I Guess I Haven't Learned That Yet: Discovering New Ways of Living When the Old Ways Stop Working

by Shauna Niequist

We find the courage to change when we feel loved. It unlocks our ability to move forward and grow.

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Self-compassion is learning to say, I guess I haven’t learned that yet. Earlier

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“I’ve been seeing worried parents for decades now. Parents worry, and kids are mostly fine. Just do this one thing: Be enchanted by whatever’s currently enchanting your child.” So

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remember my therapist reminding me that grief is somatic, that it locates itself in our bodies and, therefore, needs to be worked out of our arms and legs and chests with movement. For me, that meant walking.

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need a disproportionate amount of care right now, and the one who is responsible for that care is me. I can’t assume that someone else will do it; it’s my responsibility to create a rhythm for my life that nurtures me, that brings me joy, that allows me to flourish, even given the weight of things I’m carrying. I’m

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After so much grief, so much wrestling, so much pleading—I don’t want this to be my life!—I felt that click of acceptance. Something inside me said, clear as an audible word, I can live inside this life. I can make myself a home in this story. People make it through all kinds of things, and I can make it through this. I can, and I am.

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sat with an old friend in the courtyard. She was in the city for a few days, and we had a little picnic surrounded by the redbrick buildings. She told me about the split second when she realized with absolute clarity that the institutions she had trusted all her life had failed her. She used the word unanchored—nearly everyone does in this process. I nodded, listening. “I know,” I said. I know. Let me tell you what happens. You realize that the institutions and structures and systems you’ve been trusting all your life aren’t actually going to save you or keep you safe—that they never were going to, that they never could. And you start to fall, and it’s terrifying. It’s awful and dark and you don’t know where the bottom is or who’s going to catch you and then one day you realize you are there, on the bottom. And under it all—under all the institutions and plans and systems, under all your fear and longing and tears, under absolutely everything—is love. Picture yourself on the ocean floor after all that falling, having left behind your successes and triumphs, your ego and shiny self, your deal-making and false assurances. At the bottom of it all, there is love. “What you do,” I told my friend as we sat in the grass, “is you stay there on the bottom of the ocean for a while. And little by little, you begin to build a little shelter for yourself, built on a foundation of love. You build with a prayer and then maybe a poem. You build a window and a door and a roof out of love a...

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