Permission Slip
Permission slip:
To slow down
To feel uncomfortable
To feel out of sorts
Or disconnected
If you need to
Today
Or any day
Take the time
You need
I wrote this poem nearly two years ago now, as I stood waiting for my bus somewhere in snowy Montreal on a cold morning. It was a few months before the world began to unravel beneath the weight of too much trauma, and I was going through a challenging time of my own. My words became an anchor amidst the chaos, drawing me back home to myself in the moments I felt most lost. I wrapped myself within their warmth like a cloak and found my solace inside.
Anxiety was a pervasive force in my life back then — it pressed in on my chest and made it hard to breathe late at night when I wanted nothing more but to sleep. Everything felt like too much to handle, almost inexplicably so; I’ve been under pressure for most of my life, and I wondered why this time felt different. It was almost as if I felt the tidal wave coming long before it crashed to shore and I was fighting monsters no one else could see, standing not quite alone but most certainly in the dark.
And then the pandemic hit, and it all made sense. This was the danger I’d felt lurking under the bed. This was fear embodying itself in the collective. This was the terror of absolute uncertainty we all felt when the ground fell out from beneath us and nothing felt safe anymore.
We were free falling. We still are, really.
It reminded me of another time in my life when everything fell apart, when I was forced to pick up the pieces of a shattered dream and start from scratch. Oh, how life prepares you with what you need before you even know what’s coming.
It took me a few months before I found my way back to my feet again, but when I did, I surprised myself with a strength I didn’t know I had.
This past year I’ve had to say goodbye to a lot of things, some goodbyes more permanent than others, the most permanent goodbye of all, perhaps, to the way I once saw and moved through this world, to the person I used to be.
Letting go teaches us that the process is messy: we must stick our hands in the dirt if we wish to grow. Sometimes letting go is painful, but it only becomes more so the longer we cling to things no longer meant for us. Letting go is painful, but it is necessary in the end.
And so I come back to these words: permission to slow down, to feel uncomfortable, to feel out of sorts or disconnected if you need to, today or any day. Take the time you need.
I remind myself there is nothing wrong with my experience of life in this moment. There is nothing wrong with feeling sad or impatient or vulnerable, with the joy and fatigue that come when everything changes all at once.
I am learning to love myself through my messy moments. I am learning how to let go. I am learning how to surrender to the flow of life and trust that I will be held in love.
Love, always. Always love.
I initially created this piece in 2021, as a spoken word film blended with movement. You can find it here:
As a poet, writer and artist, Maia Thom works with words to create spaces for people to breathe and come home to themselves. In 2020, she published her first anthology, Kitchen Table Talks: Simple Reminders + Thoughts on Life. You can find her on Instagram as @maia.thom.
