awareness · exploration

One Sideways Glance

I close this day today giving a voice to those nasty little flea bitten thoughts, buzzing around crazily, irritatingly, making me want to hide under cover. “You don’t know anything” they chant. Sometimes so loud I wonder if others hear them.

Kept at bay only when feeling content, successful or helpful. But one sideways glance delivered by a perfect stranger – holds more weight than it should – wrecking ball heavy. Tearing down all the goodness —- “I have great ideas”, “things are always working out for me”, “I have the right to my feelings and ideas”, “I am not responsible for how someone feels about my truth”, “I am a quick learner” and “I feel my opinion is valued”—— I have accumulated all morning.

My basket of good feelings loosely wound, unraveling, allowing all the good shit to tumble out the self doubt gate…..all I’m left with is, “Why did I think that was a good idea?”, “Maybe he/she is right”, “By voicing my truth, someone else will feel bad/uncomfortable”, “How dare I?”, “I’m so selfish” “I am so mean”… All the voices I was obedient to as a little person. Oh, it was so important to be obedient to my Mother’s idea of what I should feel and who I should be. Meant to keep me compliant, controlled and away from myself. My truth.

Again, I relinquish my grip on confidence. Yielding to a fear-filled joy stealer. That in your face joy stealer – external now but so eloquently and stealthily triggers my OWN inner thief. The place I know so well. Swooping in all crow-ish, to steal my eggs of wisdom in their infancy. More like, I surrender, serve them wisdom bits up on a platter. You’re welcome. I’m left with the cracked, runt eggs and my prize is run off with. Anything I could be proud of, swiped. Empty nest again.

LI give my excitement up to those who cast their panic shadows on my truth, my clarity and boundaries. How do I allow this to happen? How do I surrender my good feelings without a fight? In a split second I concede. In a split second. Because it’s an old, well worn path. That’s how.

A path someone else created FOR me and I perfected it. Surrendering my joy, on some level, is without thought or struggle. I could not stay in it for long, maybe a minute or two. And down came the curtain, the cloak of darkness. I did not exist, especially my joy, I was not the owner of it. I rented it for a couple of minutes, privately. Before someone took it and left me flat, deflated, resentful, questioning my original motives and goal. Questioning if I had the right to my own life.

Only now can I reframe this, “This is my truth, I will not allow his/her fear to steal my excitement, confidence, giddiness, aliveness, my center or drive”. It takes a conscious effort to shine some light on the possibility that my joy might be surrendered and prepare. Sit with it quietly, in celebration, without any outside interference. Fortress-like this little inside party of aliveness. And when it is time to express (that which I used to be killed for) I am choosing a supportive listener. Someone who is not threatened by my joy, wisdom, balls, or clarity.

Just try and steal my joy. No longer taking that hell and running with it.

anyways · appreciation · resilient · Uncategorized

Effortless

Today

I am letting go

of who I thought

I was

Who I thought

I should be

Who they told

me

to be

Landing in a softer

more supportive

place

of self acceptance

Landing in a softer

more supportive

place

of allowing

Landing in a softer

more supportive place

of wonder

By pausing

the seeds of overcoming

are sewn

The transformation

set into action

Effortless

Today

I am letting go

resilient

I Actually Did You A Favor

You fought, you pleaded with me to shut up. Oh I wouldn’t shut it. Not for a hot second. You created this mess. All of you. Perpetuated it by keeping the lid on, simmering, bubbling. Me poised to explode. Abuse years, haunting memories, flashbacks and dirty tricks making their way to the surface. Into the now. My mouth too small of a space for this hot garbage baggage to escape. It came through my pores, my guts, out of my eyes. Violently it breached the walls I had erected to keep the silence with you. For you. About you.

I wanted to save you. All 5 of my sisters. I would physically carry you if I could. Come with, I begged. I tried to wake you, slap that cool-aide pitcher out of your hand. Jesus Christ. You were abused too, I saw them, I saw you. How dare you deny this? It wasn’t your fault. It was just the way it was. Generational. My best efforts to save others were received like “attacks, attempts to ruin the family or make problems”.

Even in my dreams, I was unsuccessful. You were frozen. I would escape, door left open, and no-one followed. You stayed. I pleaded. I escaped. You dug in harder. How I wanted to remove the dark cloth from your eyes. Rip and tear and claw until you saw. Scream like the wounded animal that I was…until you connected – with something. With reality.

Torturous to want something sooo out of my control. Yet, I kept on. Pain and anguish were frequent dinner guests. A plate and seat were saved. I wanted someone to board the reality bus. Empty bus then, empty now. Oh, how delicious it would have been to have someone stand beside me. To honor OUR truth, OUR breaking up with dysfunction, OUR naming the insidious virus. Divorcing the dead from our life.

