By Tuesday Rivera To make the most of this article, please first read The Risk of Feeling Safe. There I explored how "not feeling safe" has become a habit for many of us—a psychological and spiritual pattern that keeps us from real, deep transformation, our own and the world's.
Now let's consider what it looks like when we risk feeling safe. When might we face this choice? What might be happening for us as we take this risk? And what words might help us make the leap? Of course, we might take the risk to feel safe at any moment. But I want to talk about three particular times when it comes up: at a beginning, when it's time to claim a truth, and in endings. Allowing a Beginning When something new is happening in our lives - a burgeoning relationship, a new client or fresh project, any kind of door opening - we can feel especially at risk. And since we're going to feel at risk anyway, I suggest that we consider taking the risk of feeling safe. To risk feeling safe as we place our foot on a new path really changes what we're able to walk into, what we're able to accept, and how much newness we'll allow. It changes both the scale of what we do and the felt experience of the new beginning coming our way. Let me give a personal example. I read the Akashic Records, but that hasn't always been the case. In fact, it's not even something I ever expected to say in my life! But at some point several years ago, there was an opening. A beginning. A choice to study and learn how to read the Records. A choice to offer them to others. As I felt pulled to the Records, I wondered what others in my professional world would think. After all, I've built a whole career out of supporting very serious people do very serious things in the world. But here I was, considering diving into this very arcane and far-out world of guides, teachers, and sacred support. I worried my hard-won reputation and credibility were at risk. And here's where the risk to feel safe came in. I was going to read the Records, and I wasn't going to limit myself to personal readings for just family and friends. No, I was going to risk feeling safe so that I could offer readings to others—those outside of my intimate circle, colleagues and strangers. An entirely different scale than I would have offered if I'd chosen to focus on my well-worn anxiety and habit of feeling unsafe to keep myself safe. This, for me, was a going-way-out-on-a-limb beginning, and the risk to feel safe was turning towards myself with trust in my own integrity and efforts. I could risk feeling safe because I could trust that I would read those Records fully and honestly. I risked feeling safe to get started, and then I began to know I was safe. I could offer this at a larger scale than I had ever imagined because I knew I would bring it fully and honestly to those who asked. Fundamentally, though, I had to risk feeling safe to make this offering to the world. And that is often so in our beginnings. We must risk feeling safe before we can truly allow something new to begin. We can't demand that the external world lines up to tell us that we're safe, and then we'll start. No, we must know, with a deep internal knowing, that we are safe, and then we must begin. But this doesn't have to be a "close my eyes and leap" kind of moment. It can be considered. It can be deliberate. It is the intentional turning to yourself as a sacred being—and to the divine intelligence that moves through you—to find the safety that can only be sourced from within. That doesn't wait for the external world to provide what you must claim in partnership with the sacred. The risk of feeling safe, then, is a spiritual practice of internal sovereignty in relationship with something larger—a practice that allows transformation even while acknowledging real vulnerability. When I risked feeling safe, I could begin down a path that has been completely wild, wholly intuitive, and, ultimately, Grace-filled. A Prayer for Beginnings Dear God/Goddess/Mystery/Love, let me know I'm held in your care as I make this leap. Show me how to turn toward my own sovereignty as I step onto this new path. Help me remember my sacredness and trust the divine intelligence that moves through me. Help me bet on myself and on You as I open this door. I am safe, so I will... Claiming Your Truth To risk feeling safe helps us claim what is already true. Sometimes we have difficulty catching up with ourselves: we may have already moved into a new phase of life or morphed into an identity that feels big and scary. We may be living part of our life's dream or purpose that we don't want to name because we don't want to jinx it. Or we may be so invested in our belief that we can't do something that we don't notice that we already have. This tendency goes in both directions: We deny the good stuff in our lives and we also close our eyes to the challenges. Both in service of continuing our pattern of not feeling safe. We have a tendency to deny the abundance in our lives. We may have a strong love, a great job, a safe place to live, or be really kickass at something. I don't think we deny these things because we don't appreciate what we have. I think it's because we're scared we're going to lose them. It's like we never open our hand fully around what we hold, afraid the breeze will steal it. But there is power in claiming what's true. And to take up that power, we must risk feeling safe. We must dare to believe that we could be something or have something or do something. That it is safe for us to do so. We must open up that hand and let the breeze caress the reality of what is true in the present, even if exposure to the air changes it. And when it's a truth that is hard to bear, we don't claim it as if claiming it is what makes it true. It is already true. To risk feeling safe means we believe ourselves to be able to handle that truth. It is scary to open up to this kind of vulnerability, so instead we retreat into the well-worn belief that we are not safe. We are not safe, so we can't claim the present truth—whether it's positive or negative. When we cling to the feeling of not being safe, we can't fully step into what is present in our lives. Let me share another personal example. I received a spontaneous initiation from the Goddess in 2018, which changed my entire life. Since then, I have studied extensively and received a mantra from my teacher, gotten a mentor, crafted offerings around the divine feminine, and built my entire private life around a daily devotional practice of surrender and seeking guidance. And yet. I haven't said publicly: my life is devoted to Goddess, and it is my purpose to bring others into an active, living relationship with Goddess. I have known this to be true, but, because I have not felt safe, I haven't claimed