Dispatches from Rest Break: Part One
“Community care will save us.” - Tricia Hersey
Over the last four weeks, I found myself logged out my email accounts, Instagram and LinkedIn. “On rest break through July 28th” — was the title of my auto-response.
To be honest, it was not supposed to be that way. But as the first quarter of the year quickly unfolded — from celebrations to losses to joy to grief — it became extremely clear to me and probably many around me that my organization’s two week collective rest break was not going to be enough for me to intentionally nourish my humanity and soul.
I remember the moment when I awakened to this notion. It was March and I was standing in Nevada in a parking lot at the conclusion of a fast-paced couple of weeks traveling and preparing for a large organizational event. I was coming off of speaking engagements, a family health crisis, and navigating the rapidly shifting sands in all things non-profits and fundraising. I said to myself: “I think I need to take four consecutive weeks off.” And then immediately felt a healthy dose of shame, discomfort, and hubris: “Stop, two weeks is plenty. Do you know what you’ve endured in other roles with no breaks?” I’m always amazed at how I can still find myself using this logic — this “logic” that because I endured pain and ignored my well-being in the past, I could and should do it again.
Over the next few days I’d test out my thinking with friends and mentors. It was a masterclass in trying to self-sabotage my intuition: I expected my shame, discomfort, and hubris to be affirmed and reinforced. And yet, the opposite happened. Perhaps lesson one of my rest break journey: surround yourself with people who understand the essential need for rest and rediscovery of self. Of homing.
“If a woman absolutely values her going-home cycles, those around her will also learn to value them. If you have to battle each time you go, your relationships with those close to you may need to be weighed carefully. If you can, it is better to teach your people that you will be more and also different when you return, that you are not abandoning them but learning yourself anew and bringing yourself back to real life…Surround yourself with persons who are understanding about your need for home...” - Homing: Returning to OneSelf in Women Who Run with the Wolves by Clarissa Pinkola Èstes, Ph.D.
From my husband to board to team and girlfriends, the resounding response to my inquiry was: “YES. Do it.”
“Our work is an elite sport,” my coach would remind me the week before my away message went on. And just like athletes, we need intentional cycles of restoration, repair, and nourishment.
The next battle in following through with a rest break? Getting the courage to actually put it on the calendar. My teammate Rita came through with accountability: “I’ll just add an extra two weeks to follow our July collective rest break.” She said it so simply at the time. “But, but what about this meeting and that meeting?” I’d respond. And she’d say something like, “We have three months to figure that out.”
Her words gave me so much perspective. My calendar and time were not a fixed line. They’re a flow — and just like a stream, you can place a rock by choice in the middle of it and the water will flow around it. From that point forward, the water flowed around that ‘rest rock’ on my calendar. Team conversations shifted to “Gabrielle and team needs leading up to and post July.” July became a clear boundary rock for all.
J & me at Seminary Hill
Requests for meetings from external stakeholders included notes about the upcoming time away, placing additional rocks of boundaries about whether requests would be scheduled before or after July. In the days before break, the team and I created an intention to not begin “new” tasks or projects so we could continue to close the tabs in our brains. We limited meetings in the final days.
The list goes on. And all examples of how the last four weeks came to be point back to the number one lesson of July: community care is essential for upholding the value of rest and discipline of coming home.
To my team, friends and family reading this — thank you. Thank you for supporting me in embarking on the last four weeks of returning to self.
About Dispatches from Rest Break
When I began this journey my coach and I joked about how much we hated calling this a vacation. I did not and do not want to vacate my life. I did not want a week of Instagram posts of “mentally I’m here” AKA #SundayScaries to follow my return to work. I wanted to love on myself, rediscover parts of myself, PLAY, and carry forward new ways of being.
I’m beginning to write these dispatches during my final week of break — what I’m calling my meaning making and integration week.
How did the last four weeks change me?
What did I learn about myself?
What am I shedding? Creating? Beginning anew?
How am I pulling the thread through the coming months and years to remember and embody this time of deep nourishment?
What do I need less of now? What do I need more of?
What follows is a breadcrumb trail of dispatches — quick notes, messages and reminders I hope to return to time and time again. I hope they lead you to laughter, inquiry, and new ways of exploring your own rest and nourishment practices.
