Sometimes... You have to go backwards to move forward...

Back when I was 14 years old, in the summer between 9th and 10th grade, a strange thing happened.

Usually, I spent my summers on my grandfather’s ranch near Steamboat Springs, Colorado. I was typically riding 4-wheelers, fixing fences, moving cattle, cooking ranch-style meals, washing a ton of dishes, hanging with my cousins, and generally being a hoodlum.

But that particular summer, a friend decided to end her life. My parents came back to the ranch to bring me home for the service. I was supposed to be gone for several more weeks because they were completely remodeling the 1,100-square-foot box we lived in. But I was home.

The service was strange. Helping the friends around me through the tragedy was also bizarre at that age. Being home in the summer with no plans felt like a foreign country.

I was lonely and struggling. I was thrust into helping my friend’s brother navigate her tragic passing while I was still trying to figure out how to process it myself. The entire world around me felt less predictable… and, if I’m being honest, a lot more like adult life than I was truly ready for in that moment.

I was desperately seeking ways to make life feel normal again. Carefree, like all those summer days before it. So I took my whirlwind world to the net. It always seemed to help.

One day… a turd-brown Subaru came honking down the road toward the neighbors’ house. I heard the whiny “beep beep” before my eyes witnessed the spectacle.

I was outside shooting hoops by myself because, back then, we didn’t have phones and all the other things kids these days use to entertain themselves. I recognized the vehicle. It belonged to a friend of my best friend’s big sister. He went to Florence High School, a town just a few miles down the road. The neighbor girls were friends with this kid, too.

But they weren’t home that day.

The Subaru backed out of their driveway and came back toward my house to ask if I knew where they were. Out stepped this cute boy, several years older than me, riding shotgun.

He had a funny East Coast accent. He was mouthy and said whatever was on his mind. I can still remember exactly what he was wearing: the flannel shirt that probably needed to find its way to the trash can, the trucker hat, the way his wavy hair fell just past his chin, and the way his lips curled around his devious smile.

The 14-year-old girl in me was very curious. He was something I hadn’t experienced just yet in my young life.

That MOUTH!

I wasn’t sure if I should be appalled or laugh.

I chose to laugh.

He was ridiculous.

Jeremiah’s dad and Jason’s dad had been best friends in New Jersey back in the day. Jay came out to Colorado for the summer in hopes of keeping him out of trouble back East.

What 14-year-old me didn’t know, when that Subaru pulled into her driveway, was that she had just met someone who would become a source of enduring, unconditional love. A true friendship that would stand the test of time. A human being who would stand beside her in the thick of it, casting stupid dad jokes with a Jersey appeal. Someone she could always laugh with, even when life was crazy.

After he left, we talked to each other every day. Probably drove my parents nuts.

He sent my mother and me flowers that first Christmas, and it became a tradition every year until it started hurting the feelings of either my love interest or his. He moved back to Colorado during my senior year of high school. We had big plans.

But when he got here… I chickened out.

Curating my entire life at age 17 seemed so absurd.

He came out here again one Christmas to spend time with me and my family. It became clear that our relationship was very platonic. But also, outright enjoyable.

He has popped up in my life, or I in his, during major turning points.

I remember when my oldest son was born. I was tired of trying to call everyone to spread the news about his medical condition and interventions. I was in my mid-twenties and scared shitless. I wasn’t entirely confident in my skills as a mother, and I had little support from his progenitor.

I decided to send out emails instead. Emotionally, it was an easier task.

Jason called immediately after receiving the first update and filled in with the emotional support I wasn’t receiving from my baby daddy. It was never sexual. He just wanted to make sure I was okay while I was falling completely apart.

I did not have the strength to get through that moment alone.

Of course, I had my parents and friends. But when you understand that someone completely unconnected to you by blood can give that much of a shit about what you’re facing, it changes your heart.

I didn’t feel so alone. It helped me feel like I could do all the things that having a sick baby meant.

We have fought our way through other love relationships on both sides, trying to get our significant others to understand the value of this relationship. They never have.

I always caused problems on his side of the fence, and he always caused problems with EVERY relationship on my side of the fence.

I have been forever grateful for this relationship that came into my life completely by accident.

For the past two years, both of us have been going through it. We’ve talked a big game about finally getting the band back together, and this time, he finally bought a ticket.

Thirty-five years of friendship… and for the last four days, we’ve done nothing but talk smack and hang out. We visited with my parents. Drove to a few places around Colorado he had been to and a few he had never seen before. Had some silly phone calls with his mom, who is beside herself that we are hanging out.

We laughed so hard we could barely breathe. We cried a bunch, too. Life has been hard.

We shared some tips for getting through the alone times. We thought about what it might look like to just let life be and enjoy each other while traveling. We made a pact to ride out this glorious friendship, no matter what.

Obviously, 35 years ago, the Universe felt it was important. Otherwise, we wouldn’t know each other.

I just dropped him off at the airport and have nothing but a grateful heart.

This full-grown woman had to call her mom on the way home. Otherwise, she would have been driving with her eyeballs leaking all the tears.

Did I know at 14 what that boy would mean to me today?

Do you know how lucky I am to know that not all men are unsafe, unkind, self-absorbed, or carrying ill intentions? A man who believes me to be worthy?

He’s been with me through all of it.

All. Of. It.

I feel so fortunate to know this kind of love.

No judgment. No wishing I were something I’m not.

He still sees me as the girl in her driveway shooting hoops. And I still see that boy with the funny accent, trucker hat, curly hair, and sass mouth.

I feel like the realization that I’ve never really had to prove myself to everyone, that I’ve never really had to earn love, that I’ve never had to feel alone or like I was never enough… has always been there in this relationship. I just never took the time to understand it until these last few days.