it too loudly or too publicly. Until now. Right now, presently, I am safe to say this. I am safe to do this. I can't know how others will respond, but I am risking feeling safe so that I can claim what is true for me now. Nothing outside of me has changed, but I have decided that I will risk feeling safe because I have it in me. And because I'm on a roll, let me just keep claiming! I've taken a big step recently, where I've claimed myself as a spiritual teacher and guide. This was, of course, divinely led. (See above—I'm asking Her for guidance all the time!) But the shift was that I felt ready to risk feeling safe even though everything in me felt like this was a very unsafe thing to do. Believe me, there were all sorts of voices in my head saying, "What? Why would you call yourself a teacher? Why? Like, who do you think you are? It's not safe. Keep your head down. You know, do it for the people you love and the people who love you, and don't make a push out." But the reality is that I am actually safe. I'm actually safe. I am actually safe. In this moment, and in the foreseeable future, I am safe. And because that is true, I can listen to the messages and guidance I was getting to make a claim that is shifting my work yet again. Though it feels risky for me to settle into that safety, for me to believe that safety, for me to say: I am a spiritual teacher and guide. No matter how that is received, it is actually so and I am safe. I wonder what each of us would claim if we just risked feeling safe. Right now, let's practice saying:
But the challenge here, the stance of sovereignty says: I am safe, so I will... Try those again:
Do you see how powerful that shift is? Even if you are only saying, seeing, and claiming these things to yourself right now, it makes a huge difference. I don't want to negate that we have a history of women claiming their power and being punished, persecuted, and sometimes executed for it. Many of us can claim an ancestral experience that tells us we are not safe when we claim our spiritual gifts. But again, for many of us, that is not true in the present. It is an ancestral wound, and why our daring to risk feeling safe now is a genuinely revolutionary act. It is healing the past pain of our ancestors and creating a different future for our descendants. A Prayer for Claiming Dear God/Goddess/Mystery/Love, give me courage to speak what I know. Help me stand in my truth even when I tremble. Show me that claiming what's real is an act of devotion—to myself and to You. Remind me that my truth serves something larger than my comfort. Let me feel the ground beneath my feet as I say what must be said. I am safe, so I will... Allowing an End What happens in one area of our life affects all others. When we risk feeling safe to make the leap of new beginnings or to stand proudly in claiming what is ours, we are much more able to face endings. When we stay in our habit of denying our safety, we also reject healthy closures and clear-eyed seeing of what needs to be let go in our lives. Maybe you even feel a little nervous now, as I make this point. Maybe you have an inkling of what must end for you to step into your next phase of life. Maybe even now you are shaking your head internally, listing all the reasons you can't even have the thought of what is ending. It's too painful. It's irrational. It makes no sense. Instead, we tell ourselves that we are not safe so that we do not have to face endings, partings, and the shifts that come from releasing an old version of ourselves or our lives. Instead, we cling to the habit. The thought says:
Sometimes, endings come involuntarily. This is also true. They have nothing to do with feeling safe or making choices. But, when we are lucky, we can turn toward an ending with a dignified stance. One that says: I will risk feeling safe in this ending and that will change everything about how it unfolds. This is coming up for me in my life right now, because my daughter has chosen to combine her junior and senior year of high school, which means she will graduate next spring and leave for college next fall. This really is a great decision, and I'm so proud of her! But... I've lost a year with my beloved girl at home. An important phase of our lives together is ending, and I have feelings. Feelings that I am sitting with. I've been working with my anticipatory grief and allowing myself to feel the sadness and shock at this fast change happening in our lives. Naturally, I've been thinking ahead and making plans. We've set college visits and she is ready to start her applications. But I've felt a strange reluctance. An inability to step fully behind her and help her set sail toward this new adventure. A simple way to understand my reluctance is to imagine that I don't want to face an empty nest or find an identity outside of parenting. While this may be partially true, I have just kept feeling that there is something different and deeper here. And I think the different and deeper has to do with my own feelings of safety. With my unwillingness to risk feeling safe as I parent her in this final year she is at home. Stay with me. I have built some of my feeling of safety around my ability to parent: This is the thing I do. I care about it. I work hard at it. Because I do this thing, I am safe. It gives reason, structure, and predictability to my world. But what if I'm actually safe, and I do this thing? What if they are not connected in the way I have imagined them to be? It's time now. Time for me to actually know that I am safe. To feel safe in my parenting of this child, and to allow this ending to unfold so that she has a parent whose identity is not built around doing for her. When I risk feeling safe, what I do in this particular shift in our relationship—how I support her, how I love her, how I help her look forward without me—is really different. When I risk feeling safe, I can actually put her needs at the center of our relationship instead of my need to feel safe. I can allow the ending of this phase of our life together and face it forthrightly. When I risk feeling safe, how I nurture this child as she launches looks really different than if I am afraid and fearful for my own safety as I shift identity and role. We are all facing some kind of ending—whether we are ready to own it or not. To risk feeling safe helps us turn toward these endings well. It brings us into a dignified stance that has us facing the loss that is inevitable with being a living, breathing human being. The deeply cherished pattern of not feeling safe keeps us from turning towards our endings cleanly. Instead we linger in places we've outgrown and remain in circumstances that have become too small for who we're becoming. Let's try this again: I am safe, so I will...
