Your Permission Slip

A few months ago, I noticed a feeling of resistance in my body and a voice, the Old Grump, began to doggedly dictate a few incessant “shoulds” at me.

I didn’t like it.

On the wall by my desk is a shelf where I’ve shoved notecards, postcards, and Polaroids. I initially used some of the plain notecards to write down lyrics and ideas but now they also get cut up for various purposes in my art journal. There are a ton of pink ones still leftover, in part because it’s not my favorite color but now I’m glad they’re around.

Permission is such a subtle little-nothing kind of thing, especially for us adults who don’t technically need anyone’s permission to live our lives. Oh, if only that were true! We spend our lives being told what to do and not do, projected onto by other people’s fears or lack of understanding; and, end up perpetually asking permission from the other humans in our lives by unconsciously returning for endorsement and validation to just be ourselves.

For many people—especially those of us who had to wage battle for acceptance as creatives in our family unit and beyond—we get continually stuck in permission purgatory, continually arriving at a familiar crossroads. The old belief system bubbles up and still lingers, we psyche ourselves out and limit ourselves by repeatedly saying “no” or “can’t” or “don’t.” In our heads, we wrestle with the ultimate time-waster of them all, the Old Grump, and stew in a state of paralysis whereby nothing gets done.

We’re doubtful. We’re defeated. We’re done.

Boo!!

Whether my inner voice told me that I should be more productive with the time I’m given instead of taking a brain break or going for a walk or, or, or because it’s a frivolous luxury—the list goes on and on.

Eventually, it occurred to me that maybe there’s something to this whole permission thing.

Granted, permissions have been a part of my growth process or I wouldn’t have arrived at my present-tense coordinates, right? But to be honest, I don’t remember it being an intentional, active, part of my practice. Not exactly.

The pink notecards brought to mind “pink slips” from middle school. At least, that’s when I remember seeing one last. Permission to roam the halls during class to go to the bathroom or make your way somewhere else but it always made you feel exclusive and special and trusted.

So, I grabbed some pink notecards from the shelf, cut them into fours, and began writing messages to myself—and, by God, what a revelation! My spirit needed that. It shut the Old Grump down. What’s more, the rigidity in my body changed almost immediately.

Muscles and mind ease up on the vise grip just enough to wiggle out from underneath the weight of the mindset. We move ahead with the feelings that need processing in morning pages or the lines of a poem you're working through, the nap for which your body begs—it goes on, doesn't it?

Tangible reminders drive the point home so well—we need that! Whether it affixes itself to your journal page or is attached to a prominent location in front of your face, it is a tremendously important directional that gets us out of our heads long enough to propel us forward.

It can be as simple as “It’s ok.” It can be long-winded. What do you need today? What do you need to hear right now?

Tell yourself the caring words to release from the old patterns and old stories that hold you back so you can finally inch, step, lurch, leap ahead.

Give yourself that gift.