It has taken me roughly 15 minutes - two bathroom trips, a handful of failed computer log ins on multiple computers, the feeding of two starving cats, and the brewing of one cup of coffee - to get, here.
I've never considered myself a morning person. I'm pretty sure I don't even consider myself a morning person now, but I've become accustomed to playing the part. The allure of alone time - meditation, writing, yoga, cardio - has been pulling me out of bed sometimes an hour before when I absolutely needed to be. Even I can't believe it some mornings.
My life is coming back to me. The me that I fought for and found 6 years ago is resurfacing, and I couldn't be happier. "If I can be an example of getting sober, than I can be an example of starting over." Macklemore said that. And although, he is obviously talking about alcohol sobriety, it works just as well in a multitude of life circumstances.For me, it's food. It's giving myself the things I need to stay clear and grounded; it's loving, listening, and taking care of my body. It's breathing & letting go. It's not picking up the cookie just because it's there, or shoving my face with a whole bag of chips while scrolling through facebook or watching TV. For me, it's about showing up to the gym, being accountable, and giving my best. I've been hovering around 80% effort these last several years when I do show up which has been inconsistent at best.. And I've been yielding those results.
With Grace & Gratitude
Saturday, December 30, 2017
Wednesday, November 22, 2017
A Letter to my Incidental Father
I've heard of your irritable presence making itself known among the family. My brother especially. You still posses the ability to push his buttons and break his heart. But he won't ever tell you that. It's a shame we couldn't find some common, healthy ground - you and I. It's a shame I couldn't feel more than indifference after years of crying. It's a shame my brother wants nothing more than for you to be there, and you don't - for whatever reason. Especially, when you should know that ache, that nauseating vacuum of gutteral pain at feeling forgotten - as I have done to you. In layman's terms, you should know what it feels like to be rejected and left out of someone's life you love. Yet, you do it... often. There is something deeply wounded within you. For that, I can feel empathy and compassion. But other than that, I feel free. Free from dark dust you stir up after a few beers.
Let me tell you this: You will die alone. I pray to God, that I have healed enough, and transcended a rocky childhood existence enough to bring my own children up in a beautiful and loving way. You do not posses the ability to see any of your own faults. It's a fact. Your tendency to place blame, exert control, and manipulate cost you your children. Your children. Those very relationships you yearned so deeply for, have long sipped through your fingers. It has officially been over half my life since we shared a common bond - half my life. My brother and I have our own families now and you missed that. Why didn't I invite you to my wedding, you ask? You didn't travel one state to my brother's wedding, I surely didn't think you'd travel four for mine. Not to mention, we hadn't spoken a single word in five years. He wanted you there; you could have shown up for him.
For karma's sake, for our soul's sake, I hope you have found forgiveness for yourself, for me, for my brother, and for your own father. I hope peace fills your heart, where ache and emptiness once lived. It truly is a shame we couldn't get it together.
Let me tell you this: You will die alone. I pray to God, that I have healed enough, and transcended a rocky childhood existence enough to bring my own children up in a beautiful and loving way. You do not posses the ability to see any of your own faults. It's a fact. Your tendency to place blame, exert control, and manipulate cost you your children. Your children. Those very relationships you yearned so deeply for, have long sipped through your fingers. It has officially been over half my life since we shared a common bond - half my life. My brother and I have our own families now and you missed that. Why didn't I invite you to my wedding, you ask? You didn't travel one state to my brother's wedding, I surely didn't think you'd travel four for mine. Not to mention, we hadn't spoken a single word in five years. He wanted you there; you could have shown up for him.
For karma's sake, for our soul's sake, I hope you have found forgiveness for yourself, for me, for my brother, and for your own father. I hope peace fills your heart, where ache and emptiness once lived. It truly is a shame we couldn't get it together.
Thursday, September 14, 2017
Courage & Force
"Courageously, not forcefully."
Those words have resonated in my psyche for the last few days. Applicable to many things, but for me, right now, in my life, it seems to be pertaining to us having our next child. We started this process last fall knowing it would be a process for us and wanted to be ready when we were ready. This month (if all goes as planned) will be my second insemination.
Courage suggests a grace, a surrendering. An openness to divine interjection. Courage offers true strength in the face of possible failure. Courage is quiet, receptive, strong. It is more in align with God's will for me instead of my own. There is an accepting quality about courage as it insinuates perseverance. I choose to be more courageous; I have been forceful for far too long.
Force has a jaggedness to it and creates an instinctual push back from the goal. The energy around it is so compact, grace and divinity have no room to create or bring opportunities for success. Anger lingers under forceful, a ready alternative to acceptance if failure comes. Constricting and overbearing, forcefulness springs from the ego.
Many times, I have thought force was courageous, pushing hard against things unknown screaming a refusal to give up, or give in. Just as many times, I have found myself still and quiet afterwords contemplating those actions, and either just shy of my goal or feeling as if my obtained goal wasn't enough. Never enough, that is the mantra of the ego.
With mindfully choosing courage I feel lighter, stronger, and more attuned to the guidance the Universe has to offer.
With Grace & Gratitude...
Those words have resonated in my psyche for the last few days. Applicable to many things, but for me, right now, in my life, it seems to be pertaining to us having our next child. We started this process last fall knowing it would be a process for us and wanted to be ready when we were ready. This month (if all goes as planned) will be my second insemination.
Courage suggests a grace, a surrendering. An openness to divine interjection. Courage offers true strength in the face of possible failure. Courage is quiet, receptive, strong. It is more in align with God's will for me instead of my own. There is an accepting quality about courage as it insinuates perseverance. I choose to be more courageous; I have been forceful for far too long.