A Prayer for Endings Dear God/Goddess/Mystery/Love, I am safe in your care, and so I will let go. Hold me as I allow this unraveling—thread by thread, breath by breath. Show me that release is sacred—an offering to what was and what will be. Help me be unafraid of what moves away from me, what I must release, what needs to shift now. Let me trust that what completes makes room for what's coming. I am safe, so I will... The Spiritual Practice To risk feeling safe is a spiritual practice of internal sovereignty that allows transformation, even while acknowledging real vulnerability. If we took the risk of feeling safe, if we committed to it, everything would change. I am not propping up the old self-sufficiency/bootstrap model here. Nor am I nodding to the heroic "have courage in the face of fear." No, our safety is because of our relationship with the divine. It is not entirely self-generated. It is sacred. It must be known internally but it is a gift of our connection with the Mystery that holds all of us—whatever you call that Mystery. We are held by the divine even in our actual precariousness. To risk feeling safe, then, is a spiritual initiation. It is the risk to claim our power, our gifts, our very transformation. It is to say yes to beginnings, truth, and endings. This is deeply threatening to systems (internal and external) that benefit from our self-doubt. Not feeling safe actually keeps those systems in place. So my invitation to you is to risk feeling safe, to know yourself safe. And I don't mean that in an insulting way. There might be ways that you're truly at risk. I'm not saying to put yourself at risk or to ignore those risks. What I am saying is that many of us are way safer than we imagine. And the idea that we are safe is so disconcerting—so far from our habitual way of thinking—that we can't even imagine it. And if we can't imagine that, then we can't imagine new realities. And we need new realities. Consider this, then, your permission to stop the exhausting vigilance of feeling not safe and to take up the riskier feeling of safety and get to transforming those systems - internal and external - that would keep us from the world we seek. This teaching continues to unfold in my work—I'll be exploring it further in this week's podcast episode. And if you're ready to practice this together, to discover where you're denying your own safety and what becomes possible when you risk feeling safe, join me for a live webinar on November 11th. In this webinar, we'll practice what it means to risk feeling safe in three crucial moments: when you begin something new, when you claim what's true right now, and when you allow necessary endings. Through guided reflection and inquiry, you'll discover where chronic unsafety is keeping you from your own transformation—and you'll practice choosing internal sovereignty instead. This is participatory, transformative work we'll do together. Register here.
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By Tuesday Rivera  A colleague and I recently supported a group of women in a "Wilderness Wander” - a day of fasting and exploring the land in a remote area of Maine. In our council circle after the women's solo time on the land, I heard myself say to one of the women, "I want to thank you, not for the risk you took in going out into the wilderness. I think the real risk you took was the risk of allowing yourself to feel safe." The room stopped. There was a collective intake of breath. "Can you say that again?" someone asked. "The real risk you took was the risk to feel safe," I repeated. "We don't often let ourselves do that: feel safe." In fact, we almost never let ourselves do that. And of course, there are good reasons for that. The world is a scary place at all times, but especially now. And the world is certainly scarier for some people, especially now. I do not deny or ignore that. But we've become so focused on the language and practice of "feeling safe" that we've come to believe the safety we're seeking is outside of us. That we must feel safe at all times to do what needs to be done in the world. That our bodies must be in a certain state of rest for us to be okay.(1) And I want that! I want well-regulated bodies living in a just world. It's just that we don't have much of that right now. And I've come to see that we're wearing our "I don't feel safe" as a badge of honor—a way of signaling to others that we're awake to what's really happening around us. After all, how could we feel safe when the world is burning? That would be absurd. To feel safe would be to deny our awareness of the very real suffering around us and the risk to so many people in the world. To not feel safe is to be a just, caring person...not a neurotic, self-obsessed one. But I wonder: where did this expectation of feeling safe come from? The Spider's WebWhile I was walking through the forest in Maine I kept running into spider webs. And when I say "kept running into," I mean that every several feet on the path, no matter how careful I was, I would find myself with a face full of spider web. I ducked and dove under them, left the path to avoid them, put my arms in front of me to feel them before I ran into them. All to no avail: up or down, left or right, I found myself with a faceful of web. And while every single web I blundered into was a minor nuisance for me, it was a catastrophe for the spider. I was wrecking its home, disrupting its livelihood, making it miss its next several meals. Humans are not spiders. But our reality is the same: we are beings in a natural world, always just a step or two away from catastrophes not of our making. The physical dangers are real—fire, flood, earthquakes, war and guns, a giant walking into our house and destroying the place. But most of us are talking about emotional and spiritual safety when we assert the need to be safe. And with any kind of safety - physical, emotional, spiritual - we think we can control something externally to create an internal sense of safety. Most of our control comes through learned hypervigilance that we wear like a badge of honor, but that actually keeps us from our own aliveness. The Habit of UnsafetyFor most of us—certainly most of us reading this—not feeling safe is less a reflection of our actual physical circumstances at any particular moment, but rather a long-held habit. Such an ingrained pattern that it has become part of our identity. (2) And while all of this has a basis in an external reality, at any given moment, we are safe. We can choose to see our present safety while not denying an unsafe world. To risk feeling safe, then, is a choice in the midst of precariousness, not an impossible condition to achieve. For many of us, not feeling safe has become a psychological and spiritual habit. A signifier. A performance—to ourselves and others—that we are aware and awake to an unjust world. But it's not a performance that feels good. It's one that we believe to be accurate, but it keeps us from engaging our own depths and shadows, from taking action for personal and collective transformation. Because to do that is always risky. And we are actually avoid risk by keeping ourselves in this chronic feeling of precarity. To risk feeling safe is a choice to break a long-held and deeply reinforced pattern that many of us cling to without question. Not feeling safe becomes what we're used to, our natural resting state, our identity. It becomes what we think makes us who we are, what we think makes us good citizens who care about the world. But I think caring about the world requires us to risk feeling safe. To drop the long-held habits that keep us focused on what we don't have and what we can't do may actually be the key to not only our own transformation but the world's. What Would It Look Like?So what would it look like to risk feeling safe? To shake off the ongoing narrative that safety will be found "out there" and not "in here"? To say, "I can know that this world has never and will never promise safety," but also to say, "I will risk feeling safe so that I can get on with the hard work of my own - and the world’s - transformation"? To risk feeling safe means that I can turn to every part of my life in a different way. It means that I can find safety in myself rather than waiting for others to give it to me or create the conditions under which I will feel safe. It is to drop the long-held habit of planning and delay: When I feel safe, I will... And move to present-day understanding and action: I am safe, so I can... A Practice: Pause here, and think: If I felt safe, I would... Let yourself finish that thought: If I felt safe, I would... Give yourself some real time with the thought: If I felt safe, I would... Can you feel the risk inherent in feeling safe? Can you begin to see what you would do and be if you took that risk? Can you see how this habit of "not feeling safe" is a defense mechanism against your own aliveness and action? That not feeling safe isn't generally about actual physical danger, but that refusing to own our own safety at any moment is a psychological and spiritual habit that keeps us from beginnings, from claiming truth, and from allowing endings? To risk feeling safe, then, could actually open all sorts of doors for us. All of us. Next week, I'll share how risking safety transforms three crucial moments in our lives: when we begin something new, when we claim what's already true, and when we allow necessary endings. For now, just notice: where are you denying your own safety? What doors might open if you risked feeling safe? If this teaching is already stirring something in you—if you're feeling the call to explore where you're holding yourself back by clinging to unsafety—I'm holding space for exactly that on November 11th in a live webinar. We'll go deeper into this practice together, exploring where you deny your own safety and what becomes possible when you risk feeling safe. This won't be just me teaching—we'll do the work together. [Register here] (1) Here obviously, I am not talking about those in current war torn or occupied places. I am not talking about those who, at this very moment, may be experiencing starvation, bombs, and gunfire or who may be being pulled off the streets by men in masks.
