Mother

Mothering

A Fish Named KarenLeave a comment
This pic reminds me that everyday we are brand new like a fresh Spring morning.

Every year, I’m a stranger. An imposter in my own life. Who am I to not love my Mother? How dare I? On a day devoted to the devoted. The selfless and emotional pillar of the family unit. Who tf am I to not be honoring and swimming in the love and gratitude so many feel?

Or do they? Media would lead you to believe that everyone has/had a fairytale Mom. The loving, doting and encouraging Mom. The – I got you – Mom. The way these Mother’s Day cards are written… selling the story of perfection, sweet caring and unwavering love.

My guess is that a little truth and authenticity sprinkled amongst these card stock fancies is in order. I mean, come on! Just close your eyes, hold your breath and add your John Hancock. When your childhood experiences were not in the love basket at all, these well meaning cards can be triggering and upsetting. Card after 8$ card. Sparkles, music, hearts and swirling fonts.

Wouldn’t a little REAL give permission for aliveness and much needed deep breaths? I’d like to design cards with reality in mind. Illuminating the humanness in relationships. The struggles, the lessons, the growth, the separateness – all crafting something beautiful. An imperfect end product. A beautiful mess.

“ Mom, I know you did the best you could and I honor your Spirit for that” “Mom, even though it’s been tough, know that I have learned so much from our relationship” Mom, thank you for bringing me into this world for the opportunity to do great things”.

Even when (especially when) we don’t have a relationship with our Mom – and or it is tumultuous – we gaining valuable insights. We become seekers of truth and who we came here to be. Because. Because we kind of have to. Because the pain is huge. The scars of not being seen, heard, validated, honored and cherished as a child are ever reaching. This is fertile healing ground for a Wisdom harvest.

This is the gift. To ourselves. The quest for wholeness. Without support from the most obvious source, our Mother. For whatever reason that source may have dried up or was never available. Or love was a trick or a performance in front of others. Whatever the situation. I don’t think I am alone by any means this Mother’s Day (or any other day)

We can live and honor and nurture each other. Anyways. There are so many of you in this same seat. I feel you. I see you. I support your mixed feelings on this day and everyday you feel like you’re missing something you think every other person has. They do not. I think many people have a high tolerance for trauma/abuse. Keeping them loyal to that which insults the rest of us. My tolerance is low which is why I chose to live and remain separate. And sane.

Every Mother’s Day I write a letter to myself. Expressing my gratitude to my higher self for never giving up on me. I talk about the partnership and unconditional love I have for my body, my mistakes, my humanness. I’ve got my own back. This is where I MOTHER myself. Turns out I’m very good at it. I suspect you all are too. Happy Mother’s Day to the amazing Mother in you.

Human Spirit

Owners manual

A Fish Named KarenLeave a comment

This girl. Right here. Should have come with instructions. She was born to rip shit up – perceptions, control, guilt – I shattered all of it – leaving the abusive family patterns in rubble. Why? Well why the fuck not? I was not made to keep quiet, guard the family secrets, keep the elders happy, drink the sweet tea to further rot my soul. They didn’t read the manual.

Hell to the NO. I was created to shake shit up and not to look back. Blazed trails to connect with the divine without the devil’s influence. And alone mind you – nobody followed, no one was willing to take the chance that this was the way out, to believe that my way was what worked. I traveled alone, leaving mounds of baggage behind. Claimed and abandoned.

After a while it was clear that they couldn’t stop me. They tried so hard for me to shut my fucking mouth. Whenever it opened truth spilled out. It worked. Made them look at their own dysfunction. That’s why I was hated, I knew there had to be a totally different way to live and I pushed hard for it.

Not just survive bathed in lies. But to live and thrive and love. I had to be brave enough to do battle with those who counted on me being silent. They’ll hate you for healing. No pain No gain is reality because it is excruciating for a long time, as life reconfigures around you.

They’ll hate you for exposing them. Try as you might, no one’s coming with. They’ll hate you for talking bad about the LOVELY family. I’m such a villain. That’s the branding. I AM forever branded. But fortunately I’ve turned that branding ass-end up and pointed it towards you all. If I was never “the villain” I would have never gotten well.

Truth be told, I am your worst nightmare when it comes to exposing shit. Illuminating the stuff others don’t want revealed? I’m your gal. My intuition honed – I see into people, their actions, their intentions. You can’t hide your trauma from me. I’m like a trained dog and how they wished I was house trained and would stfu.

Although I don’t expose other situations or call it out, I always respond in a trauma sensitive way which wins strangers over. The “how does she know” looks are frequent. But those who might try n shame me, turning what I “know” on those who still operate in that awry mode is rather enjoyable. When you’re no longer dependent upon those who wish to NOT SEE YOU RECOVERED, it’s rather enjoyable. When other’s hate and desire to silence you – has no power whatsoever, it’s enjoyable.

Regardless…It’s fun to be the sleeper, the underdog, the lost sheep, the black sheep, the weird one, the loner, the shy one. You taught me to be wild, to fight for my sanity, to get away. Up, up and away!!! Like underdog used to say. It’s really a shame I didn’t come with an operating manual – would have saved a whole lot of folks the trouble of sparring with me and LOSING.

Peace

How I know I’m a Warrior
Thrive · warrior · Whole

How I know I’m a Warrior

A Fish Named KarenLeave a comment

How do I know? How can I not know? Miles from what I thought was me. She’s gone now. My old self. Gone is the pleaser, the “it must’ve been me” girl, the girl who stayed quiet. The one who allowed others to overrule her thoughts. The girl who believed that she didn’t have needs. How could she ever get needs met? Having needs somehow took away from others and was self centered. Mean. That’s what they told me. That’s what I believed. She’s gone now.

The girl who just wanted to be happy- no matter the cost. The young lady who kept secrets so vile – so others wouldn’t deny her truth or be moved to action, or, worse yet…think SHE was the problem. Swallowing shards of pain for too many moons, too many seasons. The young miss who starved herself in an attempt to kill the beast within. She who flirted with ending her own life as a second grader. Yes, my warrior was hidden deep.