Force has a jaggedness to it and creates an instinctual push back from the goal. The energy around it is so compact, grace and divinity have no room to create or bring opportunities for success. Anger lingers under forceful, a ready alternative to acceptance if failure comes. Constricting and overbearing, forcefulness springs from the ego.
Many times, I have thought force was courageous, pushing hard against things unknown screaming a refusal to give up, or give in. Just as many times, I have found myself still and quiet afterwords contemplating those actions, and either just shy of my goal or feeling as if my obtained goal wasn't enough. Never enough, that is the mantra of the ego.
With mindfully choosing courage I feel lighter, stronger, and more attuned to the guidance the Universe has to offer.
With Grace & Gratitude...
Sunday, August 27, 2017
Addicts & Addictions
Dear Mothers, Fathers, Brothers, Sisters, Best friends, Best-Men, God-daughters, grand-fathers, and everyone else in between who love an addict in addiction....
You cannot save them. You, despite the history and professed and proven love over years of knowing your person, you do not possess the ingredients to concoct a life of recovery for them. Not alone, not together, not at all. They must, on their own accord, find the desire to get clean, get sober, or get out of their bad situation. Our lesson is in letting go. In trust. In boundaries. In loving them without wavering and always seeing their good, their beauty, their potential, but not allowing all those things to weaken us.
Recovery cannot be hand-crafted and handed to them. They must fund a will inside themselves to seek out the canvas in which to create their new life. They have to want it. Change happens when the pain of where we are surpasses the fear of the unknown -- when desperation turns into surrender, and darkness engulfs us only to thrust us forward into the light. There are times in our life, places we must go inside ourselves were no one else can follow.
I understand that watching the destruction that becomes their life is painful. Physically painful, as in, make you projectile vomit painful - deep fears, deep love, and a different form of desperation, one of martyr-ism and un-asked for sacrifice, explode forward as a last ditch effort to do - something. Our efforts of "trying to help" often enable and elongate their active addiction. One of the best things we can do for them, and ourselves, is to let them hit their bottom. At times, there is a fine line between rock bottom and death, and sometimes, that line is crossed - sometimes purposefully, sometimes accidentally.
They might die. This is a reality we must accept if we are to be able to let go and let them find their way without losing our own footing.
I have been on both sides - the addict and the by-stander. One is not less complicated that the other. Neither is easier. From being on both sides, though, I can tell you, the grips of addiction blinds us and it is typically someone new, un-related, un-involoved that sparks the addicts desire to get clean. Rarely, is it the nagging parent, the enraged significant other, or the heart-broken child. It is a moment of divine intervention, that we most likely will not be present for.
And if by the grace of God, a power greater than themselves, your person finds themselves tired enough to quit, give them a chance. Tell them you believe in them, your proud of them, and they can do it. Embrace them and acknowledge their struggle -- and yours. Because that struggle is a real one. We're all just a handful of poor decisions away from a life-changing catastrophe and landslide.
One day at a time, for all of us.
You cannot save them. You, despite the history and professed and proven love over years of knowing your person, you do not possess the ingredients to concoct a life of recovery for them. Not alone, not together, not at all. They must, on their own accord, find the desire to get clean, get sober, or get out of their bad situation. Our lesson is in letting go. In trust. In boundaries. In loving them without wavering and always seeing their good, their beauty, their potential, but not allowing all those things to weaken us.
Recovery cannot be hand-crafted and handed to them. They must fund a will inside themselves to seek out the canvas in which to create their new life. They have to want it. Change happens when the pain of where we are surpasses the fear of the unknown -- when desperation turns into surrender, and darkness engulfs us only to thrust us forward into the light. There are times in our life, places we must go inside ourselves were no one else can follow.
I understand that watching the destruction that becomes their life is painful. Physically painful, as in, make you projectile vomit painful - deep fears, deep love, and a different form of desperation, one of martyr-ism and un-asked for sacrifice, explode forward as a last ditch effort to do - something. Our efforts of "trying to help" often enable and elongate their active addiction. One of the best things we can do for them, and ourselves, is to let them hit their bottom. At times, there is a fine line between rock bottom and death, and sometimes, that line is crossed - sometimes purposefully, sometimes accidentally.
They might die. This is a reality we must accept if we are to be able to let go and let them find their way without losing our own footing.
I have been on both sides - the addict and the by-stander. One is not less complicated that the other. Neither is easier. From being on both sides, though, I can tell you, the grips of addiction blinds us and it is typically someone new, un-related, un-involoved that sparks the addicts desire to get clean. Rarely, is it the nagging parent, the enraged significant other, or the heart-broken child. It is a moment of divine intervention, that we most likely will not be present for.
And if by the grace of God, a power greater than themselves, your person finds themselves tired enough to quit, give them a chance. Tell them you believe in them, your proud of them, and they can do it. Embrace them and acknowledge their struggle -- and yours. Because that struggle is a real one. We're all just a handful of poor decisions away from a life-changing catastrophe and landslide.
One day at a time, for all of us.
Tuesday, July 18, 2017
No Going Back
I create a new life with new rules that totally support me. - Louise L. Hay
Food is hard to quit. Yesterday I wanted ice cream, and I wanted it bad. I asked myself what I really wanted. I stepped back and looked at my life. "Eat whatever you want when your hungry, feel whatever you're feeling when you aren't." I wasn't hungry. But I was being impatient. I was feeling impatient with finding a house, selling this one, getting full-time status, losing weight, and having a baby. I was feeling impatient more than anything, not hungry. I've been spending time listening to my body lately, asking what it needs and giving it that. Honestly, I've been feeling things like yoga, rest, fresh air. I've heard patience, stillness, and quietness. My body needs me right now to be honest, open, and surrender. Nurturing more than ever, not so much pushing or beating. There is still about 10% of anger left there from my relationship with Angie, I'm working to release it. Bitterness and blame to be more specific. I've decided to be free. The nurse at the fertility center called to tell me yesterday I was bordering on hypothyroidism, and said she'd call me in a pill for it to reduce my risk of miscarriage. I looked up the metaphysical source of hypothyroidism in Louise L. Hay's "heal your body" book to find out hypothyroidism has to do with feeling "hopelessly stifled." Now that resonated with me. I've spent a decent amount of time in feelings of hopelessness and stifled-ness the last 5 years, reminding me I still held onto some bitterness.
