Hakuna matata.

“Today we’ll be talking about the pesky habit of worry.”

Perched at the end of my bed in nothing but me bare skivvies, I paused mid brush at the morning’s introduction into meditation.

Then I looked around, peered behind the curtains, and checked underneath my bed because as of late, my guided meditations have opened with expressions that so closely resonate with where I am in my life that it feels like…

They’re watching. Listening. It’s like they know.

I mean one time it was self-love on the day I needed it most, the next forgiveness, and then this morning: hakuna matata.

A Swahili phrase roughly translating to “there are no worries here”, I first heard this phrase from the Disney movie, “The Lion King.”

I mean who hasn’t?

And worry? Yeah, that’s something I can relate to right now.

It all began last week. I was going about my day when I received some unexpected news.

And it was not good news.

It was the kind of news that instantly brought up bittersweet memories and feelings of shame from that period in my life in which I’m trying so hard to forgive myself for, and I’ll be honest, I didn’t react very well.

Ducking outside to the deck, I hunched over, slipped out a rare expletive or two, and tried my hardest to remember all of my strategies for calming down. Because like clockwork, I could feel myself becoming consumed with panic. I sensed the flood of all these tender feelings come rushing in to pick at the wound that hadn’t quite healed just yet and for a hot second, I contemplated just letting it all take over.

It would’ve been so much easier to just let it all drown me.

But I’m not in the habit of doing easy anymore.

I crave goddamn difficult. And this? This felt like the universe was putting me to the test, a perfect opportunity to practice this emotional self-control.

And so, fighting against the cascade of overwhelming worry, I focused instead on breathing, working hard to just calm down.

Breath Elan. Just breathe.

As I inhaled through the nose and exhaled through the mouth (thank you yoga), I slowly saved myself from diving headfirst into what could’ve been another anxiety attack and just breathed.

And it worked. Flexing my calm muscles, I managed to get myself back into a state where I could then begin to think with clarity.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t over.

Though I was now calm, and though I had problem solved and taken care of what I could for the time being, I had a long wait ahead of me and regrettably, that’s when the worry appeared.

And me? I’m not good at dealing with worry. That’s part of where my anxiety stems from: this inclincation to dwell in the uncertainty.

So it’s only fitting that I would have a meditation focused on the very theme of having “no worries for the rest of your days.”

Because man wouldn’t it be nice not to have to worry.

See worrying is addictive.

Especially when you’re slightly insecure, susceptible to anxious thoughts, constantly over-thinking, and perpetually prone to anticipating the worst possible outcome.

Luckily, I’m becoming extremely self-aware of this wicked tendency and have become better at recognizing it when it comes creepin’ in.

Because all I’ve learned from incessant worrying is that it is a complete waste of energy and doesn’t accomplish anything. It amplifies anxiety and does not serve me. Can it change the outcome? No. Does it help pass the time? Never.

Like the meditation said: “Change starts with awareness. By catching ourselves, we distance us from our worried thoughts. We can observe with awareness and question whether our worrying is helpful.”

And most times? It’s not.

So whenever I sense that worry might be wandering in, I’ll just remember hakuna matata.

What a wonderful phrase.

write on.

I am approximately three months behind in my journal.

Which is exceptionally unusual of me.

Three months!

That’s quite a stretch of time to remember.

I mean, I have trouble recalling what I had for dinner last night, let alone what I was doing three months ago.

Except the reason I’m so late in my journal is because I know exactly what happened three months ago.

Of which I can recall all too vividly.

See, every time I sit down and open up my journal, pen poised to make magic across her bare naked pages, I panic. Usually, I get a few sentences in, then I very quickly shut her pages and put her away, avoiding the volley of painful memories that go along with reliving a rather emotional time in my life.

As days pass, as weeks stretch into months, I find myself getting more and more behind, and as new memories develop and new experiences beg themselves to be recorded, I’ve started feeling this guilt and pressure to go ahead and get caught up already.

Except I can’t.

It hurts.

So the other night, I tried giving it another go. I sat in my bed, pulled out my brand new journal (which should’ve been inspiration enough, all those pretty pages just waiting for my dancing pen), wrote barely a paragraph, then I put her aside, promising myself that I’d do it tomorrow when I’m in a “better state.”

Except the next day, I wasn’t.

Wherein lies my problem.

And it wasn’t until I was chest deep in a meditation with a focus on self-forgiveness that I even realized just how deep this pain ran.

As I unknowingly sat down for what I thought was going to be an ordinary practice, I very quickly found myself revisiting what happened three months ago, in full honest reflection.

As my teacher guided me through the challenge of sitting in the emotional upset that I’ve been avoiding in my journal for weeks, asking me to reflect on a time I feel I let myself down, I experienced a rather moving awakening.

And I discovered, amidst an emotionally charged practice, that it wasn’t necissarily the pain of what had happened months ago that was prohibiting me from writing, but these unresolved feelings towards myself that were keeping me from moving on.

Feelings of unforgiveness, shame, embarrassment, and disappointment.

It was a heart opening meditation, let me tell you.

Because while I’m sitting there, bawling in bed with this profound discomfort just hoping and wishing and praying that it would all end soon, I instead found myself leaning into the pain and what motivated me to make the decisions I made.

How would it feel if right now, you forgave yourself for what’s been causing you pain?

Well, I’m imagining it would feel a hell of a lot better than what I’m feeling.

Try giving yourself compassion for the mistake(s) you made, remembering that you’re human and not alone in your suffering.

Easier said than done.

But, since I’m here, I’ll give it a try.

So, with tears running wild down my cheeks, I took a few deep breaths and imagined what it would feel like to release all of these cruel thoughts that have been haunting me for months.

I knew this forgiveness wasn’t going to happen right then and there. With how long I’ve been harboring these feelings, I knew it would be a process that would take time. Of course the teacher acknowledged this: see if you can offer yourself patience with the intention to forgive when possible.

With that, I breathed in patience, and I breathed out forgiveness. Over and over again until I felt this tender softening within me, this soothing sensation in my soul as I left the past in the past, appreciating all that I’ve learned in the time since then.

As far as my journaling goes, we’ve been catching up. A friend of mine suggested I start with writing just seven minutes a day. If it’s too painful to continue on, at least I got seven minutes worth of writing in; but if, at seven minutes, I feel motivated to continue, I write on.

Write on.