Personal Growth

Something To Cling To

Leave a Comment / Coping, Personal Growth / By / May 8, 2020

A mirage in the desert, the optical phenomenon we move toward, parched, exhausted, awaiting the pure water that will quench our thirst. Our desperate need against the threat of giving up, a light filled glimmer of salvation from the burning challenges of an uncertain life. 

Hope

That is what it feels like to me. I don’t know if it was my religious upbringing that first instilled it in my heart, but hope has never been elusive to me. Throughout every difficulty and challenge I have faced in my life I have been able to dig deep and find that reservoir of hope to cling to, with clenched fists and courage, using it as a map to an inner strength I didn’t know existed.

Even during a childhood that often left me feeling alone, shrouded in shame and emptiness, there was always something compelling me forward, something telling me that I could do this. When I was around 12 years old a particularly vile and depraved act of abuse left me feeling as if I could not hang on or live in my home for one more second, but I had nowhere to go. I felt as though my soul had been torn from me and I simply had no will or resilience to light my way. I considered ending it all, but I couldn’t leave my younger sisters behind, and in my core, there was a knowing that something better was in store for me. I just couldn’t find it. So, through hot tears and desperation, I prayed to a God I didn’t understand and begged for mercy, for some kind of respite from the indignities and pain. And in that moment I was gifted with an experience that would forever change me. All at once, I felt as though I was being lifted, carried in the palm of a gentle, loving hand floating on a soft pillow of glorious peace and safety. My body was light, almost airy and somewhat ethereal. It felt like a dream but it was happening. A voice, as soft and certain as anyone I had ever spoken to, reassured me I was not alone and that I indeed possessed the necessary strength to endure whatever I needed. That moment was the very essence of hope for me.

Hope has long been identified with God and religion, because it involves a belief in things we desire, following our faith, an expectation of something not seen, from somewhere bigger than ourselves. But through the years, as I have evolved beyond those traditional religious narratives to a more grounding sense of spiritual oneness with the Universe, this experience remains a part of me, manifesting as an inner strength and a force field of positive energy that I was created with. My Higher Power no longer looks like the God I grew up with but remains a stalwart pillar of life-giving light, offering me the ability to find hope that never truly leaves me, holding fast to the universal truth that I am whole and everything I need is inside of me. As much as my resilience, my bravery, or my resolve, I own hope. It belongs to me. And I can say that without any doubt because I have always been okay at the end of whatever life challenge I am given. Always. 

And now, as our world spins in a polarizing rhetoric of fear, panic and uncertainty, hope is needed more than any other single thing. I hear it everywhere, the whisperings of despair, despondency, demoralization of spirit. We have forgotten that we can have peace from the hope that lives inside of us but often lies buried by the circumstances we succumb to. It is always within our personal power to change the way we view anything and tap into our higher self. But how do we access that innate gift within us, that solid foundation of belief that overrides our all encompassing fear?

I’ve come to believe that hope is grounded in purpose. 

I cry for our country. So often. More than fear for the virus itself I feel the soul of our nation and all we have stood for is slowly dying. My heartbreak has nowhere to go. I am an empath and I feel the profound weight of the emotional distress that I see around us. It would be so easy for me to get lost in the current state of affairs, to fear for my rights as a citizen, become obsessed about how to help everyone while still keeping the most vulnerable of us safe. But the truth is I can only control my little corner of the world. It is my responsibility and purpose to mentally release anything that I cannot contribute to and focus on how I show up moment by moment to every part of my life. So I start with what I know. I channel that flood of emotions to fuel kindness and diplomacy. To do better for the greater good, to show more humanity through understanding, be more present, offer unlimited compassion for the suffering and lonely. Yes, I fear we have gone too far as a society to ever heal from the growing seeds of hatred, so I must be and do exactly the opposite of that, and I refuse to be distracted by the confusion that would keep me from that purpose.

But let me tell you it’s hard. Like any muscle memory it takes practice to lean into hope. It takes practice to pay attention to all of our feelings and release those things that we truly cannot change. It takes practice and mindfulness to feel the pain of others and have the clarity to know where our truth lies, keeping it alive while still navigating through the discord.  

It is ultimately our truth-telling that becomes our purpose. And in that we find that hope is not unreachable, but right where it has been all along, in the deep recesses of our soul waiting to offer us the tranquility we deserve.  

