Stillness and the Truth that Lives There

"The women we are meant to be next is inside the pain of now," Glennon Doyle in an interview.

We often experience pain as an indictment, evidence that we did something wrong. We live in a culture that tells us we can achieve happiness and if we're not, well, what are we doing wrong. But as anyone with a pulse and few years under their belt knows that sometimes life hurts. People disappoint us. We don't get the promotion we've worked so hard for. Our parents become ill. Our children become ill.
We hurt because, well, life.
One of the biggest lies we're sold is that life is supposed to be easy. That a good marriage is effortless, or mostly effortless. We buy that myth, we believe it's true for others even if it isn't for us. Surely we're doing something wrong.
What if we come at our life differently. What if we accept, as Glennon Doyle puts it, that life is "brutiful." That some days/weeks/years are brutal. And that others are beautiful. And that most will fall somewhere in the middle. But that none have anything to do with whether we're doing it "right".
But what if we also come to understand that within the brutal, painful days/weeks/years lies the seed of our new self. Someone who will emerge with a greater understanding of others and herself, who will have a newfound appreciation for her strength, who will have a greater capacity for acceptance and compassion.
She's there. Maybe a seedling, but she's there. And she holds a truth that you can access if you're willing to shut out all the noise and judgement. She can found in the stillness that so many of us have become masters at overriding.
We tell ourselves, who has time for stillness? Kids need to be shuttled, bills need to be paid, meals need to be cooked, laundry washed, bodies exercised. And, on top of everything, we're fighting to breathe because our partner, the one who we though always had our back, betrayed us. "We are afraid of pain," says Doyle. "But what we should be afraid of is all of the things that we use to avoid pain."
The shopping. The drinking. The eating. The self-harm. The horrible thoughts about our worth that we allow into our brain.
Deeper than the pain is the stillness. And when we're broken open, we can reach it.
Be still. I noticed a recent comment by Truth who's coping with her pain by watching the sunrise each day and reminding herself that it's constant and that it's beautiful. She notices the wind in the trees and the feel of the breeze on her arms. Even just reading her comment, I felt calmed.
That's stillness. That's moving out of our heads and into our bodies where the truth lives.
With practice, you'll hear that small still voice inside, the one we've been silencing for years. And that voice is where you'll find the best advice – the advice for you. As Doyle points out, we women love to take polls. We poll our friends on whether we should pain our kitchen blue or whether we should get bangs. And then, when our husband has cheated, we ask strangers on the Internet. "What do you think I should do?" Should I stay? Should I forgive him? Will I regret my choice?
We trust others on the Internet before we trust that deepest part of ourselves. But, as Doyle reminds us, "The only advice worth hearing is what you already know."