On Persistence: The Best Learning Happens at a Turtle's Pace

When I first entered massage school back in 2006, I was shattered on every level. My brother - my best friend- had just died in a violent car accident - so unexpectedly - just 12 weeks earlier. I was barely in my body.

My emotions were unpredictable and fierce. I could burst into tears or shut down completely at a moment’s notice.

Looking back now, I can clearly see that I was having a very normal reaction to loss and grief. The emotional ups and downs, the physical stress response…it’s all part of being human.

Looking Back at My Grieving Self with Compassion

The human expression of grief is something I learned a great deal about years later, from working with grieving massage clients.

From pursuing degrees in psychology and counseling. From working as a grief counselor intern.

But I knew absolutely nothing about grief back then in 2006. All I knew was that I wanted to honor my brother by keeping my head above the water.

I knew I had to fight to survive.

He had been so proud of my plans to become a massage therapist and pursue my dreams.

And after his death I just wanted to make it. So I showed up for massage school, barely able to function.

Our school was housed in the attic of a beautiful old historic home. That meant I had to plod up two (or maybe three - it felt like three) flights of stairs to get to the classroom.

I remember many times when it took all my courage and energy to ascend those steps. There were times I got to the midpoint of the staircase and wanted to just turn around and go home.

I was tired.

My brain was mush (I hadn’t heard of “grief brain” yet, but I was living it). I was scared I couldn’t keep up with my classmates.

I felt vulnerable.

But…somehow, some way, I kept climbing those steps and showing up.

I look back at my younger self now with so much compassion. She was so strong and determined. So brave.

She didn’t give herself enough credit for what she was doing: embracing life in the face of unbearable loss.

If I could go back now, I would give her a hug and encourage her to breathe. I would tell her she was 100% normal for feeling what she was feeling. For experiencing what she was experiencing. That grief is physical, mental, emotional and spiritual.

That it is and was ok to not be ok.

How I Kept Going

Sometimes I look back with absolute amazement at the fact that I was functional enough to keep showing up for massage class during that unbearably hard 1st year of grief. What stands out in my mind, when I look back to that time, is a tiny statue that my massage teacher kept at the midpoint of the long staircase.

It was a little statue of a snail.

A smiling snail.

I can’t tell you how many times I felt like quitting - like giving up and skipping class and going home - but then I reached that midpoint on the long climb up to the classroom…

And that snail smiled at up at me.

In its wordless statue way, it told me that it was okay to be going slow. It was okay to creep. It was okay to crawl.

Who would think that a little statue could say so much? Could be so affirming? Could help a grieving person find the courage to take the next step?

But it did. It helped so much.

My Turtle Statue

In my first year of practice after massage school, I missed that snail. I set out to find a statue like that snail.

And I did! It wasn’t a snail though. It was a cute little turtle that, like the snail, symbolized slowness. Small steps forward.

And, like the snail, the turtle statue was smiling.

It became a visible reminder to myself that it was okay to keep going slow, one step at a time.

That struggle was okay. That small movements forward can still add up to something.

After all, I was still grieving the death of my brother. I was attempting to offer a form of massage that was new to my community: Grief Massage. I was actively learning about grief and how to address the needs of grieving people through massage.

And at the time, all I had to go on was my own personal experience of how massage had helped me.

Whew.

Again, I look back at my past self with so much admiration and gratitude. How did she find the strength and ability to do what she did?

To advocate in the community and give talks about Grief Massage.

To network and build relationships with grief support organizations.

To begin working with grieving clients (often pro bono).

I want to give her a hug and let her know that her efforts really did add up to something great. That her small steps led to where I am now.

That it mattered.

I look back and realize that embracing the persistence of the turtle was such an important part of my past self’s journey.

What This Means Now

So what does all this have to do with the present?

Well, first of all, many of us are grieving and struggling with the state of our world.

Things are hard. This year is hard. There’s a lot of pain.

Many of us are in a place where we may want to give up. We may feel hopeless or lost.

It may feel like our small steps (toward healing, toward helping others, toward making a difference) aren’t enough right now.

Can you relate?

Interestingly, in these current times, a real life turtle has showed up in my life in a strong way.

This turtle appeared in my back yard a few weeks ago, and tends to show up every morning now. At first, I thought it was lost.

My wife and I actually picked up and moved the turtle closer to a fence opening, to “help”.

Turns out the turtle wasn’t lost and didn’t need our help.

This little guy or girl comes and goes at will, usually showing up in the morning and disappearing later in the afternoon. Sometimes we spot the turtle hanging out under our hammock. This turtle moves so slow we barely notice, but then suddenly we realize it has crossed the yard. Or left completely. Slow movement doesn’t mean stuckness.

Sometimes the turtle eats the freshly cut grass.

Or relaxes in a bed of rocks, soaking up sunshine.

This turtle has its own reasons for being here. And for moving on, which inevitably happens each day. The turtle is here, then gone.

This turtle moves slowly - sure - but those little steps are always purposeful.

The slow pace never means this turtle is “stuck” or not going anywhere.

So, my point is, the turtle is back in my life and serving as a reminder that the following things are ok:

-being a beginner

-moving slowly

-having your own reasons for doing things (even if others don’t understand)

-moving forward in a non-splashy, non-dramatic, non-shiny way

This lesson is especially valuable to me right now.

With COVID-19, my ability to do hands-on work is paused. This pandemic has offered an unexpected twist to how I anticipated my work evolving.

I’m learning to be like that snail (from the massage school staircase).

I’m learning to be like that turtle statue (from my early days as a massage therapist).

I’m learning to be like this real, live turtle that shows up every morning in my actual life.

The Best Learning is Slow

Which brings me to my point.

We can learn so much when we allow things to be:

Slow.

Messy.

Complicated.

Grief drenched.

Uncertain.

Disappointing.

Hard.

We learn so much when we don’t force ourselves to have all the answers or move quickly.

But rather, we embrace all the hard things while still moving a tiny bit forward with faith.

I wonder what that might look like for you right now?

For me, it means continuing to record and publish my online classes.

Writing several blogs on Grief Massage each week.

Showing up on social media a few times each week.

And while I can’t say when I’ll be practicing hands-on work again, or where the little steps I’m taking will lead…

It feels good to remember that small uncertain steps can still lead somewhere.

That we learn from the process of moving slowly, with courage.

Wishing you many small, courageous steps this week.