Years before I ever lost a pound when I began what I often refer to as my weight-loss journey, I was told by an intuitive woman whom I trusted that I would lose a lot of weight one day. It would seem to fall of my body, and never come back. I thought that was a find idea but really didn't think too much about it and took that as a means of doing whatever I wanted because one day the weight would just fall right off! Ridiculous, I know. At my heaviest I weight 319 pounds, at my lightest I weighted 214. It took a lot of work, and some weight has come back.
There is always something beyond the weight. It's never about the weight, actually. The weight-loss is truly a by-product of a spiritual surrender. Letting-go, moving with life and not fighting against it. It's emotional, it's mental. The what's and why's of each piece of food I put in my mouth almost always has a deeper meaning. Geneen Roth says everything we feel about God and life can be found on our plate. You know what's typically on my plate? Easy, fast, of decent quality, lots of variety, and with little effort on my part. That explains a lot of why I was so impatient the other day with the house stuff.
This coupled with my recent focus of releasing judgmental thoughts, continuous angry thoughts, and overall bitchiness has me feeling like I'm moving in the direction I need to go. My past mistakes must remain in the past. Something else I read recently that shifted something inside of me was that you truly can never go back in life. I just doesn't work like that, even the little things. Going back to your favorite dinner 10 years later will not be the same as it was then. Life evolves and everything changes. Sometimes so slowly, it's hard to notice it while it's happening, but it's happening. We can truly never go back, to anything, to any stage of life. We must always be present where we are and move with the changes occurring right now.
With Grace & Gratitude...
Food is hard to quit. Yesterday I wanted ice cream, and I wanted it bad. I asked myself what I really wanted. I stepped back and looked at my life. "Eat whatever you want when your hungry, feel whatever you're feeling when you aren't." I wasn't hungry. But I was being impatient. I was feeling impatient with finding a house, selling this one, getting full-time status, losing weight, and having a baby. I was feeling impatient more than anything, not hungry. I've been spending time listening to my body lately, asking what it needs and giving it that. Honestly, I've been feeling things like yoga, rest, fresh air. I've heard patience, stillness, and quietness. My body needs me right now to be honest, open, and surrender. Nurturing more than ever, not so much pushing or beating. There is still about 10% of anger left there from my relationship with Angie, I'm working to release it. Bitterness and blame to be more specific. I've decided to be free. The nurse at the fertility center called to tell me yesterday I was bordering on hypothyroidism, and said she'd call me in a pill for it to reduce my risk of miscarriage. I looked up the metaphysical source of hypothyroidism in Louise L. Hay's "heal your body" book to find out hypothyroidism has to do with feeling "hopelessly stifled." Now that resonated with me. I've spent a decent amount of time in feelings of hopelessness and stifled-ness the last 5 years, reminding me I still held onto some bitterness.
Years before I ever lost a pound when I began what I often refer to as my weight-loss journey, I was told by an intuitive woman whom I trusted that I would lose a lot of weight one day. It would seem to fall of my body, and never come back. I thought that was a find idea but really didn't think too much about it and took that as a means of doing whatever I wanted because one day the weight would just fall right off! Ridiculous, I know. At my heaviest I weight 319 pounds, at my lightest I weighted 214. It took a lot of work, and some weight has come back.
There is always something beyond the weight. It's never about the weight, actually. The weight-loss is truly a by-product of a spiritual surrender. Letting-go, moving with life and not fighting against it. It's emotional, it's mental. The what's and why's of each piece of food I put in my mouth almost always has a deeper meaning. Geneen Roth says everything we feel about God and life can be found on our plate. You know what's typically on my plate? Easy, fast, of decent quality, lots of variety, and with little effort on my part. That explains a lot of why I was so impatient the other day with the house stuff.
This coupled with my recent focus of releasing judgmental thoughts, continuous angry thoughts, and overall bitchiness has me feeling like I'm moving in the direction I need to go. My past mistakes must remain in the past. Something else I read recently that shifted something inside of me was that you truly can never go back in life. I just doesn't work like that, even the little things. Going back to your favorite dinner 10 years later will not be the same as it was then. Life evolves and everything changes. Sometimes so slowly, it's hard to notice it while it's happening, but it's happening. We can truly never go back, to anything, to any stage of life. We must always be present where we are and move with the changes occurring right now.
With Grace & Gratitude...
Sunday, July 16, 2017
Life Happens Fast
Life happens fast.
I sit here reflecting on the time I've spent here in this home as I stare at the for sale sign in the front yard. It's bittersweet, to say the least. Life happens fast. People say that, but it often doesn't feel like it when your waiting to hear good news, test results or awaiting a new opportunity - school, a pregnancy, whatever it is your "waiting on." Time seems to slow down, but it doesn't really. I suddenly feel this place vanishing from my life, falling through my fingertips as if it suddenly turned to sand. The ceilings are finally painted white, the wicker furniture I've wanted since I bought this place finally fills the porch, all the light switch plates match, there is Mediterranean bronze sprinkled throughout via light fixtures, faucets, and handles. It's been three years. Moving has always happened fast for me. Leaving my Uncle's house, I packed what I could into my 2009 Nitro and headed to a one bedroom apartment with another person over a hundred miles away. Before that, I left my Mother's house, swiftly, with boxes that had been stacked and filled before she ever kicked me out. Neither time, did I grasp the reality of that being the last time I would live in those two places. Two places I called home.
