fixes it. The kind where your soul feels tired and you feel like the universe does not have your back anymore. It feels, what I imagine, whitewater rafting would go like for me.

But despite all the chaos, I think I was actually carried by the universe, received exactly what I needed at exactly the right time. (Notice the use of needed and not wanted.)

I ran into the right people at the right time, which has in an unexpected way, changed the trajectory of where I thought my life was headed in ways that tickled me. Others returned after being absent for years, reflecting how much I have “grown up.” Some felt like gifts from the other side, coming into my life at the right time to remind me that I’m still being looked after. All of it nudged me along toward finally surrendering to the flow of life. Not like you really have much choice once you’ve started heading down the river.

I think because of the ass kickery and fairly blunt reflection of what it’s like to be my friend, I have surrendered that (maybe) I CAN’T do it all on my own.

Cue the devastation.

Cue the drama.

Cue the histrionics.

Yes. Apparently, I can’t do everything on my own. There’s even written proof of it now. And that, I think, is why the universe forced me to have to deal with this awful vanilla-y, salty, waffle monster this past year.

But you know what else I learned? It’s a bit easier, and less miserable, sharing it with others who want to sit at the table, and coffee and mimosas help.

So this year, I have been pushed, shoved, dragged and forced into surrendering and facing my own obliviousness in ways I didn’t expect.. Maybe, just maybe, I’ll actually allow someone to treat me to dinner, look up that song I’m searching for, spend an evening just hanging together when I’ve had a rough day, accept that spa day offer, call someone when I need help.

Google knows a lot – but it doesn’t know me. I actually even asked for emergency on-call support when I was trying to grill a steak…. (The rest of that statement was “so I don’t have to ever ask anyone else to be the steak griller” but I left that out just so I can end with “See? Progress!”)

It is a work in progress. Changing any habit is hard. Changing any habit that can potentially make me vulnerable and less independent is even harder.

That said, it seems like this is my task for the year. Mel Robbins, if you ever see this (I’m going to pretend you have time to read random unknown wordpress blogs). I’ll be rebranding your Let Them book title for myself. My year didn’t teach me to “let them do whatever they want” but instead, it taught me to “let them, in.”

Let them… do nice things for you.

Let them… treat you.

Let them… help you.

Let them… care for you.

Let them… celebrate you.

With a full heart, a home filled with flowers, plants, art, and wine – I’m starting off 39 with a toast to letting them in and receiving all the love and kindness the universe sends my way with grace and gratitude.

XOXO,
Kathy ❤