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

Big Picture Viewing

 "Let go of your body, let go of the blame."

I heard that this morning as I was walking to the bathroom after my alarm. I'm always fascinated with how the Universe orchestrates things to work on those lower vibrating aspects of ourselves. Those parts of us that slow us down and keep us from our true hearts desire and our highest path. 

My career in real estate has challenged the most stubborn parts of myself - procrastination, negotiating without me ultimately telling people to go fuck themselves, patience, following through, putting myself out there for rejection, my tendency to find someone or something to blame for why things happen, letting go in general, and I'm sure there is more. These are just the ones I'm dealing with this morning. It illuminates those deeper, real-human aspects of myself that are quite easy to forget about when I'm zen-ing out in my BYLC office with essential oils in my reiki zone. 

Often people ask me, why real estate? My answer is always - it sounded fun, I always wanted to do it. I was tired of nursing. If  I'm really honest, though, subconsciously it was to help me grow as a person, just as every other experience in our life is meant to do. Big picture viewing is like riding up in a hot air balloon (which is ironically the RE/MAX mascot) - it feels difficult and scary on the way up, but once we're at the top everything looks and feels quiet and peaceful. We're reminded of our smallness and how our piece of the puzzle touches so many other pieces. Big picture viewing feels whole. It invokes a sense of trust, surrender, and peace. At-least for me it does. 

It's been 45 minutes since I stood in the middle of Walgreens trying my best not to scream "FUCK!" with my eyebrow pencil and deodorant tucked under my arm. 

I wanted to blame myself. I wanted to feel sorry for myself and remind myself of all the ways I fail the people I care about with total disregard to whether that is actually true or not. I wanted to apologize profusely and panic. Instead, I decided reflect on my recent reading of Jen Sincero's, "You Are a Badass" and figure out what I actions I could take right now. So, I cancelled yoga (and had to release ill feelings about that, too) and came home to talk to my buyers and re-write this damn contract. 

The truth is, I believe everything works out just as it is suppose to. I also believe there is always good good in every situation. I don't know if those are universal truths or true for me because I believe it to be so. Either way it doesn't matter. I'm grateful for this moment and the fact that I'm sitting here in a much better headspace than I was, now, 75 minutes ago without ruminating about what I could have done differently or being angry at myself for things that could have quite possibly been entirely out of my control anyways. 

With Grace & Gratitude...

Reflections on Food, Family, & Mother's Day

I don't know or which event in the last 3 years began the disintegration of my sense of self, but it happened. 

I have begun the process of rebuilding myself. I guess I thought that only happened once in your life. Apparently, I was wrong. I have come to the conclusion that that must be atleast 3 levels of healing our traumas. One when we're single and can deal with the most obvious and step in into the unknown abyss that is finding yourself with minimal collateral damage. Which is absolutely petrifying by the way. Then again when we are coupled with our life partner and they stand in front of us reflecting back all the parts we missed. There is safety in that relationship, but also real risk of hurting that person and having to walk back through the trauma you caused while working through that shit you missed. Then kids... the fucking kids come and we are brought back to our earliest and deepest origination of our traumas to figure out what we are passing on and what we are not. 

At-least this is how it was for me.

I'm sitting at my kitchen table drinking coffee with an open laptop screen in front of me backdropped with calilily flowers and a large open living room window. I can hear PJ masks playing above me in the loft while my wife sleeps, and I breathe in deep gratitude for having these string of moments right now. I dose fear with faith that I will get all the time I need today. Typing this helps bring me back to the present.

It's almost Mother's Day - the one year anniversary of my Mother's death, and, naturally, I've thought about her a lot. My intention is to feel those feelings, send love and gratitude for her life and mine, and forgive myself if any guilt or resentments still linger. That feels easier to talk about than what is really on the forefront of my mind...I have used food as a coping mechanism for years and years. It boils down to feeling safe in the world and within myself. It boils down to honoring my desires, wants, and needs. It boils down to loving myself exactly as I am wherever I am, forgiving myself along the way, and not concern myself with the judgements, thoughts, or opinions of people that I don't directly effect in my life. My wife and my kids are the most important people to me in the world. I worry about them all the time - their wellbeing, their safety, their happiness, their basic needs of food, water, and emotional comfort. I'm tearing up writing this. There is a part of me that is so fierce and protective that I think I eat to quiet that down before the world deems me a psycho because I jumped some bitch in the parking lot because her kid talk shit about mine's ponytail in gym last week. But is that because no one ever did that for me? Because I felt safe so infrequently, that I've subconsciously made it my life's mission to make them feel safe at all costs. I'd rather them feel smothered and annoyed by my constant conversation about feelings, drinking water, or taking up and speaking up for themselves than feel scared or unheard at home. Insert covid, custody court, Adelynne starting 1st grade, and Bexley being born.... I just thought about when my Mother lived here and how she would come and get Adelynne off the bus some days for us, take her for ice cream, or play card games with her. Memories that bring tears of joy. Then I remember how I would sometimes interfere with that - tell Mom she didn't need ice cream or catch Adelynne cheating at the card game and tell her she couldn't play anymore. I catch myself wishing I would have been better or done more Mom while she was here - this is one of those moments where I find gratitude for the time she was here and ask for forgiveness for my shortcomings, and let that feeling move through me. 

This time of reflection seems to be wrapping up. PJ Masks isn't nearly as interesting as it was half hour ago, and I don't know how long this singular matching game will hold back the toddler attention threshold. 

