A few months ago, I had just spent a good hour whimpering to Nate about the things I’ve had to let go of.
“I’m trying to be really patient.” I said, choked up, trying not to cry.
It felt like I’m in a holding pattern, circling the airport, waiting to land a plane. Or sitting at the gate, waiting to finally take off.
“What if it's not for me?” I asked. “I literally don’t know what to do!”
I had opened up an email before this pity party; the one where I found out that I didn’t get into grad school. I sobbed and sobbed.
“You’ll figure it out. You always do.” He reassured me as he enveloped me in his arms. His grounding energy soothed my anxious mind and body.
Have you ever walked by a tall tree and placed your hands on its trunk? The energy is grounding and peaceful. You can feel its roots securely sinking into the earth. I often say that Nate is my steady oak. When my head swirls with anxious thoughts, his calm energy grounds me back into reality.
I excitedly researched and applied for grad school this time last year. After grieving infertility and motherhood, I asked myself: “What do I want to do for the next 20 years if I’m not raising a family?”
Becoming a therapist felt like a natural progression to my coaching career. Everyone I talked to said it made sense. I worked hard on the application and edited my essay (which I’ll share in a later post) over and over making sure it was just right.
I was picked in the first round to interview at a school I most wanted to attend.
On the day of the interview, I walked in and noticed how much older I was compared to most of the hopeful students. I knew that going back to school in my 40s would mean I’d be 20 years older than some students. But I was surprised by how many 20 somethings were waiting alongside me.
The interview was panel style. I sat in a room alongside 5 other women as we went through 3 rounds of interviews by various faculty members. Everyone had wonderful reasons to continue their education. With the shortage of mental health professionals, I thought about how lucky the world would be if we were all picked.
Leaving the campus that day, I felt confident in my responses and reason for going back to school. I fell in love with the campus and was excited to learn from the faculty I met.
And then, it didn’t happen. The rejection email hit hard.
I’m no stranger to rejection emails. At the same time, I was trying to find an agent for my memoir (Read the first chapter here) and the rejections for that project were coming in as well.
“What if it's not for me?” I asked once more, feeling my frustration mounting.
The victim inside me reminded me that I tried everything and kept getting rejected. She felt defeated and upset.
The victor inside of me reminded me that I was being redirected and that everything was going to work out. She felt calm and relieved from the answer because the waiting was over.
At the same time I was receiving these rejections, I started working on another book. I’ve been writing about grief and hope for the past two years and wanted to find a way to bring it to life in a book form.
Perhaps going back to school would have taken up too much of my time. Perhaps the things I have found since then are other ways I can help people. I’ll never know the answer, but I can move forward.
Being rejected propelled me to pitch an idea to my publisher and it was accepted. I turned the manuscript in last week. I see how the things that aren’t for me had to be surrendered in order for the right things to come through.
This upcoming book is very special to me and contains so many sentences that I have crafted during the past 3 years. Coming back to these words from a place of healing and hope has shown me the resilience of my spirit. It has also shown me that grief is now a companion that shows up unexpectedly because it never goes away.
Grief taught me to ask “What if it's not for me?” and accept the answer. Grief taught me that holding on keeps clarity and hope at bay.
I’ve learned that surrender and asking deeper questions are where answers and hope arrive.