Embedded Files
For the past few weeks, my calendar has looked like an expanse of white space.
To anyone looking at this, it appears as though nothing is happening. It looks like a "break." But if you could zoom in—past the empty blocks of time—you would see that this has been one of the most demanding periods of my life.
While the "doing" of my professional world stopped, the "being" of my recovery became an intense, full-time occupation.
While my calendar appeared empty, my days were anchored by the rhythmic, medical labor of getting well. From the early-morning thermometer checks tracking the fever’s heat to the alternate-day clinic visits for blood tests, my body was in a constant state of transformation. And, adding a deeper layer of worry to the mix, there were the days I had to drag myself to the hospital to be by my husband’s side as he, too, battled the severity of dengue.
While the external world saw "nothing," I was engaged in the deep, biological work of fighting, resting, and rebuilding, all while holding space for another’s healing.
Inside this silence, a thousand things were occurring:
The body was at work: Every cell was fighting and regenerating. There is a profound labor to recovering that we rarely acknowledge until we are forced to sit with it.
The mind was processing: Without the noise of appointments and meetings, my mind finally had the space to catch up. I noticed thoughts surfacing that I had buried months ago—worries and quiet realizations that were waiting for a gap in the schedule to be heard.
The shift in perspective: When the external "to-do" list was cleared, I was left with the only task that really mattered: witnessing my own fragility and the shared vulnerability of the people I love.
We often measure our progress by what is filled in on our calendars. We treat empty space as "wasted" time or a pause in our value. But this experience has taught me that empty space is not empty at all. It is a vessel.
It is in this "nothingness" that our bodies finally get the permission to heal, and our minds finally get the space to settle. Perhaps we don't need a busy calendar to be productive; perhaps the most important work happens exactly when we are forced to stop.
And perhaps, in learning to sit with the discomfort of fever, blood tests, uncertainty, and the weight of caring for a loved one, we are actually planting the very seeds of mindfulness we need to navigate the rest of our lives.
May you find your own pockets of silence in the busy-ness of your days, and may you always listen to what your body is whispering before it has to shout. I am deeply grateful to be human again, fully present and awake, after so many days of feeling entirely zombified. 💚
Page updated
Google Sites
Report abuse