Change In My Pocket

10 Comments / Personal Growth / By / April 25, 2020

You know all that spare change? The pennies, nickels and dimes that jangle in your pocket or your wallet, weighing it down until eventually you put it on the dresser and then finally into a glass jar, thinking that someday you’ll cash it all in for some real money. For a mani/pedi, a week’s worth of lattes, a road trip or a dream vacation!

That was my life. All this change…divorce, losing my home, illness, dream marriage, a new family, leaving my religion, divorce #2, moving, crazy-ass roommate, moving again, surgery with the threat of dying, my kids flying the nest, and all at once, my whole life looked different, and so much of it had happened in that very difficult past year, leaving me on shaky ground.

All that change was piling up in a jar. And I could feel the weight of it, and I realized I needed to cash it all in. Turn it into something that I could spend. Like a life that called to me. 

Numerous windows were opening around me. In the beginning though, those windows felt like walls that were closing in on me. It felt so isolating to face all these losses and uncertainty. I wasn’t recovering as planned, which limited what I could do at my job so I had no financial security. I was working on my emotional recovery too, coming to grips with my continued health issues, and knew I needed to focus on me. Suddenly having time and no commitments was a gift to me instead of an abyss of fear. An opportunity presented itself for me to visit North Carolina and I decided to just move instead. The truth is I had always wanted to live somewhere else, try something different. Be adventurous. I never did that when I was in my teens or my 20’s. So why not now?? Why not fly the nest I had so comfortably nestled into and reclaim my joy? 

People wonder what kind of person would just sell everything, pack up and move across the country, sight unseen, and start a new life…I get that question all the time, even now after 5 years. Some even wonder if I’m hiding something…I don’t know, a criminal past perhaps, some kind of deep dark secret like an alias as a boot wearing cage dancer, yeah right, or maybe a black widow killer with a dead body in my trunk…who knows?? I guess it’s brave but it’s also just not that strange to me. Timing is everything. And the timing presented itself and I was ready. I wasn’t running or hiding and fleeing. I was ready to move forward, fly out the open window, really take charge and step into my life. And it was scary and exciting and something that called to me, so I listened. I embraced the change.

I talked to my kids who gave me their love and full support because they’re awesome like that. They even said, “Mom, if you don’t like it you can always leave.” Pretty smart. So I made a plan (that eventually fell apart), took what would fit in my car, and did it. And nothing that I planned happened, not even the plan l made after the first plan fell apart. Yet everything I didn’t count on became the most wonderful, adventurous time of my life. I didn’t know what to expect from the people here, from this new culture that I had never experienced, how I would be received or what I would do to fill my time. But I trusted. And it all worked itself out, and continues to. I am still in constant transition. Still finding my way. But I’m happy, I see beauty everywhere, because that’s what I choose. And I miss my kids like crazy, my people, the comforts of home. And I love my new life, my new people, the comforts of here. I am home now.

Life is change. Some we create, some that is thrust upon us. It’s time to take all that change and turn it into something you want. A move. A new career. A heart wide open to love again. A dream vacation. A new skill. A new lease on life. Whatever.

It doesn’t have to be big and profound, it just has to be what speaks to YOU!! Because on the other side of that voice is where joy lives!

There will probably never be a point when you’re not afraid. Just a point when you decide it’s ok to be afraid and do it anyway. That’s called Bravery. So. Do. It.

When this sheltering in place order lifts, cash in that spare change and spend it, before it’s too late.

Once You’ve Shattered You’re Not Afraid To Break

4 Comments / Personal Growth / By / April 25, 2020

Who we are is somewhere between the smudged lines of the small talk we engage in, the stories we tell ourselves and give meaning to and the lens through which we view life. 

In an attempt to heal and move beyond the constraints of my depraved, abusive childhood, I set out on a journey of self discovery and growth that began in my twenties. I was in deep emotional pain, recalling memories that manifested as night terrors accompanied by an overwhelming sense of powerlessness. I was losing myself to something I couldn’t identify but it had a sinister darkness to it. I wanted desperately to create a better life for my own children and that could only be accomplished if I had the clarity to embrace all of who I was. The mental work was fierce and gut wrenching, cracking me so wide open that I could see every fracture, every nuance, every gaping open wound of my soul. I faced truths that were so horrific I was literally throwing up into a garbage can. I had been afraid that if I felt the pain of it all that it would swallow me whole and I would drown in the abyss. But in truth, it was the very thing that saved me. I became so empowered and connected to every part of myself as I peeled back the layers and found within me the ever present strength and resilience that had kept me pushing through all those years. I realized that if I could survive those experiences, I could survive anything. 

