The Unravelling

It was a delicately tied bow I was constantly tending to, making sure it stayed in tact and did not unravel. It required constant attention, a simple tug of the loose end would cause it to come completely apart. So I took on the full-time role of retightening it each time it came even a little bit loose. 

 

Until that one day when it finally unraveled. It was time. It was the very thing I feared so greatly leading up to it, because I knew once undone it would never be again, and I wasn’t sure who I would be without it. I felt the loss instantly, and for years I would painfully long to return to the presence of its sparkle. 

 

Yet, in that moment, there was something else. To let go of this heavy responsibility in ensuring it’s perfect form, and attempting to prevent the inevitable destruction that was constantly looming, brought an undeniable sense of relief. 

 

This I knew I could not ignore anymore. What I was denying in my surroundings in order to keep my attention on the survival of that carefully constructed bow now garnered my attention. In dropping the load that consumed my gaze, I could now to tend to all the knots that had become tangled around my ankles in their dismissal. 

a conversation with my worth

Last night I unlocked a new room of compassion in my heart. A gentle voice inside telling me that I was deserving of love. Of the affection from my husband that I so often turn away from because I don't trust it, because I don't trust that I deserve it. But last night, permission, and with it a stitch of slight repair in the long time disrupted connection between us. Soft tears rolled down my cheeks in this knowing.

Today there is a familiar fragile feeling inside. It does not come with words, just a sense that I am bracing against something and that my strength could falter in any moment. Like a sob between my throat and chest, waiting for its queue. I paused and looked a little closer. It almost felt like I was being picked on...but there was no one around to poke at me. Except me. All this happens beneath the language and it takes a still still quiet to even know it. But today there is a part of me that recognizes that it is me, the ways I view myself, my worth, my deservingness. 

What is that? Oh right, the familiar 'I am not good enough.' And just as I acknowledge it, a rush of emotion flushes to my forehead. Here the frustration. I know I have this trapped inside of me and I want it away, but that simply does not do the trick. In fact, the resistance only seems to make it push harder. I know it has roots that go deep down to my toes. I know that to pull on its head will only bring tension throughout my body. I am so aware of it and the fact that I don't know what to do about it creates a pounding in my head. 

But wait, what is that I hear, so subtle and soft? 'I do know?' I do know. For now my job is to acknowledge, respect, accept and love it for the ways it has served me. Loosen my attachment and for now, focus what I could grow around it, the things that serve me better now. When the time is right I will venture deep into the dark soil at which its roots first established and breath new life into them, when I am ready. The change will be felt throughout my body and it will be intense and possibly even painful at first, because it has become so embedded in my body, but the transformation that ensues will liberate all the pieces that this piece has dug its claws into. And the new life will loosen its grip. I will be free to move in ways that I forgot I was able to. I will no longer default to the self-sabitoge that feeds this rigid creature beneath my skin, but it will be love. It will set the emotion free to flow as it wishes, just like in that rare precious moment last night. 

Finding Peace Amidst the War

I've always been uncomfortable with conflict. I was the child who veered clear of it as much as I can. I was the adult who abandoned myself to keep the harmony (and still does time to time). 

One of six siblings within a ten year span, daily conflict was inevitable. Three of my siblings were easily set off and often either on the stirring end or receiving end of the fights. Three of us were pleasers and sensitive. We got along best with each other and occasionally fought with the others, but remained pretty compliant so to avoid any negative attention. I recall my sister just older than me and my brother just younger than me getting disciplined and it scared me so. But I learned young to play the cards that were expected of me to keep the peace and avoid negative attention that came of deviating from expectations. This message was not only in my family dynamics but consistent with our culture, and still is today. Positive attention for living up to others expectations. Shamed for expressing ourselves in un-liked ways. Shamed for being different, wrong, or anything other than the status quo.

I watch the world around me, more and more people coming into their voices quite aggressively. I don't know their intentions behind the advocacy and neither is it my position to judge whether their approach is right or wrong, good or bad. All I know is I am not called to use my voice in that sense. I am called to express gently, in ways that bring people back to love and harmony, in ways to validate their challenges, and in ways that do not hurt others. So when I see the division between groups of people, leaders and patrons, abiders and anti-maskers, it feels as if my heart itself is splitting in two. I see how we lose sight of the issue that seems so much larger to me, and get caught up in righteousness. My tendency when I feel powerless is to withdraw, surrender feeling as if I have no power. But in given time as I sit back, contemplation brings me home to myself, and it is only when I can remove myself from the noise that I find my voice. It is a noisy world and I have to be very intentional about making the space to do this, so that I can act from a space of my own conviction. 

In this space I  learn that my position isn't what is important in the big conflict. My actions don't determine my power. My power lies in my conviction while respecting others in theirs. I realize how caught up we get in needing to be right. Our conditioned sense of worth is tangled up with this need for righteousness. 

I feel it every time I come across someone who has a different opinion or stance than I do, my ego flairs up. I do one of two things, depending on which value is on shift in that situation. If it's harmony from which I am sourcing my sense of worthiness I start to questions myself, especially if the opposing person is someone who aligns with me in many ways, or someone I hold close to my heart and respect greatly. I doubt my own beliefs that just minutes prior I stood so firmly in, questioning my understanding. Swayed to avoid the shame of being wrong to another, I begin to abandon myself. This is a threatening place to be, especially when you have been working so hard to return to yourself. The disharmony puts me in a head-spinning anxiety and I resort to old worth-hustling patterns by needing to please and keep the peace. 

With others, my husband for example, I tend to lock down in my need to be right. I fear abandoning my position and I fear being proved 'wrong,' automatically armouring up to defend and offend. I stop hearing his view and dig my feet deep into my own arrogance and ignorance. Neither of us ends up heard nor validated in our view. It often creates a tension that mutates into other issues. We are too focused on the hurt and victimhood. We are too focused on all the ways we need to prove ourselves right, because if someone, especially someone we love and (think we) respect, their differing stance makes us wrong...creating a mountain of shame (because remember, our society doesn't accept 'otherness.'). 

However, if we were to love unconditionally, accept respectfully our differences and agree to disagree, we might open ourselves enough to each other to actually expand on our limited perspective. We might come back home to ourselves, reintegrate another viewpoint into our own and learn a thing or two. We might be able to find a mutual ground to stand in together, even in our individual differences. Not unlike the ceremonial shaking of hands between opposing teams after a competitive sporting event. What if we didn't place so much importance on being right or being the best, smartest, loudest and at the end of it could look back and simply say "good game," respecting all the players involved. Or what if we didn't wait until the end to respect each other in their opposition. Only when we can stand firmly in our highest selves do we really come from this place. For me sometimes that means stepping away from the noise of it all, from the push and pull around me that tends to knock me off my footing. And other times that means finding my footing right in the middle of the commotion, returning to myself amidst the chaos, responding from this place of purity even when it means disrupting the harmony or the current dynamic. 

I know one thing only. My highest self does not shame others. Nor does she have to defend herself, because she stands so assured in her own worth that there is no need to be further validated. She does not take on the responsibility of changing others, accepting them for where they are at. She only positions herself in the power of influence through the highest of love. Her worth is full and comes from a place greater than the need to be right or to prove others wrong. And when I can create space to embody this version of myself, it is when I feel at peace the most, and it becomes so clear to me that right and wrong actually do not exist. 

written from the inside out

I've been advised to write, the advice coming from within and from without. I notice the friction between wanting to write, even needing to and not taking action. There is a deep resistance in me that I don't quite understand, it shows up as avoidance by simply not doing. Thinking about it but not taking action. Lately the nudge is telling me that in writing every day I will help alleviate my emotional congestion. But routine is such a challenge for me to implement. I do not like to be fixed into responsibility that goes beyond what I am feeling in the moment. And even at that, I put it off often when I feel the desire or urge to write or release. I believe the resistance to be rooted more deeply, but cannot quite put my finger on it. Perhaps it does not matter? 

Yet for change to happen I typically need to understand what's at the root of the thing I want to change. I don't know whether this is a control thing, or motivation thing? I have to work extra hard to let go of the needing to know and accept the things I do not understand, trusting the flow. And other times I find that knowing or figuring out helps me to recognize the patterns holding me back and making the change from that place of understanding.

