It was a very odd, totally spontaneous moment of self-nurture that happened to me a few days ago. After a shower, towel drying, leaning down, caught sight of my right leg, I suddenly felt a surge of something I’d never felt before, and said/thought: “Well done, leg! You did a great job today, despite everything. Proud of you!”
For the first time in my life (I’m 64!!) I was contemplating some part of my body with no sense of judgement, no trace of shame, no vanity. Just a: Good job leg!
NB. Left leg equally worthy of praise, needless to say! ;)
I love this! I joined a group doing BodyLove poetry and we are writing odes to our feet, hands, bellies, breasts, legs, skin, heart... It's a deep and meaningful adventure.
I have a poetry book called "The Book of Mary", which offers an alternative way of looking at the Virgin Mary, as a real-life flesh and blood human being. It includes a poem called, "In Praise of Mary's Hairy Armpits" and a Magnificat for the bellies of women everywhere. As someone who has lived with eating disorders and body dysmorphia for over 50 years, I find the idea of BodyLove poetry really helpful.
Oh, wow, I can imagine! BodyLove poetry sounds wonderful! Poetry can be a gateway for all kinds of internal processing and healing, can't it. A year or so ago I wrote a poem called ‘At Odds’ (original title: ‘At Odds With My Bod’!!) where I was wrestling with faith deconstruction and ‘being programmed’ to be ashamed. I tried to end on a positive note, but the truth was, I’d no clue about the way forward… Am now (re-)realizing that the writing of poetry itself is/was part of the answer!
Well the most nurturing thing this week has to be bird song. I am fortunate to have a garden that attracts lots of birds. I made a conscious effort this week to go out and just sit and listen. The back and forth of bird song was so mesmerising. Conversation that I didn’t need to understand and could just listen to. The variety of notes were astonishing. I have carried this experience all week and as I sit looking out this morning from my bed at the howling wind blowing the trees and watching the pouring rain I can still hear the birds.
Oh that’s so true. We’ve had 15 different birds at the feeders over the last few weeks here in Maine. That has been joy enough. The other day I trudged out to the garage to refill the big jar. The one that fills the feeder. It was still dark in the morning predawn. I couldn’t see a one, but the shrubs bursted with song. Thank you
I've turned my attention back to birds as well of late. They are wondrous, wonderful. Thanks be for the Merlin app too, as I learn to know the different birds and their songs. And there's a bunny back visiting my garden again some mornings. LIfe, beauty, nature, the many blessings all around us, thanks be for them. And lucky us, right in our own back yards.
Yes, birds. It has been unusually cold in Middle Tennessee this week so I have not seen as many birds as normal. But yesterday an Eastern Bluebird landed on the tree outside my window and it was a lovely spark of color and light.
I saw a great spotted woodpecker and mistle thrush and jay yesterday at the bird feeder. We are fortunate that the farmer surrounding our land leaves the hedgerows alone so we attract so many birds!
It's been a cold January/February in Toronto and I'm always amazed by the wee birds that stick around. There are two bushes/hedges nearby that they favour. And it is perpetual delight to come upon them and to hear, even on the coldest day, a lively twittering as if they were partying. The birds are virtually invisible until you take a moment to stare into the greyness of the leafless bush to notice the fluffed up balls of feathers keeping themselves warm with feathers, shivering and, no doubt, gossip.
Wonderful! Two weeks ago I was with my grandma when she passed away. Immediately, a flock of geese flew overhead, calling out. My cousin and I looked out the window and waved goodbye to Grandma. Each time I hear them calling, I am filled with memories of her and happiness for her wildness.
I love birdsong too and I love your description of it - that we don’t need to understand it. I’ve just been to Sri Lanka and heard a crow make occasional purring-like trills - I’ve only ever heard crows squawk here in Uk.
My self-nurture this morning was deep journaling from a writing prompt.
