I cried at yoga this morning.
I allowed myself to fully crack open.
It was all very unexpected.
At the beginning of class, our instructor was talking about the power of names - both to shape our identity and the ways in which we are shaped BY our names.
My name is Mary Allison, after both of my grandmothers. Mary = bittersweet; Allison = truth. Bittersweet truth. I’ve always thought that was a little depressing... but as I moved through yoga class today, it suddenly became so clear that my name has been my mission all along. Hidden in plain sight.
I believe from the depths of my soul that I was given the divine assignment to heal the pain of the generations that came before me, in order to leave my daughters with a different legacy. To do that, fully, I have to speak my truth. There are people who won’t like that; that happens when you tell the truth. And there are times when the truth will be painful. Bittersweet truth.
And sometimes the responsibility to be the one who heals the pain of generations feels heavy and overwhelming. So as I laid in savasana, with tears streaming down my face, I decided to intentionally change my language. It’s a responsibility, sure. But it’s also a privilege.
I am so privileged to be able to see the pain and trauma in a way that allows me to address it. I am so grateful to have the opportunity to heal my emotional pain and the pain of those who came before me so that my daughters will not experience the burden of healing it themselves. So that they will pass down a lineage of healing and love and wholeness to their own children. I’m so grateful for the opportunity to be the author of this story.