(2) Watch your own reaction to want to insist that because many aren’t safe, YOU aren’t safe. Or that talking about safety in these ways is somehow insulting or neglects the reality of those experiencing harm right now. Notice your desire to go into that habitual line of thought, rather than staying here: by your phone or computer, actually safe in this moment, but clinging to your habit of denying that safety. Watch where it might limit you. By Tuesday Rivera This is the third in a three-part series that Tuesday has written about transformation (revisit Part 1 & Part 2). In hindsight, this could actually have been the first instalment of the series, but that is not how it flowed from her. In fact, she says that it feels like this could only be written at this specific moment in her own transformation. She reflects on staying in the liminal space of transformation far longer than she anticipated. This extended period has allowed her to uncover and articulate long-held patterns that we all experience in our lives that make our own transformations both slower and more necessary. When I began to get a strange sense about my work in the world coming from inside me, felt the gentle rumblings of “not this”, I was able to ignore them. I’m just working too much, I thought. I’m burnt out. I’m sore from the ongoing effort of trying to make change in the world. I need to slow down. And then, through a huge effort of will (and many months of therapy), the support of loved ones, and a global pandemic, I did slow down. Work slowed down. And while there was always more than enough to do, my work somehow became manageable, and that felt A LOT better. But interestingly, the quiet “not this” that seemed to emanate from my very bones continued. And now, I had time to pay attention to it. Maybe this is how transformation started for many of us as we came out of the pandemic. The little niggles of not-quite-aligned were now able to be noticed, investigated, and more deeply considered. The pace of our lives made the quiet doubts and discomfort of how we were spending our days unable to be ignored. What we had tolerated - onerous tasks, unrealistic schedules, objectionable people - now became, if not untenable, then at least undesirable. And we had the time to notice. And to desire more. We started to desire meaningful work, reasonable schedules, and people pulling in the same direction as we are. We understood that our time, our lives, are valuable beyond production even if what we’re producing is good for the world, were fused to be complicit in a grind that no longer made us feel accomplished, let alone happy. Fortunately for many of us who are making change in the world, meaningful work and admirable people are part of the job, but I found that, even when I rearranged my calendar to be more sensible, the feeling of “not this” continued. In fact, it became more insistent. Habits Uncovered by “Not This” When I listened close enough, I realized that this sense of “not this” began to point me to a particular set of bad habits and asked me to change them for good. Below are three types of habits that I have needed to break ,and as I work with others in their own transformations, they seem pretty universal. (1) Compartmentalization That is, keeping the different parts of yourself or your life separate from one another. One of the main ways many of us compartmentalize is we separate our work from our life. This is important! We need to make sure that our work doesn’t take over, but this separation can become unhealthy, for example when we do work that conflicts with our very values or we don’t allow any of our personal feelings or experiences to impact our work. Those of us who work to make change in the world would often never consider taking on work that conflicts with our values, and yet we may not bring our full selves to our work in a way that could provide benefit. In this transition, I have found myself compartmentalizing two key aspects of my work and personal life. My work involves a lot of strategy and clarity. My personal life involves a lot of intuitive, spiritual practices for guidance. Until recently, I have kept these work strategic practices away from my personal soulful practices, and I am coming to see this as a mistake. My “not this” radar goes off when I try to keep these two essential elements of my work/life apart. My coaching work has become a place where I am finding the way to blend the strategic and soulful. Instead of compartmentalizing these powerful elements, I keep both active and connected as I engage with others who are in their own transformations. In any coaching session we may talk about the strategy of dealing with a challenge while also bringing the body, the spirit, and the imagination to bear as we move forward. Paying attention to the “not this” of compartmentalization can lead to a powerful and unfolding integration of different “parts” - in my case the strategic and soulful - that will allow even fuller expression on the other side of this transformation. (2) Obligation This habit involves doing a task, activity, or other behavior because we feel like we have to rather than want to. Often this habit involves a strong sense of duty or commitment, which can be positive, but it can also involve significant feelings of guilt and pressure. These are often the “shoulds” of our lives. Things that we do for the benefit of others rather than a sense of our own personal fulfillment. Things we feel compelled to do, even though we don’t especially want to. This one gets sticky and unclear as a parent, partner, business owner, employee or community member. In any of these roles, we are often obligated to do things that we may not especially want to, but we can also have difficulty discerning when this is the case and when it is simply a troublesome habit. In this liminal period of transformation, I have come face to face with my own habit of obligation - how often I take up responsibility because I feel that I should, rather than because I feel genuinely amenable to the task. I had a real breakthrough in this habit recently, when I realized that almost no one in my life wants me performing tasks or taking care of them out of a sense of obligation. And no one in my life appreciates the resentment that comes along with this sense of obligation. They’re happier when I’m doing less and discerning more. But the habit of obligation - especially in leadership and caregiving roles - is subtle, so turning into the “not this” is an especially important practice to support our discernment. Putting our energy and effort toward our real obligations rather than a habitual pattern allows more space for our transformation. (3) Concealment This habit involves hiding or withdrawing certain aspects of ourselves from the view of others. This may be a strategic choice, for example we may choose to not share mental health information with others if we are concerned about the stigma we encounter. But often, this habit is less of a strategy and more of an act of fear. We choose to conceal key aspects of