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.

Fixing women and exorcism (Hey! That sort of rhymes!)

 

Back in the day I went to a church where women couldn’t cut their hair (and straight was preferred if yours was of the kinky/tightly curled variety.)  We weren’t allowed to wear pants in the church and little or no make up as well.  I think it used to be no make up, but then they figured that God likes a pretty face with a nice glow, ha! (I should also mention that I found this place on my own.  It wasn’t my upbringing.)

What was I doing there?  Looking for belonging?  redemption?  exorcism?  Yes.

 

This place offered it all willingly.  There was a lot of work to do, for women in particular.  We had to watch the length of our skirts and wait for a husband.  We had to learn to shut our mouths and smile at the sexually harassing deacons who were just boys being boys.  Only they weren’t boys.  That was about 20 years ago now…another lifetime…

Only, just a couple of weeks ago, I got an email from a list I’m on.  The writer realized that she needed to feel pretty and she has a friend who offers that service.  That’s fine.  I won’t even ask why we’re not questioning a system where  any woman would have to experience not feeling pretty.  The thing is, I didn’t subscribe to fix my pretty.

And then this nice-enough guy has come up with a plan for a woman to get the guy she wants. Maybe it works.  I just don’t know how fixing a woman fixes a commitment-phobic guy.  Can I get an, “Amen?”  I’ll totally give myself one on that. (For the record, I don’t think guys as a whole are commitment-phobes. I married one such man and I lurve him dearly.)

And where between pretty and winning over a commitment-phobe does a woman go to learn her own truth?  Luckily it lives in her.  Like right about here ❤ don’t you think?

(Truth is available for purchase at www.jenniferpricedavis.com/store)

 

Melt into the discomfort

My guide le frog, mini-mixed media collage, JENNIFER

It isn’t that I can’t sleep.  I’m just not sleep yet and it’s getting late enough that I’ll feel this tomorrow.

I’m thinking about the moment — surrendering to the moment, that is.  My moment is uncomfortable to put it mildly. My mister and I are maturing as people (which is nice), growing into our individual purpose (which feels like being a teenager again), and managing a little money that has to cover a lot of things (which is what it is.)

All of this has to happen like this.

Tonight I need to declare my surrender and trust in the universe.  And so I declare it with open hands and a trusting heart.  I release my plans and expectations.  I feel a little nervous because I prefer not to get another knock on the ass, but I trust.

I trust.

I trust.

Are you in an uncomfortable moment?  

Can you melt into it?

Love,

Jen

Looking for God II: Dreams, shame, paint splatters and separation

Understanding People, Acrylic on canvas, JENNIFER

Last night I dreamt that someone called the animal protective league, accusing us of mistreating our very loved and pampered dog.  In the dream, there was a knock at the door.  I looked out the peep hole to see at least 20-30 people, including a news crew.  I was humiliated.  We took a moment to straighten the house, since we’d be on the news, and let the agent and her people in.

They looked around our modestly decorated home, and I felt so afraid of being judged.  I was afraid they’d see some imperfection that I missed.  They checked out our dog, who was affectionate and happy. They told us that they knew all along that the allegations were false.

This dream was about shame and the fear of being exposed, even when there’s nothing to expose. It’s that thing that most of us has about being exposed as a fraud.

A post ago, I shared that my heart told me it was looking for God.  When I heard “God,” I thought of rules, sacred texts, and rituals.  Hellooooo resistance. But when I feel God/where I find God, is in the splatter or even calculated placement of paint that makes me feel — not only in my own work — in all work that moves me.  It’s the miracle of the empty space that creates the thing that moves me to tears — God is in the empty space.  It’s an amazing harmony or the wailing of a guitar.  I feel God in leopard print shoes and a badass haircut. God is in a long walk and purple flowers that take my fucking breath away.  God is in my terrible language.  Oh there are so many other places and ways that I connect with God.

When I’m connected to God, I am connected to abundance…I have plenty and I can give.

When I’m faking…covered in a cloak of shame for who I am…that’s separation from God.  Separation brings an emptiness and hunger that’s depleting.  Depletion is separation from God. Depletion makes you selfish and greedy, because no matter how much you appear to have, you are insatiably hungry to the soul.

And so I’m praying for more connection, for you and for me.  I am sending out energy for us to be full to overflowing. Overflowing.  Abundant.  Giving.

Where do you feel/find God?

Peace and so much love to you!

Jen

Looking for God

Sweet couple walking, JENNIFER

While folding clothes, I asked myself, “What am I looking for?”

My heart answered, “God.”

While washing the dishes, I asked myself,  “What do you want?”

My heart answered, “God.”

I don’t know what I expected.  I’m an artist…I figured I wanted to sell my work again.  I worked at being a business coach/strategist…I figured I wanted clients who I could help create strategies that would help them be successful.  I needed money, so I figured I wanted more money.  I only asked because felt an ache of longing, I was tired of trying ideas, and it made sense to just ask.

I didn’t expect to hear “God.”

“God” is a loaded word for me.  Really, I wanted to want anything but God, ha! It conjures up rituals and songs that I loved as a kid. God is the smell of frankincense and myrrh at Christmas time. It also conjures up years of confusion that led me to a pretty cult-like and dangerous “church.”  In that space the slimy old politics of gender were allowed to play out as god-given roles.  Swearing, drinking, having more money than just enough…there were so many grounds for God to bust out a can of righteous, keel-your-whole-family levels of whoop-ass.

I was told my over-thinking and questioning would get me “sent to Hell.”  I was afraid. But it also was so strict that my 20-something self felt like I had boundaries that I could assert in the name of faith — even if those boundaries seriously damaged precious relationships with my friends and family.

So why was my heart longing for God, when I was pretty much through with that concept?

Deep connectedness, love, togetherness, ease, flow, beauty, honesty, grief — all of this is God to me… or God is in them all.

God is in witnessing the sweet couple walking down the street, holding hands.

God is in the feel of Cleveland humidity against my skin, while my busy dog sniffs and tries to eat things that make me cringe.

God is in the tears so many of us cried for Trayvon Martin’s family and the survivors of the Boston attack, who have to look at their attackers face on the cover of a magazine.

God in the actions we take to protect each other and love each other.

Funny enough, Mastin Kipp, CEO of The Daily Love, has a thing called Heart Therapy, that is pretty much the same as what I did.  Here, he’s talking about it with Kate Northrup.

Everybody’s heart can tell them what they want.

What’s your heart saying?

xoxo,

Jen