I have a famous bed. It\u2019s a healing bed. It\u2019s my peaceful place, a corner of the world that asks nothing of me but to let go and just breathe. It serves other people as well. When a close friend is having a meltdown, I put her in my bed and I stroke her head until they drop into a quiet place. They feel much better when they get up. It\u2019s as if the bed wraps its covers around them and gives them comfort and safety in a difficult and challenging world.<\/p>\n
Years back, I met with a legendary diva who was looking for a writer for her memoir. The meeting went well. I knew that she was interviewing other writers but I left feeling optimistic. Several days went by and I hadn\u2019t heard anything. I was bummed. I assumed that she had hired someone else but on the fourth day, I got a call. It was her voice at the other end of the call and she told me that I had gotten the job. I felt excited and privileged but that feeling didn\u2019t last long. \u201cI get to write her memoir\u201d shifted to, \u201cI have to write her memoir,\u201d an entire book from scratch about someone I didn\u2019t know. My initial excitement turned into trepidation and doubt. How could I possibly write in this lauded woman\u2019s voice?<\/p>\n
I climbed into my bed. I wrapped the covers around me, I lay my head on a mountain of pillows and dropped into the serene place between waking and sleeping. My safety didn\u2019t come from hiding
in my bed. I wasn\u2019t trying to run away from my feelings. It was a moment to get present with my thoughts with no interruptions. When I got up, I still felt scared but I also knew I was capable of facing my challenges with courage and compassion.<\/p>\n
When it all gets overwhelming, it\u2019s a great comfort to have a sacred place to close your eyes, slow down your breathing and let your body soften. It doesn\u2019t have to be your bed. It can be a
meditation nook, an easy chair, a soft cushion or an altar with a statue of Buddha and some beautiful crystals. Anywhere that you feel safe. If you don\u2019t already have a place like that create it for yourself. It could be a corner of a room where no one will disturb you as you tune into your breath and get present with yourself.<\/p>\n
Years back, I was renting a house with two bedrooms, two bathrooms, a large kitchen, a living room and a dining room. I loved being there, but one day, I got a call that the owner had decided to sell the house. I was distraught and I made a vow that no one would ever again be able to force me to move. I hired a real estate agent and on that first day, we looked at a few places to see what was out there. None of them spoke to me. The last place I saw was in the Hollywood Hills. I walked up the brick stairs, I stepped inside and I heard a long breathy exhale. It was coming from me. I felt an overwhelming sense of peacefulness. I felt safe. I knew I was home and I made an offer on the spot. It was accepted. To this day, decades later, each time I open my front door and step inside my house, I hear that same exhale. The house feels like \u201cmother\u201d and I know I can handle whatever challenges come my way.<\/p>\n
Throughout my life, I\u2019ve found places where I feel blessed. A mountain in the Philippines that my friends and I climbed at night to watch shooting stars. The ballet studio where I rehearsed every day in my torn leotard and tights. Teaching a class where my students write about the intimate things that need healing. And of course, my famous bed.<\/p>\n
When I was a child, my family owned a summer boarding house in Old Orchard Beach, Maine. There were ten rooms, two cottages, a dining hall where the guests ate, our private kitchen and an annex with four more rooms. It had a white washed fence and a long front porch with a dozen side-by side rocking chairs. It was called the Tide Rock House and it had a soul as ancient as the icy sea water down the block. I loved going to the beach. I climbed the rocks and poked my small fingers into the sudsy tide pools. I upset small fish, miniature crabs with transparent legs, shell chips and seaweed strands, colorful pieces of broken plastic and the occasional condom that I mistook for jellyfish parts. It was a great adventure but oddly enough, I was happier when the day was overcast. That meant we would all gather in the large living room and sit and talk. Someone played the piano, we sang and it felt safe and intimate.<\/p>\n
Safety means something different to each of us. For me, it means connection, steadiness, being grounded and believing in myself. It means having a quiet mind and ignoring my inner critic
that\u2019s trying to tell me I\u2019m in trouble or I\u2019m doing the wrong thing. It means breathing deeply and taking care of my inner child who deserves my compassion and understanding.<\/p>\n
You can\u2019t keep difficulties away, they are part of being human, but you can create a place that will help you cope with them. Your boat may capsize and you may feel like you\u2019re at sea, flailing around, but when you find a place to let go and be there for yourself, you can become your own safe harbor and the world feels less threatening and more welcoming.<\/p>\n
\u201cEveryone deserves a place where they feel welcome.\u201d<\/p>\n
– – Anonymous<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
I have a famous bed. It\u2019s a healing bed. It\u2019s my peaceful place, a corner of the world that asks nothing of me but to let go and just breathe. It serves other people as well. When a close friend is having a meltdown, I put her in my bed and I stroke her head […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":6,"featured_media":2855,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[9],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-2856","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-blog"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.andreacagan.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2856","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.andreacagan.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.andreacagan.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.andreacagan.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/6"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.andreacagan.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=2856"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/www.andreacagan.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2856\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2857,"href":"https:\/\/www.andreacagan.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2856\/revisions\/2857"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.andreacagan.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/2855"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.andreacagan.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2856"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.andreacagan.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=2856"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.andreacagan.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=2856"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}