She who finishes last hurts most. The suffering stuffed inside her little body, tucked in every crevice, tissue, every body system. The mini me opening and reaching for support. Then retreating when the flames scorched her opening heart. She was likened to an invasive weed, her desire to live fully anyways. Gathering my scattered pieces, discards, the parts of me that could not stay. Then. Now held in the safety of truth, she’s crawled back, taking back.

Adding to my healing resume, I was. My ground. My worth. This felt right, felt write. Healing through the pen. Words reflecting misery and agony of emotions held. Yet, these words were the very voice I so greatly needed to mend the soul of me. A healing prescription, wrapping the ugly in gorgeous gift boxes. Gifting earned resilience, grace and perseverance – to myself. This is me, the warrior. Yes, please.

I didn’t know this was correct. Following what felt right, I was my own healing mentor. I didn’t know I had the power to change my own life. Excising those who disrespected my essence. Eradicating those who used me for their own pleasure. Ejecting those who snuff my fire. Evicting those who will never be allowed in again. Gates closed. Admission revoked. This is how I know. I am warrior.

Old trauma meeting Wisdom. War. War within myself. Me doing battle with the invisible. The parts of me that knew better – speaking at last. Hard work keeping my inner wisdom silent. The knowing, the wisdom, became the boss of me, eventually. This is how I live my warrior.

Animals

In Love #25

A Fish Named Karen1 Comment

I’m in love with muddy deer prints. Tails of trails. Fresh or frequent. Five minutes or forever long ago. They play and stray. Misses or misters making their mark. No worries. Creatures of grace and wonder, long lashes and lean bodies.

Feeling honored that they share my space. Or is it that I share their space? Soggy wetlands and paths yet to be forged. Their presence welcomed and apparent. My arrival, in the woods, as stealth as I can muster and still they notice me. Before I spy them. Stillness if only for their nostrils’ mist, their hooves sinking, snapping branches, crunching brown leaves.

Prints more frequent in the Spring thaw. New growth, juicy buds, spruce tips, cedar tips, arborvitae fronds. The fragrance of enticing treats pulling them closer for a nibble. Through the cyclic mushy, then frozen earth, their signature on the land preserved

acceptance

In Love #24

A Fish Named KarenLeave a comment

Im in love with 5 am stillness. The nothingness hour. Seasons of 5 offering their unique delight. Birds singing their good morning song. I sing along. creatures rustling in leaves, scurrying to find random seeds and pods long forgotten. Twilight mist thick on the patio furniture. Absorbing this in the space between my thoughts. I sit. Observe.

The sleepy hour of 5am is one of wisdom.

Snow blanketing, filling in the cracks. Silencing the silence. All is fell. The the only movement -added to the scene.

The early morning

connection

Marilyn Doesn’t Know She’s A Teacher

Featured A Fish Named KarenLeave a comment
Onions can make you cry but so can a heart opening. So many layers so many lessons.

It would have annoyed most people. I should have been annoyed. I wasn’t. My anger would have hijacked the most profound moment. Her anger could have ruined everything. But instead, a life changing moment, a nudge from Spirit. I met a teacher, an angel…Marilyn.

While attempting to park my car I was met with a snow plow clearing the lot. I pulled to the side to let him clear where I wanted to park. Nosed in and put it in park. When he cleared the area, I put it in reverse and started to back up. I heard a beep and realized that someone was right behind me. I quickly pulled back to where I was and put it in park.

I did feel the annoyance rising in me. But then again, by beeping this person, this lovely woman, saved me from smashing her car. Upon entering the store there she stood. Sizing her up, I prepared to be yelled at, I deserved it obviously. “I’m sorry I beeped at you” she blurted out. Wow

Holy shit! SHE’S sorry? shocking. For what, for being alive? I told her I was GLAD she beeped and stopped me – I was totally going to wreck both our cars. “Always beep and don’t be sorry!” She thought that was a funny thing for me to say. We began to talk about things. Families, jobs, why we were at this store…the normal bla bla bla. Until

Until she disclosed her daughter’s situation. Somehow, by the grace of God, I found myself in a very private and profound conversation with a complete stranger. I was deeply moved by her sharing. I didn’t deserve to be privy to any of this. I was the jackass who made a dumb move in the parking lot! Still, she shared with me. Still. I was deeply moved by her daughters will to live. I was deeply moved that she died repeatedly only to be revived again and again.

All because she made the choice to have compassion for me instead of anger for me so close to wrecking her car. She not only forgot about HOW she met me, she trusted that it was ok to tell me about her life’s recent tragic events, in detail. Every detail. I’m still in shock but strangely honored.

Again. I was blown away that her daughter coded several times during her C-section. Several times. Was clinically dead seven times. That hits hard. Even when it’s a stranger. I didn’t want to cry but it was already there. I was crying inside. Profound. It was a miracle mom and baby survived.

Marilyn’s daughter has some complications because of these events and continues to recover.

I was ready to be scolded, degraded, sneered at for being dumb and assuming no one was behind me. Instead, I was met with compassion and understanding. That’s what Marilyn had waiting for me. Understanding and Compassion. How sweet. What an incredible woman that Marilyn. What an awesome day with the chance meeting with my latest teacher. Teaching love, trust, compassion and understanding even for strangers. Even for someone who nearly caused you more angst and worries.

Can’t we all try to BE the compassion and understanding. You never know who you’ll impact and how far the ripples will go. It may be life saving, life changing. We all struggle. We need to trust and see each other. I think it was Rumi who said, We’re all just humans, walking each other home.

