Mental and Emotional

“I am not what happened to me, I am what I choose to become.” – Carl Jung In a world that constantly asks us to push through, fix or improve, what would it mean to simply hold space for ourselves — to meet our emotions with gentleness rather than judgment, to sit with discomfort instead of rushing to resolve? There’s an old Japanese tradition called kintsugi. When a ceramic bowl breaks, artisans mend it with gold, honoring the cracks rather than hiding them. We are no different. Our scars and imperfections do not make us less — they make us whole. Yet we resist. We criticize. We hold ourselves to unrealistic standards, forgetting that self-love and acceptance begin within. As humans living in a complex world, we’re all carrying something. Personal struggles, uncertainty, the weight of the world pressing on our chests. Some days, it’s a quiet ache. Other days, it hits like a punch to the gut. But maybe the answer isn’t in resisting or hoping the unease will pass quickly. Maybe it’s in allowing — allowing the grief, the frustration, the exhaustion to be visible. Maybe adopting a more transparent, honest mindset will open the door to being more authentic with ourselves and with others — around our messiness, our trials and our tribulations. My greatest growth has come from those moments when I loosen my grip on what should be and soften into what is. I’m thinking of challenging times in my life: when I was diagnosed with Lupus, when I lost a friend to a rare neurological disorder, when I had to navigate a difficult separation and when my son developed Guillain-Barré syndrome after a bout of COVID-19. Nothing — other than acceptance (meeting the moment as it is, without resistance) to the present moment — was supportive in navigating those chilly waters.  In fact, the opposite was true. It was when I stopped resisting the truth of the moment — whether it was anger, confusion, pain or utter exhaustion — that I could create room for loss to move through me and for the possibility of finding a path forward. Mending the cracks became not about giving up, but about standing up — recognizing reality for what it is rather than what I wish it to be. In that gentle acknowledgment, I finally began to navigate what was actually before me — being understanding and compassionate for my inner and outer world. Acceptance doesn’t mean we have to see the light at the end of the tunnel or find solutions right away. Rather, it is giving ourselves permission to exist as we are, in this moment, with honesty. And, in that open awareness — even in the shifting sands — we realize there is still ground beneath us — unstable and disorienting at times but always holding us as we find our footing once again. I like to think that we are both the garden and the gardener of our own story. Some days, we bloom — our efforts and growth are visible. Other days, it feels like we’re just tending to the soil, buried in the dirt, waiting. But growth isn’t always immediate or obvious. Just like a plant strengthens its roots underground before it breaks through the surface, we, too, are often growing in ways we can’t yet see. Both are essential — because without strong roots, even the most tended flowers won’t last. If we can ask questions and approach our experiences mindfully, we tend to ourselves the way we tend a garden — noticing what’s happening, nurturing what blooms and pruning what no longer serves. In other words, we practice not by controlling outcomes, but by creating conditions for growth through presence, non-judgment, attention and understanding.  Even in difficulty, we can meet ourselves where we are, allowing space for what needs to emerge, remembering that as Jack Kornfield, one of my teachers, wisely reminds us, every experience — both beautiful and challenging — holds the universal truth that ‘whatever it is will always be changing! If we can ask questions and bring mindfulness to the experience, then we tend to what is happening the way we tend a garden — observing what is present, supporting what is thriving and gently releasing what no longer serves. In other words, we practice mindfulness, not by trying to control every outcome, but by embodying the conditions for growth —self-understanding, non-judgment, curiosity and compassion. These fundamental mindfulness qualities enable us to connect with our actual thoughts, emotions and sensations as they arise, allowing us to fully meet ourselves where we are. A whispered reminder: It is just so. This moment, this feeling, this experience — it is here. And so are you. And being here — fully here — asks something of us. It asks that we not just endure but take responsibility for how we show up. It challenges us beyond observation toward envisioning, creating, collaborating or, when necessary, letting go. It calls us to acknowledge both our limitations and our agency. Because in doing so, we recognize that holding ourselves accountable is one of the greatest acts of love we can offer — not just to ourselves, but to those around us. The way we meet ourselves in struggle shapes the way we meet the world. What if the real work isn’t in fixing, but in learning to stand alongside yourself — present, unguarded and real — allowing emotions like grief, frustration or uncertainty to exist without immediately trying to fix, rationalize or push them away?  And maybe that’s enough.