I know I am a gifted writer and I have proven to myself how releasing it can be. I recall writing a confrontational letter to a friend the day I came to one of the most important revelations in my journey. I had ended the letter admitting that my problem was I didn't trust my inner voice. I wrote that I needed to pay attention to and trust it and that this was the answer I had been so desperately seeking for some time. The words flowed through my fingertips to the keyboard like water, as if someone else was typing through my body. Yet I knew it was a message for myself disguised through this letter for my friend. I watched it take place, reread it and let out a big sigh of relief. My shoulders dropped and the waterworks began. After months of what felt like floating between identities, my foot finally found new ground. It was one of the most powerful feelings of realization that came simply from an expression beyond my conscious intention. 

When I allow it, I can experience versions of this through my writing. It usually comes more easily in conversation with a trusted companion, even through text message. It always requires a certain level of trust with the person I am conversing with that allows me to let go of any concern for judgement.  The greater the rapport, the more easily words flow, and I often re-read what I have wrote to take in the wisdom that had just spelled out of me. Lately I have started saving some of my text messages. I receive feedback from my confidants that I have a special talent for articulating experiences that they have trouble putting words to. I suppose this is one of my gifts, and something I would love to expand on. 

So if it is judgement or concern for judgement that births my reservation, I suppose the thing that keeps me from writing without an audience could be the fear/avoidance of my own judgement. Gah! This is such a tough one and one of my greatest barriers since the beginning of my conscious journey. In fact my earliest awareness came from statements I noticed were being relayed to me from my trusted supports. "You are really hard on yourself," they would say, in one way or another. The critical voice is loud and ingrained deeply in me, a core wound, one could say (and quite very human). Most of my life I thought this critical voice was serving me in ways I now realize were actually holding me back from my greater potential. So I have been chipping away diligently at this boulder for the last four years, but it's foundation is rooted especially deep. I have to make special effort to notice the critical voice of not enough-ness, or lack of trust in the merit of the information that flows from within me (as opposed to information coming from outside of me). For example, leaning into the trust in this little realization I just came to at the top of this paragraph even in the light that I seem to have pulled it out of my yin yang. It has been a slow trust-building process with myself, but I must remember that I am unraveling re-wiring thirty-plus years of doing. 

Today I will take a chance to believe that I have great knowledge in me, to understand myself and others in ways guided by my intuition over what I have been told. To consider that everyone else doesn't always know better than me, especially when it comes to what's best for me. There are times I may be wrong, but I am learning that when I lean into this trust, more than not something is gained (regardless of whether I am right or wrong). I am learning that not being right is not the greatest stake of risk. The risk is in not being truthful. Not trusting my own truth, my own intuition, my own ability to make decisions, my own knowing. So I take chances, through a gained understanding that life has lessons no matter which path you take, which conviction you lean into. There is no perfection because everything is perfect in its imperfection. There is no wrong and right, because every path we choose offers opportunity. We are not here to be perfect and right, nor to take the easy way out. I believe that we are here to grow and learn and continue our journey across lifetimes as part of a greater evolution. (I could be misunderstanding it all, but that is beside the point) I have found such value in the trust I have gained through these knowing bits of myself, the stuff that comes out of mystery from the inside out. It seems to be working for me, so I think I'll continue to roll with it.

What Are We Waiting For?

April 16, 2020 (edited November 24, 2020)

I'm curiously observing the different ways people are taking in this quarantine. Some are loving the change in pace, the quality time with their family, the release of expectations. Others are having a difficult time with the new normal, missing the security of what they knew before, and overwhelmed by the new demands put on their life. But underneath it all, regardless of where we are each at, lies a sense of uncertainty for what the future looks like. We've all got it in sight. I hear expressions like 'when this blows over,' and when 'things go back to normal.' Beneath it all, however, there seems to be a consensus that things will different than what we knew before the Caronavirus hit. That a shift is happening that will alter the future into something different than the past we knew. And we all sit here, in the cue, waiting for that future to come. I've said it myself and I have heard it numerous times, I can't wait until this is all over. I can't wait until the world starts up again. Especially on those hard days, when we are overwhelmed by the fears, anxiety and overwhelm before us.

It hit me, the other day, how much time I, and many around me, spend waiting for the future. Not just now, but I have spent much of my life in this state. Always waiting for the next big thing, and when I had nothing to look forward to I would start to feel depressed. The realization of how much energy I spend on this makes me kind of sad. It makes me realize how much of now I am missing out on when my head is in the future or past, wishing for something different than what is in front of me. This grass is greener mentality is rarely satisfied, and when it is, it is fleeting. So when that time comes, we can only speculate what will be and no matter how miserable you feel in the current situation, there is no guarantee 'when this all blows over' that it will be any better. Will we just find other problems to obsess on? I tell you, I have been pretty darn good at that, especially when things are hard. Maybe there is a survival strategy in this, to maintain some kind of hope in getting through tough times. But I can't help but notice when it starts to take away from the appreciation of the now. If our lens is so focused on what's going wrong, and what we want that we don't have, what are we not seeing? As long as we are waiting for something different, I believe we will never really relish in the present moment, and if we spend a lifetime with this lens on, we never really gain or maintain an appreciation for the life we have. Because now is all that we really have, the past and future are only in our imaginations. And trust me, sometimes you need that imagination to get you through the day, but it is my hope that you don't spend most of your time there. Because I know as much as anyone the disappointment and depression that can manifest through this lens.

So what if we stopped talking about when this is all over? What if we were told the rest of life would remain as it is now? How does that change our realities? How does that change our daily life, the things we focus on, the current view? I can't help but wonder, would we do life differently? Would we notice the things we have to appreciate more? Would we be more present with our families? Would we start to focus on new opportunities, do more things we love, show more support and love to others. Wait...I see that happening already.

So, I propose to the world out there, rather than asking what we are waiting for, to a subtle rewording of what are we not waiting for?

Its funny how when options are taken away from us, others come into clear view. These options have always been there, but suddenly they are not camouflaged by the plethora of things that we previously used to define ourselves. Like the future. And public opinion. Now we are seeing ourselves differently. Have you noticed you forget to look in the mirror some days, or choose a completely different wardrobe when you dress for yourself as opposed to others? Have you noticed you have different expectations of yourself when you feel the world is not watching? It is a bit of a relief, isn't it, removing the expectation of who you think the world needs you to be, look like, do? It is here, that we start to connect with who we really are, beneath the public persona we put out there. I think this is important to notice. To pay attention to the comfort it brings you to choose according to yourself rather than someone else. This awareness in contrast allows us to see how far we remove ourselves from our authenticity to be seen a certain way, to fit in. And while, perhaps, there is a degree of our public persona that serves us, we can see how much it can take away from us too, from feeling comfortable and belonging. It is a hungry seeking that is never quite satisfied. Because the food we are feeding ourselves is made of cardboard, its not real. It'll never satisfy as long as we are eating cardboard. We will make up for it in ways we aren't aware of until we find out what the real food is. To know what it is like to provide what you are seeking for yourself. To bring on feelings of love through your connection with your own heart. To realize, with the right tools (you already have them), you have access to grace, compassion, love for yourself any time you need it, if you are willing. And to be in charge of validating yourself. Now that's security.

So we realize we have a choice. To keep waiting for the outer world to change so that we get the things we have, in attempt to gain some kind of control over it. Or to start unlocking and exploring what is inside of us, so we can see and make the most of what we already have. It's just a subtle shift in where we are looking. It really is that simple. Not easy, but it is simple, and incredibly rewarding to take your own power back. And when that happens you find your unshakeable.

So with that I ask, what are you not waiting for?

Choosing Grace

I am fueled with purpose! Here to give, receive, contribute to the important greater picture. I have so much to offer and my energy is contagious! Smiles come easily and generously. I engage genuinely with everyone I converse with. I am a powerful light filled force leaving a radiant energy in my path!

