Mom's Visit

My Mom visited me today during my a CST session with a client. It started with memories of my visit down there after I graduated nursing school. It was rushed visit. I wasn't ready to go down yet, but did because my brother needed a ride, and I ended up leaving early. I'm sure the fight with my then girlfriend didn't help any.

I felt bad - guilt. About leaving early because before I left she shared with me she was planning to have a party for me that following day. It was our family reunion and she was going to have a cake their for me and celebrate my graduation as well. But I couldn't stay. I had to go. Everything inside of me needed to go, and it needed to go right away. Sitting there today, I realized that I just had to get somewhere I felt safe. Then I began seeing all these times in my life I didn't allow her to be part of my life. The moment I felt guilty about it all and wanted to cry, I realized that I didn't know how to allow her into my life. I didn't know what that looked like, but it felt like it came with risks, so I wouldn't allow it. Today, I told her I was sorry. I was so sorry for all those times she wanted to connect and be part of my life and I just couldn't let her. I kept her at an arms distance. She hugged me, and told me, "It's okay Babygirl." From shortly after I got sober until her death, she was allowed minimal access to my life. As I began to feel and understand that. I was emotional, teary-eyed even, with my hands on this client who was deeply relaxed. I wasn't overwhelmed with guilt like I usually get. It was simply an understanding. I understood, she understood, and she harbored no anger or upset about it. It felt like love and forgiveness took up that space now. And with that, I was shown all the ways I've not allowed so many other people in life to love me - because I didn't know how. Before she left, I didn't want her to go and told her that. She turned around and said, "It's your time to heal" With one more hug and a lackadaisical shrug and smirk like she always had done, she sat down in the corner while I attempted to process all that had happened, and then she was gone.  

This comes just weeks before I attend my SER 2 training which takes me through my birth process, my 9 month journey inside the womb, and my conception... in Canada, which is a 6 in numerology (the family, the nurturer, charity, etc.) It is a time to heal. Her visit wasn't an accident. 

I'm so grateful for that moment. Even though it was right in the middle of a client session. I did initially panic and told her she couldn't be here right now, and we could talk about it later. She ignored that and persisted - I couldn't not hear her. She was right there. I asked spirit and my clients inner physician to continue to guide me on auto-pilot because, obviously, she wasn't going anywhere. I chalked it up to that being who she was - someone who frequently disregarded boundaries or at the very least pushed them, lol. But I also got the impression that I hadn't been allowing myself to be still or quiet enough lately for her to have that conversation with me. And that, would also be true. 

Thanks, Mom. I love you, too. I will heal. 

With Grace & Gratitude...

Love & Punishment

 "Maybe if we are surrounded in beauty, someday we will become what we see..." - Jewel

That is a quote from the first song I ever played on repeat. It was track 9 on Jewel's Pieces of Me album. I listened to it here in my office on Alexa the other day, It still made as much sense now as it did then. I am sensitive. I've always been sensitive, and I've spent my life trying to stay that way. I'm in a period of softness, sensitivity, and nurturing. I reflected on my last nursing shift in Detroit in May of 2021, before I had even left the city, I knew it had softened me. Just as Detroit had built and strengthened me in those first few years after moving to Michigan, it had softened me exactly 10 years later. Ten years prior was the height of my single-person personal growth. Having gone through a spiritual experience, or several, and being intentional about  everything in my life... I felt I had healed. And I did. I had healed and become at peace with everything in my life up until that point. I felt safe in the world, I felt confident - fluid, free, balanced, strong, fierce, and ready to take on the world. 10 years later I found myself in the life I had always envisioned but faced with a new set of obstacles - the mirror that comes with intimate relationships and parenting. I've come to call it round 2 of self-discovery and self-healing. The round where the Universe gives us a chance to put to use all that we have learned about ourselves, deepen that and create new beginnings for those that will come after us. 

I will not be mad at myself anymore for how I chose to handle the navigation of these obstacles, of which I had never seen. I will give myself grace for showing up, for moving through, and trusting the process. I look at life a bit differently now. I suppose 10 years, 2 serious relationships, 2 kids, 2 houses, a career change, and the loss of a parent will do that to you. My body has been in pain since I finished that last nursing shift in May of 2021. The softness I felt came from a surrender into the exhaustion of my internal and external being. I had reached the limits of my self on all levels. A limit I didn't know existed. I was humbled. Working 2 full time jobs, one part time job, traveling/commuting 2 hours, having a 1.5 year old, a 7 year old, and navigating a rocky spot in my marriage - I was tired. In hindsight, I've asked myself, why was I punishing myself? This morning, actually, I pondered on why I did that to myself. At the time, I said it was an opportunity I couldn't pass up. If I could just complete that 12 weeks - I would bring home upwards of $40,000 in 3 months. I walked in with the mentality that I could do anything for 12 weeks - we could do anything for 12 weeks. I did it alright. I did it while getting covid, working on minimal sleep, stress of working in an emergency department after not being a nurse for a year, my Mother dying, and a go-kart accident resulting in breaking my daughter's arm. 

