Retreat as Forward Motion

Have you noticed that it's been pretty quiet in my corner of the internet lately? At first it was because of various plagues sweeping through my house (ugh), but then health returned to myself and my family . . . but the silence remained.

I want to grow SHE OF THE WILD to reach more of the women who may need what I'm offering, to help people break out of whatever is holding them back, to empower as many people as possible to live full, wild, and creatively vibrant lives. So I've been pushing myself since the fall to expand as well as go deeper, to provide rich content and courses and words. I've even been learning about business practices, which is so not in my natural zone of talent or interest. I know -- whoa. ;)

Hell, I even hired a business coach, something I never thought I'd do. And yet, a month or so back, I put out a desperate call for help in my Facebook groups, and one particular (amazing, sensitive, intuitive) coach stood out from the rest, and I hired her, and I'm basically in love with her.

And yet . . . I find myself pulling back. Even though I hired this coach's help to propel me forward, to clarify what my next steps are with SHE OF THE WILD, to be a steady hand reached into my confusing and -- let's be honest -- somewhat manic flailings.

I'm reading more. Like, actual books, held in my hands, with covers and pages and paper and the whole deal. I've been going to bed earlier (thank goodness, says my body and my mind), and trying to slow down in my day-to-day life to get down on the floor and really look my kids in the eye. I'm clearing clutter from my home. I even cleaned the bathroom (I know).

When I first started to realize what was happening, I was pretty frustrated. I mean, I hired a coach, for crying out loud. Was I going to waste my time with her when we should be working on my Next Thing?

And then it hit me:

This pulling back? It is the work.

For now, I need to slow down, reassess, and clear the unnecessary. I need to play with my kids more, read more, live more.

I feel like I'm gestating. Like I'm a seed in the dark and cozy earth. I am quietly gathering nourishment and strength and inspiration for the day that my shoots are ready to peek at the sunlight, new and green and exquisitely mortal.

This work-that-is-not-work (but still really sort of is work) will only pay off in my future creative endeavors. As Julia Cameron puts it in The Artist's Way, I am (re)filling my well, restoring my juices, so that soon I can burst forth with poems and art and words once more.

Does this sound familiar, or frustrating? Share with us in the comments. Let's help remind each other that resting and nurturing our beautiful, creative selves is not only good, but necessary.


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