I knew I was swimming in it but I didn’t want to admit it. Being, feeling, accelerating felt too good to pass it up to a manic state, I wanted to own it as a success, a showing of the work I have been doing. Knowing all too well, however, that to take full ownership of this high meant very well that I would have to do the same for the low that would follow. But I kept it under the radar to a point. And any enthusiasms that burst out of me I allowed in moderation, I allowed them to drive me, my days and my interactions. I let them be a positive force in my days and hoped I wasn’t too much for anyone. Sluff it off as this is me, and if it’s too much for them, maybe that’s not my business. But I headed caution in wrapping my identity around the way I felt, as I had the sense that it was fleeting. I know the cycle, and life doesn’t get to feel this easeful all the time. So to just enjoy the current that has picked me up and carries me in the direction I wish to go. I sometimes leave interactions a little out of breath and aware that I did most of the talking, the expressing. Feeling a little questionable about what impression I may have made on them, that the out of control part of me slipped a bit. And again, I remind myself of the perfectly imperfection I humanly am, and just take advantage of the momentum fueling me and all that I am immersed in. Partly convinced that I will carry this momentum into new starts, partly aware of my limits, a cautionary whisper to give attention to boundaries.

Then the tell-signs start to leak in. Waking up feeling tired, blah. But find the thermal current and sail eventually, it just takes a bit into my day to find that familiar momentum. I keep up. Then I start to forget. Nothing specific, just random details, or what I scheduled for tomorrow, as if parts of my brain are covered with fuzzy static. Magnetic thoughts, the same go-to fantasies that bring me feelings of comfort in sad moments, and sad in comfortable moments. Losses, what-if’s, anywhere but here and now, drifting into alternate realities. Criticism find the microphone, assumptions of rejection and worst case scenarios. It is here when I am confronted with the reality of the sinking ship, slowly and steadily, but inevitable, seawater swirling around my ankles. I notice I start to avoid bedtime and sleep in. I pace in dissatisfaction of lack of productivity melded with muddy concentration. I ask my partner to repeat what he just told me, slower, as the words tangled as they enter my comprehension. The list that was created while in full power mode still applies, but I start to fall behind, as my ability to function at an optimal pace falters.

This is where it counts. What I do here will determine what’s next. I’ve been through this cycle so many times I know my options. There are two:

One.

I cling to the coulds and want-to’s, which have now transformed into shoulds and have-to’s so tightly my flame fizzles out, my flicker goes dark. I am in a cloud of sad. I bask in the shame that confirms the notion I am not good enough. I know this place well. There’s a security in it, in declaring victim status, a reason to bring out the invisibility cape and retreat. I look for all the ways I can identify with this state, claiming blame, claiming shame, claiming lame.I own it and assume irresponsibility all at once. I latch to the spiral that confirms my insignificance and isolate. Nobody understands me, I have nothing to offer, I am not worthy of being loved. Still I long to be saved. I wallow in the non-truths, the not-haves, the impossibles. I stay here a while, until things get bad in my marriage, or the kids start to change how they interact with me. Until something seemingly important enough finds a switch, and in the abrupt change of light I snap out of it, and start the treacherous climb back out. Only in surrendering to the force pushing me down do I start to drift into the pockets that have somehow dodged the current, and start to rise up. The less I push back the more naturally I float to the surface. I find air again. I start to breath again. I survive. I start to repair the holes in my raft, looking back trying to find traces of grace in what I just experienced.

Two.

My flame is smaller but still there and my most important job is to protect it from going out. So I shift in expectations, slow down and prioritize my needs. It changes dynamics in my relationships a little, but I know enough to know it is needed to ease through this. Shoulds and have-to’s are no longer in my vocabulary, or at least they are hushed. I pay cautious attention to what my heart is calling for, choosing to love to nurture the ache I feel inside over the expectation to nurture what I so easily took care of in my previous momentum. My boat needs less weight so I let some go. Relieve expectations, set aside my need to please, shift my focus inward enough to stay tuned into my environment. My attention is balanced between tending to my needs and hauling water out of my boat, managing safe levels for the time being, until I find the tools for greater repair. I rest when I feel the need to rest. I say no when I feel my energy sink at the thought of saying yes. I pay close attention to what weighs me down and what lifts me up moment to moment, responding accordingly and not taking hold of the strings the shame tries to hand over when I choose myself. I choose not to take company to those worth-crushing voices that call up to me, and laugh off their attempts. I know this game. I know what you are trying to do. Not fallin’ for it today, chum. Today I choose love and grace. I choose to define my worth innately, not how others may perceive me, not by the stories, nor how my level of functioning compares now to yesterday.

...

I notice something in option two, which is not as familiar to me. 

Moments of bliss. Moments of joy, mixed in between the sorrowful layers. And with these moments,a sort of permission in the letting go. In the un-identifying, un-judging. Permission to feel, to bounce between ups and downs beneath this overlaying cloud I normally call depression. But to let go of the label, is to release the grips of it. To let go of the depressed-not depressed duality mentality brings an allowance to feel the moment. Making room to move between sadness and joy in a moment’s notice.

This is OK?

When I am allowed to be what I am, there is no expectation to be anything else. Expectations released, judgement released, only leaving room for the grace of being, and feelings flow freely. No one more or less important than another when we remove the expectations; they just are,I just am.

And this IS OK!

A vessel opens inside of me and I can breath more easily, regardless of how I am perceived, regardless of circumstances, regardless of yesterday...regardless. A softening forming in my congested body. I find bliss even in sadness, comfort in acceptance, and full immersion in the moment of here and now. Even in the appearingly mundane surroundings, miracle hints through the fullness of presence. What I felt before and what I will feel later do not have to define what I feel now.

A brightening intelligence in me letting go of the security that ties me to the past and future imaginings, even finding thrills in the freedom of moving with such ease through the current current. Of letting go of the need for control, by reaching towards acceptance and trust. Acceptance of the now, trust in the here. Significance rises in this current state I find myself in, purpose in the slowing down, returning into myself.

Bliss accompanied by sorrow. Ha! It is all so curious, isn’t it? When you can let go of the world how you grew up to know, and open to something new in the flow. It turns out the significance isn’t out in those far away places from which I have retreated, but within arm’s reach any time I choose to choose.

I’'ll take option two, please.

To Log On or Off....Again

I'm so overwhelmed. I am overwhelmed by everything going on around me and everything going on within me. There really is no escaping from it. But maybe there are things I can do to lessen it. Sometimes I do that by not leaving my house, sometimes even not leaving my bed. I escape into fixes, some are healthy, others not. One in particular has been coming to battle in my conscience. I have been feeling an urge to get off social media again. But then the idea of it brings on panic. Which, probably, is the very reason I should log off. 

I have a lot of problems with social media and its play on our mental health, yet I am in there with a shirt as dirty as the next guy. I'm sort of aware of the ways I am being manipulated by the platform, and my consented participation (and refusal to read the fine print) is kind of an agreement to let myself be manipulated. But then I get a sense that I am not as aware as I think. So I am aware that I am unaware of many ways technology is making me mad. 

I've taken breaks from Facebook and I can say I have had no regrets in doing so. The only regrets I have are the ways I re-entered the scene just to get convincingly sucked back in and folded ever so neatly right back into those addictive patterns. I can't help but notice that part of this familiar cycle I am in, willingly manipulated by the algorithms of my phone. yuck. I suppose though, its like any addiction. Even through admittance, the 'it' still controls the joystick.

So I have myself, from an observer perspective, sitting here in my house, surrounded by my overwhelm, contemplating my next move. Do I quit Facebook? Panic. But all the what ifs! What if I need Facebook to sell my art or make connections? But what if I need a Facebook account to participate in this online course I am taking? But what if I am not in the loop? What if I miss out!? What if I get lonely? What if I have a RESPONSIBILITY to stay on for everyone who follows me (aaaaaaaaagh!)?

Ha! I know the thing making me most lonely is probably social media...and my sense of self, which some days hangs on the marionette strings of social media. 

(Meanwhile I ignore the subject of Instagram, because obviously Instagram is not a problem. Even though it is run by the same company. And probably uses the same manipulations. And likely does the same tricks to keep pulling me in. But no, Instagram isn't a problem.)