I have loved this place. I picked out every color, painted every wall, scuffed and re-painted every piece of trim. I've buried animals outside my window and created memories with my family.
I'm not sure where we'll end up next. We are still waiting for me to get full-time status so we can get pre-approved for a mortgage in the price range we are searching. We've put in two offers and been denied. It's exciting to know Sabrina and I will pick out our next house together. That every memory will be ours and a new adventure will unfold. The older I get the more I understand about how precious it is to enjoy and be present in each phase of life.
With Grace & Gratitude...
I sit here reflecting on the time I've spent here in this home as I stare at the for sale sign in the front yard. It's bittersweet, to say the least. Life happens fast. People say that, but it often doesn't feel like it when your waiting to hear good news, test results or awaiting a new opportunity - school, a pregnancy, whatever it is your "waiting on." Time seems to slow down, but it doesn't really. I suddenly feel this place vanishing from my life, falling through my fingertips as if it suddenly turned to sand. The ceilings are finally painted white, the wicker furniture I've wanted since I bought this place finally fills the porch, all the light switch plates match, there is Mediterranean bronze sprinkled throughout via light fixtures, faucets, and handles. It's been three years. Moving has always happened fast for me. Leaving my Uncle's house, I packed what I could into my 2009 Nitro and headed to a one bedroom apartment with another person over a hundred miles away. Before that, I left my Mother's house, swiftly, with boxes that had been stacked and filled before she ever kicked me out. Neither time, did I grasp the reality of that being the last time I would live in those two places. Two places I called home.
I have loved this place. I picked out every color, painted every wall, scuffed and re-painted every piece of trim. I've buried animals outside my window and created memories with my family.
I'm not sure where we'll end up next. We are still waiting for me to get full-time status so we can get pre-approved for a mortgage in the price range we are searching. We've put in two offers and been denied. It's exciting to know Sabrina and I will pick out our next house together. That every memory will be ours and a new adventure will unfold. The older I get the more I understand about how precious it is to enjoy and be present in each phase of life.
With Grace & Gratitude...
Friday, July 14, 2017
If Ever I've Made a Mistake, It Was This
My clothes fit tighter than I'd like and two days ago I found myself sobbing to my wife over stir-fry about how "disgusting" I felt standing in front of a mirror. I am tired of weighing 275 lbs. But more than that, I'm tired of being so damn angry so often. I'm tired of being short-tempered and overbearingly opinionated. I'm tired of metaphorically throwing my weight around to get what I want and being afraid of not being in control. I'm tired of being impatient and silently judgmental. I want so much to be free.
I'm not sure when it began. I don't remember all these things being so evident the last time I weighed 275 lbs. As far as I can remember, I remember being angry. A decades worth of self-help books, talk therapy, hypnotherapy, strength-training, yoga, meditation, etc - and anger was what I always came back to. Angry at this person or that person, myself, God, WHOMEVER. A fire of anger always felt like it burned no matter what I did. Like a gas pilot-light, small but present, potentially dangerous if blew out. Who would I be without the anger? Without that fire? Is there another fire? Can the gases be exchanged? It used to be rage, I have come a long way and dimmed it down to anger; it's an offspring I can examine with a little more curiosity and less fear. Had I healed the anger prior to 2012 and fueled another after that time? Maybe. I've never been one to believe in mistakes. Instead, I always seem to find good among the suffering, but after some deep reflection I came to the conclusion a few days ago that I think my moving to Saint Johns in 2012 was a mistake. Maybe the only mistake I feel I've ever made. One that cost me years worth of progress, self-love, and relationships. She was a mistake. My staying was a mistake. The only one good thing I came up with was meeting Sabrina. Some could argue that if I hadn't moved here, I wouldn't have met my the love of my life. I have thought that myself. However, in my gut, I feel I would have met her without moving to Saint Johns, our paths would have crossed somewhere. Our journey always felt destined, as if we were always suppose to be.
It seems no sooner that we feel we've mastered a skill, the Universe always presents a final challenge - a test of our new found acquired skill and resources. I think Angie was a test, and I failed. I know I ran to her as a means of escaping the pain of losing someone else, and the memories that surrounded me there. She always knew that, as did I. One of us should have stopped it. But it took me 3 1/2 years, something like 16 break-ups, countless fights, secret emails and phone calls to ex's, and an all-out affair for me to utter the words "I choose her." It took way to long for us to end that relationship. and apparently, I'm still bitter about the things I lost - pieces of myself, relationships, my community, my connection to God. It's all coming back now, and I'm ready to be done being angry. It's just kind of there and unproductive. I am ready to for joy and gratitude to fill those angry spaces.
I'm getting ready to leave this town (presumably). Today, my wife and I listed the house Angie and I bought together but the home her and I built. Today, we listed the house we came home to as newlyweds; put up-for-sale the walls that saw me fall in love with the most perfect little girl in her cadillac pink bedroom, and made public the yard that will forever hold two of the animals I have loved most in my lifetime (among a couple others.) Our sign will go up Sunday. Parades of people will walk through through these rooms with new aspirations and new dreams. They will step across bare hardwood floors that will never tell the story of how much I loved and fought for them to show their bones. I am ready.
