Last September after returning home from visiting my folks it was clear my parents needed support and that I was being called home to care for them. Once making the decision a series of unstoppable events unfolded. I had to get rid of everything I owned and move 3,000 miles across country to live with and care for them. Pretty quickly a metaphoric mage of a little door appeared. It was tiny reddish colored door built into a large, gray stone wall. And I thought, how am I going to fit through this little door?

The answer was clear: you have to let go. Every time I saw the little door and asked the question the scope of the letting go widened. As one letting go led to the next letting go I got closer to that door. But the door seemed to get smaller and smaller until all my stuff was gone and I was living with my folks and trudging through the monotony of daily living. Like childhood dreams fading away into adulthood obligations, I unknowingly surrendered my desire to fit through the little door.

The letting go continued.

After 20 plus years of teaching yoga I stopped teaching with the noble proclamation that I was taking a sabbatical to care for my folks. It was a very nice sentiment to message friends and post on social media, but it was a euphemism and only mildly true. What’s more vulnerably true is that I had lost my way, didn’t know what I was doing, and had nothing inspirational or even interesting to share. My website that I diligently worked on for many years disappeared without me even knowing. Any illusion that this wold be easy, satisfying, or that it would even make sense faded.

Even more friends dropped away.

At this point, the letting go became much more internal. I had to let go of the fantasy of what it meant to care of my folks. It meant being present for who my parents are— not who I think they are or who I want them to be. It meant letting go of projection and control. It meant allowing my mom to have autonomy over her body and her decisions around her health even if it wasn’t what I wanted or what I thought was best. It meant giving up being a martyr and expecting any reward, high five, or kudos from either of them, or anyone in my family, for that matter.

But it wasn’t until I realized that i would have to let go of the old, learned pattern of self-neglect and would have to truly start caring for myself that I finally walked through that little door with ease. They’re on the other side I found myself in the beautiful paradox of recognizing something profoundly familiar in myself and at the same time seeing myself for the first time.

I’m on a whole new pilgrimage now, which has its awn learning curve, slant of letting go, and adventures that I still have yet to discover. Like Dorothy landing in the unfamiliar land of Oz, I know that there will be lions, tigers, & bears; scary places and illusions; magical places and beautiful experiences. And just like Dorothy, I will awake once again from the dream and find myself back home in a whole new place.