What the fuck was I thinking? 

I think I was punishing myself for the illusion of being selfish for starting my own businesses and a new career, and all the risks that came along with that. I think I was also punishing myself for writing that email. It was, as if, I had to punish myself 10x over before I could forgive myself even of the smallest slights. My pre-disposition to feeling guilt ran deep and swift. Even in my healthiest era of my life, I punished myself. In the early 2010's the gym was my sanctuary of self-induced suffering, and I drank it up. I idolized my ability to handle the most ridiculous stressors and do so with a smile and wanting more. Spring of 2021 my body and mind said no more. I had found my limit, and I've been recovering ever since. My marriage has been recovering ever since. 

But why was I punishing myself? 

The best answer I can come up with right now is because I have associated love with punishment as long as I can remember. I literally just thought of that sitting in this chair in this moment as a wave of absolute truth and understanding washed over my body. Memories surfaced of my father taking off his leather belt, folding it in half, and asking me to bend over so he could hit me hard enough to take my breath away and leave me alone on the couch until I stopped crying. Over what? Me dropping a barbie behind his stereo, me falling off the porch and causing abrasions on the back of my entire thighs, him having an unsupported belief that I was lying despite my attempts at proving my innocence, or because it was Tuesday and he was drunk. I have vivid pictures of me sitting on the couch trying not to throw up as I attempted to choke down uncontrollable tears. God knows I didn't want "anything else to cry about" and relive that whole fucking experience. Just before he hit me, repeatedly, he would remind me that he was doing this because he loved me and wanted me to verbalize that I understood that. I was 7 years old. 

On a side note: This is also why I don't want to hit my kids. Because no, we didn't all turn out fine. It takes conscious work for me to seek out a different alternative than spanking my kids. It takes work for me to not set unrealistic expectations of my children and punish them when they don't meet those expectations. It takes work for me to remain conscious while reels of my own childhood roar in the back of my brain telling me to implement power and control over listening and nurturing, but I will do this work until I don't have to do it anymore. My kids will be better for it, and I will be better for it. 

I'd like to think I'm leveling up yet again - round three, the time I embrace not punishing myself for failing to meet my own un-realistic expectations as a partner and parent. A time to truly love myself unconditionally without abuse or suffering. A time of acceptance and trust. 

With Grace & Gratitude... 

Moving into the Sacral Chakra

A month ago I decided to focus my intention on healing and balancing my root chakra. Through therapy and other divine course of events, it became apparent to me that I did not feel safe in the world physically, spiritually, emotionally, or mentally. I moved through the world afraid for the safety of myself and my kids at all times. I imagined worst case scenarios and prepared my family for such. In order to not worry needlessly over things that were very unlikely to happen, I would often eat or scatter my thoughts as to not notice my own big elephant in the room. It's been a year since I really began to figure this piece of my internal puzzle out. The month of September became my dedicated month to do all the essential oils, teas, yoga poses, affirmations, meditations, Bach Flower drops, you name it - I was going to do it with the intention of balancing and healing my root chakra. I was willing to do whatever it took to heal, balance, and love this part of myself. I had decided to start at the bottom and work my way up, much like I had done many years ago, and focus on one chakra per month. 

"I am safe" 

I repeated this mantra at the kid park, alone in my bed with the lights off, as I got in my car at night, at SER training, while I shopped at Meijer. In some of the most unexpected places and events, I had to remind myself that all was well, and I was safe out in the world. 

Last week, I noticed I didn't feel drawn to the Bach drops I was taking for my root chakra, or the stones I had been carrying that were red and grounding. I realized it was the time of the new moon, and I was ready for the next step - my sacral chakra- the home of creativity, sexuality, stabilizing foundation, hips, family I'm from and family I've created. 

This chakra on my physical body carries most of the weight of my physical, emotional, and mental bodies. Just under my belly button, I have stuffed guilt, both rational and irrational, fear, mistrust of myself and those closest to me, shame, and denial of my creative self. Intuitively, I know anger spills over from my solar plexus here. It occurred to me today, that the goal here is to trust myself again. To trust myself to do what's best for me, to not hurt myself emotionally or physically in any way. I've returned to a place of not trusting myself to not eat beyond my bodies need or desire, not loose my temper, not do things to sabotage this life that I love, and not hurt the people I love most in my life. I've come to reject my perfectionist tendencies thus denying a part of who I am. I read a book today that basically said, we must embrace all parts of ourselves if we are to fully love ourselves and heal our traumas. 