I often wonder why everything else has to be so hard. Why do we make our relationships so hard?

The answer, my friends, is that it doesn’t have to be so hard.

I will laugh for 30 more years over the last four days. I will feel loved from afar. I will feel like enough… worthy of all that I want out of my life.

I am such a lucky girl.

And I pray he feels that way, too. I hope he knows how much he means to me, but I vow to tell him every chance I get.

I hope for you… that you have something just as radical in your life. I hope you fight for it, because it is highly unusual. And I hope you cherish it.

Much love, Jason… always and forever.

Ascent: What is the story I tell myself?

Have you ever heard the Story of the Seven Gates, ancient Sumerian folklore?

I’m working from memory here and half hearted research…

In this epic tale, our heroine, Inanna, Queen of Heaven and Goddess of Love and War, decides to descend into the underworld to attend the funeral rites of her sister’s husband. To do this, she has to pass through seven gates.

At each gate, Inanna is told by the gatekeeper that she must strip away something of her royalty—a jewel, a symbol of her power, her garments.

At every gate, she asks the gatekeeper why she must do this.  And at every gate, the answer is essentially the same: Quiet woman, the ways of the underworld are perfect.

By the time she reaches the throne room, everything that marked her as Queen of Heaven has been stripped away. She is naked and vulnerable. She bows low before her sister.

She is judged by the lords of the underworld, struck down, turned into a corpse, and hung from a hook for three days and three nights.

But never fear.

Tiny creatures sent by the god Enki enter the underworld carrying the Water of Life. They encounter Inanna’s grieving sister, Ereshkigal, and rather than trying to fix her pain, they witness it. They mirror it. They meet her in it.

And somehow, that empathy opens the way for Inanna’s body to be given to them.

They sprinkle her with the Water of Life.

And Inanna rises.

So, what is that story I tell myself?

I am kind. I am strong. I am resilient. I am funny. I am so very smart. I am lucky. I am abundant. I am creative. I am alive! I am thoughtful. I am empathetic. I care. I am also the land of chances for people, for some reason.

Sometimes, I allow their potential to override their demonstrated behavior. Even when my physical reaction is a hard no.

Why?

Why do I let others back in after they have shown me who they are?

Someone treats me badly… I see it. I feel it. I understand it. And then I use my capacity for empathy, forgiveness and hope to argue myself out of what I already know.

I had to stop and ask myself some different questions.

Because ultimately, for as long as I can remember, I have lived under some version of:

Keep the peace.
Be nice.
Don’t make a scene.
Try to understand.
Accommodate.
Make other people’s discomfort my problem.
Compromise yourself for the sake of others.

And when I look at my life through the shadow side of the things I believe are my greatest strengths, it becomes clear why things in my life have turned out the way they have.

With empathy, I can say, “I understand why they did it.”

With compassion and care, I can say, “They were hurting, too.”

With a boundless sea of hope, I can say, “Maybe this time it will be different.”

With resilience, I can say, “I can handle it if it isn’t different.”

My loyalty allows me to say, “I don’t want to give up on people.”

And my willingness to forgive says, “I don’t want to hold this against them.”

Back at the end of February 2010, I was beaten badly by a man I had already given several chances.

We started our relationship when I was 20. He showed me then that I wasn’t his person when, without letting me know personally, someone else was more enticing.

It crushed me.

For nine years after, I played his game. He would often call or show up and disrupt the life I was trying to create for myself to pull me back in. And because of the shadows of my greatest attributes, I fell for it.

When the life he had created for himself came to an end, he came running back because I am safe and soft and forgiving.

For nearly five years, we had a tumultuous on-again, off-again relationship.  I was relieved when he moved out of my house and into a different city.

But then he convinced me to leave behind everything and start fresh in that new city.

I did it without reservation. I jumped in wholly.

What I found was that things hadn’t changed.

I cashed in life insurance policies, picked up extra work, made adjustments to make sure my child and I could have some form of normal.

And then, February 2010…

I had never known that kind of violence, anger and hate.

It took me a few weeks to realize and process what had happened.

I should have called the police.

I did not.

All of the things that I know make me great worked against me.

I ended up fleeing.

I let people know what really happened.

In doing so, it opened me up to jabs from his family—letting ME know what a terrible person I was for saying something.

Not that the behavior that caused me to say something in the first place was terrible.

The shadows of my strong self abided, but only for a moment.

I ended up getting a restraining order.

I was trying to start my new life, and there were things I just couldn’t overcome.

I ended up going through a “Cord Cutting” ceremony with a dear spiritual friend. She explained that in order to cut everything tying us together, I needed to cut all positive and negative cords.

I assumed she was talking about the restraining order.

And so, after about seven months, I appealed to the court to get rid of the order.

The shadows of my formidable characteristics told me it was the right thing to do.  I was living in the middle of my happy life and felt strong enough to maintain it.

But then I bumped into him in the wild.

He said he wanted to apologize to me.

I needed that apology, I felt.

What it did, however, was open the door to the cycle.

Within three months, I was stuck in it.

What he told me had changed, hadn’t.

He never raised a hand to me again, but I know there were times he wanted to.

Because of this, during mediation, I requested communication ONLY through a court-approved app. Something that can be monitored if needed.

I won’t look back.

I won’t deviate.

He has shown me who he is, and it’s high time I believe that more.

Recently, I was in a very short relationship with someone.

I earnestly thought he was a solid human. And maybe he is.

I knew it was going to be short because he had very specific plans to leave the city on a very precise date.

As that date neared, I learned there was someone else in the picture that I was not aware of.

We were headed out to our final goodbye dinner, and because I had said something before we left, that the lack of knowledge seemed a bit deceptive, it seemed too difficult for him to navigate, he turned around halfway through the drive to our destination.