I’ll be talking the long way. Past some lovely strangers.

beach · salt

In Love #23

A Fish Named KarenLeave a comment
Allow the salt to be thy protection – pic by afishnamedkaren

I’m in love with ocean salty skin. Fresh off the bake. Tight and terrific. In the most dusty way. The ride home from the beach we carried pounds of it, no efforting, to its final resting place. As a child I’d lick my hands, settling my nose into my fleshy forearm. Breathing in breathing out. Smell of the ocean held captive.

Recalling the frivolity of the day. No plans. No worries. Chasing the sun across the sky. Sand castles, like giants, the salt of the earth. Taking the day with many grains. Buckets filled with water and salty somethings. Spilling out across the hours. Pinching the fun, tossing it over our shoulder. Just in case.

Like salt in the beach wound, we hear the call. Time to clean up. Salty faces at the news of our eminent departure. On a salt and a prayer. Praying for our quick return to the home of the salty dog. The doggie salt. The awesome shoreline. To spread more love on our soul skin and absorb its earthy goodness. I’m in love with salty skin.

Mental Illness

You Were Missed

A Fish Named KarenLeave a comment
This pic reminded me of my tiny child self trying to carefully bond with the insanity.

“You were missed” and seventy thousand other things you said to keep me in check. Like a beautiful bouquet of flowers infused with shattered glass. You made it clear, I was your possession. Made to serve you and feel less. To remind me of my lower rank. My uncaring heart. Anyone else might feel warm and loved hearing “you were missed” – imagine that…I was missed! people really missed my presence. They were even genuinely saddened that I couldn’t make it. How beautiful a sentiment. If only.

If only it was credible. If only it wasn’t delivered by you, my maternal influence. If only you didn’t poison everything with your degradation. If only.

A big family gathers for many diff functions – birthdays, funerals, showers, going away parties, weddings, retirements, etc.. and we were expected to attend all things. Expected. Not welcomed. Not because we wanted to. Not because it was fun. Not because it was the right thing to do. But because NOT attending was promised hell. There was no room for NO. Weren’t allowed to have a NO. About anything. Ever. Trusting my own judgement was sketchy. Discouraged.

Conflicting plans? Something you had to do, somewhere you had to go? Kick and scream, especially as teens…silence from her. Silent annihilation. Because I was such a hard-headed prick of a gal i’d eventually end up attending MY event or obligation. Sports, clubs, events with friends…but no fun was had because I could never land gracefully in the contentment and satisfaction only my choosing could bring. Like a biodegradable trophy. Erosion and disappearance of all that was joyfully earned.

The torture I brought down on myself was meaner that anything she could dish. I learnt well. I learnt how to keep myself in a place of suspension. Spanning between confidence and slaughter for feeling confident. Whatever I wouldn’t let her unravel I tore down myself. Eventually. I so wanted power over her. But I was just a child.

Not attending family events felt just as gut wrenching as HAVING to go to them. Well, making my captor proud by succumbing to her control OR having a life, separate from hers then being shamed for it …hmmmm tough choice. Either way the guilt, hate and gag order were all consuming. Constant battle waged between my heart and head over her silent, contemptuous feels for my existence.

After said missed family event the wrath was thick, oh the wrath. I had to sit and listen to what a wonderful time ______was and how I “was missed”. Well, by now I knew exactly what that meant. It simply meant that I had deeply embarrassed the beast. You don’t ever deeply embarrass her. You just don’t.

Loosely interpreted, by not agreeing to be used for her gain I had held her feet to her self absorbed, convoluted fire. She was put in the uncomfortable position of explaining MY absence. She had no container for feeling a lack of control such as this. Oh my! Friends and family might think her mothering was substandard. How terrible! Lmao

After all, Godly mothers have children who are selfless. Children who obey. Children who don’t ask why. Little girls who respect and cherish their moms. Or else. Children are not equipped for such psychological warfare and will give up on themselves just to have their mothers love and approval.

Wrong family. Wrong fairytale. Wrong daughter. “You were missed” was code for – you fucking asshole! How dare you make me look bad in front of everyone? How dare you have needs? Who told you you could have a life outside of what I present to you? How dare you, mean girl! You’re nothing but an embarrassment. You cannot be counted on. I don’t care about you unless you’re doing, thinking and feeling in ways that directly benefit me and serve me.

“You were missed’ turns out to be pretty profound. Pretty on the mark now. I have missed every event over the past 10 years. I’ve been busy. Simplifying the distorted, complex web you wove, the tangled innervation of insanity. I am missed for sure. Haha. You miss me as the kick dog. The lost sheep as you so affectionately call me. As the golden child, the prize, your namesake, the most difficult one to break.

How proud and accomplished you must have felt when you stripped me of my individuality. But I’m here to tell you… I’m proud too. Proud that I’m missed for the right reasons. Removed from the insane mind fuck. You must miss my heart. You miss my beauty, inside and out. You miss the tiny bond I severed. I would love to say “you are missed” to you but I can’t miss what I never really had.

survival

The Best and The Worst

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My Brookers watching me as I live out loud

This has got to be the best and the worst time of my life. I am realizing the fruits of my hard, excruciating labor. Everyone’s imploding around me – I stand tall n steady. Dead nuts steady as an island in a tormented sea. Waves, winds crashing from all sides – yet I breathe. Because I know. That it’s all just. Temporary. And I’m fine. Finally.

I’m an observer. A family of origin- tornado observer. As life fucks the unhealed. Numerous family members who’ve passed up every opportunity to dive deep. Their Spirits, their Higher Selves wanting them to finally swim in the healing waters…they claimed they didn’t know how to swim, the water was too cold, too deep…Excuses. Now they’re drowning, slowly. Publicly.

I should be that – but if not for for the grace of God – I would be that. I should be crushed by the weight of the dark history. But yet I wear survival gear and cling to a life vest. As a result, I am unscathed by the shredding winds. I am whole. As I have already seen many-a-horrendous storms and been sucked up in the torrent – 20+ years fighting for my right to be here, to be seen, be victorious.

