It may not feel like it.
It may not look like it.
You may not have quantifiable proof.
But I will ask you to
trust me on this because it may be the only unwavering
truth.
And it didn’t take earning the acronym that follows my name to know this; my work to become a therapist just reinforced what I already knew as a teacher, school counselor, coach, daughter, sister, wife, mother and friend.
There is more than enough love.
More. Than. Enough.
Enough love for the
relationship you will commit to for life or the one from which you will gracefully untether yourself.
Enough love for the father, sister, mother or brother who didn’t try their absolute best and did what they could to survive.
Enough love to walk through the fire of scathing indiscretions, hurts or lies to arrive at a unfathomably
sacred and soulful connection with your partner.
Enough love for carrying and delivering your homemade baby girl and crossing the ocean to adopt your newborn son.
Enough love for your clients, colleagues, friends and long-lost relations -- even for the morning barista who knows your order at the drive-thru.
Enough love to
replenish the reserves at the core of your soul if something or someone -- perhaps your own thoughts and actions -- drains them dry.
Enough love to float you down from a less-than-ideal decision.
Enough love to prime you for a big and terrifying declaration.
Enough love to
recover, rally and rise from anything. Ever.
There is simply no shortage. No drought. And no doubt.
Because energy can’t be created or destroyed.
Just shifted. Shared. Transformed.
Like stories. Like solace. Like sweetness. Like love.
It’s not always easy to grasp. Believe me -- I know.
It’s maddening. It’s tough.
It’s easier to sink into dismissing, shrinking or arguing against it.
I know something different, though. I witness it and hold the space for it time and again.
Make no mistake. Believe it. There’s no such thing as too much love.
I’m not usually a woman of few words, but I really want to let the photos speak for this experience. On Saturday, May 12th, I went with a group of women from my Zumba class at New Leaf Fit in Louisville to participate in a Dirty Girl mud run in Noblesville, Indiana.
Everyone should be allowed to have that much fun on a regular basis. Every woman should allow herself to have that kind of fun regularly. We were all different women in terms of age, fitness levels, the landscape of our families, jobs — you name it — but we hung out together for three hours that day climbing rope walls, bear-crawling through sludge, running (and then walking for awhile) and jumping in the mud bath at the finish line. There was also the added experience of cleaning up at the end of the race. The “shower area” was actually one very patient woman who held a low-pressure fire hose as we ran in and out of the cold water to de-mud ourselves and then change clothes in a common area.
The day was fun, messy and hilarious and we got a few scraped knees. Good little metaphor for a day-in-the-life. We got to grab some Arby’s and curl up in beach towels we found in the trunk so we could talk and rest a bit on our way home. I am having visions of taking groups of women I coach on trips to play in the mud, snort-laugh and bond. Might happen.
