a sabbatical tale
a truer story than “restful sabbatical” & the boundaries it forged
some time ago, I stepped away from my work for a five-month sabbatical. what I expected was rest – and what actually happened was a long season of learning how to say sacred ‘no.’
I’d love to candidly tell you that the sabbatical was so relaxing, so nourishing – that it was a luxurious and long and lovely process that brought me back home to myself. (snort)
I would be lying if I said so.
instead, the sabbatical occurs to me, even as a holy oasis in a busy time on a busy planet, as a soupy, strange, surreal, unusual, uncomfortable, painful, messy, often challenging, and downright confronting experience.
I came out the other side of my short five month sabbatical experience with a ton of new perspective and a truly ferocious new set of boundaries, knowing myself more than I have in my first five decades on the planet. that’s a jewel to be treasured.
but getting there? that was some other kind of journey…
expectations, meet reality
grand visions of fitness, ceremony, and ease! (enter plot twists)
I had high and mighty intentions in the beginning: I would become a devotee at a local exercise studio and lose a ton of weight and become an incredible olympian and pinnacle of fitness!
I would have strong and regular structure, connecting daily with the spirits, and perform many ceremonies out on the land to bring beauty and peace to the world!
I would slow down and rest deeply and be comfortable in the process, setting down what no longer served me and emerge as a beautiful and peaceful new being!
some of these things happened…but none in the way I might have expected.
the nervous system truth
people-pleaser bones, bright mind, and the cost of being “on”
so I’ll be the first to admit that I’m a people pleaser of yore (perhaps you can relate?), exquisitely sensitive even among sensitives, with a nervous system that just won’t quit, durnit.
the idea of letting people down, disrupting people’s reliance on me, or simply not being generous in a time rife with countless pressing global issues that matter deeply…even the idea felt painful.
I’d been a ‘yes’ so many times in so many areas that it would come as a real shock to discover that pretty much the entire five months of rest would involve, in one way or another, me saying ‘sacred no’ over, and over, and over again.
the first sacred no: fitness
enthusiasm, calendar load, humility, and canceling anyway
nearing the end of the first month, I peeked at my calendar and saw that (many) ‘fun’ appointments had snuck into my calendar. oho!
the first big ‘no’ was to a small fitness studio that I enthusiastically (and overzealously) signed up for multiple packages with. I was excited! I would really get in shape! sabbatical would include time for my own health as I moved into midlife!
indeed.
triumphant? it was not.
after each visit to the studio where sculpted people bounced around looking fitter than fit…I discovered that I was profoundly drained by being out in the world, by making and meeting these well-intended appointments. eep!
I had set this up, sought it out, said yes. enthusiastically – well, with full honesty, too much enthusiasm. and yet, every time I would come out of the tentative beginnings of deep rest to ‘sparkle’ and try to be good at this new physical thing…the deepest parts of me got more and more upset.
but what to do?
this was an exercise (a sabbatical first of many) in sitting in the seat of humility and sharing that I needed to cancel what I’d set in place. all of it.
I was embarrassed. I felt sloppy, like I was making a fuss, and making a mess.
even so, it was the first big sacred ‘no.’ it was important.
for me, it was a big deal.
the family no
cutting a rare visit short to protect the animal self
the next big sacred no came with a visit with my mother. she had made a long drive for a visit planned months before the sabbatical idea even existed, and we see each other rarely. we did lovely things like eat meals, look at beautiful trees, and go to fabric stores – it should have been great.
it was exhausting.
my nervous system was a couple weeks into her cry for deep rest, and my whole animal self was howling and shrieking in the visit that I could no longer show up for anyone but myself, and consequences be damned.
to my surprise, I cut our planned three-day visit a day short.
I was so tired, so shredded by decades of too much input of too many varieties that I simply could not. my mom was disappointed, and also kind about it. I’m grateful.
I drove home knowing that although I was disappointing someone I care deeply about, I was also taking care of someone who needs my care most: me.
the workshop that wasn’t
art + “inner voice” meets secondary trauma; leaving midstream
enter big teachings.
I signed up for a local workshop about creating art and allowing our inner muse to speak.
the art studio was lovely, and we were to learn a process of creating art to reveal inner truth. sounds great, and sabbatical-esque, right?
content warning for tender souls: skip the next paragraph. not graphic, but hard.
it felt great for a short amount of time, at which point the person holding the space began – while we painted – talking about violence against women and children, and difficult experiences from their own life.
ah.
it became abundantly clear in the sabbatical (in more ways than this one mini story) that I needed to stop hearing about human atrocity as I’d been doing professionally at least for a time – and here I was, in the precious sabbatical, using precious resources, to…
receive exactly what I most wished to set down.
I did the professional courtesy of excusing myself during a scheduled break, because I’m a spaceholder too and understand the disruptive power of someone walking out – and there was no way on this green earth that I was going to sit and create art about my tender inner voice while hearing stories of trauma in a space where I had hoped for quiet and restoration.
I left before the halfway point – that money was sunk cost.
or, an investment in the sacred art of saying no.
the hardest no: beloveds
texts, hospice, grief – when personal and professional roles blur
the next significant no would, very surprisingly to me, arrive with my beloved friends and family.
