The misunderstandings of it. The trouble. The gift all of it.
I was driving home yesterday from a trip to Salem with my twins, plus friend and boyfriend.
I do not recommend Salem by the way, not in this season anyway. Disneyland is easier to navigate. We ended up eating Indian food of all things because we couldnāt get into any of the adorable shops or eateries, due to massive crowds and lines.
No thank you. Not even for witchy shit.
One of my twins was saying about how she never knows how to rate her pain when going to a medical professional. I can relate. Which is so interesting because you rate your pain by being able to express how youāre feeling.
So what about for those of us with wounds of expression?
Itās in this stage of life I can see how my traumas have passed to my children. I can see mine even through them. Itās jarring to say the least. It requires a healthy ability to be able to handle the truth, to hold space, to heal. Rather than going into a spiral of guilt, fear, despair.
I would say the most influential work helping me to achieve this is understanding consciousness and the energy it vibrates at. How courage moves us into a new level and more able to eventually achieve actualization.
Letting Go by David R. Hawkins and his maps of consciousness.
So during this conversation they were commenting only from what they have been taught about a time their brother as a young child went to the emergency room for acute stomach pain. He was in ultimate distress. So much so that they called a surgical team assuming his appendix had perhaps burst and gave him morphine right away.
It ended up he had some very bad gas. Which by the way can also cause acute pain. And most importantly none of us knew what was happening. It is natural to seek help and support for pain like that.
No labels of dramatic necessary.
We are healing wounds of being critical in our family at this time.
I am finding the words to share to soothe. The salve.
My hyper vigilance and trauma led me constantly to scanning my environment for threat. It also led me into relationships where I was mistreated and I mistreated right back.
Things I am not proud of. There are plenty.
The only thing that helps is to heal. To make amends. And this is the journey Iāve been on for several years now. Figuring out what supports this work, and what doesnāt.
Getting into my own channel. Channeling.
Ultimate healing.
Anyway I wrote my daughter this morning owning and sharing about what healing I want for us. To be less critical of self and other, without losing an ounce of heart discernment which is very important.
The sensitivity is not the problem.
Pain is the problem. The problem is the problem.
Sensitive is strong and beautiful.
Boundaries are a different matter. The more secure those are the easier the healing journey will be. No more all or nothing.
Heart opening is the work Iām continually doing. Telling others what to do less, listening more. Listen this is absolutely a work in progress. Iām in recovery. Iām not perfect.
But my god I love the journey. Even with its tough moments.
At some point you crest a hill and get a glimpse of the water, when youāve been walking in the desert.
More and more glimpses of what is possible.
You are possible. I am possible.
On an earthly note I need to walk before doing my writing immersion.
This next couple of weeks will be a series of timing vaccines and pills in safety prep for Bali departure.
I canāt believe Iāll be where my spirit mother first journeyed and later again on her healing journey.
Here I am alone between the heaven and the embers ā¦.
Just walking and writing this morning. A new favorite is Matthew Hussey. A video by him Matthew Hussey
Also reading Marcela Lobos about awakening our true purpose and her story.
After one client and my own therapy tomorrow morning I am going to Kripalu. I love it there. And to see my dear Elizabeth Gilbert.
The drive is probably my most favorite part of the trip. I can just waft through any thought that has the tenacity to arise. Thereās just something about the open road.
Last time I saw Marcela Lobos and Alberto Villodo, shamans. š
Last night I saw and early showing of Beetlejuice. I had fun! Thatās fun for me. This couple was there and they were dressed up and I think thatās so fun. Camaraderie. The movie was a little dumb at first but did not disappoint in its wild depictions of the afterlife and with original cast members. Catherine OāHara also never disappoints ha.
Itās a new era. My kids sort of out of the house, sort of in. Always home base but each exploring their edges and identities.
I am reflective of a time when I was so stressed all the time something would go terribly wrong. And at times it does, but no more than in a ānormalā human life.
Iāve made significant changes over the past year again. Again and again. I imagine I often will. But this time at the same time Iām putting down deep roots of confidence and steadiness. Iām so damn proud of me.