I'm not sure when it began. I don't remember all these things being so evident the last time I weighed 275 lbs. As far as I can remember, I remember being angry. A decades worth of self-help books, talk therapy, hypnotherapy, strength-training, yoga, meditation, etc - and anger was what I always came back to. Angry at this person or that person, myself, God, WHOMEVER. A fire of anger always felt like it burned no matter what I did. Like a gas pilot-light, small but present, potentially dangerous if blew out. Who would I be without the anger? Without that fire? Is there another fire? Can the gases be exchanged? It used to be rage, I have come a long way and dimmed it down to anger; it's an offspring I can examine with a little more curiosity and less fear. Had I healed the anger prior to 2012 and fueled another after that time? Maybe. I've never been one to believe in mistakes. Instead, I always seem to find good among the suffering, but after some deep reflection I came to the conclusion a few days ago that I think my moving to Saint Johns in 2012 was a mistake. Maybe the only mistake I feel I've ever made. One that cost me years worth of progress, self-love, and relationships. She was a mistake. My staying was a mistake. The only one good thing I came up with was meeting Sabrina. Some could argue that if I hadn't moved here, I wouldn't have met my the love of my life. I have thought that myself. However, in my gut, I feel I would have met her without moving to Saint Johns, our paths would have crossed somewhere. Our journey always felt destined, as if we were always suppose to be.
It seems no sooner that we feel we've mastered a skill, the Universe always presents a final challenge - a test of our new found acquired skill and resources. I think Angie was a test, and I failed. I know I ran to her as a means of escaping the pain of losing someone else, and the memories that surrounded me there. She always knew that, as did I. One of us should have stopped it. But it took me 3 1/2 years, something like 16 break-ups, countless fights, secret emails and phone calls to ex's, and an all-out affair for me to utter the words "I choose her." It took way to long for us to end that relationship. and apparently, I'm still bitter about the things I lost - pieces of myself, relationships, my community, my connection to God. It's all coming back now, and I'm ready to be done being angry. It's just kind of there and unproductive. I am ready to for joy and gratitude to fill those angry spaces.
I'm getting ready to leave this town (presumably). Today, my wife and I listed the house Angie and I bought together but the home her and I built. Today, we listed the house we came home to as newlyweds; put up-for-sale the walls that saw me fall in love with the most perfect little girl in her cadillac pink bedroom, and made public the yard that will forever hold two of the animals I have loved most in my lifetime (among a couple others.) Our sign will go up Sunday. Parades of people will walk through through these rooms with new aspirations and new dreams. They will step across bare hardwood floors that will never tell the story of how much I loved and fought for them to show their bones. I am ready.
Tuesday, June 6, 2017
Weight & Contentment
"A healthy weight is about contentment."
This phrase has rolled in and out of my awareness at least a half dozen times over the last three days. I have been peeling back layers of self-pity, blame, judgement, anger, resentments, shame, embarrassment, and a couple others alluding my fingers at this moment. Yes, all of those things, each and every one, have acquired some of my attention over the last several months. Mostly, as it relates to discovering why I carry somewhere between 50-80 extra pounds on my body. Pounds that a representative of something deeper.
I've allowed myself to relax a lot around food. That sounds silly, but I had myself so worked-up and upset about weight gain, attempts at figuring it all out, and fear that I was projecting these onto others and feeling as if a large rock was sitting in my stomach every time I'd sit at the dinner table. I knew this wasn't healthy. All this in conjunction with not necessarily listening to my body as much as I was pushing it in the gym to go harder, farther, faster. Not allowing it the recovery it needed.
A healthy weight IS about contentment. Contentment with being where you are, what you're doing, and who you're with. It's being present and not desiring an escape. Contentment is in the mind. It takes practice and mindfulness. We can suddenly obtain everything we've ever wanted and still not feel content if we've not cultivated our minds in such a way that we find ourselves present in each moment.
With Grace & Gratitude...
This phrase has rolled in and out of my awareness at least a half dozen times over the last three days. I have been peeling back layers of self-pity, blame, judgement, anger, resentments, shame, embarrassment, and a couple others alluding my fingers at this moment. Yes, all of those things, each and every one, have acquired some of my attention over the last several months. Mostly, as it relates to discovering why I carry somewhere between 50-80 extra pounds on my body. Pounds that a representative of something deeper.
I've allowed myself to relax a lot around food. That sounds silly, but I had myself so worked-up and upset about weight gain, attempts at figuring it all out, and fear that I was projecting these onto others and feeling as if a large rock was sitting in my stomach every time I'd sit at the dinner table. I knew this wasn't healthy. All this in conjunction with not necessarily listening to my body as much as I was pushing it in the gym to go harder, farther, faster. Not allowing it the recovery it needed.
A healthy weight IS about contentment. Contentment with being where you are, what you're doing, and who you're with. It's being present and not desiring an escape. Contentment is in the mind. It takes practice and mindfulness. We can suddenly obtain everything we've ever wanted and still not feel content if we've not cultivated our minds in such a way that we find ourselves present in each moment.
With Grace & Gratitude...
Sunday, June 4, 2017
Perspective
"Remember, it's a bad day, not a bad life."
It's been one of those days. When every plan seems to fall through and every turn results in a halt. I just came in from spreading mulch in the name of working through my irritation. Thank God I did yoga today, I might not have made it this far without eating my feelings or projecting my anger. My Jeep brakes locked up 40 miles from home, my oil ran dry in my other car because some fucking meth-head at the body shop didn't attach the piece he replaced on Friday correctly, BEFORE I drove almost 400 miles big circle style through the east side of the state. When I finally gave into to "fuck it" and self-pity the universe taunted me one last time by having Sabrina open the Jeep door and breaking my cup of coffee which happen to be the one thing keeping me together; shattered. At least I laughed that time, but that was it. The quintessential icing on the cake.
