Stttrrreeeeeetchhh and breathe

Faces. 6.5

Hello Saturday. Yes,  I am aware of the all day retreat/meeting. I love you anyway ♡ Let me see if I have all my stuff:
– Notebook and pen?  Check.
– Anxiety to the nth degree? Check.
– Anticipating awkward conversations? Check.
– Wanting to be at home in pajamas and in my cozy apartment space? Check.
-Deciding to stretch anyway?  Check.

I promised myself that I would stretch out of my comfort zone and trust the process. At one point I decided to sit away from people with whom I’d be easily comfortable. I almost threw up and then I almost cried, but I let myself feel through those feelings. And then, as the day progressed, I really enjoyed myself. I was stretching out of my comfort zone and into love — self love and the loving people at the event.

I talked and laughed and hugged wonderful women. I reminded myself that even if the day wasn’t OK, I would be.

I breathed and noticed and welcomed feelings of unworthiness to step up and be breathed out as they surfaced. These are the feelings that keep us feeling and playing small.  The kind that keep us from pushing creatively and in funky cycles with our work. They are mighty gremlins,  but breathing is mightier!

I got home and slept off the high intensity people interaction hangover (because September is for self love.) I drank way too much Diet Coke (will need a new coping strategy.) And I kept breathing and stretching into love.

Breathing and stretching into love… and this is the business model and creative path. Amen ♡

September is for self love and making space

I know it’s the end of August, but there’s something about back to school and the darkening morning skies that always makes me feel like I’m in September around this time of year.  I begin to crave softness and purple.  I knitted myself a hat to honor that craving.  (Giant pompom please and thank you.)

This September has called me to some intense nesting: make beauty in and for my home,  shower myself with love, care and affection, and to make space for miracles. I’ve never felt a pull so strong to sit back,  snuggle in,  and let myself be loved. Interesting timing as I’m wriitI ing book about making space for miracles.

Snuggle position engaged.  Do your thing universe ♡

I nurtured my belly with homemade soup as a part of this beautiful e-experience called “a woman’s thirst ” hosted by Hannah Marcotti. My soup was carrot and potato. (Why do I always want to put an “e” at the end of potato?!)

I used gently salted water (about 3 cups) as a base,  since I didn’t have chicken or veggie stock.   In it I boiled  (about 2 cups ) carrots and (3 smallish) potatoes till they were soft enough to blend.

I sauteed onion and a little marinated artichoke hearts and added them just as I was ready to blend.

I decided to leave some chunks, because I like to chew.  It was divine.

Here, it’s shown with a sprinkling of goat cheese and hemp hearts. 

And we bought patchouli incense. It smells like a forest after it rains in here. It smells like love and home.

I’m open.

Goodbye girl

Not many words today.

Venus. Original on encyclopedia page

Giving love.

Witnessing the power of showing up. Trusting the universe is full and abundant.

And feeling so loved.

Oh hai, anxiety-ishness that almost brings me to a screeching halt every time, all of this happened

This weekend, we had a new couch coming and 6 boys sleeping over for my kiddo’s birthday.  I was about to explode with anxiety. I needed to get a copy of the lease for the delivery guys…Anticipating asking for that copy almost made me throw up.  I won’t even mention the muck I hacked through to get the email invites out to the boys.  But I did it. I did it! 

Feeling anxious can choke creativity off in the worst way. There are so many colors, marks, and words seeking life, but my mind gets in the grip of this thing that says “DANGER! STOP!” even when there is no danger.  Even when I need to keep going…  I decided to create through it.  With calming colors and words.

I chose to breathe instead.  Breathe through the tension,  breathe through the fear that something would go wrong,  breathe into the possibility that everything could go beautifully.

It did go beautifully. 

And then I met a toad who thumped me on the foot while I was walking the dog. I picked him up,  but he hopped away when I tried to switch hands. I felt like the luckiest woman on the planet.

And this sunrise.

There was vegan chocolate cookie cake,  because of a nut allergy and a dairy allergy.  The boys loved the cake.  My kiddo (who can’t have dairy) didn’t even have any.  Some years he doesn’t eat his own cake. He’s not much of a sweets person, but he always wants a birthday cake.  It cracks us up.

The boys played fetch with Coal late into the night.  Coal usually goes to bed around 9pm, so he was so sleepy all day yesterday. He slept like a log…a log on a new couch,  ha!

I want to do another sleepover for my kiddo.  I’ll feel like throwing up as I write the emails.  My jaw might be tight and I might have to breathe through it, but I know what those feelings mean now.  They don’t mean “don’t do it.”  They mean, “I’m scared to do it.”  And I can still do it, even if I’m scared.  (When I listen, I know why I’m scared, but that’s another post!) Maybe one day I won’t be scared at all.  

All of this ♡

And what to do with all of this?

A couple of nights ago, I dreamed that I painted myself as a blue warrior.  I don’t know what to do with this.

And then Robin Williams dies and Mike Brown, an unarmed African American teen, was killed and I don’t know what to do with that either.  