Dispatch #1: A Deeply Unfashionable Time
On July 1, Jared and I drove up a car full of clothes, food and more to our favorite part of the Catskills for the month. (I’d come to learn I packed way too much, by the way). At the end of every day during the first week, I’d post Instagram stories of the meals we were cooking, trails we traversed, and everything in between. That Sunday as Jared headed back to the city, I found myself beginning to curate an Instagram post with several pictures and reflections from the first week in the Catskills. I completed the draft and headed to the deck for a slow flow yoga practice.
Looking out at the trees, I found myself in a trance — caught up in the flow of my breath and beauty of the tree line: “Be here now. Be here now. Be here now.”
Catching an unexpected evening downpour
I never posted that collection of filtered photos and reflections. In fact, I moved the app off my homescreen and did not look back. Over the next few days I began to remove my expectations of frequently sharing what I was up to during break, writing “all of these pieces,” and finishing a bag of books.
I had to put down a notion that was created at some point in time that a mainstream definition of “productivity” would come out of this time away — e.g., “In four weeks, I wrote an outline for a book! I read 10 books, hiked 2 trails a day. Etc., etc., etc. ” This was a time for me — unfiltered and not requiring of constant meaning making or “productive” activities.
Living for me meant a deeply unfashionable time would unfold of tending to my soul. An unfashionable time of slowing down during an unexpected downpour to revel in the rain. Of embracing no makeup and not worrying about manicures and eyebrows. Of staying in my bathing suit for far, far too long. Of sitting in hours of stillness listening to the birds and trees. Of unapologetically jumping through mud puddles on trails. Of leaning back in a chair at my favorite brewery in sweaty hiking clothes to giggle at dogs running through the fields and kids chasing frogs around the pond
July was an opportunity stop forcing creativity — and to just step into living it.
Dispatch #2: A Tale of Two Bee Stings
I began a week of a few days alone in the forest waking up to a throbbing index finger on my left hand. After finding my glasses, I’d notice a stinger. “Are you kidding me? I got stung on my hand right before I came up here!”
The actual hornet nest!
It was true. A week before rest break I was swimming in Georgia and accidentally wrapped my fingers around a bee in the water while doing breaststroke. Besides myself about the error and embarrassed, I didn’t say anything to my sister friend. Some time had passed, the stinger was pretty far in and my finger was getting redder and larger.
“Is everything ok with your hand?” She asked. “You keep looking at it.” I finally disclosed what had happened, but still trying to make it seem like not a big deal. Over the coming days, my finger would continue to swell but my asks for support didn’t. It was ironic — I began the week with her reflecting I needed to call in support differently for the next phase of my leadership.
So here I now was, alone in a house. In the woods. With a second sting of the summer in just a little over two weeks. A few days before, I’d notice a wasp-like nest quickly go up outside our bedroom window. I wondered, as I held ice on my finger, if wasps were coming through the vents. My heart rate picked up.
Inhale: You are safe.
Exhale: Call in support.
Inhale: You are safe.
Exhale: Accept support.
I repeated the meditation to myself for a few moments. My heart rate returned to normal. I emailed the owners — and immediately felt relief as I hung up the phone. We determined the wasps were not infiltrating the house like some horror film (PHEW!). They’d arrive in the morning to remove the intricate nest.
“See, wasn’t that easy?“ I asked myself. “How many more times will you resist the call for support? Might two bee stings be enough?”
Dispatch #3: Lessons from Earthworms
Outside the bottom floor sliding doors sat a bin of compost and earthworms. Always present throughout my rest break, earthworms according to Kim Karan’s in The Wild Unknown - Pocket Animal Spirt Guidebook remind us that mastery takes time and a beginner’s mindset offers the most valuable insights.
I decided early on that I would paint daily during my rest break. Not because I’m a painter but because I enjoy doodling and wanted an activity that I wouldn’t find myself over-intellectualizing. The only rule was I could only start over once daily — pushing myself to not allow perfectionism to get in the way but rather accept my “art” was about the process of creation, not the end result.