This what if anxiety or FOMO (fear of missing out) comes from the addiction, all this behaviour I choose to feed the addiction feeds the anxiety, a perpetual cycle so loud that it drowns out voice of the logic. So I know all this. I am subtly aware, yet I still choose it. At what point do I make myself accountable, and at what point do I take this accountability to make a change? I have taken on a victim role enough times in my life to know its limited capacity that confines me to its illusionary boundaries.

So what if I quit social media? It seems a little goofy this is even a blog-worthy topic, as my embarrassed fingers type this out. But I cannot deny how big a part of my life social media has become, so yes, I guess it kinda is. What if I replaced the time I spend scrolling with sketching....working towards a dream I have rather than escaping from it into my smartphone? What if I used that time learning a new joke from my 8 year old, or teaching my 10 year old to make a friendship bracelet, or building a lego truck with my son? What would I be missing? Or should I say, what wouldn't I be missing?

Zooming out on my life helps to put things into perspective. From a birds eye view, taking this here and now as a blip in time, allows me to see what is important . What will serve me and mine not just now, but down the road, and the bigger picture? It also helps with the overwhelm, suddenly down-playing all the important-seeming stuff around me on the ground I stand upon. Truthfully, at the end of my life this minor debate may not matter much. What will matter is that I did the best I could with what I had. And what I have now is choice, neither right or wrong, but each a gateway to separate paths. 

I close my eyes and tune in. I think about staying on Facebook. It's comfortable in an overwhelming kind of way. Perhaps the overwhelm is part of the addiction. It's familiar and what I currently know. Then I think about logging off. It's uncomfortable...but yet there's a sense of liberation in this prospect, a detachment of the strings on my will, a shift in focus. And when I listen a little deeper, there is a quiet yet resounding voice, undoubtedly saying, "do it."

anger, recalibration and trust

I've been 'managing' a lot of anger lately. It has been surfacing like its my job to learn how to manage it for the first time. Not driven by any one thing in particular, the triggers and targets of my expressions often happen to be what is in front of me at the time, mainly my family, and unfortunately typically undeserving to those around me. I understand there is an element here of adjusting to going off my meds, and although it has been a month since I have weaned off completely, I am still adjusting to the changes in emotional intensity that I experience. But I know the anger to be rooted more deeply and perhaps a congestion of much more than present circumstances. 

I recently became aware of how I shame and suppress anger, how it transforms into depression. This feels like a safer way to manage it, but I also now see the ways it does not benefit me. I envision it like a pop can. With anger it is crumbled but still a recognizable container, just distorted. In depression it is flattened from the top, so compressed that it has started to transform into something completely different, like a coin that has been run over by a train. They are both made up of the same elements, but take on very different forms, and whereas the crumbled can has much more presence and outward story, the flattened can almost disappears from the horizon.  It's presence is minimal and it no longer functions as it was originally meant to.

With this awareness of how I take anger and push it down into a form that has less impact on the world around me but more compacted within me when transformed, there is an automatic release. A closing of that valve and permission to let my freak-out flag fly. It is as if a cage inside me has been unlocked, the door opened, and the anger released to fly freely within me, and with out. It feels too soon, too fast. Whereas I have been given suggestions through counselling on ways to recognize and release this emotion in healthy ways, it still manages to gravitate the quickest exits, the holes that have already been carved and I find I am lashing out at those closest to me and taking on victim roles, rather than taking the steps to release it in a controlled way. I suppose this is often how I learn, mistaking, imperfection exposed, guilt, then correction. I have also been advised that this is a pattern and not the only choice (they say it doesn't have to be hard).

I could say it is because I have been 'quarantined' with my family and given a lack the space to navigate this without constant disruption. But I know better. I know this is a factor but not a cause. And I know I have the freedom to prioritize. I know I have tools to work with my emotions and accountability to hold up on my end. I have a growing compassionate relationship with myself that I choose to access or block. I see how the history plays in here, and this understanding has the potential to build rooms for each grace and victimhood. Again, my choice. I haven't quite found the lights in the room of grace yet. The victim room is one I know much better, and frankly, more familiar. My job is to stop going for quick access and comfortable if I want to change these patterns, and prevent new ones from digging their feet in.

And in this awareness I do see this happening. That door to the depression room is more often closed. I find myself less and less attracted to its colours. I wonder, is this what breaking up from depression looks like for me?

Maybe that is it. Maybe that is why it feels hard right now, as I am attempting to break the easy and comfortable habits and to forge an alternative path in my growth. Perhaps I need to give myself the grace in this adjustment period and lean on trust that I have it in me, over the guilt built into the stories I tell about how this is affecting those I feel responsible for. The challenge is to lean into the trust over what I have always known to be my (perceived) truth. To cut the stitches that bind me so tightly to the identity keeping me small and so close to the ground. To face the pain that I have pushed down to avoid, and learn in my resilience that it will never completely take me out. To trust the anger that I have avoided a relationship with most of my life. To trust that there is another side to this, and I that am on the right path.

A Consolidation with the Past

Some days, when the heavy fogs choke my view, I seek resolute in the vibrancy of the past. Of those colour-shifting moments, which defined, so conceivably, what life was like before and what life is like after. Such as those five days that took place almost twenty years ago, conversations that reached depths I had never experienced before. A little retreat of the imagination, an attempt to makes something out of the lasting friendship that almost began. There's a sacredness, in which I desperately hold onto and seek solace, that belongs to this first-of-its-kind soul connection, one that I was told was not okay to keep in the context of my life. I had put it away in the back pocket of my heart, out of sight, coated in shame, wedged between right and wrong. It was only more than a decade later, through new before-and-after defining moments, that I unlocked the door to its cage to let truth in and pain out, did the narrative begin to alter. Through the example of another love lost, and I began to see it for the depth it possess rather than through the tint of my faults. As I navigate my way back to truth, under the guidance of my soul, the lenses begin to drop. I come back to the past with a clearer view. The longing that has been seeking refuge is finding its home in acceptance, and resolve in Truth.

Tomorrow

About a year ago, in a moment of unshakable confidence I made a decision to book my first solo art exhibit. I had only sold a handful of paintings in my life, and only one completed painting in my collection. But it just felt absolutely right and undoubtedly doable. Three weeks later my moods took a swan dive into murky depths and the reality of this commitment started to anchor me down. It felt a lot bigger than me. Which I suppose was the culprit of the anxiety behind the pressure, but also, I later found out, a grounding force with a greater intention in mind. Because when I commit to something, my word sticks. It kept me consistently creating throughout the year, and I learnt the powerful therapeutic benefits of time dedicated to creation throughout all my highs and lows. Once acquainted, when I became alone with the paint and canvas, I zoned into the present moment in which all the things outside my door no longer had a say.

It wasn't all a free flow of rainbows. I struggled at times in creative rut, and I learnt that those times were not for making good art, but for free play - experimentation and outlet of expression. Other times I persisted through stubborn works until I came out on top. While some paintings flowed and came together within a few hours, others took months of fiddling with  until, at some point, deemed 'good enough to call done' and acceptance that it was time to move on. And then others never got finished, painted over, or completely transformed into something foreign from the original intention. Much like a few of my troubled relationships over that time, some were meant to fight for and others were meant to be valued as teachers. For the ones I had to put away I learnt to value the time spent with them, the roles they played for the time they were in my life, and the lessons that came from them. The paintings too.

Although made in the peak of a high cycle, this decision turned out to be among the most grounding of all my choices. It kept me accountable and taught me so much. It became the reason I didn't take on so many other projects, preventing over-commitment in those creativity surges that taunt me every so often. When everything felt so out of control, my studio became my safe place, and painting became the one thing that belonged to me and only me, nobody could take that from me.  Completing paintings was a constant exercise in the confronting perfectionism. No painting is perfect. I will pick out flaws in every single one of my works. But I knew if I aimed for perfection, I would never be done. And I wouldn't have a single completed piece to hang in my show. An exercise in letting go.