ourselves - the “real” us - in an attempt to belong or gain acceptance. We fear those parts of ourselves that we think most people won’t accept and so we put them into exile. We choose not to show our full selves. Our weird selves. Our dramatic selves. Even ourselves that believe we can do something great in the world. (We don’t want anyone to think we have an arrogant self, after all.) We choose to play the game of conformity and inauthenticity. The issue with concealment is that those aspects of ourselves we put away are us. They are part of our true self, and if we can’t access our true self, then transformation becomes longer, harder, and more painful. I’ve been working to show those parts of myself that I don’t often allow others to see: my dancing self, my “woo woo” self, my devotional self. And as I call them back to myself, I have been bringing them into my work with great success. My coaching practice involves much of what you might expect: support for personal reflection and clarity, guidance and strategy development, and tools that support growth and development. But it also includes the gifts from my exiled selves: I send clients playlists, we do guided visualizations, pray and talk about matters of spirit (if it makes sense), and often move our bodies during a coaching session. It’s all allowed because it can no longer be concealed. Listening to the “not this” has given me the opportunity to break these lifelong habits of compartmentalization, obligation, and concealment has been part of the deep work of my own transformation. Listening to “Not This” As a person who is generally positive, it has been a challenge to listen to the “no” of “not this” as strongly as the “yes” of cool projects and possibilities. I still listen to the “yes”, of course. It can provide powerful guidance, but I have found that it is often the quieter “not this” that is fueling my real transformation. I’m still learning to listen to this. Closely. Every day. It is steadily nudging me in a direction - asking me to sink down below the habits of my mind and listen to the internal compass which is constantly nudging me through “not this” “maybe” and sometimes “hmmm… we’ll see” which is so much softer than the “yes”, “hell yes” and “let’s do this” that is a part of my typical way of being. It would be a lot simpler if a “not this” was loud and clear. Instead, it is often gentle and almost always willing to concede the floor in the face of longstanding habits, fears, and cultural pressure. So listening in must involve being gentle with ourselves, listening attentively, and then honoring the “not this” when we can. And if we listen and follow with dedication, we will find that the “not this” can lead us to a clearer and clearer picture of what we want (through knowing what we don’t). The “not this” - in showing us what is not for us, leads us to a whole new world of what is for us and maybe to the other side of this particular transformation. It’s a slower, steadier process that many of us envision transformation to be. But on the other side, listening to the “not this” leads us: to be more fully integrated (not compartmentalized), in choice (not obligation), and on full display (not concealed). That is the stuff of real transformation. These kinds of habits take some time to uncover and then even longer to shift. Stay in it, friends. Pay attention to the “not this” - it’s a powerful way to move forward in your transformation.  By Tuesday Rivera and 4 tips as everything dissolves.At The Outside, we used to talk about the need for transformation. “Old systems are failing,” we’d say. “We’re being asked to do more with less; we are facing issues more complex than ever; etc.” Now, however, we don’t talk about that much because there is no longer a need for transformation. Instead, there is only the reality of transformation: happening at all times and seemingly unstoppable. Transformation is happening around us, between us, and within us. It may be personal, organizational, or systemic, but there is no doubt that everything is up in the air and we are floundering to catch the pieces as they fall. In the prevailing conversation about transformation, the concept of liminal space is often invoked to help us to understand the middle phase of transformation, the “space in between” - where we are neither what we were nor what we’re going to be. We don’t know what we are becoming but we know we are not what we were. It is that space that feels full of both uncertainty and possibility. The example of the butterfly can be very helpful in understanding this space. The cocoon is an actual physical “liminal space” - the place where the caterpillar goes to dissolve and then reform into the butterfly. It’s quite miraculous. One kind of being enters a space of deep unraveling - even on a cellular level! - and comes out of that space something entirely new. It is a perfect metaphor for our transformation fable. One can only imagine that the caterpillar is driven by some powerful instinct to create and enter the chrysalis with no real understanding of the transformation about to happen. In fact, caterpillars enter the cocoon with the express purpose of transforming into a butterfly. And as far as we can understand, after dissolution, those cells just “know” how to reform into a beautiful winged creature. Using the butterfly as an example, we can begin to see the failing of our systems and organizations - and even our personal lives - as the necessary precursor to our own evolution. Our own caterpillar to butterfly hero’s journey. We can trust that we will know what to do once we come apart. That the very laws of nature will support our transformation. It is a hopeful orientation to the unceasing transformation around us. But I’ve recently entered that chrysalis - and haven’t emerged yet if I’m honest, and I have to tell you nothing feels normal or natural or evolutionary about it. It feels hard. And scary. And uncertain. And I DO NOT THINK MY CELLS KNOW HOW TO DO THIS. So mostly I’ve been surviving. And talking to other dissolving caterpillars around me, and we all agree that while this liminal space thing sounds amazing and deep and meaningful in theory, it actually sucks in reality. We don’t think anyone asked the caterpillar who was turning to goo and then into a butterfly what the experience was like. We do not think they would have given it a thumbs up. My training as a social worker, my loving and supportive family, and my spiritual practices did not prepare me for this level of uncertainty. This feeling like I am falling and, while I’m scared to hit the ground, I’m also not exactly sure there is a ground to hit. It is the most untethered I have been in my life, and I do not like it. But I’m in it. And I think…maybe…I’m learning a few lessons: Stay With Your Feelings This may be the last thing you want to do. Some feelings of this stage - anxiety, uncertainty, fear, or doubt - make us want to flee into action. To do something… anything really, rather than feel what we’re feeling. But if we can slow ourselves down and