This song is my musical deep breath.
That may be the best line ever. Especially if when someone says it to you, they look deep at your wounds. If when these words are coming out, they have a kick, get ready. I got you, and you are gold. AND if you have friends that don’t just say them, but then follow them up with the things that actually make you feel got…oh…that’s love. To this jaded heart, having someone that knows how bad things REALLY are still say these words…just get out. That’s all I need.
On the days when it’s all too much, I have embraced a form of self-care that I call sorting. Not packing. Sorting. I am a master of boxing. The kind that takes place when one takes the hard things and buries them deep in the storage boxes of the internal attic. Under the mice poo and insulation. That is about as in tune as my coping skills sang until recently.
Large boxes of untouched emotional unrest and life questions should not be packed away and ignored. Go ahead, I know. I’m so wise. Unfortunately, doing this work is far from easy. Practicing the healthy work of excavation has taught me that I don’t want to have storage boxes of old, rotting bones. What I need is clear plastic storage containers. Containers labeled with the truth of the stories. They are there. They are not going anywhere. But, they are also not ignored. They are accurately identified boxes that I can take down whenever I need to do some work in that area. And then I can put it right back on the shelf.
One of the single greatest gifts of curiosity is that I get to approach life in new ways. With permission to mess it up. When the weight of unpacking generations of believed truth proved too heavy, I learned an important and vital lesson for an all in thinker. I can choose not to ignore something and still not dig around in the hurting of it on the daily. For so long I believed that if you “did the hard work” of getting to the bottom of the ick it was done. The boxes got taped up and taken to storage. No need to keep that old stuff down in sight. But the thing is, taped storage boxes only contribute to dust allergy. Old boxes equate to ignoring the things that are a part of your story, no matter how you tell it. Storage containers give me the ability to see it, label it, dust it off and clean out that box anytime it causes my insides to notice.
This song is my clear storage container for the hard. It’s the reminder that through a new and curious (and far less managed) approach, not ignoring, and at the same time demanding me to dance my wiggles out. When the things are piling. When the stress to cover all the things is real. When the hurt just feels like it will break you in two, we can simultaneously feel broken and trust those 3 words ring true. I can been crushed, acknowledge it, and still know my back is worth covering.
Also? This song has the best little dancing beat. So when it sucks. When it hurts too much to play Tracy or Brett, there is a place where I can store my big musical feelings. It’s artist with this playful spirit that have taught me that I don’t have to ignore the hard to have moments of lightness. I just need the ability to not always be on. Songs like this make it possible to find the both/and. I can still have really hard hards and the people in my life will have my back. Also, it is ok to dance and laugh and even mess up.
I got you.
We are closing in on Christmas. We are in the final push. Creative thinking is fun, just like this song. If it’s been a while since you not just said this, but reminded your people and yourself what it means to say I GOT YOU, you should. This might be the greatest gift you could give someone. Be it in your presence, words or care, let’s live this today. I got you.