The worst part, watching as the trauma screams for acknowledgment, validation, to be seen and heard. The wall being built higher, more reinforcement needed to close it out, shut it up. Fortify the fortress of Denial Palace. My family of origin lives here. It’s occupants smile, gladly welcoming amnesia, loss of sight and hearing as insurance/loyalty to the fairytale. The once upon a slime childhood.

Guests are welcome in the Palace – butlers offer tall glasses of shut the fuck up with a side of “smile even when you’re dying inside” crackers and “let everyone know how loving your mother is” cheese. Secrets guarded as my siblings and maternal influence, inside, are imploding. Keeping the beast quiet and alive and salivating. The old evil licking it’s lips, eyes locked on the newest generation. Ready to feed off the misery, hiding from daylight.

The best and worst playing simultaneously. On the same reel. Sadness and elation. Devastation and joy. No longer experiencing but observing. I cannot go to the Palace. MY acceptance of fake and shallow and control has expired. I don’t fit. Maybe I never did. I can see. I can see the ugly beyond it’s fancy decor. My heart breaks for all of them yet rejoices for ME…

Can I hold both at once?

Joy

Who am I?

A Fish Named KarenLeave a comment
Meet Gerlind -named after my PenFriend
(1978, Germany)

I drive down the road in the seat of luxury and wonder… who am I really? Who am I to be seated in this power, warmth and fancy? AUDI fancy. Steering wheel solid and cool. Decisive and direct. Too cool for my meager roots. The feels. The power. Brilliance. Kinda like me… All of what I’ve had to keep hidden. All of what I’ve never let myself fully have. Until now.

I was forever seated in lack and want. In the back. Seat. Disgusting. Making do with less, getting comfortable with the uncomfortable. Hand-me-downs, free lunches, government cheese and discount milk from the gentle eyed milkman. 8 tiny children wild n hungry. We were lucky to barely have the essentials. Free Summer camp, programs for underprivileged youth and bags of clothing from the church. Too many mouths to feed with not enough dollars to make a difference.

Depending upon others for some joy, something memorable. Living and accepting less being less felt like home. Fabulousness squelched by my inner joy stealer. Habitually feeling flawed and unworthy – blocking honor and reverence. It was a comfortable cruxifixction of my magnificence. Poverty of the pocketbook and my young soul.

But now, in the literal drivers seat. Leather seat. Wait, what? I’m suddenly queen of the highway. The power and potential colliding under my bottom. Seat warmer welcoming me with open arms. Allowing the melt of my “sale rack” exterior. I deserve this. I work hard for this right here. Right now. No apologies. None.

I feel like the smaller parts of me disappear in this auto. Automatic re-configuration. Auto correct. Auto-manic smoothing out the highs and lows of my achy, frozen past. I am reborn, repurposed, recycled into comfort and acceptance and reality. The reality of joy for just being. Joy for how I’ve not only survived but thrived. From hand outs to hand ups.

I wasn’t supposed to make it to this. They didn’t want me to succeed. I have so much gratitude for the government assistance, kindness of church people, school programs, psychologists, extended family members and complete strangers who took the time to notice a struggling family, needy children, gems that needed a good polish. I thank you all! Now excuse me

I’m Audi- here.

snow

In Love #22

A Fish Named KarenLeave a comment
Photo by afishnamedkaren

I’m in love with snowy silence. White wrapped muffled fuzzies or is it fuffled muzzies? Either will do on such an occasion as this. Blankets of frozen warming me with fond memories. Memories of younger days. Much younger days after the storm. The sky purging all its discards. Heavy, thick, frozen air pausing life. Muting color. Halting movement. Muffling audio. Witnessing the world losing its voice.

Ready. Standing outside. My puffy fluffer snowsuit, 2 sizes too large, insulating me from the harshness. Rosy cheeks, hand-me-down winter boots and 10 cent knitted church bazaar hat. Ready for all of it. The silence deafening. I breathe in the crisp, freshness. I barely notice my chest making small movements under the layers.

My little person body filling, cleansing and clearing. But I know it always does. Without efforting or worry or pressure. It just happens. The freshness streaming to my lungs. Filling them with silence. The stillness then warmed and released to find its way out unobstructed. Completely.

Motionless on the deserted and speechless sidewalk. I wait. And listen. For nothing and everything. Sounds of silence disturbing and delighting me. The emptiness got me full. A snowblower in the distance. Scrape of a metal shovel. All is lost. All is found. All is well. I stand, frozen, listening for nothing. I hear it. The silence. The snowy silence.

heart

My tender heart

A Fish Named Karen4 Comments
Leaf with Insect munched heart -afishnamedkaren

My heart. Wasn’t always tender. It couldn’t be. It had to hide out of sight. Huddled up next to my breath and closed eyes. Corner cozy. Middle of the room too exposed, heavy with anticipation of slaughter. When I was sure no-one was looking, I’d let it out, on a short leash. But never to fully let go. Never to fully catch my breath or settle into deep ones. Never to allow my eyes to be seen actually seeing anything.

So today, the tenderest of hearts is bleeding. And I won’t stop it. That would be more of the same. Instead, I encourage it to hurt, to grieve. It’s safe now. I craft the sweetest, loving alter. For it. Holding it with all my love pouring forth to strengthen its fabric. To nourish its lack. To wish its wholeness into existence. It’s on me. It’s in me.

But it just wants to bleed. So I let it leak and gush. Whenever it gets touched. Mostly in grief these days. Tragedy is so abundant around me. Right now. Still. My family of origin struggling, finally. The long term effects of unhealed, ancient sexual abuse. They’re drowning, not fighting to survive. Not stirring to action. Wallowing in tragedy disguised by addiction, co-dependency and self hate and so much more. My heart physically hurts for them. So I turn to self healing. Only for me. My 20+ yrs of intensive deep dive finally coming to fruition. A stocked toolkit I have gathered. Dipping into my spiritual 401K.