Art-making has helped me build a relationship with my intuition. In life, trust in my inner guide has been a big barrier to really knowing myself. Throw anxiety and ego in there and it can be hard to decipher. When you lose touch with that voice you lose direction. You live according to others rules and you spend most of your time searching for purpose, happiness, and validation. It is an unstable thing to rely on others to guide you. Listening to my inner voice has become a major part of my growth, but I sometimes struggle to hear it, and often do not trust it. Building this trust has taken me through some pretty major trials this past year, through both loss and gain, and I can honestly say very much a work in progress.  But in practicing this trust in safe spaces, such as through my art, has been very affirming. You see, if you try to make art with the sole intention of meeting specific expectations, creativity is stunted. For me it doesn't even wiggle. Knowing this I've had to work at creating intuitively and trust that the outcome will suffice. It is the artwork that I was able to immerse myself fully in process that I believe are my best works, my most expressive and the ones that bring out the deepest emotional reactions from the viewers. Recognizing the more I trust my decisions, through my heart rather than my head, the better my art becomes, the more powerful and in line with my vision it becomes.

Making my show a reality has been one of the biggest confidence boosts I've had in a long time. Since hanging my work in the gallery it has created a new energy that has propelled me through the month. For the first time in about three years I find myself craving physical exercise, trying new recipes, and getting more involved in community projects. I've been reacquainted with that vaguely familiar desire to venture beyond my comfort zone. My relationships are flowing, and I have never felt more supported by the people around me. I still have my challenges, mood cycles, grief, checked out days, battles with perfectionism, anxiety, and chronic pain...to name a few...but I somehow move through it all so differently. I would say the good days, even when I'm low, outlast the bad ones. These have been the toughest few years of my life. Yet I feel more fulfilled and in tune with myself than ever.

Tomorrow is my exhibit reception. People have been asking me all day how I feel about it and expressing their excitement in the shared anticipation. I've spent the day only finding half my breath. Perfectionism is whispering all the things I would like to do before tomorrow, paralyzing me into non-action. Countered by a voice telling me to trust in universe, the day will go as it is exactly meant to be and it will be great. Anxiety has me overwhelmed simply by the thought of being the center of attention in a packed venue of people who know me (perhaps a little more once they see my art). Excitement walks along its side in anticipation of the atmosphere that will be created through the collective energy of all the great people who choose to be there. So many feels, I've been unable to stay on top of the tension building up in my body. But ultimately, regardless of what I do between now and then, tomorrow will come and and tomorrow will go. And if I have learnt anything in this journey, it is the value of presence. To release the claws of all the fears and expectations and to just  soak it in, every last drop. To value all parts of this experience, allowing myself to feel worthy of the joys of accomplishment, finding light in the challenge of making it through. To experience the offering I have created for others, and to celebrate all the support I have received along the way. Tomorrow feels like a big deal, as a mark in this pivotal period in my life, hard proof of the trust I have built with myself and others, and encouragement for what I move towards in the future.

The Universe Has My Back

When I was young I had an imaginary friend. Two actually, but they were kind of one and the same. Their names were Boss and God. They were tall hairy friendly monsters. They lived in a tall skinny shed that resembled an outhouse, and had to duck to get through the door. I didn't have access to that door, so after a visit, I was left to my imagination's imagination to picture what was beyond it. I pictured a vast infinite world somehow fitting within the confines of that structure, full of mystery.

I was the fourth born of six within ten years, a sensitive introvert squeezed between two very extraverted siblings, so I spent a lot of time playing in boxes and closets away from all the noise. As the quiet one in a big family, I suppose having these friends to call my own gave me a sense of importance. When I talked about them people would listen and I felt heard. My sister was utterly jealous that I had imaginary friends and she didn't (hers would come later in life). I would often threaten to send Boss and God on my siblings when they would make me mad. They became my power in a world that felt a little beyond my control. When they were with me, everything was ok, because Boss and God had my back.

Now I think it's relevant to mention I did not grow up in a strongly religious household. I was moderately involved in the church, my family likely going because it was expected of us, as opposed to a dedication to the religion. We loosely followed the cultural Christian traditions and went to church on holidays. My parents, who came from Catholic and Lutheran families waited until we were old enough to decide whether we wanted to be baptized in the local United Church, I said yes because my older siblings did. In my youth I joined the church choir and youth group because, well, what else do you do in a town with a population of 40? And besides, I liked music and I liked community.

Let it be said, though, I have nothing against the church, in fact I appreciate and live by many of the same values I've been exposed to through church. I also appreciate the sense of community a church can provide, and at times have found myself envious of the devoted for a place to belong. However there was a lot that just didn't resonate with me, and in my inquisitive nature, I questioned the practice of following a set of beliefs that seemed to be coming from somewhere outside of me. Over the years I have come to accept that we all have different practices that serve us each in the way we need. In my limited theological knowledge, it appears that ultimately, when stripped away from human interpretation, most religions simply come down to a common core value: unconditional love.

So I grew up with a vague sense of spiritual identity, not unbelieving but unsure of where I fit in.  As adolescents and young adults we were so busy just trying to find our way in the material world, we didn't put much energy into developing a sense of spirituality, or perhaps did not feel a need to. However, in becoming a parent, I felt a kind of responsibility to help guide my children to develop their identity, so I've become a bit more invested. But it wasn't until I lost my sister that the searching really began.

Niki, who grew up in the same house, in fact the same bedroom as I did, developed a strong sense of spirituality much younger, through personal experiences. These experiences were often isolating to her in their own nature, and I think left her feeling ostracized in the conservative small-town life we lived. Through lack of understanding and fear, I usually attributed anything out of the ordinary, which was often, to her diagnosed schizophrenia. Niki, on the other hand believed her experiences were very real, and the tension between what was real to her and real to me divided us. Considering the circumstances, we maintained a fairly supportive long-distance relationship, but there was always dissonance in understanding when it came to anything spiritual.  I tried to believe her, I wanted to believe her, but her reality was not mine and I just couldn't be sure. Truth is, I found it all a bit scary.

It wasn't until after her passing that I began to gain insight into my sister, her mental health and her spirituality, through my own trials. It bothered me that I had found this new empathy, the very thing that stood between us when she was alive and felt confused as to why this was happening after the fact. In opening my mind and heart to possibility, I realized I was in no position to judge what was real and what was not, to her or to anyone. The connection I had felt lost between us the day she died started to show up again, and in this enlightenment I realized this developing empathy was not about her, after all. It was to help me find my way, and she is somehow guiding me along the way.

In the last conversation I had with my sister she asked me to label my spirituality. She wanted to categorize it into an established religion, and settled on buddha. I told her I didn't feel a need to label it, that it was just what it was and didn't really need to fit it into a box. Even in its infancy I seemed to know that it needed to come from a place of my own. Looking back, I can't help but consider that this conversation planted a seed to start my journey to find my spiritual identity.

Through my soul searching it occurred to me that I have the choice to see the world in a way that serves me best. The world was my oyster. I began to look within, finding podcasts, books and people that resonated with me, creating a custom fit outlook to suit me. It opened up conversations and I started to surround my life with like-minded souls.

As if a light flicked on, I found a sense of belonging, and suddenly the world didn't feel so heavy. Giving up some trust to the universe, I was able to let go of a need to control everything, and the world became much lighter and brighter. My identity became visible, my sprirituality more clearly defined.

Acceptance is my totem. Trust the process, my mantra. Love is my purpose. Moving with the flow of the Universal Will towards the potential of wholeness that I naturally am is my occupation. We find fulfillment through connection, and vulnerability is the path to this connection. I choose to believe there is more than one right answer, but the path I take is the exact one I need at the time. Everyone is good and if you give them a chance, it will be revealed. Pain has a vital role in growth, holding just as much value as joy. Everything happens for a reason and it is up to us to discover that reason and learn from it. The Universe has my back. To name a few...

I have come full circle to that childhood security, trust in a mysterious something bigger than myself to keep me safe. Perhaps, then, I knew where I belonged all along, I had just forgotten for a while.

Dreaming up a Dream

Last night I had a dream about my dream home. Placed in the ruralist of the prairies, on the outskirts of the smallest village you could imagine. Befriended by a wide view of the prairies - just field and living sky. Apple tress and peach trees grew fruitful within arms reach.

