When you’re feeling worried

Do you ever feel like your concerns are repeating on an endless loop? “What if… but then, what if…?” To deal with the noise, you might be controlling everything you can, googling down rabbit holes, or seeking distraction. No matter how you cope, it’s hard to think clearly with a worried mind.

In contemplating worry, I like to remember a morning walk I took in northern California last fall. My mind was full from a recent family crisis, and ruminating thoughts were completely distracting me from the surrounding beauty. Then I noticed a small opening inside a big redwood tree. Curious, I squeezed through and found myself in complete darkness. I felt my way around the space and sat down until the noise in my head began to settle.

“Don’t rush to a solution. Sit here and rest,” counseled the tree.

So I did. 

The troubles plaguing my mind didn’t get resolved, but slowly, their urgency lessened. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I began to see shapes–and options I hadn’t been aware of before. When I reemerged from the tree hollow, I felt like myself again, mind and body back to earth.

Worry likes to say:

“Don’t let your guard down. The other shoe is about to drop. Figure it out now–there’s not enough time.”

Quiet says:

“Oh sweetie, you’ve found your way through chaos before. It’s OK to slow down. Wait until you can see your next step.”

Only we can decide which voice to listen to. 

What if fear was a doorway to trust? Despite its compelling nature, worry is not a protection from bad things happening nor does it help us think clearly or creatively. What helps in long-term crisis and uncertain change is caring, thoughtful humans offering of themselves in the particular ways they are called to contribute. More pressure won’t help; solid ground can.

As our long story continues, may we find refuge through the fear, re-rooting ourselves for inspired action. And in our darkest of hours, may the quiet voice of compassion be a true companion and guide.

Sending love,
Julia Aziz

Sign up for my mailing list to receive a few simple tools for self-compassion and well-being.

On getting triggered: Anger, guilt, blame, and the feelings we don’t want to feel

I’m curious, who showed you how to feel and process anger in a healthy way?

(Just kidding, that’s not a fair question!)

Depending on our background, we may have learned to numb or suppress negative emotions, beat ourselves up, or lash out, but it’s pretty rare for an adult reading this today to have grown up in an environment that modeled well how to work with feelings like anger, guilt, shame, or fear. It’s something we as a species are still learning. We continue to trigger negative emotions in each other all the time though–that’s just being human and living in society with other humans. Part of growing into adulthood is learning how to respect what we feel while also respecting other people’s experience, and while that may sound extremely basic, it’s often extremely missing.

You may have heard the term “shadow work” before, and it may mean something different to you than it does to me. For simplicity’s sake, I’ll define it here as finding a way to work with the thoughts, feelings, and parts of ourselves we’d prefer to banish to the basement of our consciousness. Let’s say you read, hear, or see something that gets your ire up. You begin to look for fault, but rather than inwardly or outwardly blaming (or avoiding), you pause. You say to yourself, “Hey, let’s not focus on who’s wrong right now. I’m more curious about what’s happening inside you?” Maybe you notice a little voice that’s feeling scared or lost, along with some tension in the body. And you don’t try to do anything; you just be kind about it. You offer empathy and compassion to yourself the way you would if a dear friend was sharing something similar. Giving attention to thoughts, feelings, and sensations with care in the heart, you may find yourself breathing more deeply and noticing more nuance. Maybe there is something to say or do now or maybe not. At some point, you’ll know what the next step is for you.

This is just one of many different ways we can work with triggers. Shadow work helps us to be less controlled by our conditioning and inner demons, so we can return to our truest essence. The big triggers need big patience and support. And if we’re often holding space for other people’s triggered feelings, making room for our own is doubly important.

Anger is part of a guidance system–it points us toward boundaries that need setting and power that needs rebalancing. Once we’ve moved through its fire, we can use it as fuel for change. Rather than asking who is to blame or getting stuck ruminating over what other people are doing, we might look at questions such as: How can I accept my whole self, with all my feelings and history, and take courageous action from a place of centered clarity? What is my unique role here to play in the bigger context? As social beings, we have the power to regulate and disregulate each other. In tending to ourselves and showing up again to the complexities of living in society, we make a difference. 

The quieter voices in the room, just like the quieter voices in ourselves, have some important things to say. Listening and learning, we evolve together.

In the school of life with you, in gratitude for our connection,

Julia Aziz

Sign up for my mailing list to receive reflections like this in your inbox.