As children, our leader wanted us distracted. Our perfect saccharine sweet smiles. Pretty pin curls and dresses. Manners and obedience and black paten leather. Exceptional family. Got us so much outside attention. Stroked her gross ego. Believable. The world believed the picture. We were not allowed to question. blindly pleasing, serving. Resistance just a dream. Beautiful little liars, all of us.

Remembering all of this. Remembering all of the ways we had to leave ourselves. All of what we were forced to give up in order to belong, to have somewhere to live, food and some semblance of safety….

I walked away. Cutting the frayed cords, split ends. I was tired of hemorrhaging on those who drank my blood out of both sides of their mouth. I decided my life was worth saving, worth better. Donned with the ole oxygen mask, I stepped new steps out into the world. Lonely, edgy steps. Only taking small sips of life at first, barely looking back at the owned, the victims, perpetrators, the voiceless.

I actually did you a favor. Free from the reminders that my face brings. Free from the sting of my authenticity. Free to believe the beautifully creative fairytale you tell of your past. The fabricated loveliness of the overcrowded vacant house we were raised in.

I am no longer the one who ruined this amazing family unit. I am no longer the lost sheep. I am no longer cause of chaos and making poor, defenseless mother sad. Gag. I am no longer trying to pry you from your completely functional, well adjusted existence. I have no desire to wake you. You are completely correct, my energy, my desire to transform and re-parent, and evolve, and open my heart, and see and hear and feel – that is all for ME. I won’t waste any of that on you. My bad.

As a courtesy, I will leave you alone. You all function way better in a slumber. No matter how delicious, I will not remind you of the atrocities. We can leave them where you’ve buried them. How dare I devote any portion of my life and love to those who think I’m trying to ruin theirs? I will even tuck you in with soft, fuzzy blankets. Sleep well. Sleep well.

gift · Uncategorized

In Love #14

I’m in love with forehead kisses. Planted on prime real estate of the third eye space. Physically between the eyes. Spiritually, when this energy center is unblocked, we are capable of enhanced “vision”. To me this area is very sacred and allows me to connect spiritually with others for the collective good.

Forehead kisses, a gentle, confirming reminder of my significance. Of my “being seen”. A private honoring and offer of reverence for my existence. The spontaneous act usually coming to me without warning, without introduction, without permission.

My eyes close to savor the gesture. Allowing the feeling in and around, landing wherever needed. Warmth and connection spreading across my eyes, midbrain and encircling my head. Nothing to do about it, but allow. No destination, no motive, nothing more needs to happen. Seated deeply in a spiritual exchange of respect.

A profound understanding. Clarity around divine connection and mutual respect. The most tender of human expressions. Received. Received without words. Given. Given without expectation of return. The sweetest of gifts. The ultimate compliment. To me.

I’m in love with forehead kisses.

affirmation · resilient · Uncategorized

Thursday I Am New

Today I will be open to all possibilities.

Today I will start fresh.

Today I will know that I am worthy of greatness.

Today I will accept my body and thank it for all I am able to do with it.

Today I will take baby steps and say NO to one thing that no longer serves the new me.

Today I will say YES to something nourishing I want in my life.

Today I will stop and notice my breath as it enters, then leaves my body.

Today I will imagine a shield between myself and whatever it is that offends, scares or repulses me.

Today I will imagine a place of safety for myself and my inner child should things get rough.

Today I will know in my heart that protecting myself from what feels bad, is the most loving thing I can do for myself right now.

Today I will know that even without asking for it, I am being supported Spiritually, in ways that I have only dreamt possible.

Today I will know that I can take in that support and know that someone has my back, always.

Today I will know that I am loved a thousand loves.

Today, Thursday, I am new.

trust

Trust This

What is trust I ask. Show me trust.

I trust that I will see beauty.

I trust that I will reap the benefits of a healthy lifestyle. Then trust must be hope but with a little force applied. A self-assuredness. A smugness. A belief? I think _____, therefore, It probably, most likely, sure-thing, will happen?! Maybe trust, with a sprinkle of tentativeness, or doubt? 

Trust  – a surrender of sorts, laying down arms with a goal in mind. Even a soft goal, a cushy, mushy wanting, served with a side of lazer beam attainment. This. This must be trust.

Or we can think of how we trust in other humans. Well, which humans? The ones I knew, certainly trust-me-nots. Then there’s trust in known humans vs. strangers? Is there a difference? I trust not.  