So much less all or nothing. And whatās left is maybe there for a reason Iām not yet clear on or privy to. Who am I to argue with a force like destiny or soul contracts.
That didnāt stop me before ha. My spice derived from the pain of not being heard or seen. Argued everything. So happy to not live like that anymore.
Whatās next if there is a next : I donāt know. I donāt need to. Is this faith? That has taken shape when I didnāt even realize what I was building with all my thoughtfully placed yesās and noās.
Not too precious to make edits.
All my love,
C
Ps a short one for now, a shower and admin calls. Hope to write more this weekend. The little prince turns 23 on the 17th. Love that kid! Heart for days on that one. The world needs his heart and yours. Donāt forget it! š
Just landed in sunny Floridaā¦.. āIām in a hurry to get things done I try and try ā¦ all I really have to do is live and die, Iām in a hurry and donāt know whyā¦..ā
As I sit here on a plane, halfway through Ross Rosenbergās new book The CoDependency Revolution. I was just slammed with a memory of that single counseling session in a cabin in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Georgia.
I recall bristling and reeling at the therapists suggestion I maybe consider looking into some resources on co-dependency. That tumbled and rolled me down a whole hill. I wanted to resist, deny, unhear, but I could not. Itās not in my nature.
Itās a testament to the profession that the counselor was as straightforward and honest in a very early on couples session. Would I have been so brave, so bold? So not co-dependent.
Now on this airplane a few tears shed at watching fatherās with their baby girls, being part of a team with the mother, being affectionate and cutesy with their daughters. In other words Iām having a moment.
As far as the rest Iām on a plane with no anxiety, did not take a Xanax, and am on my 4th week of intermittent fasting. The eating is greatly helping me iron out more securely my boundaries with food, which is a beginning step towards my fit by 50 goal. As you can see Iāve given myself plenty of time.
I have learned to do this over the past several years. To hold my sensitivity and nervous system needs sacred and holy, and fully allow myself to seek and share my needs.
Getting better each day one step at a time.
Speaking of that I rarely take Xanax anymore. It gives me a slight headache and unclear feeling that I detest. Which makes it very clear to me that it works for a panic attack when it needs to, but in the absence of that acute level of anxiety, no thanks !
Iām 333 days sober today. Iām not sure whatās in store for me with balance around this. I may remain a non-drinker for health reasons, and for solidarity for all of those harmed by its presence. I may not. I may choose to have a drink on an occasion and indulge in wine pairing with a fine meal.
I donāt know yetā¦..
I finished Stray (also an old running title for my memoir, now itās Starved) by Stephanie Danler, in two days. Itās raw and gritty and everything I hope to be as a writer. Albeit with my own voice, which is becoming clearer each day.
Ever since 2020 this has been a tough time a year for me. Reminders of events I am not a part of, and many other things. However thereās a reason the rear view mirror is smaller than the windshield and I will not live the rest of my life in a form of sabotage. In one tomb or another from all the lives that werenāt.
I am most interested most of the time in the life that is. Though my old selves, and those they loved, and wanted to be loved by are now wholly part of the package.
On an errand to help out twin B. My solid as a rock not so tiny any more bundle of love, joy, possibility, and so many things. Following a car accident she has been having post concussion issues which include difficulty driving. So we have moved her home to convalesce and are now collecting her vehicle and her things from Florida.
Upon examining my flying anxiety I realize it to be a product of the combination between my writerās imagination and my cptsi (complex post traumatic stress injury) symptoms, mainly intrusive thoughts. A helpful dose of CBT, steady frequent reminders that a thought is not reality without at the very least a choice, and voila a much better experience.
I choose to believe when itās my time it will be my time and nothing I could have done differently would have changed that. This of course assumes a relatively healthy and balanced lifestyle. I allow this to comfort me now. When previously I believe that I subconsciously felt relief by being in a nearly constant state of terror of some kind or the other, because then nothing could catch me off guard.