As peoples lives implode around me, I am standing in my center. Compassionate yet separate. My heart whispers, yes, this is it. This. My heart has so much to say. And I listen. And I listen. She’s kept it all in and now she can’t stop expressing. When I sit and check in, she oozes with sadness. Decades of betrayal, shame, loneliness, no right to exist, gaslighting, control – absorbed and stored in my body. The thaw is now.

I put my hand gently to my heart space. Letting her know that I will never leave her. That I will always protect us. And make time for her to express and ease the heaviness. My tender heart. For this awareness I am forever grateful. I am gifted a greater awareness and appreciation of why I’m here. Alive. A greater knowing of what life is about and how I can be there for others without losing myself in the process. Like a tree that is flexible in the storm. An observer, not a victim.

acceptance

Card AF

A Fish Named Karen2 Comments

Here we are, Christmas quickly approaching. So of course I have no plans to spend time with my family on Christmas Eve. Flirting with attending vs. not attending family gatherings for 15 years, I have stayed away completely for about 5 years now. If you’ve been reading any of my earlier bloglets you have a really good idea as to why I choose to remain separate. It’s really difficult to stand your ground and distance yourself from those you were bonded to. When your Spirit is killed over and over and over as a child, some of us fight back as adults and reclaim our lives from the grips of traumatic memories/hauntings.

So you can prob imagine the shock in my system when my husband texts me, “Do you think today you can get your mother a card, from me, for Christmas?” I thought to myself – self, well, that’s kind of weird but ok, whatever…just as long as I don’t have to see her.  So off I go to the store to the cheerful love your Mother Christmas card section. Rolling my eyes, I saunter up to the section of colorful, Christmasee cards, all ooozing with all things Mom-ness.

“Your love, Mom, reminds us of the love in our hearts this Holiday season…..” “You are the glue that keeps this family together”, “A special Holiday wish for a special Mother…”, “Mom, all the joyful Holiday memories we share…”, and “When we feel the Christmas spirit we remember the love you gave to us…”.    Wow, um, nope, not a chance.  I must be in the wrong section.

I need the cards that are honest af. I know it’s Christmas and all but NO sugar-coating here… “I hope you have the Christmas you deserve” or “I’m sure you think you did a great job but I am entitled to my truth and my opinion” and “I gave you the first 1/2 of my life, the 2nd half is mine” or “Your energy is toxic so it’s just perfect if you celebrate Christmas at your house and I celebrate it at mine” and “No worries, I’m not angry, in fact, I don’t even think of you anymore, Merry Christmas”. These MIGHT not exist in card form but I’d be willing to guess that there is prob a market for them. LOL

IMG_3736

 So, I ended up settling on a generic card, “It’s Christmas, Hope you spend this magical season any merry way you like”. See?, everyone’s happy. Done. Got the card, husband will deliver it tomorrow, I didn’t extend myself into anything further that I would not heartfully agree with and she will never know I had anything to do with it. My poor husband will be absorbing some crazy when he visits her tomorrow. I’ll be sure to surround him with love and light, shielding his solar plexus from her battering ram creepy, devouring energy.

Poor thing, he’s kinda stuck in the middle and sees her rarely but he continues the facade of caring. She’ll hand him a gift for me – which always triggers me… throw it out, unopened? give it away? burn it? bury it in ceremony? So sad that she wants me to be owned by her again, to forget the toxic, abusive, sexually charged family we grew up in. To forget that she didn’t do her job and still denies it to this day, fucking my sanity. Thank-you, next.

I hope she likes her card, I hope she hates her card, I hope she notices how much of a non-card it really is, I hope she notices how I did not sign it, I hope she feels how much self-love I have now, without her influence—–

Despite all of this chatter in my head, NONE of this matters because I just simply bought a card, a Christmas card, nothing more than paper, glitter, a Stocking, teddy bear and words in cursive… with no promises, no agenda, no should haves, no attachments. Just a card.

Merry Christmas

Human Spirit

All The Things You Never Said

A Fish Named KarenLeave a comment
As a Lotus, I rise from the muddy waters. Anyway. Pic belongs to afishnamedkaren

The things I needed to hear. To feel real, validated and seen. Human. When I was not wanting to live, I could have used some reality. But let’s be honest. Seriously, you’ve buried everything. What you’ve done mummified, locked away. Of course, in the likeness of what was done to you. Someone ruined your lives so you then turned that on me. The damage you three have done. Shattering any chance of normalcy. For me. History repeated, when no one was looking. Default, complacency, asleep.

But still, there are all the things you never said. All the things I was starving to hear. All the things that might have changed my sad life, allowing me to feel instead of just surviving. To thaw my frozenness…

Imagine hearing – I’m sorry you hate your body, we did that. I’m sorry you need hyper vigilance just to feel safe, we did that, we never let you rest. I’m sorry you feel transparent, like everyone knows what you’re thinking, we needed to keep you feeling exposed. We apologize for pressuring you, never letting you rest- for if you rested you might have gathered courage and strength to outsmart us or tell others what we were doing. We’re sorry you fear assault will come any moment. Keeping you fearful kept you compliant. We’re sorry you cringe when you hear whispers in the night, we didn’t want to wake anyone. We’re sorry we ruined everything for you and aren’t sorry about it. We’re sorry we treated you like you were nothing, insignificant and insane when you confronted us. We couldn’t let others see our crazy. We still can’t see it ourselves.

All these things you’ve never said, running through my head, running through my head, running through my head. But it’s all ok. I say them. I tell that precious little girl inside me, who is growing up now because I’m in charge. I apologize to her for you, despite you, in defiance of you and for the love of me. All the ways I love myself. All of the love that I am, that I have to give. Anyways.

You never destroyed me. Never took it all. All along, I had the golden goose. My army was just waiting…My Spirit watched from afar as I soaked up all your bullshit wrapped in a pretty package of care and family. While I lived as a shadow, on the periphery of even my own life. While I tried to not exist at the age of 7. While I would hardly speak and just watched others most of my younger years. While I would never bring anyone over to my house because it was evil but everyone was smiling – you(s) and I could never have known the slow burning fuse had been lit.