PS-If you need at-home support with the kind of shadow work we’re talking about, try the simple practice outlined in this little book. It’s an affordable, accessible resource for anyone feeling challenged by negative emotions and looking for a new way.

PPS-Here’s a song by the Middle East Peace Orchestra for more support to feel.

We each have our own role to play in the emergence of a new way. May those who are struggling for their lives, traumatized, and grieving be protected, supported, and loved. May the wisdom and power of our hearts prevail.

When you don’t like to mess up or make mistakes

Do you worry about things you said or did and how other people may perceive you?

Do you battle niggling feelings of not being good enough? 

If you resonate with the term “perfectionist,” “people pleaser,” or “impostor syndrome,” you’re most likely a highly conscientious, caring individual with an acute sensitivity to nuance. You may also struggle with an inner tension that won’t let loose, a guard and self-critic whispering “sour nothings” that something is wrong with you. On the outside, all may look manicured and pretty. On the inside, trying to maintain control and tame creativity can be an exhausting drain of energy. 

One way to break out of the inner prison is the practice of making imperfect. You might say, who needs practice making mistakes; we do that all the time easily enough, right? But I’m talking about practicing welcoming those mistakes, embracing messiness, and loving fallibility. It goes against the grain for those who grew up finding their value in giving people what they wanted. We give lip service to fostering a “growth mindset,” but we’re not taught how to emotionally integrate failure and keep moving forward when everything goes sideways. That’s OK though; sometimes the best learning comes from stumbling through.

I’d like to share a prayer I worked with almost daily for a long time. It originated in something I read and eventually evolved into something more my own. I invite you to edit the words as needed to bring the most genuine relief and freedom to you too: 

You know who is not a perfectionist? Nature. It’s not our nature, nor is it in nature, to have everything line up just so, for all eternity. Find the most beautiful symmetrical flower you can, and there will likely be just one little tear. Some tiny “flaw” that makes it slightly different from its neighbors. Yet wow, isn’t nature filled with such fantastically intricate patterns? Take a closer look at that flower, and you’ll see the awesome beauty of her just being herself.

May you be imperfectly, beautifully whole, and gloriously you,

Julia Aziz

🌝🌜🌚🌛🌝


Sidebar on the word “prayer”

If you’re not used to praying, or if the word “prayer” brings up religious trauma or resistance, know that it doesn’t matter if you are praying 
to something or not. I think of the phrase Baruch Hashem from my own tradition, meaning “Blessed is the Name.” I like it because it captures the non-nameable aspect of divinity–I translate Baruch Hashem as “What an amazing wonder this all is, whatever you want to call whatever it is you’re calling.” How could our limited language capture the essence of interconnection and everything we can’t perceive/don’t understand as a tiny person in a vast universe? So it’s OK, we don’t need intellectual understanding of what we’re doing here. What matters is we keep expressing from the heart. We keep opening to ourselves, to each other, and to all of life as is.


Sign up for my newsletter to stay connected.

When you’re unwell and people still need things

Have you struggled to tend to the needs of patients, children, clients, or elders while you were going through your own big or small health crisis? I share these inquiries with you today in honor of all the caregivers contending with illness or pain, whether there’s cancer, autoimmune disease, recovery from an acute health emergency, long or short covid, or the many other viruses and bacteria we experience living in a body.

Listening in

Our bodies are always talking to us, and those of us with particularly sensitive nervous systems are privy to a whole lot of conversation. Listening to the body, like learning any new language, requires some persistence and patience. One message that’s often loud and clear though is “slow down and rest”. Sometimes the rest we need is much deeper than a temporary pause, and it questions the very pacing and choices of our lives. We might ask, “What is this illness slowing me down from, and what is it asking me to change?” We may not like the answers to these questions, but we can still tell the truth to ourselves and take some time before choosing what to do about it. 

My new favorite word: Divest

Some humans could use a little more empathy, but many kind caregivers are actually learning to divest. Divest from caring quite so much, divest from being so acutely tuned in to other people, divest from the stories we tell ourselves about how we’re not doing enough. And let’s not forget divesting from standards that are too high to maintain when we’re ill. In divesting, we might ask, “What can I not do? What can be postponed? What could someone else do?”

