- Naomi Gates
- Nov 2, 2024
- 4 min read
Gathered round a blazing firepit in a friend’s garden, a group of us were contemplating leaves and asking what they teach us.
Did you know that all the colours we see in autumn are also present in the leaves in summer? They’re invisible to us due to the dominance of chlorophyl. Chlorophyl is a green pigment which enables leaves to absorb light and provide energy for photosynthesis - the process by which light and water and carbon dioxide get transformed into sugar, energy. Only as the chlorophyl retreats do we get to see the colours that were there all along.
Retreating chlorophyl creates fabulous autumn displays.
As I left the warmth of that fire, the autumn leaves invited me to consider how I respond when my energy levels drop.
As I’ve reflected, I’ve realised a debilitating bout of teenage glandular fever followed by chronic fatigue interrupted my ability to welcome the ebb and flow of energy and productivity in my life. Being that ill was isolating and scary, there wasn’t a lot of support. I didn’t know how long it would last or how being ill might impact my future (it was my A-level year). Although I did get better, it took a long time, and I continued to need more rest than many of my peers. I became fearful about resting too much, my body often seemed to want more, and I stubbornly refused it, often pushing through because I feared being as debilitated, isolated and unproductive as I was back then.
I spent many years fearful and resistant to autumn and all it represents. I’d feel a sense of panic on midsummer’s day, the knowledge of darker days ahead weighing heavy on me. I didn’t want to feel the desire to slow down or hibernate. I longed for the sun to stay and energise me for just a bit longer.
Chronic fatigue has felt to me like the withdrawal of chlorophyl. A retreat of all those precious green things I associate with life, abundance and fullness. I’ve often berated myself for my limited energy, questioning the value I bring to a world that’s forever asking about your doing not your being. How much precious energy went into fighting those internal battles. Especially as Jesus came so that I could have life in all it’s abundance. Did not feeling energized mean I didn’t have sufficient faith, a close enough relationship to Christ? More sticks for self-flagellation.
What a lot of unlearning I’ve had to do.
A turning point came through being alongside one of my daughters as she got fabulous support from our local long covid clinic. With her, I gradually learnt to accept that energy comes and goes in all of us.
It wasn’t hard for me to allow her to take the rest she needed. I didn’t ask her any of the harmful questions I asked myself. I allowed her to take the time she needed to heal. I continued to hope she would improve but knew she was of profound worth and value even if she didn’t. Seeing how I responded to her challenged me to treat myself with less judgement and more kindness and compassion. That’s what love is.
So, I’m slowly learning to allow my energy to rise and fall without fear or judgement. Learning how to lean into times of rest and repair, daily, weekly and annually. As I engage with practices that reinforce this message – yoga, meditation, faith, sabbath, retreat - very slowly the fear that had become stored in every cell of my being is retreating. I’m learning to be curious about my tiredness and ask what I most need.
Autumn leaves remind me to celebrate what my energy has enabled me to do, and they
encourage me to celebrate that energy retreating so that my being can take time to use it’s stores to fully rest and repair my roots and trunk.
Leaves are only part of the tree’s being and living. Their function is to support the life of the whole which includes trunk and branches, roots, flowers and fruit. How can I approach my doing as part of a whole cycle of being and not the prized pinnacle?
Autumn leaves teach me to appreciate the wheel of life, death and rebirth. Autumn is as fully alive as summer. It just has a different, equally necessary energy.
I’m learning that I’m fully, authentically me when I’m resting or doing if it aligns with the energy season.
So this autumn, the leaves are asking me:
What kindness, gentleness, patience, encouragement, validation can I extend to myself when my active energy is retreating?
What practices and people help me value and access my ability to rest, restore and repair.
Why not take a slow walk and ask the autumn leaves what they want you to learn?
If this post resonates with you, I’d love to know, do drop me a line or leave a comment below.
