The Beauty of Being

Present.

It’s my mantra this year. But it’s so much more than just showing up to be counted in attendance. I am cultivating mindful presence in my life rather than just living on autopilot.

I did years on autopilot, and while coasting along seems easy, I lost more of myself every day. I faded in every way that mattered. My aching heart ached in total isolation, and my inner world was where I retreated to find any life or vibrancy.

In the birth of my daughter, a need was born in me. I couldn’t keep coasting along. She would need a mother who was fierce and full of fire, a mother who could teach her how to be herself in a world that would shout at her to be anything else. And how could I be that mother if I couldn’t even be that woman?

I needed to be present in the life I was living, but I couldn’t stand to give my presence to a life that made me so desperately unhappy.

The passion her birth and my subsequent transformation ignited inside me burned through the life I was living. From the ashes of one life, I created another. Birth and fire were inextricably intertwined as I set fire to bridges behind me and blazed a new way forward.

It sounds lovely when I put it that way, but metaphors aside, it was one of the craziest, bravest, scariest, and most powerful things I’ve ever done. I left a marriage with two babies, no stable income, and no idea how I would make any of it work. I wasn’t sure what kind of work I wanted to do, or if what I wanted even mattered. I just knew that I had to start over.

I was starting to learn the indescribable beauty of being.

When we’re in survival mode, we don’t really have the luxury of appreciating our existence. We’re too busy working hard at our denial or using maladaptive coping strategies to deal with the anxiety of the lives we’re living. Few of us, in this situation, are capable of being entirely ourselves or practicing any type of mindful presence. We don’t even want to be present for what’s going on. We’re just getting by and hoping we make it through another day.

By stepping into my authenticity, I began to see the beauty in being the raw, messy, chaotic, creative person that I am. I showed up for my life, and that simple act of presence began to transform everything. It was like someone cleaned a dirty window to let in the light.

It started by being honest about my life. It took admitting that my marriage had failed and nothing I could have done would have ever saved it. It took total honesty about my struggle — with finances, with loneliness, with dating after a toxic relationship, and even with single parenting. I had to own my shit — not just by acknowledging my struggles but by admitting that I had played a role in them with the choices I made.

If I was going to change my life, I was going to have to heal from the trauma without anyone else saying sorry or making past wrongs right, and I was going to have to make better choices.

So, instead of sitting around playing the victim card, I began to learn from my experiences. I had to change my relationship with money, overhaul my relationship with myself, and cultivate the ability to be alone without being lonely. I had to toss out everything I thought I knew about relationships to build a healthy concept of one. I had to learn to ask for help when I needed it rather than trying to do what I’d always done by going it alone.

If none of that sounds beautiful, maybe it doesn’t seem that way. It certainly didn’t feel beautiful at times. But every time I made a better choice or stepped into honesty about what I was going through, the Universe rewarded me. The life I wanted became the one I was living, and I found myself drawn to others just like me — people who had made brave choices to build better lives, people who had chosen to save themselves.

My better choices brought me to the kind of relationship I’d never had before, one that provided a safe place for me to be exactly who I am. I’d never had that before. I began to practice everything I’d learned about relationships in the time I’d been focusing on the one with myself. I’ve been practicing effective communication, conflict resolution, and being open and vulnerable.

I discovered that I could practice these new skills within this relationship because it was a safe place. I wouldn’t be shamed for screwing up. I could even learn how to apologize better and make amends when I did. I could keep trying, and instead of hiding the days when I felt like a total fuck-up, I could admit what was going on and know that I would be met with compassion instead of judgment.

The vulnerability part is probably the hardest for me. My past trauma has created a protective inner world. I didn’t have walls; I had an impenetrable fortress. I kept things carefully compartmentalized, and even in my most intimate relationships, I could never relax fully enough to show my true self. I kept most of the mess of me tidied up and tucked carefully into a corner, away from judging eyes.

I knew this relationship would be different when “I love you” came out of my mouth first. It never had before. It was the first crack in a wall I had built to survive. At least, I thought it helped me to survive. It felt like it protected me. But I didn’t want walls or compartments in this relationship. I just wanted to be real. To show that realness. To stand in the mess that is me, even though I knew there was always a risk I would be judged for it. I was tired of trying so hard to protect myself that I forgot to be myself.

It’s hard to be present when we keep those compartments and walls in place. There’s always a part of us busy protecting and hiding and shoring up our defenses. There’s always a part of us engaging in hypervigilance and watching everyone around us to see if they detect our flaws. If we can’t relax into ourselves, mindful presence eludes us.

I had learned to be comfortable in my own skin and to practice authenticity on my own. Now, I had to figure out how to do all that, maintain my separate identity, and exist within a healthy relationship at the same time. I’d created the kind of life and chosen the kind of relationship where I could be exactly who I was, assuming I had the courage to do it.

If I’m a mess, I’m a beautiful one. I’d hazard a guess and say you are, too. Aren’t we all?

We’re beautiful, aching humans filled with the capacity for love and courage. There is little more lovely than watching others step into who they were meant to be, to live from a place of pure authenticity and to cultivate the kind of life they actually love rather than the one they think they should be living. It’s indescribably beautiful and inspiring to see them step into their power and to take the wreckage of their lives and create something wonderful with it.

The world doesn’t need another human being doing anything but simply being. It doesn’t need any more artifice, and it certainly doesn’t need another person doing exactly what everyone is doing in an effort to fit in or keep up or prove their worthiness.

We are worthy already.

What the world needs is our open, aching, messy hearts.

It needs us to show up just as we are and to use the gifts we have to make the world better — to be a beautiful mess even when we’re ugly crying and wondering if we can get through this heartache or that disappointment.

We need to own who we are and say how we feel and stop spending so much time protecting ourselves that we forget the beauty of connecting at a deeper level with the other human beings with whom we share this planet.

We need to own our shit, step into our power, and live the best lives we’re capable of living by being our most authentic selves — messiness and all.

As I focus on presence, I come back to my essential worthiness. It’s there, even when I’m deep in guilt for a perceived parenting failure. It’s there, even when I inadvertently hurt my partner’s feelings or let him down. It’s there when I feel like hot garbage, struggling to even get through the day, and it’s there when I’m triggered by trauma or mired in grief.

I remember my worthiness, and I show up. I’m present. I practice mindful presence in the moment, and I can’t do that if I’m pretending to be anyone or anything I’m not. I close my eyes and thank the Universe for the indescribable beauty of simply being. I feel everything, and because I’m practicing authenticity, I don’t pretend that I don’t. I simply accept it. I cultivate an appreciation for it.

It really is beautiful, you know — living the lives we were always meant to live. I hope you know this, not because you can imagine it but because you’ve found your courage, too. And if you haven’t?

I hope one day, when you can, that you do.