I was meant for greater than I could ever have imagined. I am this. A private joke that keeps delivering. A smile so deep into my core it’s engraved into my soul. The smug smile of knowingness. I am that. Of overcoming. Of pity for you tinged with a hint of compassion – yes I said compassion- for your (still) inner turmoil and lack of awareness.

I have walked. Far. Never to return to you. For you are invisible. Because you could never say that you’ve tried to destroy me. That you wanted to destroy me. Because you were destroyed by your abusers. You’ve never been honest. You all can’t be. I understand. I understand everything now. Thats why I’m so powerful. So powerful.

Oh! All the things I CAN say now. And I do.

Holiday

13 Holiday Cluster Hacks

A Fish Named KarenLeave a comment

So, the Holidays, hmmmmm. I’m guessing that some of my readers may be very excited for Holidays. I am also knowing that there’s another, less visible, section of the general pop who are digging themselves a large hole, preparing to jump in to escape all things “family celebration”. I’m a proud member of the second, gasp less acknowledged group. Actually I’m a charter member, with 10 years of sanity under my belt 😂 (and all over my body, actually LOL).

Tis the season for hushed-toned conversations, multiplying in frequency, “Oh, she doesn’t come around” and “He doesn’t bother with us” even “I think she’s crazy, she doesn’t talk to any of her family”. “Who could walk out on their family?” Well, there’s ALWAYS a pretty good fucking reason why someone would cut the ties with their tribe. Always. Period. It’s usually one badass warrior mother f’er who can pull this off on the road to a wonderfully joy-filled life. Someone like um… like um… ME. Turning out to have found peace…away from their tragic family of origin. This, my friends, is the elephant in the room.

I write about this in support of those badassreaders I have. The people who don’t feel entirely settled when the Holidays arrive. Those who are depressed, anxious, angry, revengeful or indifferent when it comes to “family”. For those of you who are new to my blog, I use quotation marks when I write “family” because the word is LOADED – ya’ll know what I’m talkin bout. This is, in NO way, a normal word for me and can be very heavy. You’re feelin me.

Chances are, your “family” wants you to just forget everything that’s happened in the past and smile. They have. Just be pretty and pretend like everything is normal. Hell, deep down, you WANT to believe you have the best family ever (who tf doesn’t?) – So you, against your better judgement, attend the family Holiday party —- thinking it will be fine this time. You got this. Fuck them. I’m not going to let them get to me this time. Let’s do this. Put on your party clothes and grab a bag…big enough to carry home all those triggers. They weigh a ton you know. Happy Holidays 😳

It can be very very diff to go through the motions and attend Holiday gatherings just for the sake of keeping the peace. As if. As if you want to be there. As if. As if. Usually, there’s a price… predictably sacrificing your own needs and boundaries for the sake of others’ needs and happiness. Familiar tune. That shit never feels good and the next day we make ourselves pay for it in whatever way feels familiar to us.

Me? well, the day after, I’m curled up in a ball, feeling punched in the gut, filled with regrets, swearing to God I’ll never say yes again. So much crazy shit swirling in your head- hate for them, hate for yourself and guilt. Guilty for hating everyone and everything. Enter mind-fuck…maybe it IS me. Maybe I’m making a big deal out of nothing…they all seem happy 😳. Ewe, WAIT! NO.

So how does one survive this holiday scenario from the abyss? this gathering on the bloodline battlefield, this no-thankyou portion of family tree, this nothing-is-as-it-appears commemoration? I am so glad you asked

  1. put yourself first, listen to your heart and do what feels correct for you. It is your decision. No-one knows what it’s like to be inside of your body. Eyes wide open, ask yourself what you need, what would make YOU happy (for a change). What makes you feel good.
  2. know that you are making the best decision for you – only you, because you’re the only one who knows and lives your truth. 
  3. create a holiday tradition that touches your heart. Something specific to honoring what is important to you around the Holidays. Whatever brings you joy, keeps you centered, grounded and calm. Giving your time/talents to others or creating something for yourself with no outside influences.
  4. write about how things will be different if you do spend time with family over the Holidays. (write it out, read it to someone or keep for next year – so you can chronical your growth. If you’re into ceremony and ritual maybe you meditate on your written ideas and set fire to it when it feels complete. Re-writing your new and improved version of the Holiday – sending your intention out to the Universe for manifestation. 
  5. surround yourself with people (outside of your family) who support your feelings. Do not expect your family of origin to understand what you are going through. They don’t. They can’t. Period. Find those outside of your “family”. They won’t be triggered by YOUR “family” shit – they most likely have different baggage and can support you in an unbiased way. Their baggage is different. 
  6. stay away from alcohol if you can possibly help it. Your guard will be down and you may end up saying and doing things you prob wouldn’t have. Seriously, resist the urge with all you have. It can be so tempting to numb yourself out but save the drinking for when you are with more supportive, less triggery folks. You’re welcome.
  7. give yourself an energy bath – wipe that nasty energy off with a washcloth and down the drain it goes. Replacing the nasties with clean white or golden light. Filling in the holes that were punctured intentionally and unintentionally during your “family” time.
  8. If you must go into the battle zone aka “family” gathering, I suggest you envision a shield protecting you prior to entering the sketchy soirée. Shield your heart, solar plexus (core) and sacral chakras. In no way are you a bad person for protecting yourself from negative energy. It’s brilliant and gives you a slight giggle as you try on, “You can’t have me” or “You can’t get me” or “I’ll decide what you get from me”! delicious, absolutely delicious. Better than a plate of cookies! Self empowerment, strength and self advocacy sure looks sexy on you. You’re so hot! Only you can do this for you. 
  9. be gentle with yourself!!! it’s exhausting work to challenge your family’s structure. The emotions of guilt, anger, betrayal, sadness, frustration are all a normal part of creating boundaries with people who do not respect our “NO”.
  10. make a plan. escape route, get away line, time limit, certain people to avoid. Identify what is off limits for you and what you’ll spend less time around – these suggestions all go a long way to create a sense of control over the situation. No-one has to be IN on this plan. Use when triggered and repeat if necessary. Creating and sticking to boundaries will feel MEAN initially, mostly because we were raised to not have/expect boundaries. But if practiced enuff, you’ll get over it, trust.
  11. make alternate plans for the Holiday – out of state, out of the country, Mars? And divulge these plans early so people have time to get used to the idea! There, now you can breathe deeply. Can’t see the dysfunction from there can ya?
  12. fake an illness – who wants to be with someone who is ill… strep, chicken pox, cock-sakie (good Lord), or the dreaded flu? “He/she was sick” has a better ring to it than “he/she didn’t want to come” You might actually be the recipient of some sympathy and people will be glad you didn’t show up. And BONUS… your needs are met! Just don’t use Covid as an excuse – cause it’ll backfire and they’ll be more up your ass than ever. 
  13. even if you do not attend, and you’re anything like me, you might… feel like shit because you’re not with your family, feel like shit because you don’t want to be with them, feel like shit because you are feeling relieved and happy because you didn’t blindly agree to attend, feel like shit because you can’t imagine it will EVER be any different, feel like shit because you feel so alone and unloved and cast aside, betrayed, crazy. That’s a whole lot of shit to shovel. This can be very, very difficult to push through. I speak from experience. been through this for several holidays in a row. It’s so very important to create your own Holiday rituals and traditions.