I am blessed with extraordinary friends scattered all over the world – I love them deeply.
as it came to pass, almost halfway into the sabbatical, many of my beloveds offered…their suffering to me.
there was a tipping point where – after sending multiple memorial gifts and sympathy cards, writing letters of recommendation, and consoling people through hospice in my own sabbatical – multiple people in the same day texted without even saying hello, and heaped without preamble big heavy shares out of the blue.
and something in me just…broke on that particular day, receiving all of those texts from my sweet ones, heaping their hardship on me in a way I had normalized without knowing or intending.
I’d only understand towards the end of the sabbatical that I had allowed (or unconsciously engineered?) a blending of my personal and professional identity. and so of course my beloveds turned to me for healing. I had allowed that.
but in the soft quiet of the sabbatical, I couldn’t take it, stand it, or roll with it.
so in the hardest no, I sent a note to friends and family, those I love most – and told them I was going to vanish for the last months of the sabbatical. that they wouldn’t hear from me, that I was going deeply into the healers cave.
my beloveds gave me space and grace, and it was the greatest gift I have received in a long time. to each of them, my heartfelt gratitude.
the storm of no
stained glass, toxic airbnb, tickets – sunk costs and sovereignty
the rounds of sacred ‘no’ were legion. here are a handful of them:
a beautiful airbnb for creative writing retreat filled with intense toxic chemicals? time to leave.
much awaited and long-scheduled time with dear beloveds? say no.
eagerly anticipated stained-glass class that turned out not to be a safe fit for my body? say no.
a local community event that would normally be delightful, and then felt draining? time to say sacred no.
over time, I began to glimpse that I was building strength in each of these sacred ‘no’ experiences.
things I had paid for. things I had set up. with people I loved, or had respected. no, no, no.
it was a thunderstorm of ‘sacred no’ – again and again and again.
all I had really wanted for the sabbatical was rest, to open to beautiful life-affirming experiences, and be saying ecstatic ‘yes!’ over and over and over so I could emerge refreshed and more ready to serve in the world as I’d done for decades.
that was not to be the way most of the teachings arrived.
complex strength
what builds when trauma-trained muscles learn to rest
all that said (high holy wow!), there were wondrous experiences in the sabbatical as well.
a highlight: encounters with horses that were truly extraordinary, and life changing. I’m still rocked and marveling at those precious hours spent on the ground with these massive beasts, who knew exactly what I needed to release old anguish and arrive into a place of peace. their power, grace, and wisdom humbles me to the core. I am so grateful.
I’m holding those experiences close for now, but I do wish to share that they were the pinnacle of the sabbatical.
some things get to remain quiet. soft. sacred.
should you ever undertake your own version of deep rest, so it may be for you, too.
the librarian of joy
27 books, tea, cat, blanket – nervous system repair
there is genuinely nothing I love more in this world than curling up in a blanket with a really good book and a cup of tea and my cat on my belly. it is, for me, heavenly.
what I began to discover was: all I really wanted to do in sabbatical was…read books.
it’s a sabbatical, right? so what if she wants to read books? but I had so many shoulds in my head about the time – all self-imposed – that I felt like I should be ‘doing something with my time.’
that dam finally broke loose, at a point in the soupy sabbatical months, and I let myself just fly free, and read and love reading – it’s a deep, feral, wild joy for me. I happily ate 27 books, a book a day…and some of them were wonders of this world.
it was a big teaching, the gentling of the nervous system through the quiet joy of books. I allowed myself to do what I truly, geekily, quietly wished for.
it felt…great. deeply healing. slow. simple. peaceful.
thanks to all authors who spin a skillful yarn, fill the heart, and soothe the soul. it takes such tenacity to follow love of craft like that all the way to publication, especially in our loud times. if you write, and are brave and lucky enough to publish, I honor you. thanks for your beautiful contribution to the world.
what the body knew all along
letting lifetimes of stories and projections pour out
what I see now is that the true and deep wisdom of sabbatical – the thing that I needed so much, that my larger spirit knew without my little personality self having a clue – was I needed space and time to begin to let all of the experiences pour out of me.
all of the thousands of stories of struggle I’d heard over the decades needed to pour out of me.
even from my beloveds, all of the stories of hardship needed to pour out of me.
the 13 major tragedies that unfolded in my life while I ‘kept going’ needed to pour out of me.
the instinctive, habituated ‘yes’ and people pleasing needed to pour out of me.
the constant input and constant ‘on’ and constant doing needed to pour out of me.
everyone’s projections, expectations, care, and attention needed to pour out of me.
none of it was comfortable.
there was so much accumulated energy in me, so much holding, so much tension, that I was unable to even see or sense its presence. and that was the biggest and most sacred ‘no’ of them all…
the no to being a vessel for other people’s energy or experience anymore. the soft beginning and then the loud fury of me regaining sovereignty. energetic boundaries in a new and different way.
and from those thousand sacred ‘no,’ there began to be…the glimmers of the beginning of sacred ‘yes.’ that quiet beginning of yes is a story for another time.
closing the circle
thanks for reading along here. if something in this writing feels helpful – if you feel seen, if a little peace visits your nervous system, if you’ve long said yes and are now learning to say no – I hope something here is of service.
if you wish to receive the blessing, may you feel rested, nourished, in nervous system balance, and at peace in the way that works for you.
ps – if this story met you in a tender place, you’re warmly invited to join the dreaming otter email list at the bottom of this page. from time to time I send new writings out into the world – small lanterns for the path.