I was guided today to list 10 things I am grateful for today: 1) this time I had to reflect and my willingness to take it. 2) The new moon today and the 11:11 I just saw on the stove. 3) Being able to ease into my Saturday. 4) 50 degree weather. 5) Taking a walk this morning. 6) My meetings w/ Emily. 7) My marriage getting through a really rough patch better than it was before. 8) Not having to buy a house in this market. 9) Have a pool and room to enjoy it. 10) Being on a real-estate team. 

With Grace & Gratitude...

A Life Without Trauma

Who would we be without our traumas? How would we move about in life and relationships if we didn't carry around the past? What would life be like if we were able to forgive, forget, be in the moment, and allow people to naturally enter and exit our lives without judgement? 

If my Mother's death taught me anything, it taught me the lesson that life is short. She wasn't happy. She spent the majority of her life wanting to be loved in a way she probably couldn't describe or even accept if it had found her. I've spent the majority of mine being anxious, self-medicating, and endlessly striving for perfection. I've spent at least half of it sifting through my traumas and dramas of my life, looking for the antidote to all this anxiety and self-medicating desire. I often feel like a failure. My personal, daily expectations of myself are unrealistic. The bar I hold for myself is so high, rarely do I touch it, and when I do I assume it's because it was too low so I raise it. I'm constantly seeking self-improvement. 

On the other hand, I have had so many amazing, beautiful souls in my life that entered unexpectedly and showed me true love, acceptance, forgiveness, grace, beauty, kindness, etc. The family dynamic I want to create is not one I've ever seen within my own. 

Who would I be without my traumas? My story? What would my life be like if I fully embraced everything about myself and where I was at any given moment? I bet I'd feel fucking free. The runes of the last 6 months have continued to tell me that I am at a standstill, that no successful movement will be made over the winter, and that I would eventually realize that the "patient on the operating table was myself." It was. Would it be such a horrible thing to slowly fade out of the family I was born into? Is it the end of the world to feel as if I'm alone, but safe and loved. 

Fear. It's Always Been Fear

 I'm amazed at the confidence and body positivity these highs school girls seem to have now. I didn't have that then. Shit, I don't have it now. I'm admire how they rock their leggings, jeans, and shorts with their high-tied up shirts without fear or apologies no matter what their body type. My generation - we are still recovering from the Paris Hilton and Nicole Richie era of jeans so low that only a size 0 looked decent in them, and that was questionable. 

    I've spent all of my life allowing my weight to determine my self worth. I have spent the last several years feeling like a failure. Like, I got "there" then let it all go. I've been beating myself up for a long time mentally, emotionally, and physically bc I failed. I failed to keep losing weight. I failed to stay in those size 16 pants. Ultimately, I felt like I had failed myself. I wondered who would listen to my advice or take me seriously if I was overweight. How would my children and spouse see me if I was overweight? I have allowed my weight to keep me small because I was so afraid of being big. One of my first memories of fear as a child was my fear of being fat. I was afraid of my weight preventing me from walking, finding clothes, or finding a partner.

    The truth is, we all have coping mechanisms. Eating and extra weight are just way harder to hide. I think all along it's been fear. For a moment, I thought I had it handled - beat. Then insert my first serious, committed relationship and moving in with that person who was insecure, often cruel, and regularly manipulative - and the fear came back. I wasn't safe emotionally. I wasn't happy, and I was afraid she knew it. How would my habits change being almost 2 hours from my gym and yoga studio?! 30 lbs seem to magically fade away as that relationship began to fade out. Then insert fears of losing myself, again, fear of the future, fear of letting this new person and/or her tiny person down. Was I ready to be a parent? Could I be what this little girl needed and not what my parents were? Fast forward to a year after I gave birth to Bexley. I found myself suffocating in more fear than I had known in my adult life. Fear that had been compiling since they day she was born - fear of the unknown and a brand-new tiny baby, my Mother living close, my marriage struggling, career change, being a SAHM while starting said career, covid, talks of divorce, and depression - the lowest I had felt since early sobriety. I ate more nutty buddies last fall than I've probably eaten in the last 10 years. And I didn't care. Sitting here now, I can recognize all the fear I just kept swallowing in hopes it would disappear. But it didn't. I'm here now because the medicine stopped working, and when the medicine stops working we have no choice but to sit with the pain. Food was my first drug of choice. Few, if any, would notice if my liver or kidney's were struggling from drinking. No one would ever know if I was numbing out to video games or using sex or tv to ignore the fear raging inside me. If shopping or gambling was my go-to coping mechanism, I could hide that much better. But food, we all know when someone uses food to feel better. I've gained 30 lbs since November, and I'm convinced everyone knows. I have been afraid of my life completely falling apart the last 2 years. I've been afraid of big things and little things - catastrophe's to simply misspoken words.

    I took a long look at my body. Specifically those areas I carry extra weight and asked what was under there. I felt anger. I sat with that anger until it revealed the names of guilt and shame, and then I wallowed there until I finally discovered fear had birthed them all.

    Fear is a choice. If fear is the opposite of love, and they cannot coexist at any given time we are choosing to live in fear or love. 10 years ago my mantra was "choose love." Somewhere I lost sight of that and myself. If I feel anything right now it's peace. My weight cannot determine my self worth, what I deserve, or who I am. My fear of food or being overweight will weight more heavily on my body and heart than any dessert or pizza every will. It's not about body positivity, it's about a deeper self-positivity - thinking and saying things to ourselves that are helpful, loving, and encouraging. 

With grace & gratitude...