allow ourselves to actually be with our feelings rather than try to get rid of them, we often find even the hardest feelings to be fleeting and tolerable. When we stay present, we realize that in this moment, we are likely fine. We might be worried. We might be afraid. We may be riddled with self-doubt, but we are also - unbelievably - okay underneath it all. When we stay present, we may also realize that alongside these difficult feelings, there may be other, more positive feelings. We may actually feel anticipation or, on good days, even a sense of elation. We are changing and with that can come a feeling of real possibility. These other feelings may be small and drowned out by the louder, more difficult feelings, but when we don’t move away from any of our feelings, we can find that this transformation also contains joy even in the midst of all that feels hard or hopeless. Don't Believe Your Thoughts There is no doubt that transformation is hard work emotionally, but it is also a mental workout. Our brain, in an effort to keep us functional and safe, tries to make sense of what’s happening in our process of transformation and sometimes leaps to terrible conclusions: This will never end. I’m never going to figure this out. How could I have strayed so far from my purpose? What am I even doing right now? I will lose everything and everyone I love. My cats won’t even want me anymore. I will die alone. Likely in a gutter. I need to pull myself together! And, of course, these thoughts aren’t based in reality. They are a natural byproduct of a self seeking its own preservation. Your psyche has a sense that big change is on for you and wants to ensure that you keep yourself intact through it. That’s it’s job. The problem is, that it is your very self that needs to dissolve into goo to get to your next you. (Or at least that’s the lesson of the Butterfly, if we are to believe it.) Meditation, prayer, chanting, exercise, cognitive behavioral therapy. All of these things can help us see that our thinking, while useful in most areas of our life, is only of limited value when in the throes of transformation. We need practices that help us interrupt our thoughts, see them as useful, at times, but not always believable. I’ve personally been using The Work - a rigorous method of self-inquiry - a lot lately to keep myself from falling prey to the irrational at 4am. My favorite thought to do the work on right now: I don’t know what I’m doing. Try it. It’s super useful. (You’ll likely find out that you know a little bit of what you’re doing. Enough to get you through the next day, anyway.) Ask Your Body We’ve been told for years that our brains are not able to multitask or to keep us with all of the information that we receive in a day or the choices that we need to make. We know, for sure, that our brains cannot keep up with the pace of change we’re all experiencing right now. And yet, in these seasons of transformation, we still try to rely on our mind to figure it all out. (See above on why this is a bad idea). But if we can’t turn to our minds, where do we go? One answer is to our bodies. We can turn to our bodies to give us direction about what to do in any given moment. That might look like tuning into the fluttering in your heart as you hear a new idea or listening to your gut before you make a decision. It definitely means learning what your body does when you are a “yes” to something and what it does differently when you are a “no”. One thing I have learned is that my body - even in this time of great uncertainty - does not lie to me. When something is good for me, my body gives me a clear signal. I often relax, even if the situation is stressful. If something goes against my best interests, I contract and always have to override some physical sensation if I go forward. This is really good news: we can still turn to ourselves in the midst of turmoil. We are not lost to ourselves just because our feelings are frantic and our thoughts may not be trustworthy. We just have to sink in a little deeper and trust a wisdom that resides in the heart, and the belly, in the hands and feet. Look For Signals In the midst of transformation, we want to know the answers: Where are we going? What are we turning into? When will it be done/over? We want answers that may only be available to us in the distant future. Often, we only have information that relates to our immediate next steps. Not some distant future, but now. Today. Or, perhaps, just this hour. And so we need to stay curious and look for signals. Small indicators that we are growing in the right direction. Feedback that lets us know those liminal cells are forming into something, even if we don’t understand what it is. Signs that tell us that our motion is forward, even if we don’t know toward what. These signals may be weak - a piquing of our interest, a discovery of a new skill, a burgeoning friendship - but they are meaningful. And we can cultivate paying attention to them without knowing where they will lead us. They are not necessarily who we are becoming, but they may very well be part of who we will become. We need to stay curious about these signals because we don’t know where they will lead. They may be momentary - but enjoyable! - distraction or a pathway that is opening up for us. We can’t know in the moment, so we have to stay open and willing to follow what’s right in front of us. Rather than seeing the whole transformation - I would bet the caterpillar has no idea it will become a butterfly - we can attend to the here and now. We can do more than just “hang on” and wait out this challenging phase. We might actually thrive and develop new skills during it. In fact, that might be the whole point: to weather uncertainty and see what we discover. A dear friend said recently, “All of us. We’re changing. We’ve already changed. We just don’t have the next form ready to contain this new version of us.” In other words, we may already be the butterfly out of the cocoon, but the branches of a new tree aren’t there yet for us to land on and rest our wings. I found this heartening. I certainly feel like after years of Covid, the racial reckoning, the accelerating climate crisis and the failing of other major systems, I am a different person. Which makes me believe that the current transformation is so profound for all of us, that we may not even come out of it as butterflies but as an entirely new type of being. In the meantime, we need a few practices to sustain us and keep our stamina until that next form, maybe even that new world we’re seeking, arrives. Good luck and happy transforming! By Tuesday Rivera 6 things to do that bring clarity in the midst of uncertaintyIn our ongoing series about navigating transition (Part 1 here), Tuesday explores what to do when we don’t know what to do next. What happens when we aren’t sure of our next step? What do we do when we don’t know what’s next or how to get there? Where do we turn when all we really want is a crystal ball to tell us something, anything, about the future that stretches out before us, and