What lies beneath

Deep in my belly lie the words that need to find a page, the passion I have suppressed for too long, now clawing its way up and out, across my heart and throat, pushing, tearing, seeking.  The words are not words, formless. Emotions and expression trying to find their way.

My throat, my strong brave throat, she stops them, silences them. I feel the battle, throat tight, sore, raw. How long can she hold out? How long until the rawness breaks through and pours out my mouth, my fingers?

So many years of not writing, of not speaking. So many years of keeping secrets and wearing masks. Untold stories lost, but not really. They have found their way deep into my bones, my DNA.

What have I passed down to her? To him? What struggles, heartbreaks, tragedies have they never experienced yet live within them? Because I experienced them, or my mother or grandmother or great-great-great-grandmother. I sometime wonder what is mine and what was theirs.

The stories they never told, but held tight within their muscles. Passed on again and again. Through blood and cells and actions and words. Through tears and shame.

If the trauma runs so deep, why doesn’t the joy?

Deep in my belly, my heart, my head, lies the passion to share these stories. To hear them. To witness and be witnessed. To find relief and release.

My quest, to shed the stories that no longer serve me, no longer serve you. The ones that get caught in our throats, held there by fear of releasing them and becoming what is unknown.

I’m right along side you.

So many paths of womanhood. All of us mothers, whether we have children or not. We are creators, birthing beauty into the world. Sometimes birthing ugliness. And what does that mean? We are not to blame for this world we were born into, for the scars so deep that they are passed along through womb after womb down to us. And yet… and yet.

We, the creators, can also be the destroyers, the rebuilders. Once the old stories are excavated and released, new stories can be written. We will stumble along the way. I know I do, constantly stumbling and thinking as the hurtful words pour out of my mouth “What the fuck are you doing?? Stop!!” And still they flow.

I fall to my knees, sometimes metaphorically, sometimes literally. I ask for forgiveness, of her and him and her and him and them. I beg forgiveness of myself. I find grace and new definitions of beauty. I get up, brush myself off and try again, and again, and again.

And slowly, so slowly, the new stories are written and some of the cells from other generations are shed and I emerge, new but not new.

What stories lie beneath? Let’s unearth them together.

A part of the alter in my office. Release mantra card by Jen Lashua.
A part of the alter in my office. Release mantra card by Jen Lashua.

Inspired by a Liberated Lines Flash offered generously by Alisha Sommer and Robin Sandomirsky, by the reminder in this article and by my own calling to do this guiding work and play . xoxo.

Coming home to myself, again

Time is ebbing and flowing and weaving as fall settles into our lives. The leaves on the trees in our fairy forest are falling before they change color, leaving me feeling a bit melancholy. The speed at which everything in my life seems to be changing is leaving a bit disjointed and wistful.

And yet through this I am finding and nourishing deeper connections with those in my life. I find myself connecting more with those in my life, both in and out of our home; in person and on line. I have deliberately started to reach out to people I miss or want to get to know better. I’m creating time to connect with those I love and focusing on being present with them as I do.

I’m finding as I journey closer and closer to my 43rd birthday my own need to slow down and deeply connect with those in my life. While I am wistful and melancholy  over the passing of time, I am also grateful for the time I have left to explore, to create, to live.

D.H. Lawrence wrote, “A woman has to live her life, or live to repent not having lived it.” I spent my 20s living my life, and my 30s worrying about life and trying to “build a future.” I find myself coming not exactly full circle back to my 20s, but rather spiraled up to a place of wanting to live this life given to me. Some days that means being in the car as I drive the kids to this field trip or that play date and others it means being at home and having an impromptu dance party.

I have neglected my writing as I have filled our time with connection, building relationships with those in my local circles and online. School, my internship and my business have also each given me so much opportunity to connect with even more people; more people to learn and grow from as I allow them all to affect me, allow myself to feel.

I have done the work in my own Being and Becoming circle, right along with the beautiful women who have gathered together for this journey through fall. My own ah-has are highlighted by those of the other women as we each reconnect to ourselves and slowly heal and shed another layer.

I began this intentional journey of becoming 43 forty-three days before my birthday. I have dipped my toe into restarting practices I love (yoga, meditation, writing) but am finding that right now my focus is on the people in my life. I am filling up on conversations in person and online, learning more about myself and others and mostly breathing in the quiet knowing that in time I will step away for a bit and hibernate, refocusing on my “solo” practices.

Or perhaps I won’t.

Maybe instead my solo practices will naturally weave their way back into my life.

Time will tell.

For now however, connecting with those outside of me is where I am drawn. And so I am spending more time in my circles, outside of my home, and when home and not with the kids or my husband, online, learning more about the amazing people who are in my life, both peripherally and solidly in the center, and in the process learning more and more about myself. I am in the space of doing rather than reflecting, although truth be told I am always reflecting on myself, my life.

It is not a time of solitude, but rather of being in community, in circle, in my family. Seeing and being seeing, listening and being heard. My circles expand and I breathe in how gracefully and chaotically my life is evolving right now, again knowing that there are also fits and starts, the constant ebb and flow the ever being and becoming.

I feel myself coming home, again, to me as I circle and center in my community and family; as I hold the hands of my children and husband; as I hug friends both new and old. Seeing parts of myself in each of those around me, taking in what feels true to me in these moments and allowing the rest to be.

Quietly becoming 43.

coming home to myself quietly becoming 43

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Forgive Yourself, Improve Your Relationships: A guest post at FloGascon.com

I am honored to be a guest writer in Flo Gascon’s Parenting Calmly series today. 

The practice of forgiveness is our most important contribution to the healing of the world.  -Marianne Williamson

Twinkle lights glowing in our family and living rooms. Candles at the dining table. Softness blooming out of the lights in our home, gently revealing what each space holds.

Creek gently babbling. Wind chimes tinkling. Sounds quietly entering my senses.

Mellow breeze kissing my face. Supple cotton touching my skin. Caressing touches opening possibilities.

I entered a world of Softness, surrounding myself with soft sights, sounds and feelings. This exterior softness represents the inner softness seeking out space in my body, my heart, my relationships, my being.

As I entered into this shift, the Hardness made itself clearly known. It came as resistance, to not see the world from the eyes of Others. It came as snapping at my husband and daughter over trivial things. It came as judgement of others and how they are living their lives.

Yes, others did hurtful things. Yes, others said unkind words. Yes, I’ve been misunderstood. Yes, there have been times I have been abandoned and unloved, shamed and ridiculed.

I held onto those hurts, the unkindness, the misunderstandings, using them as armor, protecting myself from future pain, or so I thought. Visit Flo’s site to read more (click here)