My worth is in the dishwasher.

I think many great stories could be started with, "So, we were in therapy..."

And then.

So, we were in therapy.

You know that moment at the end of the session with a healer when there are about 4 minutes left and the tears start. You search for where they are coming from.

"Hannah, what's happening for you now?"

"It is a whole other session."

"Perhaps. And I want you to discover it now."

I couldn't find my words to match the rapid flow of tears. His arm was behind me and I felt him reach over to comfort me and then pull back, knowing that he needed to let me be inside of it.

I started laughing and told him I felt him wanting to make it better and how awesome it was that he was able to let me be in the feeling. We all laughed that he got busted!

"That's mine, it is what I do. I screwed up my morning. I didn't plan well. I ended up scrambling for time. I could have done it better and instead I was so worked up and ended up being an asshole that they didn't empty the dishwasher. That is mine. It really wasn't about asking for help it was about me not doing my job well."

The words came out and sounded a little like nonsense rambling and a lot like something my healer and I had worked on 2 years ago.

She looked at me in the way she does when I can hear her speak without words.

"Because it is where you feel your worth."

And then.

So, we were in therapy.

The tears pouring. The love of my life holding space for my truth.

"Because that is where I feel my worth."

When I empty the dishwasher. When I make soup. When I do, do and do some more. I am so brilliant at it. I am typically 3 steps ahead of what needs to happen in my head.

The moments when I am led by being allows the doing to become a beautiful extension of how I love, nurture, breathe my spirit. Soup becomes my meditation. Driving them to school becomes my space to be fully open and receiving.

The being into doing where my value isn't dependent on the dishwasher being emptied or filled and the joy then flows forth from those acts of doing. Not because of them. 

The doing to be, to be valued, to be told I am worthy, to be proof of why I am important or good.

The doing to be still finds its way out. That part of me that feels like she isn't perfect and her expectations around what must happen so she can be valued.

Loved. Worthy.

And then.

So, we were in therapy.

I found my worth in the dishwasher.

We emptied it together. 

An old story that still gets stuck when stress or sickness or pressure turns the page of time back so we can work it through again. 

Each time, it becomes lighter, less.

I started a new ritual as a family. Each night after dinner we clean up together. (Instead of me doing it.) Each night after clean up we take out the lunch boxes and the kids create their own lunches. (Instead of me kicking everyone out of the kitchen and doing it.)

I watch them think of new ideas of what to pack.

Sometimes they don't want a sandwich. Sometimes the one who refuses to eat PB&J wants to pack a PB&J. Apple sauce in little containers. Cheese and crackers and pepitas. Corn tortillas with beans and chicken. Gluten free cookies and raisins.

I have to hold my hands down by my sides to not wipe up the spills and crumbs or start putting things away.

We stand around the kitchen island being together. 

As they spread the mayonnaise I feel the tiny bit of sadness that this isn't mine any more, that little bit of value it gave me is now replaced by an experience of witnessing them being to do.

I did have that lunch making down to a science though...

And then.

And then.

And then.