Asking the now 

Have you ever gotten overwhelmed by the multitude of supplements you should be taking, practices and exercises you should be doing, and all the doctors and healers you should make appointments with? That overwhelm matters for your well-being too. Taking a slow breath, we remember that the body asks for what it needs in the now-time. Can responding to that one need be enough, just for this moment? What would it feel like to trust in taking one step at a time?

Compassion is not complete if it doesn’t include you

Being sick can make us cranky, fearful, zoned out, and despairing. It’s ok to be angry; it’s ok to grieve. Sometimes rather than a pep talk, we just need someone to say, “Sweetie, that totally sucks. It’s so hard. I love you.” That someone might need to be you–whether or not you’re near people who care. No one is going to know just what you’re going through like you do, and the voice of your caring heart needs more airtime than any inner critic. 

Illness making you matter

If you’ve been centering your life around other people and giving less to your own body and spirit than you do for everyone else, illness may be asking, “What about you?” We can’t just keep grasping at crumbs and expect that to be sustenance for caregiving. It’s OK to be high maintenance, to need a lot of emotional and physical self-care in order to continue to be of service to others. It’s also OK to dream your own dreams sometimes. You exist here too, and if there’s one person you are most responsible for, it’s you. 

Wishing you gentle loving kindness, tons of patience, outrageously vibrant health, and a whole lot of letting yourself off the hook.

Warmly,
Julia Aziz

Sign up for my newsletter to receive occasional reflections in your inbox.

More encouragement for rest:
Rest is Resistance book by Tricia Hersey
Podcast interview on Time Management for Mortals
Beautiful Chorus song we’ll be resting or moving to in the women’s circles this week

When you’re trying to let go

I’m happy to say I’ve been meeting new friends on my morning walks again. Just last month, I had encounters with a porcupine, owls, armadillos, hawks, foxes, a crested caracara, and coyote. I always try to play it cool, gently slowing down without making too big a deal of it, wanting to greet the animals in a natural way. As you might imagine, they don’t often hang out for more than a few moments, and I find myself feeling wistful each time they leave. Not knowing when or if we might meet again, I’m left with a fleeting joy, better nourished by the connection.

If you’ve been involved in spiritual, self-help, or personal growth circles, you’ve been hearing the phrase “let go” anywhere you look and listen. Lately, I’ve been curious about what I’m calling “letting leave,” a concept best taught by our wise companions and caregivers, the trees, in this new fall season. Letting leave is a less active, more receptive process than letting go, one that honors a timeline beyond human will. The leaves of a tree are not hustling and on the go; rather, when their time comes, they simply fall to the earth. A gust of wind or a big storm may also blow through and accelerate the process of leaving. Life is like this too, isn’t it? Smooth or sudden, ready or not, when change wants to happen, it will. 

In the healing arts, we often begin with what we want to let go of. What’s wrong, what’s the presenting concern, what are you struggling with? A problem focus is helpful in knowing what needs attention, but concentrating too much on the issue can sometimes hinder its release. As I see it, one of the key aspects to actually receiving help and letting support in is being able to let suffering leave. On the surface, we all want that. But when you’ve been struggling with something for a long time, be it physical, emotional, mental or spiritual, the question of “Who am I if I’m not a person with this pain?” feels almost incomprehensible. There’s no easy bypass here; instead, we might keep asking the question. At a deep level of consciousness, we “let leave” the attachment to knowing what we are or how change will occur.
 


The letting leave process doesn’t often happen in one fell swoop; everything has its season, and seasons come and go too. It can become a bit easier to trust the natural cycles when we notice the subtle shifts happening all the time. Have you ever found yourself telling a familiar painful story, and realized it’s not actually true or still happening in this moment? Healing may be the recurrent “in the now” experience of letting the resistance to what’s hard leave. It is also, as the Buddhists know well, the loosening of our clinging to what feels good. I watch those trees rooted down into the soil, and see how they allow more powerful forces to weather and therefore strengthen them. We have this capacity too, when we are grounded and willing to hold lightly what we think we have to do.

The invitation I’m hearing this fall is to soften and find courage in letting what needs to go leave when it’s ready, whether that’s old patterns, beliefs, or something more tangible. There will be grief, and sudden loss especially will need plenty of time and love to integrate. In holding sacred the leaving times, may we also find deep appreciation for all that is here with us now.

Until next time, thank you for reading,

Julia Aziz

Click here to receive musings in your inbox every now and then

I was able to catch a photo of this cutie pie, thought you might appreciate 🙂