Show up. Breathe. You're all right.

Show up. Breathe. It’s all right.

My mean mind has been trying hard to score points on the soccer field of my sanity, so thank goodness for my goalie: my conscience, my breath, my calm.

My mean mind can be a jerk—it wants me to feel bad because I haven’t blogged lately, because I’ve been resistant to writing in general, because I’m neither prolific nor renowned.

“Seriously?” my insecure ego prods me, “you’re a writer who isn’t writing? What a joke. A fraud. Who do you think you are?”

This stuff hurts to hear.

And just before the rest of me sinks into self-doubting despair—right as that cruel soccer ball of shame comes flying toward my net of self-esteem—my spiritual goalie intervenes.

“Not so fast!” it says, lightly leaping into the path of projected negativity. The radiance of my true self is bright enough to deflect, to defend against harmful illusion.

“You know who you are,” my conscience tells me. “You are safe. You are loved. You are infinitely supported.

“You are okay.”

I’m so grateful for my goalie, but I still get tired of the game. It’s not always easy to have faith, to trust that I’m in transition, that my words will return, that all will be well—that it already is.

Nope, not always easy. But still true.

And so my mantra during these wobbly weeks has been simple: Show up and breathe.

Show up = don’t hide. Breathe = be.

Be visible. Allow myself to be seen. Take necessary action, and nothing more.

If I show up with my breath, I’m doing my best. My goalie will take care of the rest.