Without a word, he dropped me off back at home and drove away.

And then the cycle continued.

He texted about a week later to let me know that he didn’t want it to end that way, so I agreed to try dinner again.

And then, about three weeks later, while I was out enjoying my life to the fullest, he let me know that he couldn’t live without me.

And then, about a month later, he showed back up in my city.

And for less than a week, enjoyed my company and all of my greatest attributes…

Only to leave town simply with a text message while I was working to let me know that I am too difficult because my life is too crazy.

I deserved to have this delivered to my face.

I wouldn’t have argued or tried to convince him otherwise.

But I deserved better.

If we back up to the night he turned around and dropped me off without a word…

What I felt in my body.

What I felt in my soul.

What I understood about my own feelings.

That should have been louder than the shadow of my strong characteristics.

Oh, that body of mine…

My body already answered the question.

I just didn’t like the answer.

That may be the hardest part to admit.

I didn’t lack information.

I lacked willingness to honor what the data meant.

I knew.

And then I explained.

I abandoned myself.

When does it become okay to say, “I love you, but that doesn’t mean I need to have you in my life”?

When can I say, “I forgive you. I understand why you did that. You are hurting, too. BUT I will not abandon myself anymore.”

What is the magic formula?

How many times will I allow this in my life before saying enough is enough?

I am coming to this question with honest curiosity.

I feel like no matter how hard I work on myself, this self-abandonment piece is so overpowering that I will always be stuck in this position.

It shows up with my children.

It shows up with my friendships.

It shows up at work.

It even shows up with my family.

I’m struggling with the fact that, in order to break the cycle, I may have to walk away from the version of whatever relationship in which I abandon myself and my inner knowing to keep it.

I have always been the woman who firmly believes there is always more love to give, more understanding to offer, more context to consider, more chances to extend.

I think it comes from truly observing and learning and loving others as they are.

This is all well and good, but I have come to realize that I am, more often than not, the only one who pays for all those chances.

It feels selfish and conceited to treat access to me like an exclusive club.

But I’ve also noticed that I often find myself completely depleted of energy after giving it away so freely.

Besides going back to the places where I’ve abandoned myself the most, healing as much as I can, and integrating those parts of myself back into this whole person…

Is my failure to fully trust myself and my true feelings in these matters simply the result of old patterns?

Does it really come down to the old saying:

“You can’t teach an old dog new tricks?”

But is that really true?

I’ve been taking classes to learn new skills like dancing and elevated pottery.

I’ve been traveling alone.

Making art.

Finding new and interesting ways to teach.

Approaching galleries.

Changing how I parent.

Setting boundaries and learning boundaries.

Examining my own nervous system.

Questioning decades-old patterns.

I am literally teaching this old dog new tricks.

Maybe this is what I’ve been afraid of.

Maybe I’ve spent so much time learning these patterns and cycles that they are simply who I am now.

But then I remember something.

An old dog is STILL a living thing.

And apparently, so am I.

I don’t know, exactly, what the magic formula is.

I don’t know how many times it will take before this becomes instinct rather than extreme effort.

I don’t know if self-trust is something I can simply decide to have.

But maybe that’s not the point at all.

Maybe I don’t have to know how to ascend all seven gates today.

Maybe I just have to stop at the next one.

And when the gatekeeper tells me to surrender another piece of myself, maybe this time I’ll recognize...

the lie.

My compassion does not require my participation in my own mistreatment.

Full. Stop.

And maybe this is what rising looks like.

Not becoming harder.

Not becoming less loving.

Not becoming less forgiving.

Not becoming someone who never gives another chance.

Maybe it is simply becoming unwilling to leave myself behind in order to love someone else.

Inanna’s story does not actually end as neatly as the version I remembered.

She rises from the dead, but the laws of the underworld demand a substitute. Someone else must take her place.

There is more to the story.

There always is.

But maybe I don’t have to follow every part of it.

Maybe I can write my own ending.

Maybe I don’t have to sacrifice someone else to get myself back.

Maybe I don’t have to sacrifice myself, either.

Maybe the cycle ends here.

Please send the Water of Life.

I am ready to ascend.

I am ready to break this cycle.

I am ready to stop abandoning myself for others.

Today.

Right now.

A New Chapter...

Last weekend, I attended a workshop with a dear friend called Awaken the Sovereign Self. Hosted by a former comedian with a foul mouth and an uncanny ability to make complicated ideas digestible, I walked away with a few things still turning over in my brain.

But more than anything, I walked away feeling lighter.

My learning didn't stop there. My gal pal and I went to dinner afterward, where we had one of those wonderfully meandering conversations about the things happening in our lives. Somewhere in the middle of it, she told me something a friend of hers, a widower, had said.

“She was the love of my life. But this is a new chapter.”

Something about that sentence lit up every light on my internal circuit board.

There was no dismissal of the past. No attempt to diminish the love that had existed. No pretending that losing someone didn't hurt.

Just an acknowledgment:

That was a chapter. And this is another one.

I had spent weeks trying to figure out exactly what sovereignty meant before the workshop. Merriam-Webster offers ideas like supreme power, freedom from control, and autonomy.

But what does it mean to me?

It's funny that I should ask.

The Universe has been doing its thang and showing me. Every day.

A few afternoons ago, I sat outside with my oldest while clouds rolled in. Lightning flashed, thunder followed, and big heavy drops of rain fell onto the hot ground. Sitting there in the cool breeze, I told him something I've been thinking about a lot lately.

I feel like I have spent my entire adult life jumping from one controlled environment into another with remarkable efficiency.

My junior year of high school, I started dating a boy. By the time I graduated, I had moved in with him. I became very good at being responsible. Paying bills. Making decisions. Thinking ahead. Managing the grown-up things, even though he was four years older than me.

