The evenings have closed in. The heavy curtains are drawn, the lamps are on by late afternoon, and something in me has shifted too – I’m feeling the need to tend myself more.
I don’t mean fix myself or improve. I mean tend. An hour with nothing to do except what takes my fancy. Clean sheets. An early night with a good book, without it being a reward. The small kindnesses I’d suggest to anyone who came to a session, and now remind myself of too.
For years I’d have called that spoiling myself, and even felt a little guilty saying it. I’m very sure now that it’s not spoiling. It’s necessary care, at the pace this season asks for.
Reading what our writers have sent in these past weeks, I kept finding the same thread.
Catriona Byrne caught herself trying to do her career break perfectly, until she settled for good enough. In her house, things take turns being clean: “either me, the kids or the house”.
I prefer the word tending, because self-love sounds grander than it is. But that’s still at the heart of it. Many years ago, a hypnotherapist asked me if I would talk to my young nephew the way I spoke to myself. Of course I wouldn’t, and I’ve never forgotten the feeling of it. For years I told myself I was rubbish at self-love (can you see where her question came from?). Until recently, that is. The joy of having a business partner is that they call you out, kindly AND without mercy. Mine reminded me just how well I now tend to my needs. Just how often I take a minute. Just how often I stop to smell the roses.
Ruth Buckingham asks a question I recognise: does she need reminding to take part in her own life? Choosing to breathe consciously, she writes, feels like partnering with the breath rather than letting it happen without her.
Tending means giving yourself the same courtesy you would give to those you love. For me, it began with the breath. First, noticing what is happening in the moment. Then a slow breath out, and as I breathe out, letting a small smile arrive from within. Not for anyone else, just for me. Then another moment of noticing on the next breath in. Mine comes softer, and a little lower, nearly every time. Maybe try it and see what yours does.
Niall McHugo hears “I tried breathwork, it wasn’t for me” and answers that there isn’t one breathwork. It changes with the person. And there isn’t one way to tend yourself either. The gentle work is finding out what works for you.
Of course, I allow silence and stillness too. Time for the body to catch up and process the day. In a world where every quiet moment gets filled with a notification, music or the TV, the body is grateful for the space. It does so much for us without ever being asked.
Dorothy Nelson grew up being told little girls should be seen and not heard, and breathwork gave her a pause to find her words in. She asks how much silence we give ourselves.
November’s new moon in Scorpio is upon us, and with Venus and Mercury both retrograde, perhaps that’s also part of this deep desire to look beneath the surface. And to tend.
Jane Beverley’s second poem comes from early in her training, at a time of great change. It’s about letting go and trusting the breath with what comes next. Two very Scorpionic themes: trust and change.
So how do you fit tending into your life? Earlier this year, Marie Doherty wrote about othrus, the old Brehon law practice where others took over an injured person’s duties while they recovered. As she puts it, “rest isn’t something a person can grant themselves while still holding everything else.”
At The Exhale Awakening, the Acorn Tending space in our membership has become a little of that for me. Somewhere nourishing myself is encouraged. Held by the group as well as holding it. Reciprocity, with tending at its core. If you have somewhere like that, protect it this winter. And if you don’t, it’s worth finding one.
One of the most touching pieces this month is from Wendy MacManaway, who lay beside William, her dog of nearly ten years, through his last days, held by the breathwork community online. There was no stress in his breathing, so she followed his lead. “Be like Wullie,” she says.
So this month, perhaps take one of these pieces somewhere warm and cosy, and read it slowly with a cuppa. Then breathe out, let the smile come, and see what your next breath already offers.
And if you’ve been tending something you’d like to write about, we’d love to read it. Write with us.
Take care.
Sharyn