I feel my memoir / whatever book I will write taking shape. It comes to me in the early hours of waking, in the shower, on the road. I hear powerful lines from it, and when Iām lucky enough I capture them, like butterflies in my childhood net.
Nature at least provided some solace that people did not. See thereās one now š
So between the reading Iām doing and seeing these men be fathers on this plane a post emerged. I hope the rest of my trip is so fruitful with the writingā¦.
Iāve been sitting with a lot of new awareness recently. About things missing inside of me. My true hearts desire has long been to break the curses inside of me that hold me back from expression.
Iām not rough around the edges. I am a locked vault, with a well trained expert veneer. I am good at my job. Iām great at my job, but even that will hit its limits, because knowledge without enough heart falls flat.
The right combination of both is magic!
Just as Iāve made a tiny bit of progress I catapult ahead and then crash wildly on my own walls. I have to then slow down again. Look again. Itās exhausting and frustrating. I am reminded of somebody that I used to know.
Full circle. Everything does always come. Again and again. Round and round she goes, and where sheāll stop nobody knows.
Scarcity runs through my veins and colors every interaction I have. Not just in one area, in so many. And I am tasked to alchemize these emotions into something palatable?
Iām angry
Sad
Lonely
Lost
Most of the time.
Even surrounded by love and happiness. It can only penetrate if I let it.
There is no external fix or factor that can change this. No new car, fancy dinner, or trip. Youāll always return to your inner most thoughts.
This is an inside job. And I feel at times already past retirement in life years trod by my efforts.
But thatās all just a crappy story.
I can do better. Not perfect. Not everything. But better.
Heart opening is the name of the game.
Did you know when you do that you love everything and everyone, and cry at every damn thing. And it feels so unsafe with no extra skin to protect. Feel raw and naked all the time, in an exchange for keeping everyone else safe from the irritability and rage that built all the years the needs went unmet.
Thatās a lot of debt. Will it ever be paid? Is it really so simple as āletting goā.
All or nothing. A totally wide open heart or a castle with impenetrable walls.
Doesnāt there need to be a middle? Or is that just another not enoughā¦.
I am safety driven, and the things that register safe for me are often not. A hall of mirrors a haunted fun house. Never knowing the thing Iām supposed to say, instead saying something scathingly critical. Yep itās true.
Hyper vigilant to a fault. Trapped inside myself.
A one trick pony with a broken saddle. Caution cuidado.
Am I going round and round or am I moving forward. Always the question.
Iām on Dune book four and donāt want to lose momentum with supercommunicators, how to know somebody, and the many other books Iām reading.
I think Iāll take a break soon and read so many Iāve wanted to for pleasure. Julie and Julia, Under the Tuscan Sun, PS I love you, A Winterās Tale, memoirs. All of these classic faves Iāve always wanted to, but have been too busy working.
I suppose the secret is loving someone exactly as they are until the love transforms the original into a masterpiece.
Love transforms
Fear freezes
Can stillness
Be filled with warm
Breezes
And will this block
Of ice I have become
Ever thaw
Never enough food, money, affection, the list goes on.
Somebody bring me some water, canāt you see Iām burning aliveā¦ā¦
When safety is the primary concern, growth can hardly exist. And yet it springs at the gate begging to be set free.
It was me I didnāt trust.
Iāve been yearning to write a blog post. But my thoughts have been so many that itās hard to capture what I want to say, and what my audience is. That is always the question isnāt it? And an answer: if I write whatās in my soul, what does that matter. If there are readers or no readers. Itās the traumatized child inside who concerns herself with this, in her perpetual state of loneliness and fear. I embrace her often now.
So here I sit in a rare occasion of writing in my office chair rather than quickly capturing shower or walking thoughts.
So Iād imagine this will read as an update and not a wave of inspiration. But in chicken or egg fashion perhaps one will open out of the other.
Here I sit on a throne surrounded by the method by which I tame the sheer madness that is my brain, which is books. They are all around me. My friends. In this way, itās a strange return to childhood. For all its trials, books were introduced and subsisted upon.
