a little self comfort for the tender poet

Posted byRebecca Evans: Poet. Essayist. Artist. Warrior.Posted inUncategorizedTags:, , , , , , , , , , , , ,

I can only begin with advice I read (and re-read) from Rebecca Solnit‘s Facebook post, Nov 6th at 4:25 am,

“Things you do not have to do today.

–Join the frenzy of what/who to blame.

–Take in a bunch more media.

–Feel like you’re ready to face the next five years and have to plan and strategize and do it all now.”

I often feel the need to push, press beyond pain and fear, and just DO something, anything when I hit bottom, slam into a wall. Solnit’s post offers permission. I didn’t realize that I needed permission, but apparently, I do.

So I thought, maybe you might too.

You have soft permission to sip whatever brings you comfort—whiskey, wine, chocolate cake milkshakes—and drink them anytime during the day (or night) you feel.

Brewing Chai is my blanket. I think the meditative process matters. I think the warmth of the mug against my palms brings calmness. I think the sweet mesh of cinnamon, ginger, clove, cardamom, black pepper infuses something ancient in me.

You have gentle permission to hug whatever and whoever offers you solace. Perhaps a tree, a body pillow, a shaman. Maybe you just need to hug yourself for awhile, for the day, for all of time. Do this. Do this often.

I’m blessed with Newfoundland-surround-sound. I’ve four beasts, each over 140lbs. That’s a lot of fluff and love. And these water-rescue-bred beauties feel emotion, all the emotions, sometimes all at once. When I’m hurting, they gather. They press against me and, I swear, sop away my hurt.

This is Penelope on my bed, like most mornings.

I gift you permission to read all things loving, all things that restore and replenish you. Read daily. Sit with others art and beauty all that you can. Allow words to wash over you, rinse away darkness that might bring damage.

I’m absorbing Ben Okri. Above is a snippet from his novel, The Freedom Artist, which feels timely and timeless.

Heed this as permission to gather, to lose yourself in community, to surround yourself with like-minded hearts. Your community may include trees or humans or jelly beans, no matter, just gather.

Here is permission to play. Yes, play. Creative time shifts perspective, releases angst, offers a marinading of all that we hold. Gift yourself a bit of wonder. Sit with paints and color and new-found recipes from long ago. Dance in the rain to the drum of your heart. Build a sand angel, a snow castle, a gingerbread gender-neutral being.

I love to Zine and Watercolor. Both mediums are less-than-forgiving, in a good way. They bring the art of letting go, the art of letting art be whatever she wants to be. Here is a recent Zine, thank you Sarabande Books, Natalie Wollenzien, and Kris K. who led the zine workshop on Self Care for a Beloved Self.

Here is my zine…

Here are a few of my zines from my little Guides series.

…and below is one of my waterweaving pieces from my series. The medium is black ink and water color on water color paper, titled, I am a purple lotus. This piece was featured in Boise Weekly‘s May issue (v 32, i 40).

I offer you little if I fail to mention the poets, and for now, Kathryn DeLancellotti, who shared in an IG post to lean into our “holy rage.” I’m paraphrasing, but I’m certain I’ve borrowed her phrase, “holy rage,” every day for the last week. Here is a sample of her holy poetry from Beaver Magazine.

Permission to eat well. Drizzle everything with garlic oil and coarse flake salt. Pause and toast only the best cranberry walnut bread. Chew slow and in silence and thank the good earth for nourishing you, restoring precious energy that we will all need now, and even more, later.

Permission to love on your skin. I typically soften coconut oil between my palms until melted and apply it to my face, neck, locks. I started this in my impoverished days when I couldn’t afford decent lotions or conditioners. I retained the habit because, well, the skin and follicles absorb everything and I could rant on products and ingredients, but I’m preserving my energy and knowledge for better banters.

This month, I dove into a new product created by my incredibly talented (and chic) friend, Jessica Holmes, called Beaux Glow. I’m in love, enchanted, in awe. I love, love, love this product and I am not a product pusher. If you know me, you know I make my own soap, mostly from items in my garden. This product I love. On my face, my elbows, my lady parts. I give you permission to pamper yourself with something new.

Permission granted to body scan and body scan often. Check in with your body. How do you feel in the soles of your feet, your third chakra, your guts? How might you move, stretch, shift to bring your body more comfort? Do you need a warm blanket, fuzzy socks, a punching bag? Pause and listen to your body, note its whispers and respond accordingly.

Speaking of snuggles. I can’t resist. I’m a Bubbe. I don’t take it lightly. I don’t take anything lightly. But whenever I can, I jump at the opportunity to hold my grand-baby, Charlie. Sweet innocence, being of our future, the reason why I poet, my reminder to “keep going.” I give you permission to find your reason, your Charlie, what or who you need to hold on to that allows you to keep moving.

Permission to join others in movement and musings. This is not a plug for the workshop that I co-teach with the amazing Gayle Brandeis. This is a plug for the community we’ve curated, one of hearts and gentleness. Find a sacred space, a place you can dwell with others, a place that nurtures your loves and fills you.

Here is a Movement and a Musing from our November gathering:

Movement: Choosing to be separate. There is strength in your individuality. There is strength in being a single unit as part of a whole. Separate your toes. Move each toe in each direction. Stretch. Massage. Say thank you.

Musings: Choose your singularity. Gather strength through singularity. Write one sentence. Separate each word down the side of your page. Now write a sentence using each word to begin a sentence. Repeat.

If you’d like to join us or download a PDF from previous gatherings, you can visit us at Musings & Movment.

I could keep going, all the permission that you might need for all of time, I give it all to you.

…and I’ll leave you here, with this reminder, circling from where we began, Rebecca Solnit, who offered me permission: “Rage is a form of prayer too.” (Nov 7th, 2:27 pm).

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Published by Rebecca Evans: Poet. Essayist. Artist. Warrior.

Rebecca Evans writes the difficult, the heart-full, the guidebooks for survivors. She’s a memoirist, essayist, artist, and poet, infusing her love of empowerment with craft. She teaches high school teens in the Juvie system through journaling, empowerment and visual art. Rebecca is also a military veteran, an avid gardener, and shares space with four Newfoundlands and her sons. She specializes in craft and explorative workshops for those who seek to dive deeper. She co-hosts Radio Boise’s Writer to Writer show on Stray Theater. She's earned two MFAs, one in creative nonfiction, the other in poetry, University of Nevada, Reno at Lake Tahoe. Her poems and essays have appeared in Narratively, The Rumpus, Hypertext Magazine, War, Literature & the Arts, The Limberlost Review, and more. Her books include When There are Nine (an anthology tributed to the life and achievements of Ruth Bader Ginsburg), Tangled in Blood (a memoir-in-verse), Safe Handling (a collection-length poem), and AfterBurn (a flash essay collection, forthcoming in 2026, Moon Tide Press).

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