Thank you Padraig for this space to connect and share ✨
Reading this was a calming therapeutic experience, thank you for sharing your insight into a beautiful moment and all that it made you think about. I love these beautiful moments that constantly surround us if we will just have eyes to see. I've recently come out of a dark long lasting depression and I noticed such a distinct contrast in my life when I pay attention to others and see them fully rather than staying stuck in the survival mode I was in so long where everyone is a threat to overcome rather than a gift to experience
Oh I am so glad. Thank you — for your reading, for sustaining yourself even when that felt stretching, and for your words here. All praise attention: given and received.
Is there a word for "morning gloaming"? That orange-red from the sun just as it rises into view? In my wooded neighborhood, that light hits only the tops of the trees--their branches gold, their trunks still in darkness. I walk my dog in a cemetery near my house each early morning and this is my noticing in the past few weeks. I am trying hard to pay attention to whenever my mind starts "bottom dwelling". When I start raking through whatever dark, angry, resentful thoughts I might have. That ephemeral light reminds me, all day long, to look up. To raise my thoughts. To look for hope. To bring my own healing---first to my own thoughts and, then, wherever I can. Such gratitude for this even in this writing.
I love this. It’s been a tough month, with declining, very elderly in-laws, illness, crazy times at work. Exhausting all around—and yet we’ve had more sunshine than usual for February. Basking in the rising Sun out my kitchen window is such a soothing, blissful moment.
Recently I have found myself in a difficult situation that has caused me to worry a lot. Most of the time I spend not busy with anything structured, I am worrying.
Last night as I got ready for bed, I noticed that in my worry I have stopped singing. I love to sing, and I believe that singing connects me to God. So upon noticing this peculiar lack of song, I started singing along to the song I had playing in the background. I noticed the way my voice broke subtly -- not with tears, but with intensity -- as I lost myself to it.
Only as the song ended did I notice the words I was singing. It was "Come Up Full" by Meg Hutchinson.
I’m in a very similar situation and am so weary from the constant anxiety (and the knowledge that only time and healing will bring clarity in this particular situation so the anxiety is likely to be around to stay for a bit). I hadn’t heard this song before, but it’s so beautiful. Thank you for sharing. I feel less alone.
My wife and I joined in a 50501 protest (50 protests, 50 states, one day) on Long Island this past Monday protesting the policies and actions of the second Donald Trump administration. Coming up with two pithy messages for our signs felt important and creative: “Constitution ✔️, Government takeover✖️” and “Stop Project 25, Save Democracy”. Being outdoors facing the wind and bitter cold was actually reinvigorating. Standing with hundreds of concerned protesters provided us with a sense of warmth and solidarity with others. Knowing that other good friends of ours were participating in this protest, as well as in the protest in Manhattan was reassuring. Hearing many car drivers and truckers gleefully sound their horns in appreciation and affirmation as we stood holding up our signs reminded us that lots of people believe in a government which recognizes the dignity for all people, while it promotes policies which demonstrate compassion and love. In these difficult days, I am nourished by our best (rather than our worst) human instincts to do the right thing as we work for the common good.
Funny thing about the birds (shoutout to all of you in the comments). Yesterday, I stepped outside to catch my breath—literally, just to remind my lungs how air works. Being a full-time caregiver for my mom and dad can feel suffocating, and while I know this is the most important work of my life, some days it just feels… terrible.
And then I heard it. A bird. A single, bold little thing singing like it had been hired to announce spring itself. The first birdsong I’d heard since winter began. Never mind that I was standing ankle-deep in snow, questioning all of my life choices—the birds knew. They always do. They know when to leave, when to return, when to sing, when to be silent. They move with the seasons without second-guessing, without checking the weather app, without overanalyzing their entire existence.
I, on the other hand, am wholly lost in this abstract world. But thanks to this thread, I was able to salvage that tiny, miraculous moment. So, thank you. I might not have plucked this memory to keep otherwise.