I learned which shards of my brokenness shaped my experiences and informed the decisions I had made thus far, which ones gave me strength and which ones brought me to my knees. I left no stone unturned, no memory unresolved, however painful it was. No amount of work was too grueling because I had something so precious at stake, my daughters and my very essence.

Healing from trauma, loss or abuse sets us on an unknown and often uncomfortable course of growth. The people who held me emotionally and physically captive with constant, perverse manipulation tried to rob me of my sexuality, my ability to trust or feel safe. They needed to keep me small, quiet and afraid so they could feel strong and powerful. I was a reminder of their own weakness so they tried to burn me to the ground.

                               They didn’t count on me being the fire and the ashes.   

It would be years more and two unhealthy, abusive marriages before I would cut to the core of all the residual effects I was left to work through, and I spent too much time beating myself up for that. Eventually though, it taught me that this is a pilgrimage and I was doing the best I could with what I knew. I will continue to climb mountains and reach the top and then have to do it all over again. But each time I will do it faster, easier and I will see the beauty of the view at the top so much clearer than I used to. I will look behind me and see how far I’ve come.

There have been so many gifts along the road to healing. I retrained myself to trust my intuition, I learned to listen to and love my body for everything it has given me and saved me from, and I have uncovered my voice and worthiness. I discovered in myself a passionate desire to be inclusive with others, let them know they matter, leaving no one alone and afraid if it is in my power to help them. I am an advocate of kindness and compassion. Truly, I feel fortunate that I never lost my trust in humanity and that, in fact, I am more open and vulnerable than ever. I won’t let anyone take that from me. Mostly this transformation has brought out my courage, my ability to forgive myself and others, shown me what I’m made of and especially what I value. Part of my truth now is knowing this, that we are not a product of our collective experience; we are a product of how we respond to those experiences. The world is filled with love and hope and I will bask in it because I refuse to live my life closed, bitter and afraid.

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                              Once you’ve shattered, you’re not afraid to break.

Unraveling My Thread of Unworthiness

4 Comments / Personal Growth / By / April 25, 2020

I was recently sharing my experience as to why I quit the candy business that I had successfully begun back in Idaho about 8 years ago. For me the venture had evolved unexpectedly from a place of passion, purpose and tradition, turning into a fulfilled dream that awakened my talent and sense of self. I excelled at it, from the marketing, to the colors and packaging, to the candy itself. I had never felt that accomplished about anything and I was so excited at being able to contribute some financial stability for my 2nd husband and our kids (he had 3, I had 3).

As I would learn, slowly and painfully, I was married to a very jealous, insecure man at the time, who was gaslighting me and threatened by my success. It didn’t matter that I worked my day job while doing this for us or that everything I made went back into our joint funds. Or even that I had found something I was really good at and derived a sense of purpose from. In fact, that was the likely catalyst for his deeply wounded, destructive self to emerge. My confidence stared him down and called him out, so he had to break me, make me feel small. And because he knew me, he knew exactly what buttons to push. We had talked about my dreams and plans for us and I continued to put every spare minute into the operations, knowing it was already turning a profit. He waited until I felt really good about the direction it was going and then on a family vacation, in a secluded beach house that the business paid for, without provocation and in front of my daughter, he exploded and threw everything he had at me. Every fucking thing I had ever shared with him was turned against me, every insecurity twisted into a weapon to cut me down to size. He was cruel, insulting, brutal. He verbally attacked me as a person, called me selfish, among other things, accused me of wanting to do this so I could leave him. He blew up so suddenly and out of the blue that I was stunned. I was also terrified. He was tall, strong and angry. Although he’d never hit me, I saw something dark in him and I knew he could take me out with one single blow. For my daughter’s safety and my own understanding I tried to reason with him, reassure him, diffuse the situation. I had no arsenal big enough with which to fight, because that’s just not who I am. None of my communication skills worked and I couldn’t begin to wrap my brain around the words he was screaming at me, how he saw me, or this kind of abusive taunting from someone who pretended to be my biggest supporter and should have loved me unconditionally.

Ultimately though, I gave it all up. My business. A part of myself. I made a choice.