The last 2 years have been especially hard as it relates to the family I'm from and the family I've created. It's been tumultuous. Often feeling torn between the two while trying to see all sides of everything. I've not only been grieving my mother's death, but the death of the relationship her and Sabrina had that meant more to me than I think I ever really verbalized. There was a load I didn't have to carry anymore knowing that Sabrina liked my mom and my brother. I felt like those two parts of me and my life could merge and coexist finally. That changed after Sabrina stopped smoking and my mother moved up here. I blame myself. I irrationally feel like it's my fault because of how I talked about my mother and how I talked about my experience and interactions with her. 

Today I've meditated. I've been carrying a sunstone in my pocket for two days, I drank tangerine tea yesterday, and dropping Bach flower Essenes under my tongue that encourage me to trust myself, accept imperfections, and release and process feelings of guilt more easily. My Mother always felt guilty. She often used guilt-inducting tactics to get me to do things I didn't want to do. I may get my feelings of fear and unsafety from my father, but these guilt feelings are hers.

I was the victim of sexual abuse on multiple occasions by two separate people. Both male, both older than me, both related to me. Both my parents felt comfortable with me being around these boys. So comfortable, in fact, that when I verbalized not being comfortable around them, or them staying the night, I was dismissed and hushed. I remember the last time it happened - I was 13. I remember the confusing emotions of shame, desire, sadness, and guilt. It had been happening for atleast 7 years. By that time, I was good and groomed that it was normal. Since the first person went unpunished and I went unheard, I surely didn't voice anything about the second. I was afraid to speak up. I was afraid of what would happen to him, and to me. Why do we feel so inclined to protect those who sexual abuse us? As the images begin coming together, so much of it makes sense - why I hated wearing dresses as a young girl, why I would shake when a boy would touch the inside of my leg, why I swam in self-hatred and self-punishment. It explains why I took two and three showers a day as an adolescence, why I didn't feel connected to my body at all until on my mat in a yoga studio in my twenties. 

I'm done hiding these life experiences. I don't think anyone does things like this without it having been done to them first. I can't help but to wonder if my Mother had her own experiences that she never talked about, and now, never can. 

There you have it. I have decided to "sit in this fire until I am free." My sacral chakra has carried too much for too long, and I am ready to cleanse, heal, and balance that bad boy. I'm willing to do whatever it takes. I will journal, drink orange tea, put orange oils on my skin, drop Bach drops under my tongue, and meditate until the tears cannot fall anymore. This is me taking my power back. This is me healing from the ground up. I want to be free god dammit. 

"I trust myself to do what's best for me mentally, physically, emotionally, and spiritually."

With Grace & Gratitude...

Root Chakra

"We're getting fatter, yet eating same calories."

"Because weight has a lot to do with feeling safe and the root chakra. Most of us don't feel safe in America."

The second one was my response to a tik tok catch phrase posted above. It was one of those moments where the truth fell out of my mouth before I even knew it was the truth, it came from somewhere other than my own psyche. 

I have been contemplating my my feelings regarding safety most of the day. This started a couple days ago. Today, it has been on and off all day. 

I think I have needed to write this all day, but I've been avoiding it. I can feel the tears coming up behind my eyes. I thought I dealt with this last year in therapy when I wrote my Uncle Keith a nice long, mushy email about how I had never really felt safe in my life until I lived with him. 

This has been fucking hard to write. I've eaten. Watched a documentary. Changed all kinds of shit on facebook pages... and still managed to avoid doing this. 

I have felt unsafe as long as I can remember - even as an adult, I'm just as much afraid of ghosts and the dark as I am real people. I think it got worse having a family. I've always wondered if self defense classes would help.

I've decided to dedicate this entire month to healing, clearing, and strengthening my root chakra. I've relied on my sheer strength and "craziness" to keep me and my family safe. It's time I really fix the issue at hand. Maybe it wasn't mine. I'm sure my father didn't feel safe, I suspect my mother didn't either. I have never felt safe. Always afraid of the most ridiculous things happening - earthquakes breaking open the earth and allowing me to fall into the abyss, getting chased, attacked, etc. Even at the park the other day with Bexley, there were 3 kids that came up and I couldn't help but weirdly be suspicious of the parents in the car and the kids palying on the stuff. I grabbed my phone and kept bexley close fearing they would snatch her up and run away with her before I could get to her. I am reminding myself now that I am safe. I remember standing in my mother's back yard in TN when my friend mandy asked why I awlays felt someone was out to get me. There was something so significant about that question. It has taken me almost 15 years to answer, but I think the answer is because I have never felt safe before in my life. I never felt like anyone heard me or was there to protect me, my dad put up this facade that he was aprotectoer but he was also the abuser so that was it's whole own thing. I've had a headache most of the day, I'm hoping tomorrow is better. I think I've just been avoiding this. I've eaten everythign I can get my hands on today. I should have went for a walk. why am I afraid. I am safe. I am safe. I am safe. I am safe. I am safe. I am safe. 