Yes it must be so tough. It is the stepping out. That step into the life giving air. I too have to remind myself. And then of course the birds who really know a thing or two! Bird song always always gives me hope! Hope you have many more moments of stepping out.
Thank you. So true that the birds really know. I’m so grateful to be reminded that spring is actually on the way. This winter’s been long and cold and I’m ready for more birdsong!
Thank you for the prompt, Pádraig. It has led me to think of several nurturing experiences over the past week and try to think of one to share. Just thinking about those small acts and sightings caused a turn of heart. I hope we can all look for or make nurturing happen this week, too.
Rubbing my dog’s soft snout and cheeks after our walks
My husband’s food, lovingly prepared for me
The little sparrows puffed up in the tangle of twigs
Mrs. Cardinal’s quick moves
The woman who gave her bus seat to another with a child in a stroller
Creation of yarn and felt shared
Encouraging courage to a young man sitting in a place of power
Watching the lilies in the bouquet open up
The man carefully folding blankets after rising from sleep outside a building
Last week, I added to my tattoo sleeve of wild grasses, flowers and insects. To lie in a beautiful space, with the buzz of the needles making something beautiful of my flawed and imperfect body is an act of nurture for me.
It is an embodied experience of the truth that to be human is to notice and somehow welcome both pain and beauty.
I teach high school French, & in each of my final classes of the day, there is a student (neither of them the best in their respective classes) who has taken it on herself to be the one to change the date on the board for the next day's class. It's a small thing, but I love this small act of kind service each of them has taken on - for me & their fellow classmates.
This is a beautiful and important piece, thank you. 💓 as someone with anxiety who often feels on the outside of things, I feel like I notice small comforts and intimacies between others a lot. This week, it was nice to witness a comforting conversation and intimacy between two people at uni, and it was very obvious they just knew each other very well and comforted each other (turned out they’d known each other five years).
Is it a coincidence that so many of us are writing about birds this morning? Mine are mourning doves, five of them, and being ground feeders, they’re gathered around the pole that holds the feeders. They look so companionable, each busy searching, a few movements of their feet, beaks pecking, beautiful gray speckled bodies, silent. The chickadees, titmice, juncos perching, darting, frantic for seeds. And the brave little Carolina wren singing their sweet song on this cold Winter morning in Maine. What would we do without the birds? And what would we do without Padraig on a Sunday morning in this fraught world? Thank you for all that you write, and do, and offer to the world. I hope you get some rest!
Bird song here in the wild far west of the UK too - thrushes are filling the garden with their anthem to longer days - and primroses - so many primroses.
My morning walk begins before dawn so I can hear the first note of the morning choir, then relish the exuberence, drink it in as nourishment before the kaleidoscope chaos of my day. This week, while walkiing, I met a tree who seemed to beckon me, so I paused to press my hand into her rough bark. Held the tree for a breath. Two breaths. And when I left, I cradled the rough texture in my hand until it faded and I let it go.
It was a very odd, totally spontaneous moment of self-nurture that happened to me a few days ago. After a shower, towel drying, leaning down, caught sight of my right leg, I suddenly felt a surge of something I’d never felt before, and said/thought: “Well done, leg! You did a great job today, despite everything. Proud of you!”
For the first time in my life (I’m 64!!) I was contemplating some part of my body with no sense of judgement, no trace of shame, no vanity. Just a: Good job leg!
NB. Left leg equally worthy of praise, needless to say! ;)
I love this! I joined a group doing BodyLove poetry and we are writing odes to our feet, hands, bellies, breasts, legs, skin, heart... It's a deep and meaningful adventure.
I have a poetry book called "The Book of Mary", which offers an alternative way of looking at the Virgin Mary, as a real-life flesh and blood human being. It includes a poem called, "In Praise of Mary's Hairy Armpits" and a Magnificat for the bellies of women everywhere. As someone who has lived with eating disorders and body dysmorphia for over 50 years, I find the idea of BodyLove poetry really helpful.