As my wife wrapped her arms around me while I allowed myself to dramatically whine about how over the day I was she placed both hands on my face and said, "Remember it's a bad day, not a bad life." And she was right. Suddenly, it was all put in perspective. Everyday can't be a good day and in the grand scheme of life, this one day is comically small in what I have handled, will handle, and posses the ability to handle in the future. Some days, it's okay to curl up with a good book and find contentment in being still. (Which is what I initially wanted to do, but felt the obligation to be productive on a sunny day.)
I am grateful for her. And in that moment, I began to think of a slew of other things I am grateful for in this blessed life temporarily bogged down by a bad day... my home, my little family, the potential that my marriage, family, and job hold, good friends that have somehow managed to meet me in the middle across all these miles and years, where I"m from and where I am now - all these things created gratitude in my heart and solace within my irritated and anxious mind.
With Grace & Gratitude...
It's been one of those days. When every plan seems to fall through and every turn results in a halt. I just came in from spreading mulch in the name of working through my irritation. Thank God I did yoga today, I might not have made it this far without eating my feelings or projecting my anger. My Jeep brakes locked up 40 miles from home, my oil ran dry in my other car because some fucking meth-head at the body shop didn't attach the piece he replaced on Friday correctly, BEFORE I drove almost 400 miles big circle style through the east side of the state. When I finally gave into to "fuck it" and self-pity the universe taunted me one last time by having Sabrina open the Jeep door and breaking my cup of coffee which happen to be the one thing keeping me together; shattered. At least I laughed that time, but that was it. The quintessential icing on the cake.
As my wife wrapped her arms around me while I allowed myself to dramatically whine about how over the day I was she placed both hands on my face and said, "Remember it's a bad day, not a bad life." And she was right. Suddenly, it was all put in perspective. Everyday can't be a good day and in the grand scheme of life, this one day is comically small in what I have handled, will handle, and posses the ability to handle in the future. Some days, it's okay to curl up with a good book and find contentment in being still. (Which is what I initially wanted to do, but felt the obligation to be productive on a sunny day.)
I am grateful for her. And in that moment, I began to think of a slew of other things I am grateful for in this blessed life temporarily bogged down by a bad day... my home, my little family, the potential that my marriage, family, and job hold, good friends that have somehow managed to meet me in the middle across all these miles and years, where I"m from and where I am now - all these things created gratitude in my heart and solace within my irritated and anxious mind.
With Grace & Gratitude...
Sunday, May 28, 2017
Here I am
"Take responsibility for your life."
That statement takes me back to a conversation with my hypnotherapist who told me that, we are all responsible for everything that happens to us. On some level, we played a part in creating this event, relationship, circumstance, etc. He said the sooner we accepted that, the sooner we could feel freedom and feel in control of our life. It's a big pill to swallow, accepting that we are responsible for EVERYTHING that happens to us. However,for me, it resonated and offered a distinct sense of clarity. This was about 7 years ago.
Walking alongside Adelynne today while she road her bike, I saw a house and felt my stomach flip, there was a familiarity about it, a recognizable future connection. I felt the house I was staring at was similar to the one we would buy. It's funny because I had been saying things like, "I haven't gotten any intuitive pictures of what our next house will look like." Funny enough, it's my least favorite style! However, three years ago I swore I hated closed in porches and wouldn't want one on my house, well, guess what I have and love it. Pulling cards last night, New Career popped up along with Summer, and Whom Do You Need to Forgive? Healed, healing, healer also and a few others that are not jumping out at me at this moment. I felt a sense of re-connection to my intuition and self in those moments. It felt liberating.
My left knee is hurting like it never has before. Right now my stomach hurts. As I work through my control issues and learn to let go and not be in control all the time, I find myself in physical pain where, according to Louise L. Hay, "represents pride and ego." It's fitting, I promise. And mother F it hurts. I yoga'd. I did cardio twice last week and have my days etched in my planner for next. I also have every intention of calling the medical center in town and seeking out an x-ray and diagnosis. Being an ER nurse now, I cannot in good conscience take my happy ass to the ER down the street for knee pain.
There is much to be learned here in this space of acceptance and humility. There's a familiar stillness that speaks words of encouragement and truth of which I have long denied. As always, I seek freedom, only this time from my tendencies to attempt to control everything and everyone around me to maintain an environment I can feel okay in. Having a child in your life watching your every move, and creating their own sense of self directly based on who you are and how you interact with them - is a big deal. She's so much like me, it's hilarious. She loves me so much, it's precious. Yet, I am afraid of messing up. I am afraid of being too much like my Father. Afraid of being controlling & domineering instead of helpful.
We hope to grow our family. This week, I will be contacting the fertility center and see about getting in rotation for getting inseminated. Doubling our chances, with whoever can get pregnant the quickest, awesome! Initially, I was concerned about the weight gain, but, although I haven't lost any weight since last fall, mentally, I'm in a little bit better of a place. I want a bigger family, more than I want to be afraid of gaining more weight.
So, that's where I'm at in this season of my life - learning selflessness, growing a family, forgiving myself, letting-go, and finding myself, yet again.
With Grace & Gratitude...
Tuesday, April 4, 2017
Food Addiction & Five Years
I read an article last night that basically said, "OK, you gained weight, so what." At-least, that is how I interpreted it.
