A gentle shift
On the focus of Divine Rewilding
I had been thinking the last few days that I might skip today's newsletter again. I've been feeling tired and overwhelmed and anxious, consistently wanting to retreat inward and away from everyone - signs which, I've come to recognize, mean I'm slipping back into burnout. And while this newsletter isn't the only (or even the main) source of stress for me, it is one that I have a bit more control over.
I named this section of the newsletter “Divine Rewilding" because it's largely in response to my very conservative evangelical upbringing, and it's about my spiritual deconstruction/ unlearning, and growth.
As you may recall, I initially began writing it mostly out of anger and a need to process some feelings, after watching the Shiny Happy People docuseries. And while I found that helpful at the time, I realized pretty quickly that it's not sustainable to focus so wholly on my own negative feelings and experiences and to make them the primary focus of this newsletter.
Part of my healing has been about learning how to not stay stuck in that place of outrage and those feelings of anger and helplessness. Going forward, I want that to be reflected in what I write about - and the way I write it - here; if I'm very honest with myself, it is the only way I'll be able to continue writing this section of the newsletter at all. And I think it's likely that I am not the only one who will benefit from this shift.
I've been listening to Living Resistance: An Indigenous Vision for Seeking Wholeness Every Day by
for about a week now. I borrowed the audiobook (which is narrated by Kaitlin herself, and is a lovely experience - highly recommend) from the library, and almost immediately ordered a hard copy so that I can read it again as soon as I'm finished listening, and begin to take notes/mark places to return to.
I've been treating the listening experience as a sort of meditation before bed each night. The way Kaitlin writes and speaks about - well, basically everything - feels like an invitation to breathe, to be human, to be whole, to be connected to each other and to the earth. She doesn't shy away from talking about difficult realities and telling hard truths, yet she does so in a way that always leaves me feeling more connected, hopeful, and empowered.
I've been reflecting on the way my body feels when I am writing and sharing here, the way it has changed over such a short time, the kind of anticipation I get when thinking about starting my next draft, and what to write about, and the way I want to feel.
I'm finding that I am needing for this space to be more dynamic, needing to give myself permission to lean further into the liminality of my pain and my healing, to balance my justice sensitivity with hope, to hold all my difficult feelings together with my joy and with possibility.
And, based on my own experiences as a reader, I think that this will probably be good for you as well. I write here in large part for myself, but also for anyone who may be needing solidarity. I've mentioned before about my longing for community, and I want this space to be an invitation for you to feel connected and safe, too.
I appreciate each of you who has been here with me from the beginning and held my words, experiences, and heart with such care. I look forward to continuing to learn, share, and grow with you, and to allowing this space to grow with me as well.
As always, I'd love to hear your thoughts, and you are welcome to share if this resonated with you.
As a reminder, I'll be turning on paid subscriptions at the beginning of August. My writing will remain accessible to free subscribers, but if you value my work, I hope you'll consider supporting it with a paid subscription.
We read that kaitlin book last month in the kardia lumina book club. I got a strong push from it to not be overwhelmed and bummed out by the size of the entire brick wall, and not try (and fail) to resolve the enormity of it completely in one big glorious impossible whack, but instead to consistently tap tap tap away little chunks of it at a time with your own personal little chinky hammers of resistance.
I like what you said as response to Deborah, savoring the small joys. It seems to me to be one of the finer ways to deal with burnout. It can seem insignificant in perspective, yet so incredibly potent.