Oh, wow, I can imagine! BodyLove poetry sounds wonderful! Poetry can be a gateway for all kinds of internal processing and healing, can't it. A year or so ago I wrote a poem called ‘At Odds’ (original title: ‘At Odds With My Bod’!!) where I was wrestling with faith deconstruction and ‘being programmed’ to be ashamed. I tried to end on a positive note, but the truth was, I’d no clue about the way forward… Am now (re-)realizing that the writing of poetry itself is/was part of the answer!
Just love this Ann!
This made me lol, thank you for sharing!
Well the most nurturing thing this week has to be bird song. I am fortunate to have a garden that attracts lots of birds. I made a conscious effort this week to go out and just sit and listen. The back and forth of bird song was so mesmerising. Conversation that I didn’t need to understand and could just listen to. The variety of notes were astonishing. I have carried this experience all week and as I sit looking out this morning from my bed at the howling wind blowing the trees and watching the pouring rain I can still hear the birds.
I haven’t been around birdsong properly for a few gears. I miss it. And reading your words here Philippa is a great solace.
Pádraig, just yesterday I was enjoying the solace of birds that make such lovely appearances in your new book Kitchen Hymns :)
Oh that’s so true. We’ve had 15 different birds at the feeders over the last few weeks here in Maine. That has been joy enough. The other day I trudged out to the garage to refill the big jar. The one that fills the feeder. It was still dark in the morning predawn. I couldn’t see a one, but the shrubs bursted with song. Thank you
I've turned my attention back to birds as well of late. They are wondrous, wonderful. Thanks be for the Merlin app too, as I learn to know the different birds and their songs. And there's a bunny back visiting my garden again some mornings. LIfe, beauty, nature, the many blessings all around us, thanks be for them. And lucky us, right in our own back yards.
Yes, birds. It has been unusually cold in Middle Tennessee this week so I have not seen as many birds as normal. But yesterday an Eastern Bluebird landed on the tree outside my window and it was a lovely spark of color and light.
I saw a great spotted woodpecker and mistle thrush and jay yesterday at the bird feeder. We are fortunate that the farmer surrounding our land leaves the hedgerows alone so we attract so many birds!
It's been a cold January/February in Toronto and I'm always amazed by the wee birds that stick around. There are two bushes/hedges nearby that they favour. And it is perpetual delight to come upon them and to hear, even on the coldest day, a lively twittering as if they were partying. The birds are virtually invisible until you take a moment to stare into the greyness of the leafless bush to notice the fluffed up balls of feathers keeping themselves warm with feathers, shivering and, no doubt, gossip.
This is lovely Philippa. I’ve also been noticing (with a smile) the upswing in birdsong here in the UK, it is a delight and solace indeed
Yes,some birds for me too. We watched a ragged looking bunch of Robins passing through ,one day this past week.
Wonderful! Two weeks ago I was with my grandma when she passed away. Immediately, a flock of geese flew overhead, calling out. My cousin and I looked out the window and waved goodbye to Grandma. Each time I hear them calling, I am filled with memories of her and happiness for her wildness.
There is something magical in the calling of geese…
I love birdsong too and I love your description of it - that we don’t need to understand it. I’ve just been to Sri Lanka and heard a crow make occasional purring-like trills - I’ve only ever heard crows squawk here in Uk.
My self-nurture this morning was deep journaling from a writing prompt.
Thank you Padraig for this space to connect and share ✨
Reading this was a calming therapeutic experience, thank you for sharing your insight into a beautiful moment and all that it made you think about. I love these beautiful moments that constantly surround us if we will just have eyes to see. I've recently come out of a dark long lasting depression and I noticed such a distinct contrast in my life when I pay attention to others and see them fully rather than staying stuck in the survival mode I was in so long where everyone is a threat to overcome rather than a gift to experience
Oh I am so glad. Thank you — for your reading, for sustaining yourself even when that felt stretching, and for your words here. All praise attention: given and received.