From there, I moved into one form of coercive control after another.

And now, even after leaving my marriage, I sometimes catch myself feeling as though I am still living under someone else's rules.

The difference is that now there are children in the middle.

My youngest children navigate two households with different rules, different expectations, and very different energies. They grew up watching their father keep me on a short leash, and sometimes I see echoes of those old dynamics in the way they interact with me.

And if I'm being completely honest, I don't always handle that gracefully.

Sometimes I look at my children through the same lens I once used to survive their father.

That realization hurts.

Because then I feel sorry for myself. I think, Am I ever actually going to be free? Will I always have to walk on eggshells? Will I always have to wear kid gloves until there are holes in them?

But is that really the case?

That question followed me into the workshop.

For two hours, I sat in a hard metal folding chair listening to this colorful former comedian talk about Karma. Not karma in the casual “what goes around comes around” sense, but the ancient Indian concept of cause and effect... the idea that our actions, choices, suffering, and the way we process our experiences have consequences beyond what we can immediately see.

He suggested that we enter this life carrying a kind of karmic cloud... a magnetic field of sorts that draws experiences toward us so that we can learn, grow, and release what we carry.

I'll be honest.

My heart sank.

The idea that we might somehow magnetize the experiences we need into our lives made me bristle. I believe in reincarnation, but I'm also deeply skeptical of belief systems. I think this is one of the places human beings can accidentally surrender their sovereignty: when we stop questioning and simply hand our power over to a system that claims to know why everything happens.

For a brief moment, I thought, Well, Snakeoil Man, you've successfully identified my problem. Now sell me the solution.

And then he did.

Except the solution wasn't really his.

It was letting go.

He introduced several practices I already use to help regulate my nervous system, along with the Sedona Method... a series of questions designed to help us move toward an emotion rather than away from it.

How do I feel right now about ______?

Can I allow myself to feel this emotion?

Can I allow even more of it?

Could I let this go?

Would I let this go?

When?

The first time I really sat with these questions, I cried.

A lot.

Apparently, there are feelings that don't particularly care how articulate or spiritually evolved I think I am.

They just want to be felt.

And perhaps that is where sovereignty begins.

Not with control.

With the willingness to stop fighting what is already here.

I have spent a considerable amount of my life believing that freedom would arrive when the external circumstances finally changed. When the person controlling me stopped. When the relationship ended. When the paperwork was signed. When the money was settled. When everyone understood what had actually happened.

But what if freedom doesn't require any of that?

What if sovereignty means that what happened to me no longer gets to decide who I am?

This is where I find myself wrestling with an old story.

My divorce left me financially vulnerable in ways that were difficult to recover from. For years, my primary role had been staying home with our children. When I offered to return to insurance or find other work that might help financially, those ideas were repeatedly shut down. I had little savings and little credit history of my own.

When my marriage ended, the financial safety net disappeared with it.

I went to work.

I took on extra classes with my little business.

I pedaled my art.

I figured things out.

And eventually, I built a life.

Not a perfect one. Not an easy one.

But mine.

The house I live in now feels like one of those strange gifts life occasionally drops into your lap when you aren't looking. I looked at house after house within my budget and found mold, cat piss, and every other indication that perhaps the Universe had a sense of humor.

Then I found this one.

It was affordable. It was safe. It had a pool. I thought it was a joke... it wasn't.

It felt like someone, somewhere, had quietly moved a chess piece into place and said, Here. You can breathe now.

And I did.

I also promised my children that once the house sold, I would put some money aside for a beach vacation. We originally planned to go to North Carolina. When those plans fell apart, I got resourceful.

And somehow, through a little persistence and a lot of Priceline magic, my children and I ended up in Hawaii.

It was extraordinary.

And yet there is still a voice in the background telling my children that none of this should be possible.

That their mother has a big house.

That their mother takes them on vacations.

That their father works hard only to have to pay me.

And this is the part that hurts.

Not because I need anyone to validate the choices I've made.

I don't.

It hurts because children shouldn't have to carry the emotional accounting of their parents' divorce.

They shouldn't feel guilty for enjoying their lives.

They shouldn't have to decide which parent deserves their loyalty based on who appears to be suffering more.

And I can't pretend that doesn't make me angry.

It does.

Sometimes I am absolutely furious.

Sometimes I want to explain every detail. Every bill. Every sacrifice. Every hour I've worked. Every decision that brought us here.

I want to build the case.

I want everyone to know.

But then I remember:

I haven't let it go.

And that is my work.

Not his.

Mine.

I cannot control what another person says about me.

I cannot control the story someone else tells themselves about the past.

I cannot control what my children believe today.

And I certainly cannot force someone to have a conversation they are not emotionally capable of having.

What I can control is whether I continue living inside the story.

That doesn't mean pretending it didn't happen.

It doesn't mean excusing it.

It doesn't mean allowing harmful behavior to continue unchecked.

And it certainly doesn't mean abandoning my children in the name of being the “bigger person.”

It means I don't have to carry the hatred.

I don't have to defend my worth every time someone questions it.

I don't have to make myself smaller so someone else can feel less uncomfortable with the life I've built.

And I don't have to teach my children that freedom means winning.

Maybe freedom means something much quieter.

Maybe sovereignty is sitting on a porch while a storm rolls across the sky and realizing that you are still here.

Maybe it is feeling the anger instead of stuffing it down.

Feeling the grief.

Feeling the injustice.

Feeling all of it.

And then asking:

Can I let this go?

Would I let this go?

When?

I'm not sure.

But I know this:

It's not always smooth sailing on the waters of life.

I am learning to let my heart be my guide instead of hiding from what hurts or charging straight into every battle simply because I can.

I want to model something different for my children.

