Today marks day one of my *first ever* writing retreat. That’s three days alone, by myself, with NO ONE, in the off-grid jungle development Hunter manages. Did I mention that I am alone, by myself, with NO ONE!!!? I can’t even begin to tell you how good this feels. Can’t. Even.
Before you begin that all-popular thought process of, “Oh yeah, lucky her. SHE gets jungle retreat but not poor little ol’ me,” allow me to clarify something:
I am super introverted. I LOVE to be alone. In my 19 years of motherhood (starting at age 17), I have never, ever, not once allowed myself the “luxury” of time away alone, by myself, with NO ONE.
Well, why does any of us deprive ourselves of the things we love? Because we can’t afford them? (This place and others have been available to me for free since we moved here.) Our babies need us? (That USED to be true for me.) We feel undeserving of them? We feel guilty when we go away? We think we owe it to those we love to slave away day after noise-filled day?
Amazing, isn’t it? All the goodness we easily afford others but not ourselves?
Seems like the perfect time for:
Q: What would you give yourself more of if you felt totally worthy and deserving of it? What gifts do you hold back from yourself and why?
This morning, while waking up ALONE…
Making breakfast ALONE…
And breathing in the soul-stirring stillness, ALONE…
…it occurred to me:
I would never in a million years question my super-extroverted husband’s need for people, parties and social interaction. My need for solitude is no less legitimate or important.
Self-love has so many layers, doesn’t it? REALLY glad to have peeled away this one.
Back to the book! (which I think you’re gonna love). I sure am having fun writing it!
All kinds of peaceful and filled with gratitude (for my man, especially — what a GLORIOUS surprise),