“Give yourself grace, my friend. For yourself, grace.” —Britney Longarzo
Several years ago, just before winter finally gave way to spring, freezing rain fell and encapsulated our world. Foliage became sealed in a transparent icy shell, as though captured in time. Tiny icicles descended and became prisms, bending and reflecting the sun’s touch. The entire yard sparkled, magically transformed into an ethereal wonderland.
While delicate and beautiful, ice is powerful and merciless. Trees bent under the increasing weight, resembling our own huddled bodies as we snuggled under quilts. We gasped at the sound of wood groaning and splitting, and we watched a large branch fall to the frozen ground below. Tiny twigs snapped and tumbled toward the arms of their mother branch, scattering ice across the yard. Raising our gaze to the top of a giant cherry, we studied the space where the large branch let go, looking for other branches that might follow.
“Do you think Giant Jack will topple?” My older daughter looked up at me, deep concern in her eyes while sadness quivered her lower lip. “What can we do?” my youngest asked.
I asked them to consider moments where they felt strong. I felt a quiver under my right arm, a heaviness that grew and bent my older daughter further into my side. As I touched her hair, she raised her eyes to me as tears traced a line down her cheek.
She recalled a moment when she had wanted to be strong, to stand up to a child who teased and excluded her from play. She tried to convince her peer that everyone should be welcome. Her words had fallen to the ground, and the child had sneered and walked away.
“I’m not strong in myself. I don’t think I have enough strength to hold up Giant Jack if I can’t even hold up myself,” her voice cracked, the weight of her emotions bending her head back down.
Before I could respond, a quilt was thrown back. “I’ll protect us all! I’ll stand guard forever!” my youngest stated, beginning to pace back and forth. Seeing a smile spreading on her older sister’s lips, she started to wave her arms wildly, fighting off invisible foes.
My oldest’s body trembled more violently as tears dried and laughter bounced through the room. The girls pretended to push back the freezing rain, protecting Giant Jack with their love and warmth.
My oldest named the tree Giant Jack. In my head, I call it Two Sisters, as the tree was once two that grew together, creating a wide, strong base. When the rain stopped and the sun returned, melting the ice, Two Sisters still stood, raising her remaining branches up to the sky.
Recently, as moonlight shone through the branches of that large cherry tree, I was the one who slipped on an icy patch and fell to the ground. My voice cried out to the night sky as my body twisted and strained. Stretching my limbs, I thought I’d come away unscathed, and I slowly made my way into the house.
The next day, my knee was swollen and tender. Telling myself I was fine, I tried to push through it. The injury grew progressively worse, and I was forced to reach out for medical support. Through this process, my negative self-talk came into sharp focus. I would never push others as hard, or tear them down, as I do to myself.
In this time, when my self-esteem had fragmented and scattered across the ground, a dear friend reminded me to offer myself gentleness and grace. When light shines through ice, it can create rainbows. My friend’s gentle words warmed me and allowed me to see a reflection of myself that was untainted by my self-frustration.
We are all works in progress. Today I’m grateful for the beautiful light and warmth of friendship. I’m grateful for the healing power of laughter and connection, and I’m grateful for a body and spirit that are working hard to stand back up after a fall.
Where can you offer yourself grace today?
Katherine Munter, clinical psychologist, art therapist, and founder of Creative Life Therapy, an Ann Arbor practice of art therapy and integrative wellbeing. Learn more at www.CreativeLifeTherapy.com.
