I came for what I thought was helping a family in need build a house. Yet, what I was building the whole week was my own heart: a new ability to let love in despite my fears, to take in gratitude when it is given, to accept hugs when my being aches for them.
This was a tiring week of carrying blocks, carting gravel, sifting sand, and mixing mortar and concrete. I was waking up with sore muscles that I didn’t previously know existed. But the physical exhaustion pulled me out of the trap of my own mind. I was too tired to plan, do busy work, and keep myself occupied: behaviors which I learned I use to mask my feelings of vulnerability. And it was so vulnerable connecting with complete strangers in such an intense and personal way.
My week started with goals and targets: build goals, step goals, calorie goals. I was running first thing in the morning, and walking on the beach after the build, making sure I was meeting my step goals. By the end of the week I was walking on the beach to find calm and stillness, to make space for the emotions that were coming up, and to allow myself the opportunity to reflect. And I had fully embraced the wonders of fried plantains.
I started taking more breaks at the build site. Sometimes to hydrate. Sometimes just because the kids wanted to play. What I learned in this one week was to give my presence fully. I may not have understood what the kids were saying to me, and they may not have understood me, but when we spun and giggled and danced nothing else existed. My mind was not rushing off to the next task, but present, delighting, filled with the resonating laughter of the children.
This week I collapsed on my bed every day after the build, feeling physically and emotionally raw. And as I lay there, trying to parse through the emotions that were surfacing, I learned that the love that budded within me towards the people I was connecting with could only be cultivated if I loved and accepted myself. The love would grow only if I gave them my most vulnerable, authentic, and imperfect self, rather than the image of the “best I can be” that I typically try to achieve in my daily life. I was nothing like “cool” or “perfect”: I was sweaty, dirty, and felt that I could have been doing so much more. In the face of the apparent need and poverty it was easy to feel “less than”.
And yet, the family that I was building for, the children I was playing with, they didn’t care about my weight, the size of my waist or my paycheck, my pace per mile, or my alignment in some fanciful yoga pose. I was there, giving them my effort, my time, my presence, and my love, and they loved all of me for just that!
And this unconditional love on their end made me realize that I am worthy of love and acceptance just as I am. I am enough.
I belonged. There was a home for my heart in the house I had been building.