To tell you the truth, I’m scared. 

When I read that Robin Williams died of suicide, my heart sank for him.  My heart sank at imagining how deep his pain must have been.  My heart thumped with fear.  I know depression and anxiety.  So many of us do…I also know how it feels to be sucked into that space that convinces you that death is the only way out.  

I am so grateful that I was terrified enough to get help just as my body started to digest an entire bottle of Tylenol.  I am also terrified that the thing might come back at any time…maybe to visit me.  Maybe to visit someone I love.  I tried to shield my son from the story, but there we were in the furniture store, when one of the giant TV’s for sale, spilled all the details…”Suicide…” Dear God, please don’t let those couple of genes that did some interesting stuff with my wiring go any further.  Dear God, please let my kid know what I almost didn’t know…that he is loved and that I will sit with him through anything…anything…

(And really God, if he never hers the word “suicide” again, I would be ok with that, because it scares me every time.  I wish I were less terrified of this one thing, but I’m just not.)

And I can’t protect him from police, or neighbors, who find him scary.  He will likely be tall like his dad.  He’s gorgeously, deep brown just like both of us.  He’s funny, silly, sensitive, and thoughtful, but I don’t know that in a moment, someone will do that brain shortcut thing and shoot. SHOOT.

My God, he’s my child.  We’re raising him to be kind and respectful.  Should he raise his hands?  Or not?  Should he speak or remain silent?  My God.  I don’t know what to do with all of this.  

Voice 2

There was a knock at the door and I felt panicked. After losing a house,  a car, a beloved family member (not listed in order of priority)… I never lost the fear that something could be taken away from me in an instant or slowly over time. Why do I focus on that stuff sometimes? None of those things was initiated with a knock anyway.

Who knows, maybe I could have won a sweepstakes. There could have been a person with a giant check on the other side of the door. Or a better religion… or a nice vaccuum. 

I don’t like it when I feel afraid like that. I don’t like it when I feel afraid to get it wrong.  It’s too much work to be afraid.  The brush will do something I hadn’t expected.  Life will take a funny turn.  I’ll disappoint, be impatient,  or I’ll even be thoughtless. I was once too quiet because I didn’t have enough money. I wish I wouldn’t have done that. But I didn’t think I deserved to speak. I was afraid to speak because I got the worth of my voice mixed up with the number in my bank account.

I think a lot of us stay too quiet because of money or we just say what we think is going to get us money.  Not in a terrible way, but because we want to thrive. We want to eat. So we say what we have to… or what we think the people with money want us to. Job interviews… What we create. .. How we talk about what create. .. Maybe it’s just me.

Anyway,  I write all of this to set it free.  My voice has hooked up with a raven and she’s flying all over the place with her mouth open. She wouldn’t let me paint her with it closed.  And she wanted a feather tattoo.

And how did she die?

She ain't worried, 6.5

Scrunching my face and almost holding my breath. Clenching my jaw. Tightness in my gut.  These are signs that I’m holding something in. Maybe it’s an opinion,  what I need,  what I want… What I know. How does a woman create when she essentially has her entire insides on lock down? What does she sacrifice in order to be good and proper? Maybe her own life.

How does she open the up again?

Falling, 6.5

Yesterday,  I said “no” and it was hard.  I did it to save my life. Because,  you know,  you can’t live holding your breath and clenching your teeth…All this time, I was hoping to find life in too many “yeses.” Was I secretly hoping that there would be some divine reward for my epic levels of doormat-ary? At minimum,  by relinquishing my own voice and serving up my needs on a silver platter,  I would not be alone… and is there anything sadder that a woman alone? (Not a real question.)

I love that I took a bite of my own needs.  I tasted the sweetness of creating a self-respecting, self-loving boundary. I found my “no” and it cut like buttah. It feels indulgent and sensual.

She’s not empty

I logged in to Facebook to see a friend holding her newborn baby. (I know,  I should really limit my time there,  ha! ) At once,  I “liked” her sweet moment and felt the emptiness of my own uterus.

In so many ways, it seems like I had been preparing to bring life into the world for my whole life. I dressed and designed clothes for baby dolls.  I cut and styled their hair. I can still feel the coils of that synthetic hair wrap around my fingers as I created two neat puffs and then took it down to style it again.

I sniffed their sweet,  plastic skin, and chewed their ten perfect fingers and toes (don’t judge me! )

When did I start dirty dancing with 40? My kid is as tall as I am and on the cusp of teenagerhood. I had wanted more kidlings at some point, but I’m here now and I sort of like our little life. I sometimes feel guilty for not “giving” him a sibling.  I sometimes think it isn’t too late, but then I realize that I’m four years into that high risk zone. But on a more gut level, I’m a few more years into getting to know this body as it’s own vessel.  

I’m full with painting and I writing.  I’m naming my own faith. I’m attempting to grow out my curly,  frizzy,  kinky hair, with love.  (Yes,  I just cut it,  but…)

This is a new phase of life and creativity — an awakening to my own body and voice. Lalalala… my own voice 🙂