I'm excited. And scared.

"Ask what makes you come alive, and go do it." - Howard Thurman

Photo by Wolfgang Hasselmann on Unsplash

Last week, two things happened. Both felt exciting. And a bit scary.

On Tuesday, an anthology on sibling loss was published in the US, with an essay in it by me. It’s exciting to have my words published, and an honour to have my essay chosen as the opening one for the anthology. It’s also scary, because it’s a deeply personal piece, about what it was like to lose my sister nine days before giving birth to my son. It’s the first time I’ve written in such intimate detail about the entwined worlds of birth and death, new motherhood and grief that I inhabited during my maternity leave.

I always knew I’d one day write about this experience. Partly because, in a strange way, I didn’t want to forget this otherworldly time: lying in my hospital bed the day after my C-section, my baby resting on my torso, his skin against mine, feeling the shallow rise and fall of his breath, in love with this perfect stranger, yet longing for the familiar embrace of my sister; of cold, bright winter mornings pushing my sleeping newborn through Regent’s Park, sunlight gleaming on the surface of the boating lake, frost clinging to the grass, and my heart so full of grief and wonder.

‘Is writing cathartic?’ I’m often asked. Pouring out words into a journal certainly is. But sculpting my scribbles into something more refined is, for me, less about catharsis and more about the healing power of creating something good (I don’t mean in terms of quality, rather the act of writing or painting or whatever medium we choose to express ourselves in is, I believe, an innately good thing) out of something bad.

It’s tempting, though, to hide my darker stories in a drawer and only share the lighter ones, about the likes of shopping or paying attention. What if the heavier stuff turns people away from me? Why on earth am I sharing such personal information? are questions that sometimes flit through my mind.

Yet I know, as a reader, how powerful reading the words of others who’ve been through similar challenges can be. Their stories have offered me solace and helped me feel less alone. They’ve been a beacon of light in the darkness, giving me the hope that I, too, might find my way through this. Which is why sharing my own, while exposing, feels important.

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Last Sunday, I taught my final class at Triyoga, the yoga studio I’ve been teaching exclusively at since 2011. When I stepped out the beautiful, airy space my class took place in, knowing I’ll probably never return, I was sad to be walking away from what’s been a constant and joyful part of my life. I was also excited, because from early July I’ll be teaching at a wonderful new studio in Primrose Hill called HOME Wellness.

I was delighted to be asked to teach at HOME. It also happens to be located in the same place where I first fell in love with yoga so it, quite literally, feels like coming home. But leaving Triyoga, where I had well-attended classes and the loveliest students, also feels risky: I’ll be starting afresh, and will have to build up my classes again. What if no one comes? is a question that sometimes flits through my mind.

This is the thing with change: it can feel scary, even when we want it. Not least as those doubting, fearful voices within us are so good at rushing in and clamouring about all the reasons we shouldn’t take these uncharted steps. It helps to remember they’re just trying to keep us safe and save us from possible hurt, embarrassment or failure.

This ‘negativity bias’, where our mind focuses more on what can go wrong, is an ancient survival mechanism. Back in the days when we could actually have been eaten by a tiger, it was useful, helping us recognise and know when to escape from a threat. Nowadays it’s way less so, yet still hardwired.

But behind the surface noise of these voices, resides another: one we might describe as the voice of wisdom or deep knowing; one that instinctively understands when something aligns with what truly matters to us. I certainly felt that inner yes, when I was asked to contribute to the anthology and asked to teach at HOME. I don’t know what repercussions either choice will have. But I do know they’re the ones that make me feel alive, inspired and excited. Which is surely the right way to live.

Love,

Annabel x

As always, I’m so grateful for every comment, like and email reply. Thank you for reading.

LINKS

The Loss of a Lifetime: Grieving Siblings Share Stories of Love, Loss, and Hope edited by Lynn Shattuck & Alyson Shelton is available to buy on Amazon

HOME Wellness opens on Monday 30^th June and I’ll be teaching Yoga Open every Sunday at 17.00, from 6 July. The class suitable for all levels, including beginners. You can book here. I’ll also be covering other teachers’ classes, so do check the schedule for updates.