My grandmother made audiobooks before they were a thing. On an old school tape recorder with a silver and black microphone.
This morning I began Jungās Red Book. Red leather bound. Iām so jealous of his relationship with his dreams, when I can barely remember mine. I set this useless emotion aside and continue to work to recovering and repairing mine. If thatās possible.
Down a rabbit hole of taking supplements like 5htp, l tryptophan, sulphorophane (broccoli sprouts Iām growing) ps they smell bad guess they are getting thrown in a smoothie. Quercitin and fiesetin. Brain food, plant food. Based on the shamanic work of Alberto Villodo Grow a New Body. And listening to living and dying the shaman way on audiobook.
Traditional psychotherapist meets shaman, Akashic records Amazing ! , and whatever else will be next. Check out Wendy Casey in the link.
How the hell did I even get here ? If you had asked me a year ago if Iād be doing a fire ceremony and blessing the four directions etc, Iād have looked at you like you were nuts. Or Iām nuts. Definitely. And I donāt even care.
Life is strange and surrender is beautiful. And this is where Iām at.
Iām also reading the I Ching, the gene keys what?! The Dune series. And I still want to read the whole Wrinkle in time series. Somehow this is a summer craving. Some memories are just programmed in. Ahhhh so many things to read so little time.
I donāt agonize over documentation or any cancellation, or administrative. Nothing is any longer this awful monster breathing down my neck. And I think how was I living like that?
How was I living like that. Not well thatās what I can say.
I now have a fully embodied understanding of the mind being unwell. The way it races to terrible conclusions and feels as if itās constantly outrunning some terrible thing. I could cry for how I lived for so long. The way the mind and the body are not integrated, and one fears the other. No sense of peace, just constant persistent terror.
At times Iām able to get really still with everything. All the love that never fully became, the lives I could have lived, and the ones I did. I sift through and contemplate no longer with a great sickness of the mind. Terrible thoughts about myself. Those core wounds are brutal.
Let there be no mistake I am always healing and learning. I have not arrived anywhere, except perhaps face to face with my humility. In this space thereās so much love. It flows freely, it does not need control. Control cannot exist it extinguishes love immediately. Like the absence of air and fire.
If I saw anyone Iāve ever loved on the street I wouldnāt turn away, heart racing, sweaty. I would simply emit love, and own my mistakes. My ignorance, my impulsivity, my wounds.
I atone with myself and would offer healing communications with all who seek them.
And I donāt know whatās next. Tabula rasa. Bookends of it. I begin and end that way.
How may I be of service and lead me there. Iāve had it all. Love and loss. 10,000 lives within a life.
My work is to heal my brain and body so that I may help others with my journey. I no longer agonize over my memoir, what I will write, and what I wonāt.
I know thereās important work for me to do. I donāt need to know what it is or how I will accomplish it.
I simply surrender.
Now to process and alchemize these emotions and thoughts and experiences. To continue to go through them and learn from them.
On a more earthly note, both my twins have been in major car accidents. Something I have not had a first hand experience with. One of them still has back and neck issues and daily headaches. Not entirely sure if the accident is responsible. So we are going to my energy healer Julie today. Iām excited that my children are open to this and also learning to benefit from this and massage and other healing modalities.
We will be moving twin A into UConn in August as a junior, and twin B will be nannying for a time for her baby cousin in Long Island, as she completes her core requirements for school. The little prince is beginning a relationship journey with his partner. Learning about the responsibilities of life, and himself respectively.
There is love at the table of my life.
Surrounded by friends and family, and so much less pain from the absence of loving parents and blood relatives.
I sometimes take walks through my graveyard. The relationships that did not show up and stay, and marvel at the beauty and tragedy in love. And also the resilience of it. How it never really leaves, energy can neither be created or destroyed. It just is.
But more often I am looking through the windshield, thatās why itās bigger I am told. And learning about the true actions of love. How it behaves, what it commands and demands respectively.
The art of story telling and myth and legend in teaching great lessons. Things I would discount as frivolous or unreal become rich playgrounds to explore for healing metaphors and methods.
