Why I Was Grateful To Be A Shell of Emptiness
Nothing will shatter if we take time to reflect
“The wound is the place where the light enters you.”
— Rumi
“I am empty.”
A small statement, made mid-March in a comment on my yoga teacher’s Instagram page. She replied, “Fill it up with love!”
That didn’t resonate at all. I knew what she meant, and I knew the pressure on her to write something. It was a way to show her care for me, but my body viscerally rejected the suggestion, and my heels dug in.
Steady ourselves.
I had to steady myself first. I was disoriented. Before I could be grounded in love, I had to be grounded, period. As soon as I could realistically allow time to do so, I chose to feel into the shell of emptiness, the sudden hollowing out that I had experienced.
My sense of safety had been pulled out suddenly, like a tablecloth by a pandemic magician. Of course I wasn’t alone, and I was fully aware that others had it much worse. As an empath, that didn’t necessarily help me feel better.
