Coming Undone
“When women are the storytellers, the human story changes.” - Elizabeth Lesser
I feel like I owe you an explanation.
Maybe I don’t.
Maybe I’m overthinking it, assigning more value to these virtual relationships than actually exists.
But I can’t help myself.
I spent two years showing up in this space, sharing from the deepest parts of my experience, inviting you to come with me as we worked to create a world where everybody belongs.
And then….
I just disappeared.
And I feel like I owe you an explanation for that.
The trouble is that I’m not really sure how to explain what happened.
I came into the year with a solid plan.
I recorded a powerful season of the podcast.
I was launching a public speaking career.
And then it all fell apart.
Seemingly overnight, I, along with millions of other people, reckoned with the reality that all the plans - literally all of them - had been rendered irrelevant by a global pandemic that continues to wreak havoc everywhere we look.
At first, I tried to stop the bleeding, so to speak. I thought about ways to muster up some relevance. I pivoted so many times, I spun myself in circles.
And then, one Sunday, I just stopped.
I missed one publication deadline.
Then another.
Then I stopped releasing new episodes of the podcast.
And the next thing I knew, months had gone by, my plans had been abandoned, and I realized I had let the whole thing unravel.
Unravel.
It’s a good word, isn’t it? Capable of conjuring so many images.
For me, it reminds me of my grandma, sitting in her wheelchair, crocheting this enormous black, red, and white blanket with an elaborate design spaced perfectly throughout her masterpiece. What always astounded me most was the fact that she had no pattern to follow. It was like she just knew when to change direction with the needles and yarn, never missing a beat of that perfectly timed click-click, click-click, click-click.
I can still recall the way it sounded as I would sit on the floor next to her, pretending to be absorbed in cartoons, but really just fixated by her creative genius.
So, on and on it would go until she would stop, hold the half-made blanket up in front of her, and study what her hands had just brought to life. From time to time, seemingly without warning, she would see a misstep many rows back, and rather than let her pattern be interrupted by what she determined to be a flaw, she would tug at the yarn, undoing all of her hard work, to go back to the place where she’d gotten off track.
And then, with piles of yarn in her lap, she would begin again.
Sometimes, this process repeated itself many times over.
Sometimes, she’d go to bed frustrated.
Sometimes, she would put the needles down for months at a time.
But in the end, she always finished, pattern intact and proud of the work she’d done to bring something warm and beautiful into the world.
And with the gift of that blanket, my gram also passed on to me a powerful lesson in the gift of coming undone.
I’ve thought about this memory a lot during these months of silence, most especially on the days during which I would forget that this message and this mission were still waiting for me.
On those days, I would wake greeted by the disappointment of having worked so hard for so long, only to realize that the thing I had hoped for had not come to fruition.
On those days, you would have found me inclined to tell you that it was time to close up shop, shut down the site, and let someone else hold space for the stories I’d wanted to live here.
On those days, I was unraveling, with little intention of ever beginning again.
But somehow, today is not one of those days.
Instead, today, something finally feels different.
I’m not really sure how to explain what has happened.
And I’m not really sure the what is what matters.
But I am sure of this:
We can’t be done yet. There is still more work to do. The story isn’t over.
In fact, this story - our story - the human story
It needs a new ending.
And when women write the story, the human story changes.
So, let’s keep writing.
You and me.
Not one woman with one story.
But a collective of women with a story that will heal us, collectively.
Because right now, I feel like I’m looking down at a mountain of yarn lying in my lap, and I’m not certain I have the stamina to start again, but I have absolutely no doubt that WE have what we need to finish this work to bring something warm and beautiful into the world.
So, what do you say?
Let’s strip it down. Start over. And work together to create a world where everybody belongs.
Your body has a story. Let it be told.
It’s okay if you don’t know how. We will figure it out together. Maybe it’s through your favorite photo. Maybe you want to write it down or shout it from the rooftops.
The Beautifull Project is here to hold space for your own extraordinary truth.