Your beautiful words resonate with me. I get caught up in my survival mode, too. Yes, where "everyone is a threat to overcome".
But. You surprised me with the rest of the sentence "... rather than a gift to experience". Thank you. I needed that shift in my thinking.
Is there a word for "morning gloaming"? That orange-red from the sun just as it rises into view? In my wooded neighborhood, that light hits only the tops of the trees--their branches gold, their trunks still in darkness. I walk my dog in a cemetery near my house each early morning and this is my noticing in the past few weeks. I am trying hard to pay attention to whenever my mind starts "bottom dwelling". When I start raking through whatever dark, angry, resentful thoughts I might have. That ephemeral light reminds me, all day long, to look up. To raise my thoughts. To look for hope. To bring my own healing---first to my own thoughts and, then, wherever I can. Such gratitude for this even in this writing.
I love this. It’s been a tough month, with declining, very elderly in-laws, illness, crazy times at work. Exhausting all around—and yet we’ve had more sunshine than usual for February. Basking in the rising Sun out my kitchen window is such a soothing, blissful moment.
Oh yes! I have just also been admiring the first light of the sun when it finally rises over buildings enough to illumine the small wood near my home.
I love the phrase "bottom dwelling". It's a place I find myself right before bed and your description captures it perfectly. Thank you
Recently I have found myself in a difficult situation that has caused me to worry a lot. Most of the time I spend not busy with anything structured, I am worrying.
Last night as I got ready for bed, I noticed that in my worry I have stopped singing. I love to sing, and I believe that singing connects me to God. So upon noticing this peculiar lack of song, I started singing along to the song I had playing in the background. I noticed the way my voice broke subtly -- not with tears, but with intensity -- as I lost myself to it.
Only as the song ended did I notice the words I was singing. It was "Come Up Full" by Meg Hutchinson.
"So go
Drag your boat to the water
Just when you swear it off
Those nets are gonna come up full.
They're gonna come up full."
Yes, music! Keep singing!!
I immediately pulled up this song and savored the lyrics. Thank you for this gift!
I’m in a very similar situation and am so weary from the constant anxiety (and the knowledge that only time and healing will bring clarity in this particular situation so the anxiety is likely to be around to stay for a bit). I hadn’t heard this song before, but it’s so beautiful. Thank you for sharing. I feel less alone.
My wife and I joined in a 50501 protest (50 protests, 50 states, one day) on Long Island this past Monday protesting the policies and actions of the second Donald Trump administration. Coming up with two pithy messages for our signs felt important and creative: “Constitution ✔️, Government takeover✖️” and “Stop Project 25, Save Democracy”. Being outdoors facing the wind and bitter cold was actually reinvigorating. Standing with hundreds of concerned protesters provided us with a sense of warmth and solidarity with others. Knowing that other good friends of ours were participating in this protest, as well as in the protest in Manhattan was reassuring. Hearing many car drivers and truckers gleefully sound their horns in appreciation and affirmation as we stood holding up our signs reminded us that lots of people believe in a government which recognizes the dignity for all people, while it promotes policies which demonstrate compassion and love. In these difficult days, I am nourished by our best (rather than our worst) human instincts to do the right thing as we work for the common good.
Your hope and optimism is needed by me and others right now.
Creating a special meal for the soup kitchen guest with no teeth.
Funny thing about the birds (shoutout to all of you in the comments). Yesterday, I stepped outside to catch my breath—literally, just to remind my lungs how air works. Being a full-time caregiver for my mom and dad can feel suffocating, and while I know this is the most important work of my life, some days it just feels… terrible.
And then I heard it. A bird. A single, bold little thing singing like it had been hired to announce spring itself. The first birdsong I’d heard since winter began. Never mind that I was standing ankle-deep in snow, questioning all of my life choices—the birds knew. They always do. They know when to leave, when to return, when to sing, when to be silent. They move with the seasons without second-guessing, without checking the weather app, without overanalyzing their entire existence.
