Walk Alone

You are invited to listen to Syreeta as she reads her piece…

As with many of us the past year, the pandemic has taken its toll on not just my day to day, emotionally and physically, but it impacted my direction too. Sitting with it has been the main way of processing. Months of doubting, pondering, uncertainty. I sat with it for months, still unable to move, almost stagnant. Until I realised that working for myself, as the sole carer and provider in our house, means there is no saviour, no buffer, no safety net when opportunities aren’t there anymore. I recognised if I sat with it any longer, I may well become stuck in “the Waiting Place” a Dr Seuss term Nikki Walsh spoke of last week.

So I pivoted. Forgive me for using that word. I am starting to loathe it but for want of a better phrase, as I did back in school, with a GA netball bib on, I pivoted. And deliberated long and hard, spinning around, tentatively with one foot firmly planted in reality, before leaping, taking a shot. A long shot. To try something new.

But oh my, I felt naked. Doing something new invites great vulnerability. It was as if I had stood naked with my heart on a platter, I had no idea how this would go. Brené Brown was right, “Vulnerability is not winning or losing; it’s having the courage to show up and be seen when we have no control over the outcome.”

I was boldly and courageously trying. With any new project there comes a fierce dollop of inner critic banter. I do my utmost on the louder days to stay focussed, to keep focusing on the end, how it will make people feel. I have started a podcast, that shares stories of hope. Conversations on life, love and everything between, to prove there is a way through, no matter what’s happened to you. I feel that it’s something folk need to hear right now. And more so because I have been through what feels like a thousand lifetimes to shape me and be able to drive this through. Plus my voice seems to soothe people, so why not simply try.

Try.

I started tentatively, launching under a new name, not attaching my face to it and just letting it ripple and see where it takes me. Knowing deep down it will all be ok. Feeling vulnerable, yet thrilled to have birthed this project, I caught up with my sister. The inner critic became manifested in my nearest and dearest echoing the sentiments to my face. Loudly. I was sideswiped. The doubts were being amplified. Not just that, it was raw criticism. I had not seen this vitriolic outpouring cloaked as feedback coming.

It knocked me down, deep down where, having had the inner voice of doubt validated, regardless of my wisdom and middle age, knowing damn well better to rise above, dear reader, I fell. To my knees.

Like being kicked when down, I succumbed to emotions that rose hot and heavy. I sobbed. I felt shame; perhaps this familial voice was right, perhaps I do need to stop and shift my narrative. Perhaps I am becoming known for trauma and sadness when I am a multidimensional being. I also think I cried for the last year. For everyone. For everything. I sobbed until I was empty and void of any emotion. I released a year's worth of hurt and holding. Crying, a pure cathartic process. They say the best cure is salt water; tears, sweat or the sea. And I wholeheartedly agree.

The tears and release gave me clarity. We are all in a state of trauma right now. The world is hurting and we all are in our way too. Each with our mountains to climb. The feedback was given with best of intentions, yet not from a place of knowing. We are very different people. My gifts of experience, navigating this space and could support others. I know this to be true. That my ideas are worthy, yet I won’t be for everyone.

The art of knowing is knowing what to ignore.

Rumi, the Persian poet from the 13th Century, has become my one constant this year. Yes, a man from the ancient world, an Islamic scholar and Sufi mystic has become my soul's saviour. His words transcend gender, time and space. And he put it so precisely. “It’s your road, and yours alone, others may walk it with you, but no one can walk it for you.”

The road is mine alone right now. Blimey, it’s hard. Ignoring the feedback, I have held on to what I know, what the voice with no sound whispers to me. You’re doing ok, take a step. Ignore the noise. Simply try. The road of newness and change is for me. When others are passing by, everything is passing by, remain focussed on the knowing. Remain focussed on trying. Courageously trying. That’s all we can do. Heads high, forging forward with our truth. What feels right to us, what we know.

Try.

And others may come when they are ready. And if they don’t, at least we’ve tried.