I wanted to trust. To believe in the words as they dripped out of your mouth. Tumbling like meaningless wilted petals, landing just short of reality. They were so pretty though, those words. I was a machine, trying to digest them. An initial smoothness followed by poison. I was a hopeful little blossom, full of wish and happy. Like a dog at the junkyard, nameless, I waded in garbage looking for scraps to nourish my wanting soul. Only your version of truth. Crafty fabrications that slipped past my ineffective, weakened little girl defences. 

With crooked, bony, witch fingers your stories poked, prodded and pried your way into my fabric. Shredding, tearing any semblance of sanity from my life bubble. Quietly, relentlessly grooming me to trust your insanity. I clearly remember the conflict and internal frustration. Homeless frustration. She cared about me, she loved me, she believed me, she protected me, right? Right?  What I knew and felt, my truth had to be forfeited, stuffed deeply inside or (the worst) denied by me. Truth choked out then molded and transformed into something “a little more pleasant” or “that looked more appropriate” or “wasn’t so angry”…..aka a foreign substance. Just for being truth. Then she served it up as a “suitable” side dish on a pretty, delicate lunch plate with edible borage and nasturtiums. Here, dear, this non-reality entree is more digestible now.  


Like it was my job, I turned my back on myself, to honor you dear Mother. To honor that which held me down. I stopped trying to correct the denial of truth. I stopped trusting my gut as my thinking was flawed and only brought misery (vomit).  I joined forces with the sleeping, the walking dead. The carbon copy siblings. The smiling, performing idiots. She seemed to be pleased with them. Fuck it. Congagulations to me! You won Mother. I swallowed the glass and hid all the bloody evidence. Just to honor you. Just to have a Mother. I played the fucking game. Of survival. You crafted me into a beautifully obedient servant. Hand delivered to my abusers. Circle of thrust. Excellent job. I no longer tried to be understood, I no longer shared my opinion, I no longer challenged or tried, or fought, or lived.

At 12 years old, the years had steamrolled me to a 70 lb flat stanley frame. Starved for truth, integrity. I was. Everything that was real, stuffed, crammed. Every thought, body sensation, feeling… I stuffed it, crammed it down sideways. Crushed, jammed, damned. Fuck my intuition. It was pure trickery, you were right. I had no rights to my own wisdom, it was flawed, extreme, exaggerated, outrageous, too this or that. And it’s got to be true, my Mother told me so. I was living as if I was alive. I had learned how to pretend and was pretty fucking good at it. I wasn’t worthy of my own wisdom. My own life. The beast within was growing tired, restless. Fantasies arriving. Hope. Something I could hold onto that was real. Maybe I could be someone. Someone outside of your knowing. Someone free with no surrendering or merging to your drum beat. Maybe I wouldn’t have to give myself up so I could have a Mother. Maybe I could hold onto my own diamond wisdom and not have it replaced by a cubic zirconia, then told it was still a diamond.

Trust was about to be redefined. The beginning of the end. Trusting my inner wisdom…

cat · love · Uncategorized

In Love #12

I’m in love with loud purring. Body shaking and telling of fondness for life. A soft, rhythmic blanket of furry love. Unscheduled pleasure. Rising and falling, sleeping and waking. Our eyes closed tightly, savoring the tune. Your whispers of fuzzy somethings at the foot of the bed.

The 3am motor, my favorite engine sound. Sheets ripple, erupt with fluttering plaid flannel. Sleepy pats offered. Met with nudges, of the predictable kind, to carry-on. Purring the kind of purr that becomes more audible with a rub.

This is where sensory joy lives. Comfortably. Amidst the pitter-patter of sounds from this warm furry throat. No troubles in this moment. Or this one. Or this one. I lay my heavy head on your fat, warm belly. Your kitty pillow accepts my forehead. Riding with the gift.

My ear bathed, absorbing the peaceful concert. Feeding my needy inner child soul with fizzy sound waves. Soothing even the most silent of frazzles. Within.

worthy

Amazing Grace

Today will be amazing.

There are no worries about later.

Later will happen in it’s own time.

Take care in the now.

Breathing into as many moments as I can.

In for 3 seconds, out for 10.

Body on the earth.

Prickled by grass.

Coated in dirt.

Warmed by rock.

Cradled in a leaf.

Observing the simplicity that surrounds me.

Colors, sounds- both man made and natural.

Perfect imperfection.

Timeless.

No destination.

Yet arriving, exactly where I’m supposed to be.

Right.

Here.

resilient

May We

May we walk unfazed through life’s invisible fence. You know the fence. The fence of – you should know better. The fence of – playing small. The get it right the first time – fence. And lest we forget, the fence of… I don’t belong. The cage that minds our business. The trap that has us playing small, dimming our own light, asking for approval and chasing validation under someone’s spell.