The road that led to this farmhouse was narrow, steep and curvy. The house had an abandoned look and no one had lived in it for some time, even the for sale sign was missing letters. In my dream Rod and I had decided to buy it on a whim, impulsively, something quite out of character for us. I kept bringing up this fact to others in confronting my fears on the decision. The old house was so big, beautiful, and full of flaws. The floors were heaving and tilted, I worried about the foundation being solid enough. The first day we got this house we had just planned to look at it and show it to my parents. But this turned into an exploration as we began to peel back cheap fixes to reveal the original structures beneath. Again revealing its innate beauty and potential, yet in dire need of maintenance. I flipped back and forth between feeling like it was so right for us to strong insecurities about the stability of the structure. With the insecurities the view out the windows transformed into a golf course, cityscape and disappointment.

People started showing up. Some were there to help, but most were there just to take up space, many acting reckless. At times I was naked or in just a robe. Vulnerability. More and more people came to visit. Before I knew it we were trying to entertain in a house that didn't properly function. The previous owners, a large extended family, came and expressed their grief over the house that they had abandoned. It wasn't good enough for them, but they mourned the loss of it and the changes being made. The house filled with people inside and out, coming and going. The toilets weren't working yet and the water was not usable, and people started to feel ill. It was chaos.

Sometimes when I wake up from a dream I instantly know there is a significance in its symbolism. A metaphor of something current I am dealing with in my life.

I've been drumming up a dream bigger than me. Initially as it flowed in it felt electric and each day brought more on it. I couldn't stop thinking about it, believing in it and telling others about it. They got excited and encouraged me with a "Yes!" It was an energetic momentum that propelled me through my days with an extra skip in my step. I saw a need in our community and an empty spot at the head of the table. I thought, "Why not me?"

It wasn't long for the anxiety to set in. At first I was blindsided by it hitting me at a time when I thought I was managing my mood cycles so well, the anxiety seemed out of character.  Until I realized that I don't sit too comfortable too long and I was transitioning into another expansion. One mountain conquered, onto the next. It was new, significant, and uncertain. Of course, anxiety. Whether it was the weight of the anxiety, intensity of the full moon, or natural flow of my cycles, the momentum slowed and I did too. I became a bit more grounded, facing many doubts about this dream, feeling a bit in over my head, and confused as to where to start and what it would look like. "Why me? What do I know about building a community up? What do I know about creating change this big?"

My love and fear for that farmhouse were a reflection of my feelings for this dream. Somewhere, deep down in my heart's centre I hold fast to this dream, despite the feelings and thoughts that try to knock it down. I hold onto the memory of the inspired moments and the energy they had created, the initial decision to make the purchase. Because, like that house, I see such a potential. In the dream I never once decided to give up on the house, despite the people that got in the way, and interestingly, throughout the dream, my parents and husband stayed committed to the renovations, understanding and sharing some of my doubts, but moving forward with willingness.

So in service to a greater purpose, I make a vow. When I lose momentum, I find the encouragement of my cheer team and rely on their energy to help me along. Acceptance is key. I know I will face resistance, people reluctant to change and people just getting in the way. Like moon and sun, winter and summer, this dream will be subject to its seasons.  There will be a time to work on the dream house, and there will be a time to stay idle, I am reminded to not rush through the process if I want to ensure a solid foundation. Accept the difficulties as part of a building process. Small steps, bottom up, trust, patience, teamwork. Remain fixed on its potential beauty. And most of all, remain tuned into my heart's greatest desires, the originator of this dream.

Sparkle, We Meet Again

Somewhere along the way I had lost my sparkle. At least that's how it has been explained to me in various ways from various people. I saw it too, a lull clouded my life. I stopped smiling all the way because it didn't feel genuine, laughing felt foreign. The colours around me became a bit less saturated, the air harder to inhale, my body felt heavier, and I began to experience life from the inside out.

I can't really tell you when it started...slowly, gradually I guess. Before I was responsible for anyone but myself I think it was a lot easier to fill my bucket, without a whole lot of extra effort, with perhaps the exception of a few big transitions to grow through. When our first was born, yes, it was an adjustment, but I found surprise in how easy and instinctively parenting came and kind of felt like I was killing it.

Somewhere during my childbearing years, however, I lost hold of that sure confidence. I remember looking back at my life a year after my second was born and realized I had been depressed since her birth without really knowing it. I worked my way out of it (but did I?) in a traditional achievement oriented approach, and within a year I was religiously following a exercise and nutrition plan and kicked my ass into killer shape. One day, while evaluating my body in the mirror, I realized the dissonance between how I looked and how I felt and I asked myself, "Will it ever be enough? If I can't be happy with my body now, will I ever feel skinny enough, strong enough, muscular enough?" I think at some level I knew it was an issue with much deeper roots (another topic for another day).

Those years in between are a bit of a blur, I don't remember much, I imagine most of my energy was spent just trying to keep up with two toddlers and all the responsibilities that come along with them. I had been warned by a number of 'more experienced' parents that going from two to three kids is a huge adjustment. Ignorantly, I brushed off their comments as character to their less-than-desirable attitudes and went along my marry way, convincing my hubby we wanted another. Shortly after our third was born I found myself knocked facedown on life, and have been working my way back to my feet ever since.

Of course I can't blame it all on the little guy, after all, how could you with that smile?! Some pretty major life things have happened in the last four years that have contributed to personal setbacks. It was more a mere accumulation to the load, that became too heavy and I buckled at the knees. Eventually, old strategies became redundant and I had to start to learn life differently. I reached out, became vulnerable, and took up therapy and medication to help carry some of the weight while I relearned how to be me in a more authentically crafted life.

So in the process my sparkle got buried in the rubble. Once in a while it would make an appearance, but never too long lasting before life's happenings would frighten it away. Most days I spent what energy I had just trying to stay on my feet, and became discouraged often as I would somehow get knocked down whenever I started to dust off my knees. But something in me knew the sparkle still lived, and over a matter of time this little guy would make its long-awaited appearance in my life again, and stick around for a while.

Beneath all the hard work, a better something was happening. It was difficult to see, especially by an outsider, but despite the persisting doubts, I knew it was happening at some level and it had to start to show eventually, didn't it?

I can't give credit to any one strategy in my life to finding my sparkle, as it has been a much more complex process than that, and so many experiences and relationships have contributed to the Now version of me. But I can tell you the day I recognized it. Not long after a healing session where I was encouraged to keep moving in the direction I was going, but with more permission, I attended a yoga festival and my sparkle and I were reacquainted. Through guided visualization I found it buried deep in my core. As I acknowledged it's presence, a tiny light illuminated the dark of my inner womb. This acknowledgement was all it took to stimulate its confidence emergence. My relationships with others and with myself transitioned. I became surrounded by a community of soul nourishment, providing a safe space for my vulnerable little sparkle to come out and play, fear demoted to the backseat.

Today I can smile and mean it. The air is lighter, easier to breathe in. I have found the confidence in my gifts and inspiration to share them with the regular world. Ambition, hello! Shit, I might even have a sense of humour. For a brief moment I held the suspicion that this feeling better was just a familiar high at the highest peak of the biochemical rollercoaster, just before the fall, and it was all just an illusion. But then I had a low week. Make that two. But this time life didn't knock the wind out of me. I still had good moments, and didn't feel that familiar feeling of desperately treading water, it was more like floating, riding it out, managing with ease. Turns out the sparkle floats.

Others have noticed too. They tell me so. And they show me in a I''ll-show-you-mine-if-you-show-me-yours kind of way. I take a lot of satisfaction knowing I can effortlessly brighten another persons day simply through my presence. It really keeps me going going.

I look back on the last few years and all the energy I have put into getting to this shiny checkpoint and think to myself, "It's about fucking time." I know life challenges aren't magically going to disappear and my days are going to be all rainbows and lollipops. I'll likely even have moments where I feel like throwing in the towel. But I have found a new confidence in all this that tells me I still have joy, and I deserve the light it brings into my life. As it turns out, I don't always have to take life so seriously (aha!). Somehow I imagine holding this sparkle closer to my heart, sharing its warmth, I'll find more ease in the hard days. And the tools I've collected along the way will help me manage until it is the sparkle's turn to brighten up. Comfort resides in the knowing that its always there, some days it may dim a little lower, but nonetheless, always there.

