I’ve started this practice this summer to write down 10 small wins from the previous day when I wake up in the morning.
An author who writes about healing Hashimoto’s encourages this practice in his book. I’ve found this habit to be met with much resistance, simply because it’s hard.
Summer is the hardest season on my body and mind–so many days I wake up with big losses on my mind, rather than small wins.
However, on the days, I practice this, I do notice a shift in my perception. Sometimes doing this exercise brings tears to my eyes, which is probably why I try to avoid it. Sometimes I write phrases like, “I got out of bed today” or “I didn’t get tired driving to work” or “I listened to my body and cancelled hanging out with a friend.”
Sometimes the exercise feels too painful and I skip it altogether. You see, it’s hard to admit, but sometimes gratefulness brings up this ache that I am indeed sick, and although I can heal, chronic illness is something I manage every day. When I write things like, “I didn’t have a reaction when I stepped into an old building today” I know that my healing is far off-far off from what I want it to be.
The liberating piece, though, is that I claim reality for what it is. In doing so, I open the door to be compassionate to myself, and in writing my truth, I can be compassionate to others.
The more I am in touch with my body in my illness and in touch with contemplative practice, I live into the obvious-that I am dying. In Western culture, this seems morbid, something we don’t talk about and avoid. And yet, I feel this strongly living with Hashimoto’s. This spring I realized that I desperately needed a spiritual practice that could affirm suffering and also help me detach myself from it, so that my suffering could be the very place where transformation occurs. Enter centering prayer.
So my mornings look like writing down things I’m grateful for, recording 10 small wins, and sitting for 20 minutes in silence, practicing the art of letting go. This practice is shaping me. Although it’s human and messy and ungraceful, it’s a rhythm I’m trying to cultivate. I’m engaging in the practice and art of learning how to die before I can die. For in dying to myself, I will learn how to truly live. I will see myself for who I truly am, see the Divine for who he/she truly is. I will see people as human with similar needs, wants and desires as mine, longing for connection and intimacy.
Last week a small win included quitting my job at Fortune Academy, a job I really did like. A place I hoped that I could step back into the classroom. But I needed to let it go, along with the dreams and hopes I attached on to working there.
The thing about letting go is that is always leads somewhere else–it doesn’t lead to nowhere.
So I’m practicing small wins, sitting in silence, going to yoga, finishing well with my tutoring students this summer, and letting go of dreams, big and small. I am more than my pressing thoughts, emotions, jobs, failures, victories, and the extent of my healing.
I am connected to this expansive, good, and abundant universe and to people who just want to see me thrive. Seeing small wins and learning to let go are daily invitations to a larger and more vibrant perception of myself and the world. I want to live there.