Women Who Run with Wolvesā¦.
Recovery
Recovering my dreams and authentic childhood self from the ashes of traumatic experience.
I hope that I have something to share that will help others healā¦.
Book. Thought. Book thought. Toggle. Rinse. Repeat. Show up consistently. During each workshop more of my childhood emerges more clearly. The understanding and integration becomes mine to harvest.
I am finding my way after a year of writing immersion to how to write on my own. How to build it into my schedule and not do stops and starts, but a consistent relationship.
I believe this will be my first Motherās Day I am not haunted. If you could ā¦.
I will not lose my life force in being haunted by the things that have hurt. I will rise above them and sit peacefully sharing the knowledge that has been hard earned.
I finished Dune book one this morning. So much in there. I think of the foreshadowing of Ulay, how I became the bomb, and 90 days and everything in between.
I think of how next week Iāll sit at my daughterās graduation and instead of wanting to crawl out of my skin w sensory overload I will own my seat. I will bask in the glow of our accomplishment having the difficult bloodline we have. Very little support, and also so much, just from a different form, a harder one to recognize or acknowledge for it requires belief.
I will be able to feel why I am there, what we are celebrating, rather than a desperately disconnected seeking numbness that pervaded everything and mirrored back such awkward desolation.
New landsā¦..
Belief is a powerful thing. May I always examine mine carefully to make sure it is from love and not fear, for the rest of my days.
I must not live haunted because if I do I cannot learn. I need all my focus and all my heart open to the world, so I can receive also.
To make you feel my love. My love will be felt. Not just my fear. The heroes journey.
To have alchemized scarcity and hardship into peace and abundance.
I had never planned so far that Iād make it out alive, because it never felt that way.
Awake is all I can ask for. Not existing inside a story or the bonds only of fear and trauma. A lineage I refuse to pass down.
And now I restā¦.
I got a b12 injection yesterday for the first time since November. Sometimes I forget I was ever so sick at all. Those people treat me like the best thing since sliced bread and I chuckle to myself of all the time I spent in a dark cloud of feeling unloved.
Love was all around. Love isā¦.
There are turning points. New chapters. New books to be read and to be written.
For nearly 43 years holidays (so many of them) have been a nightmare. The nightmares held me captive even when some were good but inside all that roiled and rose up like bile. being told I should appreciate with little understanding, and worse treating myself that way.
A good little soldier
I will not allow it to persist into 44.
Another turning point.
A million lives within a lifeā¦.
And I have every part of my story inside me and I wonāt cut off a single thing.
A whole
Shattered segments gathered and made whole with goldā¦.
Happy Motherās Day to all the loyal curse breakers just doing their best with impossible tasks everyday.
I love you all more than you can imagine
And to the lost onesā¦.. my people also
My heart is with you
There is light
With great courage there is light and your path is your own.
So here I am reading the I Ching without scarcely an idea why, and all at once knowing exactly why, at some level beneath consciousness. Lately I say things and think what am I saying. I ordered the gene keys on recommendation of my energy healer, and a day later bought I Ching having no idea how connected they were. Interesting stuff!
My mind has traveled far from its skeptical damaging that has controlled it for most of the years of my life.
I think of Melissa Etheridge ā¦ make me a believer baby. I want to believe in the power of love, and I do.
Sheās all heart this one.
Can I survive all the implications, even if I triedā¦..
Henri is preparing to depart soon. Not sure how soon, but soon. I will not preserve her for my benefit if she doesnāt have a quality of life. We have had to carry her upstairs for some time now. She has had two episodes of vestibular disease. They are kind of like strokes, both resulting in ER visits.
So many memories, cuddling on the couch, reading Harley Locoā¦. Thousands of them. One of my favorites is Jeep rides with the kids, so perky and excited. She still gets that way every once in a while, a glimmer.
How will I go on without her in my life. She is the glue of our family as much as anything. I understand this in a way I never have allowed myself before.