Happy Holidays!!! 😘😘😘 Do YOU and let me know how it goes 💪 👑

authentic

Authenticity: No Known Address

A Fish Named KarenLeave a comment
Authenticity is not a place

I know how to run. For years. On empty. I’m so very familiar. Wishing, planning to move, transform into some other profession. Maybe when I’m a healer. I can be who I really am. Maybe when I’m an author life will be simple. Seamless. Less of a struggle. I will be fabulous.

Then the voices…This is not what I’m supposed to be doing. If only I could disappear, mold , morph into my surroundings so as not to stand out. Just live out my days until I can retire. My interests are different than my co-workers. I don’t fit in. Here. Idgaf about deadlines, schedules.

Relentless voices from within…this present career. I can’t show heart here. Too sensitive, too opinionated, and intuitive. I don’t fit in with these academics. Tough shell, (as my broken Mother would say) you need to toughen up so you don’t get eaten alive here. Head down, carry on.

I was a great AS IF actress as a kid. Pretend that you’re invested. You know how (the voices are encouraging me) Fake it till you make it. Like they all seem to be. Just go through the motions. Act like you care. Show no emotions, no heart. Play small WTF is wrong with you? Shut up and just act like everyone else.

Tragic truth tho…. Not trying, still I’m excellent in what I do, truly good at it. Imagine if I tried? Autopilot looks great on me. So the Lies. Lies I’ve told myself so I could play small. Survive feeling different. All lies for a long time. Years. Fooled even me.

I’ve spent years running from my present career. Running while standing still. Turmoil and angst kept just under the surface. Functioning just enough to get by. In it but not fully in it. Sweating even the small stuff. Because it all felt too big. Survival. I’m so great at Surviving. Fucking warrior. Beast.

Hmmmmm. Now that sounds amazingly familiar. The fuck it does! CHILDHOOD rears it’s brilliantly tragic head again. Always feeling like I was meant for greater things. Angry. So pissed that I wasn’t over THERE. Wherever “there” was. The distance I created from myself, excelling at not being present, going through the mundane motions of not giving all of myself…just existing.

After all I’d be exiting soon – so I told myself. Right? I need to GET AWAY from this meaninglessness. I was meant for greater things – my inner dialogue carried on. Years, years of contempt. Functioning day after day after year pushing away. Having a large fuck you for any chance to grow and learn and expand my expertise. Shadow fanning the self-sabotage fire.

But slowly, over the past 6 months. Slowly, as I age in this career and in years, things are shifting. The fog lifting.

In a profound way I am living more from center. I am sitting back, settling into my worthy. The gold is RIGHT here, and there and even there. As a human being, I realize my depth. And I don’t have to dumb myself down in anger. No killing what is emerging. No withholding my potential or heart or intelligence or intuition.

I realize that within the running is the lesson. I don’t have to BE or HAVE or DO ______ to realize the wisdom of me. There’s nowhere to be that is more fabulous or evolved than right here. Now. I can be who I came here to be REGARDLESS of where I find myself physically. This is true authenticity. Without the struggle, guarding or fearing aliveness.

Nothing is changing yet EVERYTHING has changed. There it is again, that movement yet standing still. Suddenly I am aware that there IS nowhere to get to. No final destination (physically anyway). The destination is satisfaction with who you are in any given moment. That private joke pleasantness that spreads over your existence like warm Winter pajamas.

The where’s why’s how’s when’s – become irrelevant. Once we are completely accepting and embrace our present situation – NO MATTER what that is… you realize that it’s not the actual career, environment, $, fame, or recognition that matters. What really REALLY matters is that you are undeniably YOU wherever you may find yourself.

I once heard a Spiritual Teacher say – we can’t expect to get “there” if we’re not comfortable with where we are. I thought, well that’s a bunch of hot bull shit. I’ll be happier once I rid myself of the misery “here”. What I could never take in was that the misery is INSIDE of me. Not created by outside circumstances.

Me: Unpacking my bags.