Head up, passing through. Anyway. Follow me if you wish but I cannot hear you. My ears dammed and scarred from absorbing your lies. Your fence reaching beyond our visual fields. Innervating even at the corners of my psyche. Interference, blocking everything grand, conceptualized or spoken. You penned it, dammed it. Kept it contained. All my free, wild and imaginative snuffed before coming to fruition.

Only now can I freely roam, untethered, cord severed. Free to discover in my own head space. None of my freedom sacrificed to your cause. My original medicine, realized. My -who I came here to be, paying no mind to your disgust, contempt, salivation or wanting to devour me. My body expanding, unfurling. Without you.

Never serving you again. This is what revenge looks like. I have exsized you from my loins. My energy system. My property. No longer free to take from me. No more toying with my power or grooming me to serve you. Where there was ownership there is disconnect. I unplugged you from my energy. You can no longer charge your system by draining my life force battery.

I am a true warrior, I sincerely thank you for this. My Spirit drove me to be more, separate from you, don’t look back and put myself first. Everything you never wanted for me. Well, you’ve got 7 others. You won’t miss me much as you continue to decimate their lives with your disgusting, hungry energy.

Continue to search for me if you wish. I’m not hiding. I’m boldly dismantling fences.

old patterns · pain

My Legs

My legs. They know. They No. They ache, whine, and protest for days after heavy exercise – biking, kickboxing, hours of garden. I awaken the beast with stimulation. Reaching into the container of stifled protest, the well hidden events of a traumatic past. Weighed down by old held trauma. Wanting to run away. To fight off unwanted advances. Secretly wishing my legs would have defied my abusers and be unmovable, thwarting someone’s plan. All that protest energy still taking up residence. A protest that wasn’t allowed. A fuck-you condensed by sad-mess. Yes, old grief, that hopeless bastard. Bringing me to my aching knees. Festering, swirling – wishing relief.

The pain is constant. I don’t know where to put my legs so they won’t ache, won’t wake me. Muscular pain that is tired of waiting for the green light to release. Tired of holding. Aching at 2,3,4 a.m. Restless toss and burn. Heavy burdened walking sticks. Demanding attention for what was ignored before. This body does not forget. Tissues pregnant with issues. A high-risk pregnancy that must be watched, monitored. Until the delivery of release.

The threat of physical harm a long-ago-reality. All of my unconscious, protective holding is no longer needed – but my legs never got the memo. A loving gesture of exercise to keep my body fit and healthy has some underlying “gifts”. This physical pain I feel delivers me to the doorway of my emotional pain. Pain rents space, usually safe, undisturbed – until I call it out. Then pain has a voice. When my legs speak, they sound desperate. With ex-hurt-sion they plead with me. Their quiet whispers they tell me they’re exhausted. To please do the work. We’re sad, broken and depressed, needing deep-rest.

My relationship with my body is tight. Tight as the terror still residing in my legs, hips and pelvis. I talk with her. Sending love to my tender, lovely, strung-out legs. They need love. I purposefully bring the darkness forward, into consciousness. Visualizing the eviction of fear, disgust, shame, etc.. calling in Spirit Animals or Angels or Spirit Guides. Sitting with strong emotions. Standing with the reality of it all outside the cage of existence I used to know.

As my legs begin to thaw from their frozen “normal”, it hurts. I’ve disturbed a whole latta dark. The darkness wants out and that’s always painful. Painful going in, painful coming out. The trapped is wrapped in an old worn out container. My container is falling apart. As it should. As I relax, letting my guard down physically, the expression of what WAS is free to flow. These muscles and bones have known no safe place. No downtime.

I have a choice. We all do. I can do nothing. And invite in fibro-your-algia…cause NO, it will never be MINE. Never. I can wallow in vic-dumb-hood or I can stand on my own two legs and fight for my best life. I choose to evict the darkness. The thick, strangled webs of dysfunctional energy. They ooze sadness. A sadness so great I am compelled to ask them what they need. To actually have a conversation with my legs. The held trauma, wishing to take away my mobility, my health, my drive and flexibility. No thank-you.

I don’t blame my legs for the pain. Instead, I treat them like old friends. Dry brushing them to direct the fluid and energy to my lymphnodes for proper drainage. I Reiki them. I give them baths with Epsom salts for detox and relaxation of the strained muscles. I wrap them in warmth and allow emotion to flow unabstructed. I cry for the return of painless.

In a miraculous body way, a brilliant way, it handled it. By shutting down. By tensing up in protection. By stuffing all the ugly into my tissues and muscles because it was too much for a little girl to handle. The body never forgets.