Acceptance is a settling in my body. A breath. A knowing. A gnosis. When it arrives, I experience a calm. A peace. I have awareness that I am on the right path, in space on this planet circling a star, in connection, part of this universal whatever it is that we are all in right now. I’m not fighting to make a situation different or a person to behave in the way I deem as “right, loving, kind, just, as it should be…whatever”.
It just IS. No push back required.
I’m feeling more in the acceptance space these days. Most of the time…
And sometimes it is so hard to access.
I got information about people I love and trust in this little community. It was a blow. It threw me completely off kilter. I didn’t realize how tenuous this peace, this calmness, this centered acceptance-ness was.
I’m not ready to write about specifics. I can tell you it felt like a gut punch, a betrayal. I had a conversation about the experience with a friend in Oregon on Zoom and I disassociated. I cried uncontrollably and it made no sense in terms of a threat directly to me. There was none of that. I was triggered—and I HATE that fucking term.
We’ve turned that term into a demand that our sensibilities are never offended. If there’s smoking, or heaven forbid a swear word, in a play, everyone must be warned or they might be triggered. I was once called out just as I was about to facilitate a workshop when I mentioned that “I had a crazy week.” The person was triggered by my use of the word “crazy.”
It’s just that…
Way to lean into acceptance, Moseley. Breathe. You’re fine.
So, what IS acceptance?
I used to think it was giving up. Just accept your plight in life. Even if it’s unjustifiable. It reminded me of playing the role of Mother in Edward Bonds War Plays. To appease the horrors happening around her and her family, she makes dinner and cleans the kitchen and says something along the lines of “If they put a gun to my head, I’ll keep on washing dishes as if they hadn’t entered my house.”
Acceptance was ignoring. Just going, “OK, that’s what’s happening. No problem. Murder me if you need to. I’ll just be over here cleaning up.”
It was accepting that horrific behavior is okay. Nothing to do about it. Just allow it. Just accept it. Move forward. Why would you fight back anyway? That makes you a bit of a bitch, doesn’t it?
This isn’t that.
When I moved to Fiddletown from Portland, I knew it would be a big shift. I’ve never lived in a rural area. I was moving from one of the most liberal cities in the US to the reddest county in a blue state and I was worried I might not fit in. I might not find community. I was so wrong. I found a beautiful community. Multiple communities! A variety of interesting, complex, loving, curious humans. The fact that you just don’t know someone else’s struggles and joys is front and center. When I’m open and I listen, people share themselves vulnerably and it breaks my heart in such a beautiful way. I have been welcomed in.
Accepted.
When I lean into that space, I find peace.
It might be the rhythm of the day. Living in a tent. Connecting with nature. An ease as my mom moves into the guest house and we figure out how we support each other and make room for ambiguity. The clarity that my mom and I are the humans we are. Shadow and Bailey are the animals they are and things will work out as they do and it’s unlikely anyone will be killed—other than gophers and voles.
I’m understanding this word Acceptance, this experience of Acceptance, better. I’m learning it isn’t the calm alone. It’s the calm and the gut punch—in the same body on the same day.
Acceptance isn’t giving up, bowing down and putting my head in the sand. It’s not saying nothing. It’s allowing things to be as they are—including the parts that hurt, including the people that hurt me or the people I love. Including not yet knowing what I’ll do with any of it. Suffering more because of the suffering I already feel isn’t helpful. In my case, it puts me into a scary existential crisis—I end up disassociating on a Zoom call and then crawling into bed in a puddle of fear and binge-watching murder TV. None of that is helpful. Not for me. Not for anyone.
It certainly doesn’t help me keep my peace.
Right before we logged off of our Zoom call, my friend said, “I love you. My biggest wish for you is peace.”
I’m taking that in.
The line that stayed with me was: “It’s the calm and the gut punch—in the same body on the same day.” That feels closer to real acceptance than any polished idea of peace. Not approval, not surrender—just the difficult act of letting reality be true without abandoning yourself inside it.
Lovely story, taking it in the peace with you. The dress rocks, as do you!