Hi dear-heart, It’s Sunday and I’m in my office. The gentle hum of my desk fan in the background as it whirls to cool me off. A honey salted, oat milk iced coffee in a mason jar, sitting just to the left of my laptop where I can easily grab a sip when I feel the need. I find myself deep in reflection pondering what to share in my message to you for August, part reflection on July and part preparation for what’s to come. I keep looking at the stained glass lamp on my desk, colors of fall with a black crow and a single ruby red eye of textured and opalescent fire. You see July was hard. I don’t mean a couple bumps in the road hard. I mean stumble and fall hard. I fear I don’t know how to get back up hard. Two loved ones passed away, I was in the hospital and a variety of self-care and caregiving challenges ensued. I keep looking at the stained glass lamp on my desk, colors of fall with a black crow and a single ruby red eye of textured and opalescent warmth. July was also generous in unexpected ways. As I needed time and space to rest, while learning how to navigate my new health challenges, I received time and space. My calendar opened and appointments shifted. Deadlines that were compacted, unfurled, others moved or adjusted and some went pop like a soap bubble against a solid surface. I kept holding on to this mantra, “did I give the person I’m engaging with an honest opportunity to know what I really need?” You see, I’m all too familiar with sharing the shadows version of need to keep the peace and not to be a burden to others, so this mantra held me in a tight embrace of honesty. Because honesty is always kind but not always nice and I don’t ever want to be nice. I felt this deep in my body, both physically and emotionally, when I was in the hospital needing to advocate for my care. A question would be asked. I’d answer. They would respond with a shortened version that wasn’t accurate and then move on to the next thing. I would say, “no that isn’t correct. Let’s go back.” And they’d look at me with a furled brow and we’d revise from there. And it wasn’t because of crappy care or rushed agendas. They truly were some of the best medical care providers I’ve had in a while. If I had to name what was happening, I’d say it was what I regularly see in communication, leadership and life… the autopilot of hearing and processing a percentage of what is being said in order to get what you need to proceed. The CliffNotes version of listening but not fully being an attentive listener. It goes like this: 1) listen for the core message, 2) assume the rest by sorting through your mental notes of “like things”, 3) fill in the gaps based on educated guesses and 4) keep on moving. But when it comes to my health and my life – NOPE! July also gave me the gift of grief. You might be saying to yourself, “umm Deb, the gift of grief? Grief isn’t a gift. It’s hard and heartbreaking and to be avoided.” I get it and hear me out on this … grief isn’t bad, albeit it does exact a specific cost. Your full and undivided honesty. Grief doesn’t want a show. It’s raw and real. It’s old and wise. It will show you truth like no other emotion. There are layers of wisdom in those wounds and there’s no other way to access that sage insight than to travel through the valley of grief and traverse the mountains of rage. My legacy work isn’t just about joy. It’s about joy as the alchemy of grief, rage, and remembrance. This is what makes The Joyful Leader radical, not performative. So in July, I journeyed. Not to a faraway land on vacation but inward. I mourned the loss of two loved ones. I mourned the lives they lived and didn’t get to live. I mourned the harm that was caused and didn’t receive restoration. I mourned the impact their passing will have in my life and the lives of those I care about. I mourned my health transitioning. I mourned the freedom I currently don’t feel in my body with limitations. I gave myself space for anger … rage … at all of the things that didn’t go according to plan and all the ways that life felt like it was kicking me, repeatedly, in the shins. And you know what I received in return? Honesty. Like I said above, “honesty is always kind but not always nice.” The wisdom my grief and anger shared was honest and with that I was able to move forward … new plans, new ways of living, new boundaries, new needs, new asks, new clarity. Because here’s the thing so many of us try to avoid, dear-heart. Honesty, unapologetic truth and being impeccable with your word, sounds nice but there’s a cost. It might mean someone will be hurt or let down. It might mean things change or even go away. But you won’t have to guess or wonder or create a life based on what if’s or uncertainty. You’ll know and that is worth its weight in gold. Having the truth to make an informed decision on what is right for you – priceless. So July I see you. You were brutal and kind. Thank you. On the joyful side of July, two of our local libraries (that we frequent and love) were hosting their summer reading challenges. They offer a daily tracking card where you read for 30 minutes, record it and prizes can be won. The kids love it and it’s also open to adults. During my core weeks of care management I needed to rest and reduce screen time, so it was a beautiful transition into reading, more than I already do. I finished 5 books I’ve been wanting to read and I started my 6th last night. Additionally my daughter was invited to go on a trip to Disneyland with one of her friends. The last time she went, she was 4 years old. She had a fantastic time and her one request on this trip was to get a picture with Winnie the Pooh to match the picture she had from her childhood trip. As I move into August, I’m holding onto the wisdom I gleaned, the mantra that held me closely and the sage advice of Winnie the Pooh: Grief takes but it also gives. It’s one of the most honest emotional exchanges we can ever experience. Goals and plans are a hypothesis, not guarantees. Along our journey, we gather data to see what works, what doesn’t, what we want more of and what we want less of. We revise, reflect, release and create accordingly. Did I give the person I’m engaging with an honest opportunity to know what I really need? And in the wise words of Pooh bear, “Rivers know this: there is no hurry. We shall get there some day.” With love,DeborahYour Heart Sherpa & The Joyful LeaderThe Joyful Leader™Where voice meets vision — and clarity becomes legacy. The Joyful Leader™ CommunityCare. Connect. Create. Get full access to Gather with Deborah Harlow at deborahharlow.substack.com/subscribe