I want them to see that we can save and spend thoughtfully while still living fully.

That hard work matters.

That generosity matters.

That abundance doesn't have to be shameful.

That we don't have to apologize for enjoying the life we've worked to create.

And most of all, I want them to know that they don't have to carry the weight of the stories their parents tell about one another.

They are allowed to love us both.

They are allowed to have their own experiences.

They are allowed to grow into their own understanding.

And so am I.

Maybe this is what sovereignty means to me.

Not finally becoming untouchable.

Not controlling the circumstances around me.

Not escaping every person who has ever tried to control me.

But choosing, again and again, what I will carry forward.

Some chapters deserve to be remembered.

Some deserve to be grieved.

Some deserve to be understood.

And some?

Some simply need to end.

I don't have to suffer through this one again.

This is a new chapter.

The Soul selects her own Society

Emily Dickinson

The Soul selects her own Society —

Then — shuts the Door —

To her divine Majority —

Present no more —

 

Unmoved — she notes the Chariots — pausing —

At her low Gate —

Unmoved — an Emperor be kneeling

Upon her Mat —

 

I've known her — from an ample nation —

Choose One —

Then — close the Valves of her attention —

Like Stone —

 c. 1862

Her Name is Pamela...

My burning question this morning upon waking… knowing that hindsight is 20/20, would I do it all again knowing things would go the exact same way… and I would end up right here where I am today?

I used to think that I needed to get my eyes checked. Instead, I’m starting to understand this little life of mine better.

I stumbled upon a TikTok of someone promoting a book by an author I knew personally. Right before we stopped talking, he had forwarded a copy of one of his books before he sent it to the publisher. His exact words were, “Are you ready for your story to be told?” It was strange reading someone else’s perspective of me and my story after being rejected by me. The title of the book was Never Send a Monster. I wasn’t sure how I felt about it then.

As I watched this short video about his new book, I struggled a bit. It’s been nearly two decades, and his interaction with me still aids him in character development. Am I really that intriguing?

Bigger question yet… did you see me for me? Because it doesn’t feel like me.

It does feel familiar, however. I have been touching my way through all the past versions of myself, from tiny little me until yesterday. What I have found is that I’ve shielded myself from view in so much of my life because I was afraid to rock the boat. Of course, the me that feels certain has popped up from time to time. It’s like that teenage girl who went on a goth bender and dyed her hair black… then showed up to church and was rejected by all the tried-and-true huggers because of her hair. In that moment, I learned that the me willing to experiment and find new ways to express the depth of my heart and soul could - and would - be rejected.

Last weekend, I decided to put purple, my favorite color, on my hair. For some reason, it didn’t make my hair purple. Instead, it made my hair an ashy black. It’s always fun when I dye my hair. My natural auburn-brown takes color and chooses its own adventure, usually. I was worried kiddos and parents and co-workers would have something to say about their gothy/emo art teacher. But I’m in a space now where the people who know me aren’t that incredibly invested in judging me based on appearances. And if they are, I don’t give a damn.

It was a full-circle moment that I didn’t know I needed.

When I think about the many versions of me throughout the years… my own character development comes into play.

The introductory character here would probably be that cute little child with the big eyes and curiosity for days. I may have asked way too many questions and learned that most adults found my queries annoying. I had access to a dictionary and an encyclopedia… and learned to answer my own damned questions.

That girl eventually fell prey to genetics and packed on a few more pounds than the children around her. She learned to be awfully accommodating just so she’d have someone to play with at lunch recess.

There was the teenager… When she landed in high school, she looked like a totally different person. All of those boys who would never stop picking on her in years past suddenly changed their minds. The teenager finally felt seen, but only for one thing. There was still a depth inside that remained hidden.

When he walked into the radio station less than five minutes after speaking his name, it felt divinely orchestrated. And maybe it was… character development. When it ended, she felt robbed. Like she didn’t do her job, like she wasn’t the right “whatever he needed” her to be. She spent almost ten years in agony, thinking of every possible “What if?” and not being fully present in the life in front of her.

I’ve sat a lot with that girl… the one riddled with anxiety, the one who feels like she’s never enough, the one who is heavily critical and hides her true character, thinking that’s the problem. I have loved on her so hard and tried to present her with evidence that she is the coolest and sweetest… that the gut-wrenching ending that happened way, way back then really didn’t have anything to do with her, even though that’s how it was presented.

I’ve had to sit with the girl who made life choices from that place… the girl who sprinted to marry the next seemingly safe guy who appeared to like her more than she liked him. She didn’t know him… and he definitely didn’t know her. I remember overhearing a conversation that guy was having with a long-distance friend at the beginning of the relationship. The way he explained this amazing girl to this friend didn’t feel like me at all. And then he called me, “Punk Rock girl.”

Oh baby. Yes, I love Punk. I’m so much more than that. While everyone was awestruck by Nirvana… I was over here lusting after Trent… and Pretty Hate Machine was my anthem album. But I also adored the American Beauty long-stem roses planted in my garden. That girl eventually discovered Bauhaus, Type O, Dessau, Circle of Dust… And she also loved playing with kittens and puppies. She wore nothing but black and had an affinity for old creepy cemeteries, but also smiled a lot and made friends easily. She wrote deep, dark poetry that she never shared and loved her family fiercely… She worked at a mortuary but always sought connections with living, breathing humans. That girl still played small because, what do you mean I’m not good enough?

But I was only seen as a “Punk Rock girl.”

How about that overly optimistic girl… the one so excited for second chances? I never worked so hard to make something work in my life. Completely mortified that the ending was more like a true-crime story that didn’t have a chance to play all the way out… bloody and battered and humiliated and barely hanging on. That poor baby circa 2010 was something to behold. I love her so very much. Despite all the odds, she still managed to make honor roll, fall in love again, go out and enjoy life!

