Today, I am thinking about what it means to be held. That phrase, to be held, passes from my lips with such ease. Hearing it, the cells of my body relax. I feel safe enough to allow my heart to be seen. Protection. Shelter. Nurture. These words string together like beads on a necklace when I experience being held.
There are many ways to experience it.
We are held in conversation, when another’s listening reaches out to us—sometimes through words, and sometimes through a particular kind of silence. A silence that lets us know we are heard. A silence that says, “I see you. What you are saying matters to me.”
We are held in friendship, in the way a friend protects the connection between us, nurturing it through mindfulness of who we are individually and who we are together.
We are held when a loved one reaches for our hand, and the warmth of their skin touches ours. Yet even that warmth pales in comparison to the glow that rises from the heart when their eyes meet ours. Then we know, without words or explanation, that we are in the embrace of their love.
Now, as we begin the process of downsizing or “rightsizing” our home, I find myself reflecting on how this house has held us for all these years. Thirty-two plus, to be exact. Our family has grown here and grown up here. It is fair to say that Don and I have grown old in this house. To be an elder is truly an honor. Not all of us are given that privilege.
This house has held us through the forming of deep bonds with neighbors and friends. And most especially, it has held countless women’s circles that gathered here. In the safety of those caring circles, women found the courage to be authentic, to grieve honestly, and to rest deeply into who they are. These women gave expression to their true selves as they were cradled within these walls.
To be held may be the ultimate human longing. Perhaps it is a remembering that returns us to our earliest body sensation. Our bodies recall the experience of arms that soothed us, that held us, even before the tension of separation could be spoken.
That sensation is deeply rooted in our body. When we feel the pulse of that energy, we can relax into who we are. We can return, again and again, to the comfort of truly being held.
House portrait by artist Nancy Gelband. You can find Nancy and her additional work here: https://nancygelband.com/home.html