Timing.

One of the greatest joys of my work is witnessing folks arrive more fully in themselves. There’s often a kind of startled joy as they begin to imagine life with a new sense of embodied presence.

But that’s not the part I’d like to explore here.

Because while initially there can be a flood of awakening and gratitude, often that awareness is followed by mourning. The bill - as one of my teachers used to say - comes due.

It looks something like this: Where have I been? What took me so long to listen to myself? Couldn’t I have done this sooner? Does everyone do this at this age? Why did I waste so much time?

I hear this from folks who are 25 and 45 and 65. I myself have asked this.

Oof. This piece about why-not-sooner is real, and really painful. But let us consider some of the forces that led us to this moment.

First, you brilliantly constructed a self that made it through. You had so many good reasons for adapting as you did in order to survive.

Second, dominant Western culture does not exactly encourage inward listening. The tiniest survey of insults (slung at women, in particular) gives us a window into just how much opposition there is for making space for yourself: Full of herself (which I’ve written about here). Selfish. Letting herself go.

Tending to the self dismantles all that; it invites more choice, more occupancy, less constriction, more fullness. When we support these explorations we are decidedly off the brochure of that old programming.

But third - and perhaps most important - there is a magic to how healing happens that has its own timing. A magic over which we have little control. And while repair can happen all at once, more often it’s the accumulation of small elements that have lined up to deliver us exactly here, to support just this change.

Which means that if we’re paying attention, there are also a thousand right-timed moments which might offer us a kinder way of meeting ourselves. Moments where we choose, against all odds and training, to be our own ally.

This can be subtle: Although I grew up in cold climates, I was in my mid-thirties before I realized dressing in warm layers was a kindness I could offer myself.

It’s such a small action, isn’t it? But years of support went into slowing down enough to hear the subtle voice insisting I was fine and finding the temerity to answer back: Actually, no. I’m freezing.

Putting on a wool layer isn’t exactly revolutionary, but abiding the body’s truth? Moving from withstanding the cold to tending myself through it? That was radical change.

Healing is never really finished. Sadly, this is not a process where we walk through a turnstile, clap our hands, and declare, “Phew! Thank goodness that’s over. All better now! Healing complete!” We know this if we live with a chronic condition. We know this if we’re tender-hearted. We know this if we’ve plain survived.

But I do sometimes wonder if the secret to healing is very much like the secret to a good joke . . . timing. And honoring our own pacing opens space for us to discover whole new movements.