All this heart opening is beautiful but exhausting. I rest a lot. She and I are alike in that right now. She slumbers softly in her bed near to me. My little prince books of various types line the wall behind her head. My heart squeezes and releases with emotion.
I cannot say more about it right now, itās too much.
The only constant is change, and a steady heart, and my studies.
Coming into my 44th year. An auspicious one. I was saying auspicious before I met the I Ching. Parts of me are always steps ahead in ways that only become illuminated to me in retrospect.
Iām tapping my foot to Melissaā¦. Itās time for a walk. One hour before show time still. Before Iām in my chair and divining with the universe and humans and creating to the end of improving the human experience for their trips around the sun.
A recent Akashi records reading has allowed me to enjoy things I had closed my heart off too long ago due to associations with my mother. Now I can journey on my own to loving the parts of me I attempted to shut out due to any association.
Iām softening my heart, and strengthening my boundaries. This process equals emotional freedom.
My mission is to forget the self. My desires, my terror, my anxieties, and to open up to everything else. To be entirely open, gentle, to approach the world with a love I was so often outside of. To do it anyway, with fire, and with passion. The kind only someone who went without for so long can fully appreciate.
Maybe thatās true I donāt really know.
I donāt know anything.
I just liveā¦..
My children are becoming now. I am the witness and no longer steering the vessel. I gave it my all, even if that was saving myself as much as anything, before it was too late to provide them with a safe home base before they launched. I made it just in the nick of time. There were many moments of held breath not being sure which side I would come out on. I would have never abandoned that task. Never.
A strong heart. Iāve always had one and a will and a desire to choose love. The path of love.
Ahhh now we are on I wanna come overā¦..
My music is so random and yet itās not whatsoever random.
I am drawn to Kripalu every opportunity I get. Sober. I walk. I breathe. Taking it all in. I get closer to myself, my story, my ancestry even, the light and the dark, without needing any contact with those that have not chosen to remain in my life as a consistent safe presence.
Iāve spent one year in writing immersion, Tuesdays and Sundays, six hours weekly. I am preparing to depart from that for now and Iām terrified to be without it. Out of the nest right along with the kids ! My comfort zone and love, but intuitively I know itās time to get out on my own with it all for a little. To trust myself in a way I never have before.
I am letting go and tuning inā¦..
Go on close your eyes it shouldnāt bother youā¦.. if thatās what it takes to get you throughā¦.
āAnd youāve come from a good place with a happy family, the only bad thing youāve ever done was to see the good in me. Find someone who plants flowers in the darkest parts of you.āZB
As I sit here this morning, in my favorite window of me time in the morning. I am reveling in the notion that if you travel deeply, you keep returning to the same things again and again.
For example this morning Iām reading Anita Moorianiās Sensitive is the new strong. It was around 2013, while working amidst the produce at Trader Joeās in the wee hours of the morning I was listening to Dying to Be Me. It was with the first generation of Apple headphones and the iPhone with the button in the center, or earlier if I recall.
I resonated deeply with that book, though it was very hard to believe at the time, and my mind still tends towards skepticism, even as I am a believer.
I also listened to Paulo Coehlo books then, the Valkries, the Pilgrimage, etc.
A line: āyou canāt unknow what you knowā stands out to me, about any experience we have really.
I sit and think why didnāt I stand up for myself in so many ways, for so many things?!
When someone is actually telling you the truth to you, without being direct. I think of all I would have said. But I donāt think long on it now because thereās life to be lived and joy to be had, and of course because this is me, work to be done.
So Iām revisiting my birthright of sensitivity and the many resources needed to keep me in a good place with it. Very helpful. Also the highly sensitive person in love, by Dr Elaine Aron.
My traumatized mind grasping always to control its external environment, when the internal is so disorganized. Now I do the opposite.
I am building a home inside myself. A palace really.
Yesterday was the culmination of watching This is Us. Itās my new favorite written show. So much in there that makes you think, triggers and epiphanies alike. Of course because itās tv if you let it, it could make you feel terrible about your life. All those warm and wise conversations about the important things between parents and children. Iām not naive to the knowledge without a written script many of us didnāt get that, or dole it out.