It has taken me years, literally, but there is a a decent amount of acceptance regarding the weight I have gained. I won't say "gained back" for two reasons, doing so implies I had lost it accidentally and always yearned for its return and, two, because it is not the same weight I carried before. I lost what I lost through self-love, through healing, through changing the relationship I had with food and my emotional states. I released unprocessed emotions from years prior. I did this through yoga, through exercise, through writing. This go around, I've realized I tend to eat when I'm doing something I don't necessarily want to do - I eat in certain circumstances as a means of escape, of rebellion, and to add joy to a perceived unbearable situation - I often yearn to find the pleasurable among the uncomfortable. This explains a lot of why I gained so much weight after moving from Roseville in 2012.
It has been 8 years since I began my weight-loss journey, and four since I have struggled. Four of those years, I watched weight slowly began to stick to my body, I found myself increasingly sad and distant. I lost myself during that time. I lost the connection to my body, myself, and those I loved. I was angry. I didn't want to be where I was in my life; I truly don't know why I chose to stay. But I'm here now, and the life I currently live nourishes my heart and soul, it energizes and inspires me. It brings about so much joy. I'm flying again, and the sky is the limit. I find myself grateful to the point of tears, remembering asking God for all these things. And here they are. This life pushes me to be better. I am incredibly happy with the life I live now and this person re-emerging from the ashes of inadvertent self-destruction. I can find meaning in the potentiality that I wouldn't be here had I not gone there.
I ate my feelings. I ate my fears. I ate my frustration and my un-met needs for love and affection. I ate away loneliness, hopelessness, guilt, and anger all at myself for the actions I carried out and those I didn't. I was so angry, for so long. I had to accept responsibility for my own actions, and apologize to those I had hurt. I had to accept my current state, which is a few more pounds than were I was 5 years ago and has been a little harder to lose. There were things I knew deep down I could no longer ignore, things that my heart had been whispering for some time. My self-pity and pride got me here. If anything, my last trek before arriving here brought about some over-due humility. Somehow I forgot it's graceful power in catalyzing change, a necessary component in staying grounded. It is becoming easier to deny self-pity and pride the power to hold back my progress, although, I can still feel the heat from the embers of a dying ego from time to time. Everyday is a new day. It's baby steps at this point, again. Although, I never completely stopped working-out my mind-set shifted into a space of mental quick sand, I hit the gym for the wrong reasons - out of fear, out of spite, out of shear survival mode, out of escape - and only got myself deeper into the struggle. I'm going to yoga tonight. Karma yoga. If everything is symbolic, maybe this will move some of this stagnant energy out and pay my karmic dues. I am grateful to say, I am not angry anymore, Progress feels slow right now, but it's moving. It's different. I've spent the last 4 years wanting to lose weight out of fear of gaining it back. Today, I just don't want to eat more food than what my body needs or for the wrong reasons. Finally, it is, again, what it's always been about - changing my relationship with food, along with letting go of my judgments of other peoples food choices and living a life that brings me joy. It's also about humility, authenticity, and forgiveness. Food was my first drug, I pray God grants me the same freedom from this addiction as He has so many others; one day at a time...
With Grace & Gratitude....
Monday, March 27, 2017
At Last
I feel better than I have felt in the last 5 years. On every level - mentally, physically, emotionally, spiritually - I feel lighter and clearer. I feel more focused & more free. Sitting here on my couch, it feels as though layers of the last 5 years that no longer are serving a good are literally and figuratively falling away. My breath is deeper, exhales and inhales more even. I am grateful, and I am connected again. Humility has found me. My arrogance, pride, & self-pity lead me down a road which took me away from my understanding of who I was and what kept me most in-tune with my truest self. There is a sense of returning to my self. And for that I am grateful.
I've done more Reiki in the last 2 weeks than I've done in the last 2 years. As a means of opening, creating, and meeting new opportunities, I made my first video of what Reiki is and put in out there, on the world wide web, Every time I see it, I automatically want to stick my head in the metaphorical dirt, afraid of the critics. Let us not be afraid of the critics. A new moon is tomorrow, one which initiates the beginning of a several year cycle. According to a gifted and beloved astrologer, Kris Redman, there is a lot of expansion and positive joint finance energy moving. I can feel that. I am so grateful for it. I can't remember the last time I felt this open, this grounded, this light. Travis told me a few weeks ago to do what energizes me. If hospice no longer energizes me, it's okay to go. And I am. The ER is calling my name along with something else new of which I haven't quite put my finger on. It quite possibly could be more Reiki. Today I sat at my dining room table and told Kris that life is simply too short to be unhappy. As cliche is that is, it's true. Apparently, this is also the year of new beginnings and happiness - tomorrow is a perfect time to even further energize our dreams into reality. It feels so different right now.
I went to the gym today. I created avenues to grow my businesses, I relaxed and watched a movie I had been wanting to watch for sometime. I ate dinner and popcorn with joy. I've also had my tea and my greens, and I've stretched my body. This life I live is amazing, it's exactly what I've wanted for so long, and I'm so grateful for it. God's grace had a big part in all of this, along with my willingness to change and seek solutions. Tomorrow, too, is another day.
With Grace & Gratitude
Dottie
I've done more Reiki in the last 2 weeks than I've done in the last 2 years. As a means of opening, creating, and meeting new opportunities, I made my first video of what Reiki is and put in out there, on the world wide web, Every time I see it, I automatically want to stick my head in the metaphorical dirt, afraid of the critics. Let us not be afraid of the critics. A new moon is tomorrow, one which initiates the beginning of a several year cycle. According to a gifted and beloved astrologer, Kris Redman, there is a lot of expansion and positive joint finance energy moving. I can feel that. I am so grateful for it. I can't remember the last time I felt this open, this grounded, this light. Travis told me a few weeks ago to do what energizes me. If hospice no longer energizes me, it's okay to go. And I am. The ER is calling my name along with something else new of which I haven't quite put my finger on. It quite possibly could be more Reiki. Today I sat at my dining room table and told Kris that life is simply too short to be unhappy. As cliche is that is, it's true. Apparently, this is also the year of new beginnings and happiness - tomorrow is a perfect time to even further energize our dreams into reality. It feels so different right now.