And then there was that girl who desperately wanted to believe what he said… that he “can’t do it without you.” Oh, that sweet, tender-hearted girl… longing for her very own love story. Always looking over her shoulder at the version of herself that learned something, but not enough to be confident in it. The woman who wanted to be indispensable. The one who believed that if she was necessary, then she certainly wouldn’t be abandoned.

That girl showed up and made it work. Owned up to her choices and still sought the best in every situation. She relished in easy motherhood. Playing with her babies. Teaching them her ways… her music… her ability to deeply think. She was a beautifully delicate human being, and I love her so much.

The light-bulb girl, though… the one who realized that she was in charge of her own character development. That the character presented back to her by men who never took the time to know her, who only desired to control her, break her, crush the spirit that made her so enticing to them in the first place, did not have the rights to write this story.

Real, snatch-your-soul-up-by-the-shirt-collar kind of love has two edges. The light and the dark. And I appreciate them both. When I truly express myself, I am loud… only because the contrast between black and white is significant.

My sweet nature invites people in who need it the most. I never want to be mean. I spent my younger years as the fat kid and know just how hard it is to thrive in that realm.

My desire to have connections has made me shelve parts of myself that seem too bold, daring, and intimidating to others.

My desire to be seen for who I really am leaves me trying to explain myself to a world that doesn’t care enough to observe or ask me first.

All those versions of me sitting sad, mad, frustrated, and unseen… looking back at the battlefield where I had become a knock-off character that never felt quite right… or remained the controlled whipping post because I allowed myself to be there. Or the Punk… Or the fat kid. The LOVER…

And then there’s the present version of me, giving MYSELF the connection and love that I have always deserved. Looking back, seeing that every single time I started fresh, it always worked out… just as it is right now. I always exceed my expectations… glimpses of my daring, bold, dark, sweet, loving self shine through.

If you’re watching, Will, and I know you are… can we incorporate more of that? The woman who finally picked up the pen herself, who decisively finds herself, loves herself, knows her worth, adores her life? Because that seems like a mighty fine character to me.

But honestly, you may have written characters based on me… I am writing the ending of this story.

Maybe the character I was always waiting for someone else to see is this woman finally learning to see herself.

I am so in love with this version of myself.

And to answer my burning question from this morning… Knowing what I know now, I wouldn’t wish any of it on the woman I love. But would I erase it? I don’t think I could. Every version of me brought another piece of herself home.

Inside every person is a world...
What you seek, you already are
The seeker and the sought are one
The lover and the beloved are one
All of this is one human being.
 
- Rumi -

When Enough Felt Abundant...

This morning I woke with a smile on my face for no particular reason.  The sun was up and bright, shining through the little crack in the wooden blinds finding its way right to the place on my face where my eyes call home.  The light was warm and waking.  Things have neither been particularly good nor bad… It wasn’t an extraordinary morning.  Nothing miraculous had happened.  Life wasn’t suddenly perfect.  It was simply enough.  I’ve just settled in the place of presence.  The moment of right here and right now. And for the first time in a very long time… enough felt abundant.

Four years ago I stumbled across Be Here Now by Ram Dass at exactly the moment I needed it. I was exhausted from treading water, convinced I was failing at everything that mattered, even considering walking away from the life I'd built. The book didn't change my life overnight. It simply asked me one question:

Can you be here?

Life was the same mundane routine every day.  Wake up, wake children, ready them for school, take them to school, try to sell my classes through my little art teaching business, USUALY an ungodly amount of laundry… feeling defeated with house cleaning, grocery getting and meal prepping.  I also knew the heartbreak of yearning.  I specialize in seeing the potential in others. It's my creative superpower. I see possibility long before I see proof. I’m also a diehard empath… which allows me to feel into situations and understand them from the inside out.  I wish I had known that I could extend that same sort of grace to myself.

The me from four years ago believed that walking on eggshells and bracing for whatever walked through the door at 4:30pm was unconditional love.  I didn’t quite understand that unconditional love WAS NOT taking on an incredible amount of stress, grief, anxiety… with a side of control and verbal and emotional abuse. 

I remember one day in particular… an important conversation needed to take place… the man wouldn’t answer calls or text messages throughout the day… and near the time he was to arrive home, my heart was beating erratically and my stomach was in such knots that I thought I was going to throw up.  He walked through the door with a scowl on his face, so I spent the rest of my evening moving into opposite rooms from him.  Eventually, my stomach pain became an ulcer.  My erratic heartbeat never found a diagnosis until about 3 weeks after he had moved out. It just stopped happening.

Honestly, that girl 4 years ago thought that she was WITH the love of her life and things would eventually become more balanced.  What I didn’t understand was that when you partner with someone who has to have ultimate control of every situation as a coping mechanism, and once you allow that control, it never returns to you.  Once control becomes the language of a relationship, one person begins speaking it fluently while the other slowly forgets the sound of their own voice.

But enters, “Be Here Now,” and my thought process began to shift slightly.  The lesson that stuck with me the most was the story of experimentation with mind altering drugs… and then the realization that mind altering can come from meditation and presence without other stimulation. 

Be present.

Observe THIS moment.

How does it feel in your body?

What can you love in this present reality?  Right here, right now?

And then, just like the universe does… a dear friend sent me a meditation track from Baba Ram Dass… It’s titled, “Sit Around the Fire,” by Jon Hopkins, unknowing of my discovery of Be Here Now.

I knew I was an “ember” …I felt it…. The loss of my voice and making myself small turned my warm, expansive fire into a smoldering ember.

