Repentance as Self-Care

The work of repentance is, in many ways, the work of looking outside ourselves, looking with an empathetic eye at what we have done, letting it matter to us, and trying earnestly to figure out how we can both meaningfully address it and ensure that it never happens again. This is, in some ways, an act of tenderness, of extending ourselves to care for others, of giving ourselves the time and attention we deserve to grow, of investing in our own learning and capacity to heal.

Because repentance is, I believe, in part, a kind of self-care. When we do the work, we give attention to our own broken places, our own reactionary impulses, our own careless ignorance. And it’s a way of saying, “Hey, self, you need some attention. Let’s give you some help becoming the kind of person you want to be.”

— Danya Ruttenberg, On Repentance and Repair, p. 59

Photo: South Riding, Virginia, January 10, 2026

Metamorphosis

I am still learning this new life, and in many ways it still feels strange to me. I’ve begun filling the space that loss created around me. I can color the space around me however I want — finally — because now there is room. What I’m discovering is as surprising to me as the caterpillar’s transformation: life on the other side of loss is not only livable but may be better, richer, more meaningful. I am more of myself for having gone through this strange and painful transformation, like entering the darkness and coming out with wings.

— Maggie Smith, Keep Moving, p. 173

Photo: Sunrise over lake, South Riding, Virginia, December 17, 2025

More Elastic Than You Think

When you think you know the shape and size of your life, when you think you know what is possible, something will happen to prove you wrong. Be open to this — you want to be wrong! Trust that your life is more elastic than you think: it can grow, be more, hold more.

KEEP MOVING.

— Maggie Smith, Keep Moving, p. 161

Photo: Blackwater Falls, West Virginia, April 24, 2025

Repairing What’s Broken

We can never undo what we have done. We can never go back in time. We write history with our decisions and our actions. But we also write history with our responses to those actions. We can leave the pain and the damage in our wake, unattended, or we can do the work of acknowledging and fixing, to whatever extent possible, the harm that we have caused. Repentance — tshuvah — is like the Japanese art of kintsugi, repairing broken pottery with gold. You can never unbreak what you have broken. But with the sincere and deep work of transformation, acts of repair have the potential to make something new.

— Danya Ruttenberg, On Repentance and Repair, p. 45

Photo: South Riding, Virginia, December 22, 2023

Gifts of Loss

Reflect on what loss has given you, as counterintuitive as that sounds. Think of the solitude, self-reflection, self-reliance as gifts. Of course they don’t weigh the same as the grief — they don’t balance the scales — but be grateful for them anyway.

KEEP MOVING.

— Maggie Smith, Keep Moving, p. 150

Photo: Oregon Coast, May 13, 2023

What You’ve Learned

Consider what you’ve learned about yourself through grief: Now you know how strong you are. Now you know what you can bear. Think about this strange gift — being confident in what you are capable of. Go forward with that strength.

KEEP MOVING.

— Maggie Smith, Keep Moving, p. 113

Photo: Cooper’s Hawk, South Riding, Virginia, March 14, 2022

Post-Traumatic Growth

Post-traumatic stress is a familiar idea. We have come to accept, if not expect, that trauma results in psychological and physical damage. But what about post-traumatic growth, “the positive change experienced as a result of the struggle with a major life crisis or a traumatic event”? Researchers have found that humans not only “bounce back” after traumatic events but actually push forward — taking professional risks, strengthening their relationships, and feeling a deeper sense of gratitude.

So often we think of loss as only destructive, but it is also generative — because every ending is also a beginning. When one thing vanishes, a space is created in its place. Of course, when we grieve, we are mourning a loss, but why not also ask what might grow in that barren place? Why not ask: What could I plant there?

— Maggie Smith, Keep Moving, p. 94

Photo: South Riding, Virginia, November 1, 2021