“Do you know that you are the gift?”, a wise man once asked me.  Hearing these words from my teacher and friend generated a flood of relief within me.  We were on the phone only days before Christmas and I was expressing my desire not to lose myself amidst all the pressure and expectations of the holiday.   Absorbing the meaning of this simple question allowed me to relax, to unwind from my tightly coiled state of nervous anticipation, and to breathe and find the ground beneath me. It also allowed me to move through the days that followed with more grace and ease than I would have previously thought possible.

So today, in my tense, wound-up state of efforting – of trying to manage, strategize, prepare, plan and perfect – I stop and ask myself:  “Maggie, do you know that you are the gift?”  Do you know that even without “doing” anything that you are a gift to those you love, just as you are?

This truth is easy to glimpse, but easier to forget.

Thankfully, I was reminded of this question recently.  I was attending a yoga & writing retreat to help myself remember, well, myself, and to attempt to get grounded before the chaos of Christmas time.   Though I am desperate to remember and honor the truth and the spirit of the holiday season, it is difficult to stay present and not get consumed by outer-focused doing.   Having another tiny human being who demands ALL of my attention ALWAYS doesn’t help.  But it’s hard even without that, honestly.   So it takes planned and intentional moments, like this retreat, to stop and take the time and space to turn inward and get into my body to sit, reflect, write, and remember.

When it came time to write, the prompt came in the form of another poignant and well-timed question, this time from a wise woman (the group’s facilitator):

“What are the gifts that you bring the world – the ones that live inside you?”

This question, like the one so helpful to me years ago, I am receiving as a gift and a healing medicine this holiday season; to remember my own unique and innate gifts as a daily practice.

To say that it is not comfortable for me to claim my gifts confidently, out loud, is an outrageous understatement.  Our culture does not condone this.  It is not in my nature. The mere thought of it makes my skin itch from the inside out all over. And yet.  It feels vitally important somehow to break this unspoken code of conduct and do it — to transmit the gift all the way to anyone else who may want or need to receive it.

And so …

I name some of my own gifts here in the hopes that it might help you remember and celebrate your own inner gifts in this season of gift-giving.

• I am open.  I am eager to listen compassionately and empathetically, without judgement.  I crave deep, meaningful conversation that brings light to darkened corners and possibly even allows healing to occur.  I can go deep inside the strength and source of myself to reflect back to you what I have heard you say, or what I haven’t heard.

• I am a writer; always have been and always will be.  My relationship with stories, words, and language has been intensely intimate for as long as I can remember.  My life-long writing practice began with a diary in second grade wherein I expounded on the benefits of learning cursive, passing love notes on the bus, and the injury inflicted by being excluded at recess.  My ability to maintain the practice has ebbed and flowed over the course of my life, but it has been a constant touchstone to return to; a source of comfort and pleasure. Writing has also served as an entrance to self-reflection, healing and transformational work.  I am surprised and grateful for the revelations that occur in me when I stop long enough to reflect and write.

• Writing is also my work, in one fashion or another.  I think this is so because I am skilled at distilling a story or an idea to its very essence and translating it into the words that best communicate that message; the story most wanting or needing to be told.

• I can take a walk through the woods and notice things; tiny beautiful things all around me.  I may collect some of them to bring home and display on my hutch, my altar, my table to remind me of the beauty of the natural world when I am indoors, to create an opening to the calm feeling of sacred stillness that exists in me when I am in the forest.

• I love fiercely and deeply.

• Somehow, I find deep wells of patience in me even when pushed to my farthest edges by my dear little boy.  I can diffuse a power struggle with a song or by talking in a funny voice or growling like a tiger or by throwing myself into physical play and affection until rewarded by the most delicious peals of laughter. And sometimes I can’t – and I explode – but then apologize later.

Though I am trying to focus on my gifts, I notice how quickly feelings of shame, judgement, and inadequacy come crashing down on me as I think about those moments when I do not have the patience or compassion I wish I had as a momma.  Perhaps because those moments happen more often than I would like to admit.  However, in large part I can see that this most often occurs when my own need is so great that it is banging down the door, kicking and screaming for time to be quiet and alone — to be noticed, explored, and attended to.

So here I am attending to you, dear need, dear me; I will try to give you this gift more often in the coming year.  It feels like a precarious balancing act though, to weigh the needs of all equally.  I am trying to keep the great teeter totter of life, of marriage and motherhood, not at an equilibrium per se … but ever-moving … so that we all get to HAVE FUN.

Up.  Down.  Up.  Down.  Balancing it all may be the greatest work of my life. Today I am at the center, as I breathe and remember my gifts — and that even without doing anything at all — I am still the gift.

And so are you.