My mantra: Good news today – Authenticity has no known address.

appreciation

I’m Afraid and I’m Alive

A Fish Named KarenLeave a comment

Sometimes I find myself wishing a day would move faster. Hoping I just make it. Through. Without too much turmoil. Then I’ll be home, able to breath and do more relaxing, choice activities. Or even breathe easy and space out. Whatever I do, it’ll be better once I’m out of _____ situation. 🤷🏻‍♀️

Sometimes there’s fear and apprehension around the events I will soon face. I can imagine terrifying scenarios. None of which ever materialize. Ever.
You think I’d know by now, not to obsess and ruminate about the imagined catastrophe awaiting my arrival. Fear bags packed, ready to go. You think I’d be able to dismiss those thoughts and worries.

But not always. Fear is relentless. It has a way of taking over and pressuring us to minimally function in our power. Someone didn’t want us to realize our power. Now we carry that torch. We do it to ourselves.
Dumb ourselves down.


As if, to be fabulous and centered and relaxed was dangerous to our existence…because it was. As if success was frowned upon …because it was. As if being a beacon of light would cause us to stand out in a negative, gloating way… because it did.
No more AS IF. I’m making friends with fabulous, power, center – I’m making friends with fear. As one of my favorite teachers once told me, “I’m frightened and I’m alive. Do it afraid!”

acceptance

Guess who’s showing up

A Fish Named Karen8 Comments

When you “show up” you present yourself as completely as you are able. Both light and darkness illuminated. This is you, this is real. This is US. Not perfect. Not someone else’s idea of yourself.

Invite yourself into the magic of NOW. Accept the invite. You are alive and powerful. Raw and unapologetic. Stand. Displaying your gifts. Defiantly. Despite your passion for masks. Despite the comfort of playing small. Despite who they thought you were. Despite who you thought you were.

Embracing and nurturing the mess that you are. Exposed and new. A tender newborn called Wisdom. Wrapped and protected. Held and revered. With twin brother, Authenticity, both now wanting to be seen. Sharing the swaddle. Heard. Seen. Like waves of emotion flooding and receding. Vocal and silent. Exposing fears. Terrifying potential.

Believe them. They’ve been waiting, patiently, for your return. To insight. To intuition. To imagination. Holding your highest potential until you could. Fully. Attracting the YES. Attracting those who validate your perseverance. Those who will connect and honor the beautiful mess you are. Guess who’s showing up?

inner work

Dimming My Own Light

A Fish Named Karen2 Comments

Recently digging through an old box of school memories. So many surprises. Surprises? Well yes I lived my elementary and middle and high school days but was shocked to see some things stored in the plastic bin. Perfect attendance middle school – what? Why? I can’t make it a month now without taking a day off. I guess going to school was way better than spending the day at home with my crazy mother. Even a Math test looked good.

Then there’s all the awards. First place in this and that. I mean Jesus Christ even a gold medal finish in the 880 race. No memory of winning. At all. Looking at the blue ribbon, no memories, no feel good, no pride. Back then, and I’m guessing, the win prob felt good for like 5 mins then I quickly buried it under all the heaviness of the time. Winning or being perfect was like oh well, check it off the list. It was empty, dead, devoid of feeling or celebration. Too much light/aliveness was always extinguished.

My parents sorta expected that we were fabulous but there was no recognition for it. We quickly had to snuff out and semblance of joy and feelings of pride. It’s like having everyone cheering for you and you look down and everyone’s gone and your stuck feeling stupid and ridiculous with a smile on your face for absolutely nothing.

So do your best, I was told. Excel and win everything so you make us look like good parents – was the idea. But don’t you dare actually OWN or HOLD the joy or excitement or light for too long because then you’d be full of yourself. And full of light. And we can’t let you have that either because that pushes on our wounds of inadequacy. And we can’t have you running around all fabulous, bragging and knowing your worth and actually feeling special. Lord knows you won’t belong in this family.

All the while, everyday you told me I was a special girl and so loved. Praise, encouragement- All lies, all empty. All the time. No safety. No validation or recognition. No where to land. That’s all I knew. I learned so well. Was handed the self hate/dumbed-down baton and ran with it. I ran hard and fast. I was the best. Of course I was, I had no choice. Your presence no longer required for the massacre of good in me. Bloody massacre. I gotchu. I got this. I’m a good, obedient child. Fuck

Now estranged from the original executioner, I’ve noticed ancient strands still in my fabric. Threads of fear. Fear of being seen succeeding, not belonging and pressure to be, have and do the best. All self imposed. My material unraveling now. Dry rotting. As I starve those parts, silence the outdated voices -by noticing how I dim my own glorious light.

receive

In Love #21

A Fish Named KarenLeave a comment

I’m in love with long soaks in the tub. The luxurious idea of it all. Water validating what I bring, who I am. Enveloping me in connection and acceptance. She loves this, my inner Aquarian child. Effective recharge, soaking in simplicity.

Celebrating the solitude in the deep warm. Drowning pressure, responsibility, have-to heaviness and shouldoves, I become lighter. For they cannot swim. A beautiful death, they scatter on the surface until I can no longer hear their voices. Silence. Detaching from their grip, I sink deeper into this best life.

Deeper into aliveness and existence I swim. And I’m a swimmer. Upstream usually, so this is easy. But wait! static waters trigger my busy. My efforting. My reaching for reasons I can’t stay. Reasons I’m not worthy to receive and allow the warm hug, the pleasant and loving warm embrace. All just voices and stories with anxious, ancient roots.

Submerged in sanity, I play. Anyway. Fragrance and texture, old friends we are. I begin again. Cleanse and clean. Brushing, I evict expired drama from my loins. The clarity of the liquid accepting and assimilating all of it. Holding me. Holding separate, my discards. I ride out the calm.

Float until I live. I agree to be alive and transformed. Again. Drained of my “no longer” needs. If just for today. Now I rise, a newborn. Tub drain uncomfortable and grouchy with heavy content. It groans. Hear it? But no one’s there to witness the suck-age. The ancestral bla-bla-bla. It is silenced in defeat, today.

I emerge wet and new, full of possibility. Empty then full. Soak then woke. Tub’s got me dry and deranged to sane and sassy. I love long soaks in the tub.