Grief, Gratitude and the Power of Holding Opposites

Lessons from a Hurricane and an Oak

In my last post, on September 22, I wrote of oak and birch and dogwood and what their Autumnal glory might teach us about it never being to late to bloom. I’d been watching the trees change color, delighting in cooler temperatures. I thought that post was the lesson the trees had to offer me this year.

But there was a huge old oak behind my house that had much more to teach me: five days after I posted Autumn is the Perfect Time to Bloom, this tree, which has offered years of respite and shelter from sweltering Southern summers, succumbed to Hurricane Helene, toppling onto my house. The destruction let light I did not want into my house and has been beaming clarity into my life in ways I did not know I needed.

Seeing your house wrecked is a gut punch. It doubled me over, literally. Sorting through debris is grief-laden. And yet, in this time, I have felt more deeply grateful than ever in my life: for friends and family who have held me physically, emotionally, financially, or all of the above; for the fact that no-one in my house was hurt (something that was very much not the case for so many nearby families in Western North Carolina); for the capacity to rebuild—physically, emotionally, spiritually.

And so, it has been a month-or-so of holding opposites: grief and gratitude, fear and hope, it’s-all-too-much and I-can-handle-it, aloneness and being held in community.

I am reminded of a practice I shared often when I taught mindfulness to my high-school students—one that cultivates the capacity to be with all of our experiences instead of clinging desperately to the notion of eternal happiness, ease, pleasantness while ignoring or rejecting anything that might disturb that. Or, alternately, becoming so mired in the grief or pain that inevitably comes of hard times or traumas that we deny or lose track of our capacity for joy. Holding opposites is a practice that helps us develop the capacity to be more fully present and vibrantly alive.

This is all still raw, unfolding, and taking a lot of time and heart that I normally dedicate to writing. So today, instead of a poem or longer piece of writing, I offer (above) a version of that practice that I taught my students. I’m also offering my usual monthly classes this Sunday, November 10: Mindfulness for Adult Adoptees and Mindful Writing for Adult Adoptees. Mindfulness is from 2-2:45pm EST; Mindful Writing is from 3-4pm EST.

In Mindfulness, we’ll explore an extended practice similar to the one I’m offering here. And in Mindful Writing, we’ll be writing into dichotomy—those people, events, feelings, and/or ideas that are part of our adoptee journey that seem to be opposites or that hold the sense of being opposed to each other. Although these can create challenges in our lives, they also afford opportunities for us to see in new ways, and they are filled with ways to enliven our writing.

If you’re not an adoptee and you’re interested in working with me in some way, comment below or contact me here.

And here’s where you can find out more about me and my writing.

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