And as I recounted this story, present day, the tears flowed and the broken pieces all started to fall into place. Yes, back then it was hard to hear, but easy for me to believe all the hateful, irrational things that were pouring from my now ex husband like hot lava, the man who had, in the beginning, opened me up to such love that I imagined it would carry us forever. Even as he yelled at me and I knew it wasn’t right, it was no stretch for my subconscious to latch onto my own unworthiness and choose a broken marriage over the success I had gained but never really felt I deserved. His volatile reaction pushed play on a negative tape that had lived in my head and felt like second nature to believe.

                                       Those were familiar feelings.

Growing up in a home of brokenness, dysfunction and unresolved trauma that distorted truth had exposed me to every kind of depravity, abuse and neglect.  Being insignificant and small was drilled into me, like an early education. As a result I spent a great deal of time as an adult plowing through some grueling memories and rewiring my brain to bring myself to a healthy space. By the time I met Brad, I was strong and self aware. I thought he was finally all the good things I deserved. I never imagined how things would spiral and that our love and the goodness we had shared to blend our families had nothing to do with any of this and would never be enough.

So how did this happen? How, after years of gut wrenching, soul searching work and all I had seen and been through, could I have been so stupid, so blind? For all my personal growth I still ended up with very different, but abusive relationships in both my first and second marriages and I didn’t see it coming. There is a weight of shame and guilt that comes with that.

But here’s the truth. I didn’t see it coming because I didn’t recognize it. That’s because abuse is insidious, sinister and doesn’t look the same way twice.

When we are growing through and healing from any form of abuse, pain, trauma or neglect…

                                                                     We don’t know what we don’t know.

That sounds so obvious but it’s not. We beat ourselves because we forget that it is not a place we arrive at but an ongoing process of learning through layers and unbecoming the lies and misconceptions we were taught to believe about ourselves.

      I don’t say any of this proudly, but I no longer carry shame for it either.

I share it, because abuse is an epidemic and we have to create safe places to share our stories so we can change the endings.

It was a pivotal and defining moment for me to have this experience and also recount it now realizing just how far I’d been willing to grow. It’s not easy work, it takes time and fierce commitment to face the realities of the decisions we made when we didn’t know any better. It’s not about blame, it’s about owning it so we can change our patterns, see the signs, hold out for what we deserve. It’s about forgiving ourselves.

My sheer will to do what is necessary and the strength to be alone have been two of my most powerful qualities. I left him when I loved him, knowing things would just continue to get worse. I took what I knew, I kept going, and I grew my way better from there.

I have since unraveled and released those last few threads of the unworthiness that never really belonged to me.

Signs in A Coffee Cup

3 Comments / Personal Growth / By / September 3, 2020

It was just a mug. But it felt like a memory. Maybe that’s why, after all this time it remained one of my favorites.

The first one got broken last year. Surprisingly, I didn’t really react. “It’s just a thing,” I said, as I put the sharp fragments in the trash. And I meant it. It felt timely and symbolic of everything I believed and was trying to do. Releasing the old, simplifying.

This one seemed sadder though. Maybe because it felt like it had been made for me, the smooth, not quite round shape that fit perfectly in my tangled hands, the weight of it so precisely tailored to my ideal cup of morning coffee, a ritual that tasted like new beginnings . Maybe because it was the last tangible recollection of those road trips with my daughters and the adventures in Seattle that still rang freedom in my ears. But now the cracks that had wrapped their way around the inside like wild vines had finally eroded the outside. There it was. One long, determined fracture. Seeping through the shiny ceramic finish like the tea I was pouring into it.

I know they’re just mugs. But like most of those small, seemingly insignificant things that we hold tightly to, through spring cleanings, moves, and the threat of yard sales, they tell our stories and hold our secrets. Those souvenirs we purchase become the words of the pages written on our heart from a cherished chapter. A moment in time. Back when.

And I wondered tonight, as I set the mug aside, feeling foolish for putting any meaning to this, if it was a sign. Perhaps it was in the nuance of a broken coffee cup that I chose to see a symbol, One I needed to see. That as I put some of the past aside, broken and stained, it didn’t diminish its beauty or meaning. And as I dare now to live my best, biggest life, share my talent and give my stories a voice, I bring with me all my cracks, brokenness, beauty and meaning. Yes, this was a reminder of my purpose and that life is coming together, making way for the new and unexpected.

As the memories and emotions gently washed over me, I felt a sense of repose. And I thanked the Universe for never giving up on me.