It is time to heal this root chakra once and for all. 

Uncle Keith

Sundays are for reflecting... and shaving my legs. 

This week, I've been thinking about my Uncle Keith a lot. I've been remembering the times I lived with him in metro Detroit. We chatted a few days ago - our 6 week check in. What usually happens is I'll start thinking about him for 5-7 days and keep telling myself I need to call him and, finally, he'll end up calling me. I don't know why that's a thing for us but it is. 

When I moved out of his house in 2012, I didn't realize it would be forever. In that moment, it felt temporary. Like a trial period or a day pass. The move and my decision to do was quick. Naturally, I was afraid to tell him so I waited until the last minute. I remember telling him goodbye from the backdoor after kissing him on his head while he sat in the basement in his computer chair. He was mad, and I was terrified... It was fine. I never imagined that some of those moments with him at his house would become some of my fondest memories. As I poured my coffee this morning, I thought about drinking it out on my deck. Many mornings, him and I would start our day with tea or coffee on his back deck reading - him with his newspaper, and me with my latest spiritual magazine I had picked up at whatever metaphysical bookstore I had stumbled in that week. He never batted an eye when I came out, and when we invited him to Bexley's baby-shower he came 2 days early to cook all the food and help set up. He showed up. He always did. Even if he was mad, even if it was my fault, even if he wasn't in the state, he showed up. 

My Mother's death and my childrens' never-ending growth spurts have me contemplating the cycles of life - hard. My Uncle told me the other day he was 68 years old. It felt so hard to believe. 17 years ago when I moved here, he was roller-blading, cycling, playing on a tennis league, and dodging a hockey puck. In my mind, he's still newly retired and fifty-five, out living his best life. Now he does keto to keep his blood sugars in check, and I'm not sure what he does for exercise, but he still seems to be a pretty healthy guy. He still likes to call me when he's feeling a little drunk and chatty, and I can find much humor and love in that. 

Next Monday we are going to metro Detroit to pick up his Jeep and bring it home to be ours. It still rocks the dent in the front fender from a telephone pole I hit in a parking lot back in 2008. (Talk about karma and rectification before progress.) We are beyond excited. Our girls are going to be stoked. I know sentimentality can sometimes be the biggest killer to common sense, but that Jeep feels like a piece of him, and a part of my life I've always felt so grateful to have experienced. 

Within the last year, and some solid few months of therapy to help me navigate some new found anxieties, fears, and resentment, it was uncovered that living with my Uncle in my early 20's was the first time I had ever felt safe and settled in my life. I was in my 20's. I wrote him a nice long, mush email telling him how much that meant to me. I don't know how I ended up with him, here in Michigan. Fate I suppose. If you ask him, he'll always say Aunt Marcy. He's long sold the house I matured and mentally grew-up in, but I've been thinking of that place recently. My room. My lizard. How Uncle Keith let me burn whatever "stinky shit" I wanted when I began my spiritual journey, and sitting with him on the couch after my second-shift job eating the dinner he left for me in the microwave. It all seems like so long ago. He took care of me in a way no one ever had. It was all so strange to me - someone giving without expectation. It was quiet and pretty uneventful most days. All he ever wanted for me was to succeed and flourish, and I did. Thanks to him. Once in a while, he'll come stay a few nights with us here in Dewitt, almost 2 hours away from where he lives. (I do need to make more time to go to him too, or at-least call more than every 6 weeks.) He's like a father to me - better than the one I was given at birth. After Mother died, I wished I had picked up the phone more. After Shauna died, I wished I had driven to Howell more. After Uncle Denny died, I wish we had made that trip to Hillsdale that last time. For a person like me, who struggles with regret, guilt, feelings of frequent failure to the people I love, I don't want to wish I had called him more when I can't call him anymore. That "How you doing, kid?" has lifted my spirits on more than one occasion. Last week, his "you've done it before, you can do it again" felt like the pep talk I didn't know I needed. 