The Expression of Gift, the Gift of Expression

So much in my head leaving trails of light, like shooting stars that fade in an instant. I often observe the pondersome conversations that go through my mind, the processing, the creative doings, and think I should write this stuff down, but so often this little urge is dismissed as I carry on with the everyday. Sometimes it seems such a waste to keep it all to myself, only to disappear out of sight beneath the covers of new emerging thoughts. I have a vast world happening within, waiting to become recognized...a world of wonder, of revelations, a world of gift. I am a vessel of creativity. Today I vow to begin a writing practice, for my sake and for yours. I do not yet know what this looks like, how often or what I will write about, I suppose it will evolve as I do, and I will put it out there when the inspiration hits. For my experiences and perspectives, in merging with my creativity and depth have much to offer -- to whom I do not know. Perhaps to everyone and no one specifically at all. To those who choose to spend their time receiving my offerings.

Expression is a large part of my real life being, and I've spent a lifetime holding so much of it in, out of feeling unworthy of the space I take up. This is changing as I begin to take ownership for who I am, where I exist. Little by little I give myself permission to show the outside world the depths of my inside. Sometimes when I open this window, revealing this view into my soul, the expression spills out in flow and the rest of the world appears not to exist in that time.  Through writing, art, speaking, dancing, any way that inspires to converse with anyone who is listening, this is the path to my freedom. For it is here that I let go. I release the tension built up at the dam created of fear and unworth. It is here that I embrace the begging permission to live in my truth.  I choose to believe the more I can love and let love, the more the universe will bring these things back to me, energizing my prerogative, and enabling the flourishing potential of my gifts. In this expression I hope to inspire others to do the same. To find what they love, to live it from their deepest expanding selves, where their unique gifts will reveal, contributing to the creation of a better world. I paint hope to inspire hope in others, so that they can inspire it in their others, and so on, a ripple of healing, spreading infinitely.

Grief, Guidance and Growth

Two years ago today I sat in my therapist's office, feeling pretty good about my progress in my coping. I had spent the previous six months dissecting all the things holding me down in my locked state of depression. I was fully immersed on a mission to learn to give and receive love more freely, confront my fears, improve my sense of worthiness, kick perfectionism and strip away the mask I had been hiding behind most of my life — when I look back, it was probably more than I should have taken on all at once. But in that office, for the first time I felt my efforts were starting to show and I was finding confidence in my ability to work through it all. In discussing my progress with my therapist, I declared, "If I were to lose someone close to me today, I think I would be ok."

Around 4 am the next morning there was a knock at the door. It was the local police, and I instantly knew it was about my sister. She had taken her life sometime between 10 pm and midnight the previous night. As her listed next of kin, we were the first to be notified. The officers at the door were my husband's coworkers, one of them I knew well. All he could say was "I'm sorry." I realized there was nothing else he could say to me to make it better. When they left I turned to Rod and said. "Wow, your job really sucks sometimes."

I sat on the couch, half in shock, processing. Not crying, but the tears flowed in a continuous stream down my cheeks. I felt extremely grateful to have Rod by my side. He made the necessary phone calls: Kamloops RCMP, the Coroner, my parents. I don't think I could have done it.

I had no idea how to take the seeming coincidence between what I said in therapy that day and my sister's death. I didn't understand it. To add to it the night before my session I had a dream where I lashed out on my sister, like full blown tantrum, and I woke up thinking I didn't realize I had all that anger in me. And two days previous to that, my sister had accepted my recent friend request on Facebook. Then a few days after her death I dreamt that we met on the street in our hometown and I told her I was ok with her choice. Now that I think of it, the place we met in that dream was next to a lot which my mom later turned into a memorial park in my sister's honour, but I never told my mom about this dream. There seemed to be this chain of events that were all connected, yet disjointed, and I could not make sense of their sequential occurrences.

At this point my current spiritual understanding was in its infant stages of development. As a child I was lightly exposed to the United Church and we followed loose Christian traditions, but that was pretty much the extent of it. I was born and raised with a critical mind. I questioned things that didn't quite resonate with me, and although I share many of the same values as I heard in church, something felt limiting about it and I never really settled with it. So I grew up with a vague sense of understanding when it came to how I fit into the universe.

Over the past two years through my grief and many accompanying experiences I have developed a much more confident understanding of my world. I've learnt to search within to find this understanding. As a result, purpose, direction and spirituality have blossomed. And as I better understand my truth, while observing my growth I begin to realize that my sister and I were more alike than I ever had  acknowledged. I suspect Niki saw this, however, and often tried to sway me in her direction. As my mental health struggles became more resounding, I developed a much greater empathy for her struggles. As I opened my mind and started having conversations with others around the subject of spirit world, possibilities arose and the line between what is real versus illusion became much less defined, I surrendered the authority to decide what is real and what is not. My newfound empathy led to a greater acceptance of her experiences, beliefs  and choices.

I struggled with the timing of all this. Why now that’s she’s gone, do I have the ability to support her in the way she needed so badly when she was alive? Through my recent experiences I've become more like my sister; imagine the conversations we could have had in her life, imagine the space I could have held for her, and she for me. Where as our relationship was special and connection strong in a way, it was distant in a way too, and our encounters became further and fewer between. We never were able to completely open up to one another. That was the sister bond I envied in other families. I was so close, but it came too late.

Only in the last couple months have I been able to see another angle to this. It came about through two significant conversations. The first was with an intuitive healer. After my session it became apparent to me that I wasn't gaining this insight into my sister's experience to support her, but rather as a part of my own healing. I opened widely to the possibility that she is, in spirit, is guiding this process, that she is helping me to better understand myself.

The second conversation was with a friend who happens to be a grief support worker. She offered an analogy that stuck with me. She said, "Usually I like to say as you grow in your identity, it starts with someone else holding up a mirror up for you until you can take that mirror and hold it for yourself. But in this case, you were holding the mirror for your sister, and then she took it and turned it around to hold for you." Since childhood I was typically the one looking out for her and often put my needs second. The idea that she is helping to carry some of my load now brings a great sense of comfort.

And guess what? I am ok. It's been hard, harder than I could have ever imagined. But I am ok.

My mom recently told me you get to choose how you want to see the world. I knew this in a sense, but I think hearing it from her was the permission I needed at the time. Rather than questioning what I think I should believe, I choose to believe what serves me best. And since I have taken this attitude, I have found a greater sense of belonging. I see where I fit in the universe and I have found trust in it's process. I see reasons for the things that happen in life, especially the challenging ones. I have found others who understand this perception and support me in it. But also a new independence in this trust, as there is support simply in the faith that things are working out just the way they are supposed to (whether I like it or not). Through this faith I have found acceptance. As hard as it is to let go of my sister in body, the belief that her spirit remains present, and that losing her has lead me on a path to a greater sense of belonging, brings some peace into this rocky journey life has laid out for me.

And perhaps, it is no coincidence after all, that the last conversation I had with Niki on the phone was around my spirituality. Perhaps, just maybe, a seed was being planted...

Navigating the Cycle

Today the heaviness is setting in. It's a familiar state, a familiar cycle. Through my attentiveness to my moods and health in the last year or so I am recognizing the patterns that reoccur within myself and my relationship with the world outside of me, to a point of predicting what comes next. 

When I am up I feel I have so much more to offer, and the ambitions kick in. I have expressive energy to spread to those around me, smiles, confidence, compassion. Euphoria waves through me randomly, sometimes untriggered and I decide to relish in it. After all if I have to deal with the ultimate lows, why not embellish the highs. It's a bit unfamiliar and uncertain and sometimes I will battle an anxiety that accompanies this feeling as it feels somewhat out of control. I am suspicious of it and cautiously hang onto it, trying not to take it for granted in fear that it may be stripped from my hands if I get too arrogant. The longer it stays the more comfortable with it I become and even briefly consider that I am 'better,' I am winning this battle with depression. I consider maybe the energy I have put into bettering myself is paying off and my life will get easier from here. Ideas freely flow in, I try to take advantage of this creative surge. Lists of all the things I would like to accomplish form in my head, new items building upon the previously unfinished list.

