Channeling Elsa: Letting It Go after the North End Flooding

No one wants to wake up to the sound of water.

The thing is, we were already up all night with Pixie because she gets so stressed out by thunderstorms. This wasn’t your regular storm, though. The rain was nonstop, pounding against the house.

I decided to make Pixie a blanket fort next to me, knowing I’d probably be up for the rest of the night.

While scrolling social media, I started seeing how many local homes were seriously flooded. For peace of mind, I asked my partner to check our basement.

Even in previous storms, we had always been very lucky. Not a single drop.

Until this one.

We ended up with about an inch of water in the basement. (Thank goodness it was clear water.)

Still stressful, even though many of our neighbours had feet of water and lost their basements entirely.

Our basement is home to my yoga and Reiki studio. It’s our community space... and there were my crystal bowls, tucked comfortably on an IKEA shelf, now floating gently around the yoga room.

My Reiki training—and those beautiful Reiki precepts—didn’t somehow bypass the stress of the event. I was stressed. I was upset. I was worried. But I also thought about one of my funny yoga teachers and how they would probably grab some flippers and a snorkel mask and find a way to make something funny out of something really stressful.

And then I asked myself:

What is actually in my circle of control right now?

My beautiful space. Our community space. The space of healing that I had carefully curated.

Now what?

I had classes and practice nights scheduled.

So we moved everything that was dry. And I kept teaching that week.

The living room worked just fine. Actually, it was pretty cozy.

And somewhere in all of this, I started realizing that maybe there was a bigger lesson here.

So, here’s what I have learned…

1. The space is, yes, amazing. But it isn’t the magic.

My living room worked just fine.

If you’re a Reiki practitioner, don’t wait for the perfect space. You don’t need the perfect room, the perfect table, or the perfect setup to hold space for someone.

Space can be held anywhere.

2. You don’t need “all the stuff.”

You really don’t.

Just start.

Practice. Teach. Share what you know.

The crystal bowls are lovely, but they aren’t what makes the healing space.

3. Flow. Water pun intended.

Plans change.

Sometimes dramatically.

Go with the path of least resistance.

There was no point in standing in a flooded basement insisting that everything had to go according to the original plan.

Sometimes the best thing you can do is look at what’s actually happening and work with it.

4. Addition by subtraction.

We got rid of so many things that weren’t in plastic bins.

And honestly? It felt good.

How much stuff do we keep because we might need it “someday”?

Turns out, maybe we don’t.

5. Things are replaceable.

My university degrees were soaked. Goners.

All those years. All that work. All that investment.

And yes, there was a moment of ugh.

But do I really need the piece of paper?

I still have the education.

I still have the experience.

I still have everything I learned.

The paper was never the thing that made those years valuable.

6. Let someone else enjoy the things you’re no longer using.

I had a special collection from my childhood that I gave to my niece.

I hadn't taken them out of the box in years.

She was thrilled.

They brought her joy.

That felt better than having them sit packed away in my basement.

7. Release the need to control what happens next.

And this one might be the hardest.

I also have to release what she decides to do with them.

Keep them? Sell them? Give them away someday?

It's not mine to control anymore.

I gave them to her. They're hers. And that's okay.

8. How much have I been hanging on to?

Our home is big for us. And I think I'm done with the “just in case” stuff.

Just in case I need it.

Just in case I change my mind.

Just in case someone else might want it.

Just in case.

Maybe it's time to let some of that go.

Trusting the Process

I wish I could say that I calmly and gracefully embraced every single one of these lessons while standing in the water of my flooded basement.

I did not.

I was stressed.

I was sad.

I was overwhelmed.

And that's okay too.

Trusting the process doesn't mean you don't have feelings about what's happening.

It doesn't mean you pretend everything is fine.

It means you feel what you feel, figure out what's actually in your control, and then take the next step.

For us, that meant moving everything upstairs and continuing to teach.

It meant realizing that the community wasn't in the basement.

The community is the people.

The healing isn't in the room.

The healing is in what happens when we come together.

And maybe that's what I'm taking away from this whole experience.

Sometimes life floods the basement.

Sometimes the plans change.

Sometimes the things you thought were important get ruined.

And sometimes, in the middle of all of that, you realize you were holding onto things you didn't need anymore.

So I'm channeling a little Elsa these days.

Let it go.

Let the stuff go.

Let the perfect space go.

Let the plans go.

Let go of the things that aren't in my control.

And most importantly, trust the process.

Because maybe the path doesn't have to look the way I thought it would for it to still lead somewhere beautiful.