I’ve spent the last 4 years fanning that ember into flames.  I landed my dream job.  I’ve managed to be stable and secure on my own.  I’m healing that which is inside of me that has held me back from my own full potential.  AND, I became very aware of allowing others to be responsible for their own growth… for many previous years I sat back and stayed quiet… allowing myself to be treated awfully because my empathetic heart knew where the source of this came about. 

Just because someone has a crappy childhood does not give them the right to control and demean others, which includes yours truly.

What I struggle with now is letting go the past versions of me… the versions that shrank, stumbled, thought that any or all of it was okay.  In those moments, I become my own abuser… I frequently have thoughts about being such a “stupid girl.”  I have to stop and remind myself that I don’t deserve that… not from anyone… including the present version of me that made it through. 

When these thoughts come up, I try to run to a mirror and speak directly to myself at least three things I think are the most amazing about the girl in the mirror. 

I make sure that I am focused on both of my reflection’s eyes.  I take a few deep breaths.  I speak something that I know to be true, “You are beautiful!”  I sit with it for a moment to make sure my body doesn’t flinch.  If it does, I repeat it to myself until it doesn’t.  “I am love.”  “I can do anything I set my mind to!”  “I am kind!”  “I am seen.”

A thought that has recently come up in this version of myself that is healing… I’ve always alleged that I wanted to be seen.

I think, today, it’s not about being seen… more about being witnessed. 

Someone can glance at a painting while walking through a gallery. Or...they can stand in front of it long enough to notice the brushstrokes, the places the artist changed their mind, the layers hidden beneath the finished surface.

That's the difference between being seen and being witnessed.

I don’t believe I’ve ever been witnessed.  I think that my willingness to spend my time with avoidant people… lovers and friends... is the reason for this.  Nearly every major relationship in my life has been between me and someone who does not or cannot make room in their life for me.  Relationships stay on the surface.

Recently, I had the opportunity to be a part of a short-term relationship with a man that didn’t spend much time talking about the weather.  He always started conversations with me wanting to know how I was doing, what was my day like, cool things I observed in any experience… Our conversations were deep and curious.  I feel like I actually got to know myself a lot more in the short four and a half months of time.  Every interaction with him was powerful and meaningful.  Which was quite intriguing, because I knew in the beginning it wouldn’t last long.  I battled everything inside me to not become attached.

My favorite part of this entire experience is the fact that I don’t have to heal from it.  While one moment was a bit tricky to navigate, everything else was easy… loving… exceptional. 

I felt like a grown-up doing grown-up stuff at the ending of this phase of the relationship.  We have agreed to remain friends as he journeys off to other places that his heart was calling him to.

While sitting on my front porch, as he relayed his plans to leave and how our adventures would end… neither sadness nor anger, disbelief or confusion were present.  Rather, a wave of excitement and joy came over my body that I struggled to hide. 

For months, knowing that this experience would be short lived, I tried my damnedest to not fall head over heels in love with this man.  I failed miserably.  And, my friends, I must report – it wasn’t that crazy feeling of, “I’d die without you,” that often gets portrayed in cinema.  It was more a quiet knowing that each of us were allowed to be who we are and just let the magic play out when we finally reconvened after our outings in this world. 

It was like the Universe, doing what it does best, sending me a kind of love that I did not know existed.  Right into my lap… everything I’ve always wished that love was.

He showed up the night before he left with flowers and chocolate… just like our very first date.  Then rode off into the wilderness on his new adventure.

I’ve been sitting with my initial reaction over the last few weeks.  Excitement?

Yes.  Some call me delusional, and frankly, I don’t give a damn.  Before the crazy split of my marriage, I had this wild dream… I was running through all of these rooms that were connected.  The man I was running with looked different in each room, but so did I.  The only thing that remained the same was his eyes and his smile.  But the final room brought me back to this recurring dream that I used to have when I was a pre-teen/ teenager.  I walked down this gorgeous marble and gold staircase and at the bottom, walking up was this man’s silhouette that resembled Michael Hutchence (yes, the lead singer from INXS.)  He didn’t just see me.  He knew me, in all my forms.  I knew him, in all his forms.  We were witnesses to each other.

This most recent relationship feels like the jet fuel I needed to propel me into outer space, the place where I look back at Earth with a new understanding, a different perspective and willingness to venture outside of the ideas I had about my own destiny… destination. 

I was never going anywhere ruminating on a relationship that broke my back and my spirit. 

And for this change in perspective and experience through this recent relationship, I will forever be grateful.

I do not know what is around the corner for me.  What I do know is that for no good reason, my heart feels expansive and excited.  What I do know is that whatever is coming towards me feels ancient, familiar, and known on a soul level.  And when I get done with the next many months of nothing but playing in my own sandbox…. I am willing to predict that the kind of love I have ALWAYS desired and ALWAYS deserved will be there for me. Whether from myself or another.  I know what it is like… I don’t have to imagine it anymore.

This morning, the sun found me before I opened my eyes.

It wasn’t trying to wake me.

It was simply reminding me that light has always known where to find me.

Maybe, love works that way too.

Not the frantic kind.

Not the kind that asks us to become smaller.

The kind that witnesses us.

The kind that leaves us more ourselves than it found us.

Today, for no particular reason at all…

I woke up smiling.

 

 

 

Godspeed Wayne!

Wonder was Always the Destination...

Back in September of 2001, ten days after the airplanes struck various locations in the United States, I bravely jumped on a plane and traveled to Paris, France at four months pregnant. 

The funny story started as I was trying to oblige my older partner with the blessing of children.  I was already stuck in the quicksand of the relationship before him and knew that nothing I did, no one I would be with, would much matter.  I played along the whole time.  My friends, my parents, everyone around me seemed to liked him… but if I am 100% honest with myself, he was never my jam. 