But before I have the opportunity to put a dent in that list, it begins to slip away. The slide down typically starts sporadically, with no apparent trigger, and it isn't until I notice the familiar signs that I am spiralling down that I realize it. Overwhelmed, I grasp desperately to the ambitions I had dreamt up, yet my motivation waivers. My head spins. I become irritable with myself for not being able to keep up with my previous self. An inner battle begins between perfectionism and compassion. At first I am unwilling. When you have lived the last while in a state where you are filled with purpose, productivity, and even an unstoppable confidence at times, accepting this change in ability is a reluctant surrender. You don't want to become someone who needs to function on a level so far beneath your potential. 

The self criticism sets in next. Irritability with the self and others. Sense of failure, fraud, deceit. Feeling foolish for believing the high was a measure of success, more than just a symptom of my biochemical makeup. 

Along the way a sense of sadness fogs over, and colours around me dull. My life has not changed since yesterday, I cannot find an obvious reason for this sadness, but it blankets me anyway. Anxiety accompanies. My lens shifts to any problems I may be experiencing at this time in my life. Regardless of how trivial, it zooms in so that the problem is all that fills the frame. Sometimes jumping from one to another to another. Insecurity about myself as a mom. Conflict with a friend. Imperfections in my art. Doubts about my offerings to the world. Inability to function like the regular people. Stories start to build up and manifest to support all the negative aspects of my life. I lose sight of any successes, struggle to embody the gratitude I wore so well yesterday, and lose hope for myself. 

It takes about 3 days to fall from my high cloud to the swamp. This is where the work begins. The normal and high states have become the easy part of life. When I am happy, things come naturally. Although I do believe this is when much of the work I've done shows up, it comes easy and therefor can be difficult to feel responsible for it. But when I am down, and know I am down, the hard work is in preventing from sinking, wading patiently and working my way out. In keeping sight of the little hope, gratitude and compassion that exists, while dismissing power of the lurking stories, fears and lies, I keep my head above water and persist. This is what takes the most effort and when I can turn a difficult morning into an 'good' afternoon, where I didn't lose my cool on anyone, accomplished something around the house and spent some time on self-care to alleviate some of the anxiety or sadness, that is successful for me. It doesn't show up the same as on my really good days. With much deliberation I must celebrate - regardless of how I think the rest of the world functions - the changes that have occurred, which are indicative of the work I've been doing over the last few years. 

The more I am able to understand my cycles, triggers and indicators, the more I am able to accept my whole self. In accepting my emotional cycles as part of my chemical makeup, I am able to let go of the responsibility of needing to control it, and move to a mindset of managing it. Changing my level of functioning, much like you would if you developed a flu. When it is mental, for some reason convincing yourself to take it easy is much more difficult (although I have never been great at slowing down even when I was hit with a physical illness). But I have lived through enough of these cycles to know what happens when I don't pay attention to what's happening within me so I start to give myself the necessary compassion to prevent the spiral downward. I am learning that these lows are much shorter lived and more bearable when I modify my expectations of myself and what I am able to accomplish in this state. With this compassion I am able to keep my stress at a manageable level so that I can be who I need to be for the people in my life that need me most - namely my husband and children.

Stress levels play a major role in how these cycles go. The more I'm dealing with in my life, the more extreme these cycles become. It has recently become very apparent to me that I need to manage the stress in my life within my control in order to appropriately manage that that is inevitable. Removing myself from situations or commitments that are potentially triggering. Maintaining good physical health through exercise, nutrition, sleep. Taking time to slow down and be present. Asking for what I need and practicing self care when I need it most, but also regularly as a preventative measure. Prioritizing my health when I hit survival mode, so that I can get back to a state where I can offer more to others. When I do these things I am at both my best best and best worse. 

The more I understand my triggers, indicators and what keeps me down the more sense of control I have in my life, which brings a new hope to my well-being. I have spent the last three and a half years in a transition of unbecoming and becoming, breaking and healing. Finally, it feels that, somewhat for the first time, I have reached a place I have been trying to get. I realize there is so much more work to do, and I have come to understand that this journey has no finish line, but there is a certainty in my current understanding of myself that I have only just recently achieved that gives me a new sense of acceptance for my journey. One that confirms the path, which I have doubted so harshly so often, has been the right one for me. Another may have taken a different, less difficult route to get to this checkpoint, but this is the way I needed to go to get here. A greater confidence in my ability to know what's right for me and to continue following the lead of my intuition. A greater acceptance of myself, my challenges, my strengths and all that is in-between. The fact that I am able to withhold this vantage, this acceptance, even as I navigate downward into a depressive cycle is perhaps the greatest indicator how far I have come. 

The Messenger

Summer, 2018. Taking respite in the hammock of our campsite, I had asked for some time alone as I was struggling immensely to keep from spiralling into a somewhat familiar state of depression. At the time my most important friendship was on the line. I couldn't stop thinking about it and the ambiguity of the unresolved was flooding my mind with anxious thoughts. I was doing my best to escape into a good read, but struggled to stay focused on the words before me. After taking in the tranquility of my surroundings I was greeted by a large raven. It seemed to have much to say. It settled on a branch high above me and cawed repetitively, loudly, as if trying to get my attention. There was no ignoring it, and I got a strong feeling it was speaking to me. I held very still as it flew to another tree near by, then another, as if making sure to be noticed. I felt vulnerable as the only one in its presence and slightly threatened by its perserverence. I didn't dare interrupt its offering so I remained quiet and small in my hammock, pretending to read my book. Although a bit nervous, I couldn't help but feel this raven was talking to me, sensing something curiously significant about this encounter. What struck me was the conviction of the raven's calls. Eventually, the raven flew away, leaving me alone again with my book and my thoughts. I felt an energetic impact through this exchange but couldn't articulate its significance. I told my family about this unique experience with nature when they returned.

Only months later, when I picked up a book on spirit-animals and read what Raven symbolizes, had I realized the link between that encounter and what I had been experiencing at the time.

"Raven symbolizes speaking up for yourself. When you encounter a raven it means there is a situation coming your way where you will need to voice your feelings instead of holding your tongue. Also healing oneself from within - reaching through the darkness to find and resolve your inner conflicts." - Llewellun's Little Book of Spirit Animals

Shortly after returning home my depression dipped to a desperate low. Through some introspection I had recognized, as I often do, I was neglecting my own needs out of the needs of another. I had been trying to respect my friend's space, making myself available to her but leaving the conflict unresolved until she was ready to confront the situation. However, ambiguity is one thing I really struggle with. When I don't have an answer I need I anxiously think up any possible conclusion and often feel these imagined scenarios as if they were really happening, over and over, especially those that confirm my insecurities.  It was driving me into a deeper hole of depression and anxiety. The uncertainty was creating a hopelessness and I needed some answers to stop from spiralling further down. At this point any communication with my friend was limited and impersonal. I wrote an email to her asking for just enough clarity to ease my needs. She replied and respectfully responded to my needs, giving me the answers I asked for. It was that simple. This opened up communication and triggered the healing of our friendship.

My conversation with the raven was timely. Although I didn't understand the reason for the raven's presence at the time, something within me knew the time to speak up and ask for what I needed. These two events could be simply considered as coincidence, and that's ok. But for me, connecting those dots gives me a sense of belonging in this world. Finding connection in the encounters with the world that surrounds us reinforces my growing understanding of spirituality and where I fit in to the great equation.

The universe works in mysterious ways. But the idea of a greater force beyond us as individuals creates a certain confidence in the uncertainty - the ambiguity - the very thing that has fuelled my dehabilitating anxiety over the last few years. Somehow having a sense that we are not in charge of controlling everything that goes on in our lives, and giving some of that accountabililty to the universal will, gives me a sense of liberation. I'm finding when I can embody the attitude that everything is going to be ok, I can live more fully without the restraints of anxiety in the uncertainty holding me back.

It is ok to not know the answers, especially if you consider something beyond yourself has your back. And it is ok to ask for the answers when you need them, whether it be from a friend, or the forces of a greater unknown.