For an aching heart,
I feel lost for words today.
I feel unsure how to show up here right now.
My heart is hurting so deeply for all the suffering in our world — the grief, the violence, the injustice we are witnessing everywhere we turn. I can feel it in my chest, in my throat, in my body. There is so much to hold.
I want this space — Love’s Invitation — to be a place of deep remembering.
A place of regulation.
Of love.
Of kindness and generosity.
Of creativity, play, and aliveness.
And I also want it to be a place where we get to grieve.
I am grieving deeply. And I believe it is crucial that we let ourselves grieve — not rush past it, not spiritualize it away, not numb ourselves to it. Grief is a sane response to what we are witnessing. It is a measure of our care.
We get to cry.
We get to scream.
We get to weep.
We get to let the hurt move through our bodies.
As I sat down to write this, I felt a bit paralyzed. So instead of forcing words, I put music on. I let my body move with the sadness. I let myself sway with the ache. I breathed. I cried. I softened.
Grief, I’m learning, doesn’t need to be solved. It needs space. It needs permission. It needs movement.
And when we allow ourselves to truly feel — to metabolize the grief rather than bypass it — something honest begins to emerge. Clarity. Integrity. Aligned action.
Not an action rooted in panic or pressure.
Not action fueled by shame or urgency.
But an action that rises from love.
From presence.
From a regulated nervous system and an open heart.
We feel first — and then, we move into aligned action. We respond. We offer what is ours to give.
If you’re feeling flooded or overwhelmed, I gently invite you to pause from the news when you can. Step outside. Drink some water. Put on a song and let your body move — even slowly, even imperfectly. Let your nervous system have a moment of care.
This is not a turning away from the world.
This is how we stay connected to it without losing ourselves.
This is how we become capable of showing up in ways that are sustainable, rooted, and real.
May this be a space where we remember how to stay human.
Where grief is honored, and love is made actionable.
Where we listen deeply for what is being asked of us — and respond from our truest place.
I’m so glad you’re here.
With love,
Ruthie
My grand dog passed a couple weeks ago. She was 14. I pull myself away throughout my days and simply speak her name, tell her that I love her, that I will always love her, I’ll never forget her. In the silence, my heart is wrapped in warmth. She knows my words and silently reaches across to let me know that I am also loved. Serenity. Knowing that what we cherish is still within us.
💙
This is such a powerful reminder. So much is being revealed right now. So much is changing. So much adversity is taking place. It seems like everywhere you look, there is pain and despair. It certainly is too much for our nervous systems to hold, but I love what you're saying here about grief, and that Rumi quote, oof. We really must allow it to move through us, there is no other way to survive this global reckoning.