So everyday since July 1, I’ve grabbed my watercolors and my painting pad for one - two - sometimes three hours - to create. In true earthworm form, fear of feeling embarrassment when others would look at my creations drying crept in. Perfectionism stepped in more than once and the desire to start again until I “got it right.”
At the end of week two, something shifted. As the earthworm teaches us - mastery takes time. Except this wasn’t about mastering watercolor and adding the title of “self-taught watercolor painter” to my resume. It was about mastering the willingness to wipe my vision clean over and over again, and begin again and again.
So like the earthworm, I accept the risk of embarrassment as I share my creations proudly. I bring you my BOB-WOW paintings (aka best-of-best and worst-of-worst).
Dispatch #4: Rediscovering Intuition AKA “I just do not like double crust pies!”
If you spoke with me in the weeks before the Catskills and asked what I’d do for the weeks of rest ahead, I would say something along these lines: “Write a lot. Read all of these books. Paint. Bake pies. Play hard.” Little did I know, my intuition would guide me to a different North Star a week before rest break.
Back in Georgia I was led through a 1:1 sound healing practice. It was transformative, deeply affirming, and awakening. Truth be told, I’m still making meaning of what continues to feel like a surreal experience. As I discussed the experience with the healer, she shared she was feeling a pull for me to find and trust my intuition again.
I’d ask for advice on the how — and she looked at me, responding simply with: “Choose the things you actually desire. What do you want to eat today? Which direction do you want to head on a trail?” And so on. “Start with the seemingly small choices.”
Rediscovering my intuition became my North Star in the Catskills. It began with painting the first thing that came to mind daily — not forcing any sort of over-analysis of what would “look nice” to paint. By week two, I’d end my weekly goal to bake a different pie crust recipe to figure out the types of pie I liked. Why? Because it only took me one pie and years of trusting my tastebuds to proudly claim: “I just do not like classic double crust pies!” And frankly — don’t hate me — I don’t like pie crusts other than graham cracker and my grandmother’s sweet potato pie. There. I said it!
My intuition led me to quickly end the impending torture of thinking about how I’d get rid of the pies in the weeks ahead I had tagged in my cookbooks because I wasn’t going to eat them. I returned to my favorite summer recipes: margarita pie and anything with frozen fruit and lemon curd.
And so, I offer you a few quick, easy, and refreshing summer desserts that leave me feeling more than content about my choice to listen to my intuition.
Peach Granita
Freeze one peach per person. Using a dish per person (use a glass cocktail glass for the wow factor), shave a frozen peach using a cheese grater. Top with fresh, handmade whipped cream and mint. Serve immediately.
Lemon Curd Trifle
Make ahead lemon curd; I recommend Ina Garten’s recipe with no edits. Buy or make your own angel food cake. In a trifle bowl or a clear dish per person (I used ball jars!), layer: ripped cake, lemon curd, blueberries and/or raspberries. Repeat 2-3 times. Top with fresh, handmade whipped cream. Serve immediately.
Dispatch #5: Dad’s Trees
“You know, your trees look a lot like Dad’s,” my sister shared as she thumbed through a few weeks of my paintings. I smiled and tried to remember by memory the oak trees he watercolored on my desk back home. As I remembered, I felt his presence I felt wrapped around me. I smiled. Unknowingly, I had returned to one of his practices for my rest break: doodling and watercoloring trees.
A coincidence? I’d come to understand it was far from a coincidence, but rather a remembering.
“For some, home is taking up an endeavor of some sort. Women begin to sing again after years of finding reason not to….They seek out lost people and lost things in their lives. They take back their voices and write. They rest…In truth, home is a holographic. It is carried at full power in even a single tree, a solitary cactus in a plant shop window, a pool of still water.” — Homing: Returning to OneSelf in Women Who Run with the Wolves by Clarissa Pinkola Èstes, Ph.D.
Indeed I was Quentin’s daughter, returning home through a passed down practice of drawing as a way to return to self. A way to practice remembering self.
A few days later, we celebrated my DDad’s birthday. I knew I wanted to paint the birch tree I looked at every morning while having coffee where the cedar waxings frequented. As I sat painting the tree, I felt a warm wind wrap around me on the crisp morning. “He’s here,” I whispered. “Happy birthday, Dad.”