But itās never too late to start.
Knowing who you want to be is as necessary as knowing who you are. I enjoy the journey of both. I am enjoying them.
Iām a UConn Husky Mom now! Thatās exciting! I move a child into college for time number two in August. One more birdy out of the nest, and another migrating home for a few months before her next venture.
I will blink and the kids will have their own nests and flock home less, but still hopefully often. I have a wide open array of possibilities in life, still, always. Iām hopeful to rise to that occasion, even if that means allowing myself to sit and read a novel in an afternoon, without feeling Iāve missed a thing.
I donāt need to be in a hurry to capture everything. I just took a deep satisfying breath.
My window of time with the morning is closing soon. Everyone is buzzing about the eclipse. Itāll be time to walk the dogs, give Henri her medicine, carry her up and down the stairs, feed them. Take a walk and a shower. The shower is such a great part. All the thoughts gently cascading, all the recharge from the waterā¦.
And then to enter the day.
Taking twin A for blood work for her first time. Sheās nervous. I know what that feels like, and usually Iām the last to say youāll be fine, and to be reassuring. Iām more likely to be awkward and say something scary. My mind can be a delightful playground of deeply imprinted survival mechanics.
Iām just trying to take off the suit.
This is an homage to a dear friend. His is much cuter than mine of course. Mine is probably more like a Spartan, he the Pink Ranger.
Another day trying to connect with the humans and not be too sensitive to saying the wrong thing, as I often do in my real life, contrasted by often having exactly what someone needs in my professional one.
As I heal and create new comfort zones outside the walls of my original ones. As I build. I look forward to bridging those gaps. Filling the bullet holes inside myself with new skin, bone, flesh, and blood.
Less a project and more, perfection from birth that I wasnāt able to see.
With new mirrors and lenses I invite the day.
Hello world give me what you have for me, and I vow to show up with integrity, honor, and to be of service.
I was called to my water to write this morning. I just got waxed, ow. Sometimes I feel half my life is concerned with hair removal. Did you chuckle ? I did. But for real itās not even about how I look, itās a sensory thing.
I am finally accepting my high sensitivity and empath ness and trying to work with it rather than deny, minimize, outright reject, or attempt to reverse the adaptation thatās about being adaptable. Ironic isnāt it.
A barrier to this was always worrying about being grandiose or the way some people use being an empath in toxic ways. As always if youāre worried about it itās probably not something to worry about.
So can I finally accept my birthright and my gift and use it to help me achieve a better quality of connection to myself and the universe.
Thatās a resounding yes !
Speaking of ironic Alanis and the episode of we can do hard things on high sensitivity! Boom. It is ironic oh yes I really do think.
Time seems my most elusive currency lately. How lucky am I that my life is one where I want more time to do and experience the things I love.
How lucky am I that Iām working at better understanding myself, and having a healthier relationship with me.
It turns out Iāve been looking for her in everything, and everyone, and everywhere sheās not.
Inside of me.
So thatās what Iām spending the most of my valuable currency on.
Writing my poem, my story, my lyrics, my melody, my script and on and on.
I have so many things to write about, but sometimes once I open the post I just relax so much nothing intelligible comes. Itās when I donāt have the pressure of the page that my thoughts float gently to the surface of my consciousness and tickle my fancy.
My fantasy
Lately Iāve been loving the lyrics of Zach Bryan. My girls led me to him. Some of them are just well wow. Your head in my neck is weightless.
This morning Iām re reading The Highly Sensitive Person I love and itās already blowing my mind, in showing my experience to me with a lens that helps me cope.
Deep and profound love is often the kind that doesnāt last, and then thereās the kind that does that is also those things.
I was trying to crack the code on love using logic. Now thatās ironic.
Now Iām using all of it, and most often working to get the story straight, keep it simple and direct, and develop a consistently healthy relationship with myself.
The work is delicious, no longer a burden. I am blessed.
