For many months now, I have been sitting with my life as though it were an ancient manuscript — gently turning the pages, tracing old ink, noticing where the margins are worn.
Why look back if we are devoted to the present moment?
Why disturb what has already happened?
Is there danger in reopening old chambers of memory?
These questions arise for me too.
And yet I know this: what is unexamined does not disappear. It settles. It hums quietly beneath the surface. Unconscious choices, unprocessed grief, unfinished stories — they do not fade. They shape the architecture of what comes next.
The nervous system remembers what the mind tries to outgrow.
And when sorrow has not been metabolized, it does not vanish. It crystallizes. It narrows the channels through which vitality flows.
We do not have to excavate everything.
But every living system requires tending.
Without it, energy congeals. Movement slows.
What once felt expansive begins to harden.
My son’s graduation was one of those thresholds.
An era completed. A door opened.
I expected to step through it with a dancer’s leap. Spacious mornings. Creative afternoons. Devotion to my own rhythms and neglected dreams.
But my body paused at the doorway.
The engine did not roar. It idled.
Something in me knew: before expansion, there must be clearing.
The past twelve years were full. Complex. Sacred. Parenting is an initiation no one completes untouched. I claim no martyrdom. Only honesty.
As I reflected, I sensed the quiet accumulation of incompletions.
Grief swallowed to stay steady.
Health concerns deferred in service.
Friendships that thinned as paths diverged.
Projects that waited patiently in shadow.
These were not failures.
They were fragments.
Fragments dim the current of what longs to emerge.
I did so much with love. I tried to be conscious. Devoted. Present. And still, I could not do everything.
There was beauty in those years. Depth. Grace. I do not diminish that. Nor do I scold myself. I am simply allowing the full tapestry to be seen.
I have always had good intentions. And I’ve worked so hard.
But good intentions shaped by unmet needs can still wound.
The longing to belong.
To feel worthy.
To regain control.
To be loved.
These impulses are human. Yet what soothes in the short term can ache in the long term.
As I mature, I perceive Divine Intelligence threading through my life. I also see how much more ease becomes available when I move in conscious partnership with Spirit rather than relying solely on effort.
Last fall, I stepped into a Forgiveness journey with my mentor, Rev. Dr. Michelle Wadleigh. I returned again this winter because my heart was ready for deeper clearing.
Even when we strive for presence, subtle residues remain. Sediments of judgment. Threads of resentment. Small regrets.
They gather quietly.
Judgment is especially subtle. It disguises itself as discernment, righteousness, even protection. Yet beneath it is separation. And separation quietly hardens the heart.
Michelle gave me two practices to prepare the way.
First: twenty-eight days of non-judgment toward everyone and everything.
Second: an inventory of every person and institution who has hurt me — and whom I have hurt.
Even at the age of 62, the list surprised me.
My life, especially in the last 20 years or so, has been largely peaceful, punctuated by the ordinary crises of being human. Yet when I placed pen to paper, names and moments surfaced like stones revealed after snowmelt.
These untended stories have been energetically expensive to store.
Taking responsibility is humbling.
And freeing.
I stand upon the ground of Love and Faith that I cultivate daily. It is strong. Alive. Generative.
And every farmer knows: before planting, the field must be cleared of stones winter has pressed upward.
Some lift easily. Others require steady hands.
Once removed, the soil breathes again. Water penetrates. Roots find space. New life can be seeded.
This is the work of decluttering the heart.
It is courageous because it asks us to release familiar grievances and identities.
It is tender because it invites compassion for the parts of us that did not know better.
As my son steps into his own manhood, I hear echoes of myself in his words. Just as my mother moves through me.
Patterns ripple forward.
And beyond lineage, my own freedom is at stake.
My joy.
My creativity.
My vitality.
My peace.
Energy once bound in old narratives becomes available for new creation.
Relationships soften.
The body lightens.
The future opens.
I am deeply grateful for this work and for Michelle’s guidance. I am now apprenticing with her on this path because I know how sacred and steep this terrain can be. It helps to have a steady lantern when walking through inner caverns.
On March 29 from 2:00 to 3:30 pm MT, I will host a 90-minute experience called The Uncluttered Heart.
We will gently explore where your heart may be holding unfinished stories. We will soften around what is ready to release.…
Here’s the link to register
If your heart is ready to breathe more freely, I would be honored to walk beside you.
With love,
Fran