But there weren't any.
I was flabbergasted for a while. This whole thing I have been doing since June which I totally love -- I haven't written about it.
Seems strange. Why did this happen? I came up with two possible answers.
In the same time frame there was the new garden, also loved, and I talked about it instead.
This could be one of those things that sounds stupid when you try to use words. So I didn't.
I'm betting the second is the winner but I have decided to give it a try today.
Last June I took a wonderful "dealing with shame" workshop. I was introduced to a new book on Self-Compassion. I found much of it completely wonderful. Perhaps it was just the right time or perhaps it was the writing style but although many of the concepts were not new I absorbed them differently and they turned me different colors.
I became aware that although I had thought self-compassion a wonderful thing. It was not something I felt very often. It was not present viscerally in my life. Once I started a self-compassion practice I noticed much more ease around working with habits and patterns. In some cases I moved through difficulties more quickly and when I didn't I could give myself compassion for that as well. It has become a dearly loved tool to help me thrive.
I admit I am not satisfied with my words above, but I comfort myself with the idea the writing about experiences is just very hard.
To sum up: You may like this book [and practice] as well.
Why not get it from the library and find out? Also I learned I love oxytocin.