crystal balls are in short supply? Many of us are in transition right now. Or, rather, many of us want to be in transition right now but we actually feel stuck right where we are. Or maybe, it’s fairer to say that our minds are in transition though our bodies may be right where they’ve always been. We know that we don't want what we have - be it our current job, our primary relationship, or perhaps the place we live - but we also don’t know what we want. We are stuck in the NOW which is unsatisfying, unfulfilling and perhaps even toxic, but we can’t imagine where to go next or can’t see a way to get there. We know that we have to take steps but don’t know where we want to go or how to get there, so it’s hard to know where to place our feet. This is why the idea of “visioning” is so attractive - it gives us a direction, a goal. We imagine a future where we are clear and living our best life. And once we have an idea of that target, we can begin to build a path to get there. But in these wild times, many of us are failing to even have a vision. We’re ready to let our arrow fly toward our targeted vision but the fog is so deep in front of us that we can’t even see the direction of the bullseye! Sometimes it’s because our vision is vague - we want a slower pace, a quieter life, to be in nature, to write, or we just want something different - and it’s hard to know whether to point ourselves left or right. Sometimes we know what we want - to be a teacher, to get a divorce, to move to the country - but we can’t imagine how to possibly get there. When that’s the case, I suggest that we put away our vision boards, forget the ideas of targets and arrows and bullseyes, stop looking for that crystal ball that will tell us the future and, instead, remember who we are. Remembering who we are, means that we are never truly stuck or lost. Uncertain, sure. Plagued by doubt, absolutely. But lost, nope. We can’t get lost when we remember that we have a home right here within ourselves. All we have to do is remember ourselves, and we are there. Spiritual leaders will tell us that we can remember who we are with every breath. I believe that to be true, but I also know the feeling of being unable to catch my breath because I am so uncertain about my future. So, how do I remember who I am at any given moment - especially if I’m anxious and breathless? I have started engaging in small, but contradictory behaviors. When I want to remember who I am, I have a set of actions that are in opposition to each other, that help me find myself. Each of these help me to reacquaint me with myself. And while I don’t necessarily do the below in any kind of sequence, I have noticed that doing them regularly is a sure way to remember who I am. Find Your Smallness Go to nature. Pray. Look at the stars. Go into a crowd of people and watch them flow by you - none of them knowing you or your story. Do something that reminds you that you are but one small being in one small place on one small planet that simultaneously depends on you for its protection and survival and has no care for you at all. All of this is happening within a universe that is expanding in a way that makes you even smaller in comparison. Remember that you are from and of that universe. The sense of awe that can come from finding your smallness as you look at the sky, as you try to count the trees in the forest and have to give up because there too many, as you watch a squirrel balance on a fence post having not a care in the world about you… these things can help you remember who you are. Find Your Bigness Alternately, you are the most important being in the world. Your thoughts and feelings and actions matter. They certainly matter to you. So find ways to spend time with others who they matter to as well. Your children, your partner, your friend, a coworker. You make a huge difference in someone’s life daily: your moods affect theirs, what you think and talk about directly impacts what they think and talk about, your behaviors can make or break their day. Be with them and notice your impact. Notice the love that is available to you there. Even if it’s the small kind of love. The kind of love where they smile back at you as they pass your desk. Or the big kind of love, the kind of love where they rely on you to feed them and read them a story at night. Sometimes our bigness can feel overwhelming but when we notice it alongside our smallness before the universe, a beautiful balance emerges, and you understand yourself more deeply. We are both unimaginably big and infinitesimally small. And it is in this place between the giants and the ants, that we begin to remember ourselves. Don't Do Anything To remember who you are, don’t do anything. Rest, don’t make any plans, and get really quiet. Allow enough of a slowdown that you might even get bored. When was the last time you allowed that? Give yourself enough time and space on your own without a screen, a phone, a book or a task. Allow your mind to pause enough to wander and be bored. With no place to go and nothing to do, you’ll be astonished by what you remember about yourself. Some of it will be awesome and some of it will be uncomfortable. But - here’s the trick - don’t do anything with what you discover. Don’t make plans around it. Just allow yourself some time to be with yourself without doing anything about it. (It can be hard but also very rich.) Do Something Creative Alongside doing nothing, remembering who you are requires you to create. This can be hard for those of us who don’t consider ourselves artists. (I am so envious of people who say that they have to - insert creative expression here. Who, when asked about their craft, say that they can’t NOT create. Something moves through them and has to be expressed. I do not have that experience. Creating can be really hard for me.) I am not an artist, but I - because I am human - have a need to express myself. We all do. We all need to be seen and heard in our unique expression of ourselves - even if we are the only one doing the listening. Remember who you are by writing, singing, dancing, cooking or doing anything that expresses a YOU that is no one else in the world. It doesn’t need to be for public consumption - yourself as an audience of one is sufficient - but it does need to remind you that you are the only instrument you can play. And that playing that instrument feels good. Get quiet. Express. See what expression comes after the quiet and also how the quiet changes after you express. Notice yourself in both times. Remember who you are. Be Great By being “great”, I mean do something that you are great at. Something that comes easily. Something that, by virtue of its simplicity (or your competency), feels effortless or fun. Sometimes we think this “remembering who we are” stuff must be earnest, deep, and accompanied by great epiphanies. But it can also be relaxing, second nature, done without much thought but with enjoyment. Bake your secret recipe cookies, connect two people you care about who need to meet each other, write a dirty limerick, or help