I, on the other hand, am wholly lost in this abstract world. But thanks to this thread, I was able to salvage that tiny, miraculous moment. So, thank you. I might not have plucked this memory to keep otherwise.
Yes it must be so tough. It is the stepping out. That step into the life giving air. I too have to remind myself. And then of course the birds who really know a thing or two! Bird song always always gives me hope! Hope you have many more moments of stepping out.
Thank you. So true that the birds really know. I’m so grateful to be reminded that spring is actually on the way. This winter’s been long and cold and I’m ready for more birdsong!
Thank you for these beautiful words.
Thank you for the prompt, Pádraig. It has led me to think of several nurturing experiences over the past week and try to think of one to share. Just thinking about those small acts and sightings caused a turn of heart. I hope we can all look for or make nurturing happen this week, too.
Rubbing my dog’s soft snout and cheeks after our walks
My husband’s food, lovingly prepared for me
The little sparrows puffed up in the tangle of twigs
Mrs. Cardinal’s quick moves
The woman who gave her bus seat to another with a child in a stroller
Creation of yarn and felt shared
Encouraging courage to a young man sitting in a place of power
Watching the lilies in the bouquet open up
The man carefully folding blankets after rising from sleep outside a building
It seems to me it is the “small acts” that matter most. Love your list. Thanks for sharing.
Wow these are so powerful Karen and I’m seeing how much you notice in a deep way. I need to slow down much much more in order to notice like you
Beverley, thank you. How was your week? Were you able to slow down a little?
You’re welcome. I did - to check out the planetary parade and a trip into London with friends was joyful 😃
Last week, I added to my tattoo sleeve of wild grasses, flowers and insects. To lie in a beautiful space, with the buzz of the needles making something beautiful of my flawed and imperfect body is an act of nurture for me.
It is an embodied experience of the truth that to be human is to notice and somehow welcome both pain and beauty.
Ah how lovely. I’ve joined the inked world lately. I’m a fan.
I teach high school French, & in each of my final classes of the day, there is a student (neither of them the best in their respective classes) who has taken it on herself to be the one to change the date on the board for the next day's class. It's a small thing, but I love this small act of kind service each of them has taken on - for me & their fellow classmates.
This is delightful
I work in a high school and am consistently blown away by these tiny thoughtful gestures
This is a beautiful and important piece, thank you. 💓 as someone with anxiety who often feels on the outside of things, I feel like I notice small comforts and intimacies between others a lot. This week, it was nice to witness a comforting conversation and intimacy between two people at uni, and it was very obvious they just knew each other very well and comforted each other (turned out they’d known each other five years).
oh mr. o tuama, “structures speaking indignity”👏👏👏👏🙏🙏🙏🙏bravo, write on!
Is it a coincidence that so many of us are writing about birds this morning? Mine are mourning doves, five of them, and being ground feeders, they’re gathered around the pole that holds the feeders. They look so companionable, each busy searching, a few movements of their feet, beaks pecking, beautiful gray speckled bodies, silent. The chickadees, titmice, juncos perching, darting, frantic for seeds. And the brave little Carolina wren singing their sweet song on this cold Winter morning in Maine. What would we do without the birds? And what would we do without Padraig on a Sunday morning in this fraught world? Thank you for all that you write, and do, and offer to the world. I hope you get some rest!
Bird song here in the wild far west of the UK too - thrushes are filling the garden with their anthem to longer days - and primroses - so many primroses.
Gorgeous contemplation, thank you, Padraig.
My morning walk begins before dawn so I can hear the first note of the morning choir, then relish the exuberence, drink it in as nourishment before the kaleidoscope chaos of my day. This week, while walkiing, I met a tree who seemed to beckon me, so I paused to press my hand into her rough bark. Held the tree for a breath. Two breaths. And when I left, I cradled the rough texture in my hand until it faded and I let it go.