Consenting to Nourishment

I think we’ve all heard the phrase you can’t pour from an empty cup.

Most of us intellectually understand the importance of self-care. We know it matters. We schedule it, plan for it, even teach it to others.

And yet, I’ve been reflecting lately on how often I’m doing self-care without actually allowing myself to be nourished by it.

Do you know what I mean?

Have you ever taken a shower while already running late—your mind racing ahead to the next task, the next obligation—barely noticing the warmth of the water on your skin?

Your body is there, but your attention is somewhere else entirely.

I catch myself doing this more often than I’d like to admit.

So I’ve been playing with a new mantra, and I want to invite you to explore it with me:

I welcome in nourishment and abundance.

Take a moment right now and gently repeat that phrase to yourself.

Notice what happens in your body.

Do you feel any constriction? Any tightening, hesitation, or resistance? Or does something soften, open, or settle?

Our bodies often hold stories about receiving—stories shaped by culture, family, trauma, productivity, and worthiness. Many of us are practiced at giving, striving, and efforting… but less practiced at letting ourselves be met.

What is your story around receiving? What is your story around abundance? How well nourished do you actually feel in your life?

Sometimes the work isn’t about changing what we do—it’s about changing how we do it.

It’s allowing a shower to become an opportunity to truly receive: to let your shoulders drop, your jaw soften, your breath slow. To feel the gift of water. To let your nervous system register safety, pleasure, and support.

It’s not adding more rituals. It’s letting the rituals you already have become more alive.

I invite you to reflect on the small moments in your day where a subtle shift in intention could make a meaningful difference.

Maybe it’s your cup of tea or coffee in the morning—actually tasting it, feeling its warmth in your hands.

Maybe it’s a walk outside—feeling your feet connect to the earth rather than powering through steps.

Maybe it’s a few quiet minutes on the couch at the end of a long day—allowing yourself to rest without earning it first.

Or maybe it’s something even simpler.

What would it be like to receive your next five breaths with gratitude? To enjoy the sensual experience of breathing—the expansion, the release, the quiet pause in between?

Nourishment doesn’t have to be dramatic. It often arrives softly, when we give ourselves permission to let it in.

So today, see what it’s like to ask—not What else should I do?—but instead:

Am I willing to receive what’s already here?

And if it feels uncomfortable, that’s okay too. Awareness itself is a form of nourishment.

You’re allowed to receive.

You don’t have to hustle for it.