a younger colleague with a task - anything, really, that reminds you that who you are also includes ease and competence, not just seeking a next step or figuring something out. Be Terrible And also, do something you’re bad at. Really bad. So bad that you don't even think about striving for perfection because basic competence is so far away. This may be an arts and craft project - see here for inspiration - or a night of karaoke, or hammering stuff together (Why is it so hard for a nail to go in straight?!). It doesn’t really matter what you do. The point is to do something that you canNOT possibly excel at. Don’t do this to inoculate yourself against the sting of failure, but to remind yourself that you can’t be good at everything and sometimes the absurdity of the results can actually bring enjoyment. Every now and again, I try to catch a ball or swing a bat just to keep myself humble, and I always end up laughing a lot. Be really excellent and revel in that ease. Be really awful and enjoy yourself. Remembering who you are doesn’t have to be full of effort. Clues can be found in ease as well as (light hearted) failure. Remembering who we are is the work of a lifetime, but it becomes especially meaningful when we are in transition. It is, perhaps, the most important action we can take when we feel stuck and lost. Maybe if we found that elusive crystal ball and looked into it, we would see that remembering ourselves as both whole and full of contradictions is our future, so it makes sense to engage in some seemingly contradictory behaviors now. Working with these contradictions can bring us new perspectives on ourselves and help us find a kernel of clarity at our center that moves into that future. Give it a try and see. BY TUESDAY RIVERA Let me assure you. If you are seeking Her, She is seeking you. That is just the way it works. If you have a sense that Goddess may be calling you, you are right. She is longing for you to come to Her. Like a mother reaching out her hands to a toddler, encouraging it to take its first steps, Goddess has Her arms raised to you and wants you to come near. Come closer. Fall into Her arms so that she can tell you how beautiful you are. And also so that She can tear you apart and remake you into even more of who you are. What you are seeking is seeking you. And now, maybe you are wondering if the feeling you get sometimes could be a call from Goddess. Or maybe you haven’t felt anything yet but you are beginning to recognize a longing for a relationship with the Divine Feminine or one of Her specific forms. A real relationship. One you can lean into. One you can depend on. One you can turn to as you shift your own shape and meet your new fate. She will come to you in many ways. Some ways may be loud and unmistakable - I am here She says and chills run through your body! Or they may be soft and easily missed- I am here She says with a gentle light dappling through the trees. There is nothing to do besides stay alert and open and know that if you miss one call, She will return. She can’t help it. She wants to claim you as Hers. Goddess has favorites and you are one. Pay attention to your dreams and visions. She may speak to you while sleeping - coming as herself, a strong feeling, an ancestor, or as a symbol that is associated with her. You may also have a vision while waking - a color, an image, a sign that comes to you repeatedly. Especially if these images or sensations are strong or persist over time, they may be meaningful. A call. Find Her in nature. She often calls through Her creatures. Many Goddesses are associated with specific animals or plants. Do you notice something new on your walks these days? Does a particular animal cross your path or flower attract your notice? Do you feel called to lakes or rivers, mountains or oceans? Different aspects of Her can be found in these places. She may call you through her land or water. Read stories of myths and archetypes. Listen for those stories that especially resonate for you. Those stories that have you leaning in and wanting to hear more. To learn more. Follow these threads to your Goddess. Look to your own lineage. There may be a Goddess that has called your line through the ages. One that your grandmother’s grandmother knew how to court. One that was raised on the land that was of your people. Tune in to how you feel. Sometimes the call is just the gentlest nudge in a particular direction - look at that bird. Listen to that song. At times it comes with a feeling of wonder or awe. Sometimes, happiness or bliss. At other times it comes with a sense of overwhelm or uncertainty. There is no one way She calls. She calls in the way you need to hear Her. Most importantly, be open and be foolish. It may feel silly at times to wonder if that bee or butterfly has a message for you. To imagine that you heard a voice guide you or that the image you see in your mind’s eye is meaningful. You may be self-conscious or start to cry when you hear a story of Goddess or a dream wakes you in the night. You may get chills for no apparent reason. Doubt is part of Devotion… In some moments, Her call will be unmistakable. You will receive a message or a blessing, a visitation or an awakening from Her. You will feel overwhelmed by Grace and be so clear that She has called you. At other times, her call will be the barest brush against your skin. The gentlest opening of your heart. You will come to know these as Her, but it may take some time. Either way, afterwards, you will doubt. You will question whether you made it up. Whether it was your own mind speaking to you. Whether you really just imagined the encounter. You will ask yourself: Who am I to receive a call? I am not special or talented or gifted. I am just me: flailing, flawed, and human. I am not a mystic or especially spiritual. I am just me. Yes. You are just you. And that is beautiful clay for Her to work with. You are the perfect object for Her love. She is the perfect object for your devotion. What’s important is that you are open to Her. That you understand that the moments of doubt are part of coming to know Her. That you allow the doubt and know that She does not begrudge you your resistance or your fear. Your uncertainty or your reticence. She already knows you and loves you. She is already calling you - even before you knew to seek Her. At times, the “touch” from the Divine is unmistakable: You will receive a message or a blessing, a visitation or an awakening from Her. You will feel overwhelmed by Grace and be so clear that She has called you. |
TUESDAY RIVERAHello there! This resource page is a space for me to share inspiration, insight, and connection. Here, I’ll offer reflections and practical guidance related to personal transformation, intuitive practices, and embracing the divine feminine as well as other topics that have my attention. Whether you’re seeking insight, a bit of encouragement, or tools for transformation, I hope you find meaningful content here to guide your journey. CategoriesArchives |
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