I do truly believe that everything in our lives happens for a reason and every experience helps create us into the people we become, the people we are meant to be. I believe there is always good from every situation, and there isn't anything I would change about my life. Not that I could if I wanted to, right? I have to believe that the painful experiences and struggles early in my life have and will continue to help me be the best version of myself and live out my life purpose with grace, compassion, and understanding. I also believe that my Aunt Marcy and my Uncle Keith, were my chance to pave my own way, and create a life I would be proud of, filled with joy, integrity, and peace. I've done that. There have absolutely been ups and downs, restarts, and humility, but I keep moving, striving to not ever waste this life that I was given that is so full of everything I ever wanted and more. A life I truly don't think would be possible without that casual invite to "move to Michigan and go back to nursing school." 

Thanks Uncle K. I love you.

With Grace & Gratitude...

Book Review: You are a BADASS

I was gifted this book last fall by my wife in the midst of my biggest depression since I found raw sobriety in 2008. It is the first book I've finished in a while. As fate would have it, someone else gifted me the small "badass button" and a pocket book around the same time. Obviously, the Universe was trying to send me a message.

The overall theme of this book is to love yourself. Every chapter ends with a handful of numerical action steps one can do to achieve the advice humorously laid out before it, and the last bullet point is always ... love yourself and a reason why. 

When I began reading this book I didn't love myself very much. I was low. I felt like a piece of shit - a failure to those I cared about and cared about me. Nothing I did was enough and so much responsibility felt like mine but simply, wasn't. Numbness took over my body and mind, and I laid in bed staring at the wall listening to my own breath. Sometimes pulling myself together to see clients. I was lost, again, and so pissed off about it.

Jen Sincero's humoristic delivery was able to trick my defense mechanisms and creep by the walls I had created to isolate myself from the world. Most chapters are less than 10 pages - an easy read. Even for someone who wanted to sleep all the time. She was straight to the point and called out all my bullshit as if she were sitting next to my sad self. I'm a sucker for swear words, and they top this book like extra sprinkles on a white icing cupcake. It was light and didn't overwhelm my already heavy brain and heart. Like a pinch of tough love with a wink. 

She told me to get rid of my stories, forgive or fester, remember to surrender, and to get over my B.S. already. Followed by the sweet sentiment to love myself because everybody benefits, it's the Holy Grail of happiness, and most of all because I deserve it. 

This book came at the perfect time, as I believe all books do. They find us, we don't find them. I'm grateful for this book, and to Sabrina for being the vessel that brought it to me. It was like the good weather I needed to make the trek a little easier. 

The Weight of Other People's Opinions

 You know what I'm tired of carrying? The weight of other people's opinions.

I sat in my salt-water bath reflecting on my life, Mother's Day, my own Mother and being a Mother. I sat in silence and contemplated what I had read earlier today about believing that all possibilities are available to me. I realized while sitting in that bathtub looking up through the skylight directly above my head that it's okay for me to be happy. I deserve to be happy. I think there came a point in my journey that I outgrew some people so much, they could no longer be happy for me. Their support and blessings were limited. Eventually, they tried to pull me back down. I distinctly remember a fight with my aunt in 2015 where she told me I had forgotten where I came from and, more or less, that I was a terrible daughter and person. I told her I remembered clearly where I came from, because I never wanted to go back. I think on some level, I've carried that with me, though, and I don't want to anymore - that feeling of guilt for flourishing. I'm allowed to be happy. I don't have to punish myself or shift that heaviness to another area of my life, I can be free. I deserve that, so do my children and my spouse. I have chosen to struggle. I think some part of me never wanted to feel "better" than anyone else. I didn't want anyone, especially my family to look at me and think, "Her life is perfect. She's got it so easy. She got lucky" But, the truth is, it doesn't matter what anyone thinks of me. That is heavy shit to carry. I am not getting any younger. My Mother's life was short. The average American gets another 17 years. 

I am human. Therefore, I am not perfect, despite my best, most exhausting, efforts... I am not perfect. But I wake up each day with the intention to do good. Once upon a time, I would have added, to be a better person than I was the day before, but I believe that thinking is outdated. It suggests that I am a perpetual failure, and I've felt like that enough in my life. My heart wants nothing more than to leave the world and the people I encounter, especially the people closest to me - happier, healthier, and freer. At the very least, I wish to do no harm. That is my heart's truest desire. To bring forth all the things I've ever wanted for myself, to those around me and the world. 

I find enormous comfort in this truth. It feels simple and light. I don't have to choose struggle. 

How am I going to do this?

-Stop listening to melancholy music.

-Believe my body wants to heal and that anything I want is possible

-Have a facial skin care routine

-Let little shit slide

-Love myself. 

-Forgive myself and believe I deserve happiness