When my doctor relayed that he was unsure as to why I was unable to have children, after countless invasive tests… All the money we had saved for daycare and nursery furniture and whatever else we may encounter… was used to purchase a giant many weeks long expedition to Europe.  Just before jumping on that plane, I found out that I was, indeed, pregnant…. Wild.

It was a long flight… first to Montreal… then to Paris.  I slept a bunch during the darkness of the flight, only to awaken as the plane neared the big city in the beautiful morning light, with the Eiffel tower and the stunning geometric layout of the city smiling at me.  My heart was so excited.  Never did I believe I was going to experience such a thing…. The girl from the small town…

As we deboarded and entered the space age looking concourse that is Charles de Gaulle, caught a cab to our quaint little hotel in Champs- Elysees, checked in and set our bags down.  I had noticed an outdoor market on the way in.  The man I was traveling with, apparently, did not get enough sleep on the airplane and wanted to crash at the hotel… but I was ready to adventure. 

The bag that contained most of my things did not make the flight with us.  So I needed to find a few things to make my trip a bit easier.  I decided to catch the little market and hit up the pharmacy on the corner.  I remember walking through the market with sheer wonder and awe.  I picked up some dried fruits and a bit of cheese.  I spied a chocolatier! I still have the bag the chocolates came in, to this very day.  And then when I turned the corner… there it was… the Arc de Triomphe and the chaos of cars spinning around it.  I did what anyone would do… walked towards it.  I was not quite sure (yet) how to get to it.  I sat on a bench and watched the madness for a minute.  I was so amazed that I was experiencing something I had only dreamed of since I was young.  (I mean, come on… 4 years of French Classes for some twerp living in Po-dunk Colorado???)  I still have the picture I took sitting right here on my desk and I look at it frequently to remind me that nothing is impossible… that something amazing is right around the corner if you are willing to get out there and experience it.

I will not lie to you.  I’ve had such a rough week.  I’ve had many conversations with that little girl that lives inside.  She has been sad and hurt and reminding me that in Psalms 116:11, it clearly states that, “All men are liars.”  For a few days, that little girl wanted to collect evidence that her oldest fear was true…that people deceive, that love is unsafe, that opening your heart is foolish.

But I’ve been trying something different.

Every time I catch myself building a case against someone, I interrupt the story and say out loud, “Thank you for trusting me to love these men.”

It sounds strange, but it changes the question. Instead of asking, “Why did this happen to me?” I ask, “What does it say about me that I was capable of loving deeply?”

And almost immediately another thought follows: “I’m ready to receive love like mine, too.”

That doesn’t erase disappointment. It doesn’t make painful things painless. But it reminds me that a hard week is not a verdict on my worth.

What originally hurt that little girl?  The one who believes that she must be different, act different, say something different, say nothing and do nothing at all?  Why does she not have faith in herself? 

About two weeks ago, when I knew the end was nigh, I made a game plan. I made myself a six-month promise: to become curious about what lights me up.

So, I’m showing up to gallery openings and live music. I’m taking a pottery class. I joined a photography group. I’m planning a solo trip to Santa Fe and Taos. I’m leaning into the mystical, the creative, the strange, and the beautiful. And somewhere along the way, I’m gathering the people who make me feel most alive.

The goal isn’t self-improvement. It’s self-remembrance.

I promised my children I would take them to a beach this summer.  I tried to find my most inexpensive options (Teacher salary here…) and found trips to North Carolina were fairly affordable.  I also had a friend in New Jersey that said, “Please come this way…” 

But every time I purchase a Powerball ticket, I always dream that my first trip will be to Hawaii… my kids even get in on the scheming… “Mom, I need a new swimsuit to go to Hawaii…” they say to me, walking out of any convenience store with ticket in hand.

Out of curiosity, I investigated what it would take to get me and the littles to Hawaii… and to my surprise, it was less than $1,000 more. 

Guess where we are going for family vacation?! 

It was a moment when I allowed that little girl to get something that she wanted.

She’s tired of being judged.  She’s tired of being overlooked or taken advantage of.  She is sad about losing “friends.”  She is tired of not taking chances. 

My whole life I have done things the way that I thought I had to. There were only a few moments where I spread my wings and done things that I wanted to do… Like standing in amazement at the Arc, alone… or the thrill of punching the gas when the green light on the tree gives me permission… or applying for a house where the light that falls in brings my heart so much joy.  Planning the next 6 months of my life with nothing but being curious about myself makes me smile.

So no, this past week doesn’t get to define me.

A week is not a life. A disappointment is not a destiny. One person’s inability to meet me where I am does not make me less worthy of being met.

I’m still the girl who wandered through Paris alone, turned a corner, and found herself staring at the Arc de Triomphe in complete awe.

I’m still the woman who believes that something extraordinary might be waiting just around the corner.

And for the first time in a long time, I’m not building a life around what I’m afraid of losing.

I’m building one around what makes me come alive.

And while it was fun getting to know another human being… I am so thrilled to center within myself.  To allow myself to absolutely be in love with my own life that any experience such as this, just adds fun seasoning…

And perhaps that's what love has been trying to teach me all along.

Build a life that feels so rich, so curious, so deeply your own that anyone who joins you becomes a welcome companion…

I have always been the destination.

The cake was always mine.

Everyone else…simply the sprinkles.

Love after Love

Derek Walcott

The time will come

when, with elation,

you will greet yourself arriving

at your own door,

in your own mirror

and each will smile at the other’s welcome,

and say,

sit here.

Eat.

You will love again the stranger who was your self.

Give wine.

Give bread,

Give back your heart

to itself,

to the stranger who has loved you

all your life,

whom you ignored

for another,

who knows you by heart.

Take down the love letters from the bookshelf

the photographs,

the desperate notes,

peel your own image from the mirror.

Sit.

Feast on your life.