I went to the gym today. I created avenues to grow my businesses, I relaxed and watched a movie I had been wanting to watch for sometime. I ate dinner and popcorn with joy. I've also had my tea and my greens, and I've stretched my body. This life I live is amazing, it's exactly what I've wanted for so long, and I'm so grateful for it. God's grace had a big part in all of this, along with my willingness to change and seek solutions. Tomorrow, too, is another day.
With Grace & Gratitude
Dottie
Wednesday, January 4, 2017
It Wasn't Just a Book: Reflections of Paul Kalanithi's "When Breath Becomes Air"
Paul Kalanithi's printed memoir found me staring at it's cover on a wooden side table belonging to a man I had just given an official time of death on.
Maybe it was the black font surrounding a simple, blue feather that caught my eye, or the large and embellished "breath" and "air." Whichever, I picked it up while finding the space in my hospice practice to be a presence, but not hover. Family loomed around me consoling one another as I read the inside cover.
Maybe it was the black font surrounding a simple, blue feather that caught my eye, or the large and embellished "breath" and "air." Whichever, I picked it up while finding the space in my hospice practice to be a presence, but not hover. Family loomed around me consoling one another as I read the inside cover.
Ironically, Dr. Kalanithi's book was about death. More so, the journey, a first hand account of facing one's own mortality. I suspect someone purchased it as grief support, maybe the patient (who was also a doctor) or the family themselves.
The book bumped into me again on a date night with my wife. As I sashayed down the Schuler's Book aisles thumbing paperbacks and hard-bounds, it nearly jumped out and in front of me. "Oh! I saw this book a couple of weeks ago and wanted to read it!" I exclaimed to my wife. As excited as I was about refreshing my memory, the book came home with me and set on my bookshelf for three months. And as always, it came at a perfect time both into my life, and into my hands.
During those three months I found myself entering the beginnings of occupational burn-out. Healthcare professionals are at high risk, certain areas of healthcare, such as hospice workers, are at even higher risk. I could feel myself waning - the knocking of mental and emotional fatigue, a brewing sense of numbness, and heightened impatience. Just weeks prior to the book and I's acquaintance, I spent over 6 hours reviewing the hospice philosophy with a women who cried for two of them straight saying, "I just didn't think we were there yet." They were. Bless them all, they had been there. And it was my responsibility to tell her that. I left, certain, a hundred pieces of my heart laid scattered in their home among children's toys as it broke repeatedly for the patients young life, young wife, and three young children. I cried all the way home that night; I rode silent in my car and sobbed.
That experience weighed so heavy on my heart, I prepared to resign my four plus years in hospice. Instead, job applications went unnoticed, and no move within the company seemed viable for my family. I stayed. Consciously. I hadn't connected the feelings of burn-out with the young family until I sat with my wife on our porch one night after work and confessed my feelings of exhaustion. Emotions poured from my crying heart as I articulated the deep sadness I had been carrying for months. I literally cried for half an hour.
That moment of deep, guttural cleansing buoyed me. I felt as though I came to the surface after a long struggle to stay afloat. I rested, I had the lightness to find my way back to the profession I had always considered an honor to be part of.
Where a book often takes me two to three months to read, I completed When Breath Becomes Air in less than 3 days. It was, by far, one of the best books I've ever read. It exemplified and personalized the necessary grace that comes with imminent mortality. Paul was a seeker along with a writer and neurosurgeon. He waged back and forth between literature and neuroscience his entire life, looking for what gave life meaning. He explored the dying experience with fascination and compassion, and in the end found it "paid a personal visit" at 36, two years after his diagnosis.
This book allowed me to return fully to this work that I love, with grace.
During those three months I found myself entering the beginnings of occupational burn-out. Healthcare professionals are at high risk, certain areas of healthcare, such as hospice workers, are at even higher risk. I could feel myself waning - the knocking of mental and emotional fatigue, a brewing sense of numbness, and heightened impatience. Just weeks prior to the book and I's acquaintance, I spent over 6 hours reviewing the hospice philosophy with a women who cried for two of them straight saying, "I just didn't think we were there yet." They were. Bless them all, they had been there. And it was my responsibility to tell her that. I left, certain, a hundred pieces of my heart laid scattered in their home among children's toys as it broke repeatedly for the patients young life, young wife, and three young children. I cried all the way home that night; I rode silent in my car and sobbed.
That experience weighed so heavy on my heart, I prepared to resign my four plus years in hospice. Instead, job applications went unnoticed, and no move within the company seemed viable for my family. I stayed. Consciously. I hadn't connected the feelings of burn-out with the young family until I sat with my wife on our porch one night after work and confessed my feelings of exhaustion. Emotions poured from my crying heart as I articulated the deep sadness I had been carrying for months. I literally cried for half an hour.
That moment of deep, guttural cleansing buoyed me. I felt as though I came to the surface after a long struggle to stay afloat. I rested, I had the lightness to find my way back to the profession I had always considered an honor to be part of.
Where a book often takes me two to three months to read, I completed When Breath Becomes Air in less than 3 days. It was, by far, one of the best books I've ever read. It exemplified and personalized the necessary grace that comes with imminent mortality. Paul was a seeker along with a writer and neurosurgeon. He waged back and forth between literature and neuroscience his entire life, looking for what gave life meaning. He explored the dying experience with fascination and compassion, and in the end found it "paid a personal visit" at 36, two years after his diagnosis.
This book allowed me to return fully to this work that I love, with grace.
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