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I never thought I’d say that.
There’s nothing wrong with Chelsea Handler—quite the opposite.
I like her straightforward and honest approach to sex, politics, drugs, whatever—she’s covered them all. Also, she’s quite funny—obviously an essential characteristic for a comedian (her other merits include a bestseller author and a talk show host).
But a spiritual person? Nope, never thought of that.
She’s the kind of a person who considers therapy as “mumbo jumbo” crap for hippies. (Straight quote.) Well, at least she used to think that. Since releasing her new book Life Will Be the Death of Me, she’s revealed another, new side of her. A vulnerable one. A more grown-up version, one could say.
Personally, being vulnerable and yourself—whatever that means to you—is what makes me dig someone.
I was listening to the “celebrity monk” Jay Shatty’s On Purpose podcast with Chelsea Handler on how therapy and meditation changed her life. Now, I haven’t read the book yet, but her brutal honesty on what’s she’s been going through personally since President Trump’s election deeply resonated with me.
Because here’s the thing: I’ve gone through something very similar lately, or at least, in the last year.
I started therapy.
I’ve sat on the couch feeling anxious about what’s happening in the world right now.
I’ve been pushing romantic relationships away claiming that I needed to be fiercely independent.
Until, quite recently.
Until, I realised that the constant patterns I was repeating, had started to feel…boring.
Until, I realised that having needs didn’t mean I was needy, that it is okay—pretty cool even—to clearly want something in a relationship. It doesn’t make me less independent, quite the opposite actually.
And since then, a lot of the old stuff had started to feel meaningless: not pursuing my real dreams, not committing fully to anything, not having anything solid.
Ideas that would have freaked me out five years ago. (Okay, a year ago.)
So, I’ve been trying to understand the patterns, understand where does all the resistance come from. Turns out, that stuff is deeply rooted.
Really deep. For the most part of my life, I have acted like a five-year-old in romantic relationships, because that was the stage I was stuck in.
And the process is slow. But it’s going somewhere.
It’s a cliché but self-care means sometimes taking responsibility.
It means facing trauma-based wounds.
Sometimes self-care means waking up from fairy tales and taking actions instead of hoping that something would magically happen.
It means being clear about your needs.
It’s saying, “I am the bloody captain of this ship.
I am in charge of my past, of my healing, of my traumas, of my mental health.
I am taking care of myself.”
Because, it’s a way of being real. It’s what being vulnerable means.
Slow it may be, but I am damn happy to see what else is out there.
So cheers to growth and for anyone on willing to dive into the unknown!