When I was about 8 months pregnant, I had a scary realization: I realized that I would be fundamentally alone in the process of giving birth to my daughter.
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Last Spring I took a vacation with my family in the desert of southern California. By mid-March, most of us living in the Pacific Northwest are at our wits' end with the grey, the cold, and the relentless rain. Migrating to where it's hot and sunny for a week felt a little like a pilgrimage: we took a journey into the desert, seeking rest and renewal.
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I had a baby on March 22nd. Since then, life has been blissfully blurry - visits from loved ones, learning how to be a parent to a little person, and a depth of feeling that I can’t really talk about because it’s beyond words.
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This morning before I sat down to write, I was feeling stressed out because I got off to a late start and don't have as much time to write as I normally do. "What will I write about in such little time?!," I wondered. "I have to get this done ASAP so I can make those website updates today!," I thought.
Then, a sweet little ping of inspiration hit me: I can have fun with this.
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When I was a senior in college, my world came crashing down. Over the course of one panic-attack filled weekend, I had what those in the Christian community call "a crisis of faith." For seven years after that weekend, I rejected anything that felt remotely spiritual. I couldn't walk into a church without feeling a knot in my stomach, I felt angry anytime someone used the word "God," and I thought Richard Dawkins was the shit.
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I hear from a lot of people who feel tired, stifled, belittled, overwhelmed, and patronized at work. They feel disrespected in meetings, put down by their "teammates," or are just exhausted to their core. So many of us put up with jobs and organizations that diminish who we fundamentally are. We feel bad, heavy, or mixed up at work but tell ourselves that it's just because we're not tough enough to "hang." We become convinced that since we feel badly, something must be wrong with us.
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