The work takes the charge out of the pain, rather than rivers of it threatening to flood at anytime. Iām building a dam. Speaking of that Iām often thinking lately of slowly doing more DIY things. Like fix the drywall in my basement. Iām not sure yet whether thatās an idea and my schedule and sensory stuff means itās not really conducive. Stay tuned on that one.
Iām watching this is us, and oh my god the triggers and the insight and bliss. Kevinās twins being born and just watching the trials of these threeās lives. The nuance and the variety of topics covered in this way.
Iām enjoying it immenselyā¦.. not have I enjoyed a timing of a show to show me some things since Six Feet Under. This one is a profound love.
Iām reading Dune which is so odd for me. It is and it isnāt. What I appreciate is being attuned to intuition and that that is real.
I want my dreams back, and to be connected. I am figuring it out. Softening, thawing, warming, while also reinforcing my non-negotiables and boundaries.
Itās absolutely pouring.
The waves are crashing around the cement dock that Iāve walked to the edge of so many times and felt like I was standing in the middle of the ocean. Like I could walk on water. Donāt worry no delusions of grandeur here.
Anyway I have more to say later probably or tomorrow. Iām needing woods and water and empty hours.
I am reading A Little Life by Hanya Yanagihara. As I continuously recognize the magnitude of trauma through the story of others, I close the distance gaps between mine and me.
Thereās a line in the book about how a human being could be so thoroughly bifurcated, and that has haunted me ever since.
Is that what I was (am), bifurcated?
And much more specifically not just from my other half, an other half, but from my personality, my soulās essence. Itās heartbreaking to even write. As the truth seeps inside my skin and takes root.
I recognize, that I recognize the magnitude and then it disappears before my very eyes like the proverbial bird in the magicians cage once the cloth has been drawn back.
Each day a blank canvas in the way that only a survivor can understand, as if nothing has ever existed before. The only thing holding a human life together at times is the glue of the people around them, who they hold shared experiences with. Iāve taken for granted that hallowed glue, and yet I havenāt.
I have known how important and this knowing led me to rush desperately, or maybe it was the trauma and not the knowing that caused that, and to create these unions out of a place of desperation.
See what I do there? How I take responsibility for things I couldnāt possibly be responsible for. But then how does one figure it all out anyway. What is theirs and what is not theirs and what is fair has no place in the realm of humanity. Because things are simply not fair.
Fair is a striving if anything, it is not granted by some mystical or even judicial force, and itās certainly not a perfect system.
Rather these days I think what is the lesson, and the lesson is always love. Not in simply a romantic sense but an all encompassing one.
Is material like this this so relatable because of my many life experiences and similarity or some divine force that has me connect with exactly what is needed at the time?! Both.
Do I bore you going on and on and answering my own questions in your presence? I cannot attach to that it isnāt my business anyway if youāre bored or not. And besides what do I always say?! Youāll never be bored. Iām not boring and my life is certainly not, though it can be quiet and peaceful now.
Iām learning to allow that.
Anyway this book and watching This is Us for the first time, has me breaking open daily.
Thereās something about watching two people sharing life together that want their children that work hard at loving them well, that well just flays me open.
No surprise there.
Watching a father love his children and do his best, and the same for a mother. And how they balance their dreams and their own desires with that.
And how fucked up my path looks in comparison, which is why we donāt do that.
If I look at my life individually the whole story itās so much easier to see the beauty in it. Watching families who love each other and have traditions and traditional anything just sets my skin aflame like the emotional burn victim I am.
Do you see my scars?
This book though. This show though.
Piece by piece Iām collecting me and Iām putting together a self that has all her original essence, from all the shards.
Itās slow.
There is no longer a rush. Itās slow and beautiful. Everything is art. Every meal cooked and eaten. Every dark thought banished by compassion.
This book opens me. My clients open me. Life opens me. Itās exquisite and excruciating and I wouldnāt have it any other way.
A continual surrender. A cease fire on myself. And finally burying my armor and replacing it with something realistic, something lighterā¦..
