I am

I’ve been thinking about how we show up in the world,  in these bodies, to do our work(s).

As I inch toward another year of life,  I see my softening parts and the parts that were always wrong,  and my inner self asks, “How could you not love this body?”  And then there is this knowing that this body is perfect. That there couldn’t be anything better in life than showing up in this skin… You in your skin.. and bones and…

Wildly in love with existing.  With feathers in your hair and dirt under your nails,  sweaty and fulfilled with engagement with this place.

Because she didn’t settle

She’s all pastel and going to a new home in a few weeks. She wasn’t at all what I planned,  but she had her own life. She seemed like she breathed.

I have something brewing,  but I don’t want to say just yet.  Instead,  here are her humble beginnings.

Till next time…

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.

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 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.

Packing light

Purple flowers and raindrops, JENNIFER

‘But we Capuchins have this long cowl. It’s modeled after the European peasants’ capuche…We show our solidarity with the poor by wearing this’ ~ Kristin Ohlson talking with Father Senan, Stalking the Divine

Earlier this week, I accepted a job doing heart and soul work.  Just saying “yes” to that made me feel like I was coming home.  I also reopened my art shop and am thinking about reopening my chocolate shop.

I can’t help it.  I feel.  I make.

There’s something really beautiful about creating and selling from the gentle place of self-acceptance.  

What if I will forever work a full time job, sell paintings and other handmade stuff when they sell and the same with my chocolates?  What if my side business(es) never become big or recognized outside of my little circles?

My first intention is for my work to help pay for my son’s tuition.  If more happens I’m happy.  I’ve sold my stuff for years.  I stopped for a while and I worked at my own coaching business the last two years…it never took off.  I think it never took off because it was too heavy.  I think containing my desire to make more was too heavy too.

There are too many parts of me to contain into one thing — one work.  I’m silly, contemplative, moved by color, delighted by swearing and irreverence, full of some kind of faith.  I’m creatively distractible — I finish lots of projects and I like selling them…it creates a nice flow.

Anywho, it’s all me, and I’d rather have me, than convince someone that I’m one-dimensional for money.

I’m not sure what all of this has to do with that quote from Father Senan, except that I like how it feels.  It feels like home and humility.   It feels like packing light.

Happy trails,

Jen

 

 

 

 

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

I’m hungry

Art Journal Page, JENNIFER

I wrote this in my journal and surprised myself:  I’m hungry.  

It was a written conversation with God and all sorts of stuff spilled out.

When you’re a woman, you learn early that being hungry is not okay.  To have an appetite — to unashamedly consume what you desire — is not feminine.

Do I need to tell you about the two boys who teased me for going for seconds when I was 10?  Yes I need to, because it happened and it’s when I began to learn that there was shame in being a hungry female.  I learned that  girls aren’t supposed to want more and it was a boy’s job to put her in her place (or maybe keep her out of theirs — the place where there was free and unquestioned access to satisfaction.)

I’ll never forget that moment because it was also the first time I remember overeating.  I ate more when I got home because I was so ashamed and confused.  I ended up puking my guts out that night.

But I’m here now…28 years later.  28 years later, declaring my hunger!  (Can I get a hell yeah!?)

I love the words — hunger, hungry.  There’s a danger there.  I wonder if a hungry woman is scary.  To whom? How much will she consume? What if she gets full? Nourished?

I had to sit and breathe it out “Nour-ishhh-ed.”

A nourished woman is gorgeously dangerous.  Let go of that apple cart, because it will most certainly be upset.

Nourished.

Fed.

Having enough.

An abundance of all the best and most delicious.

Choice.

Space.

Time.

Color.

Money.

Sex.

Food.

Eye contact.

Touches that send shivers down my spine.

Grass between my toes.

Music.

Badass hair.

Those shoes.

That book.

Chai and girlfriends.

Saying no.

Saying yes.

I did it because I want to.

Curling up in cozy covers and calling it a night.

Gentle beginnings the next day.

I love my hungers.  

Are you hungry?

A wipe of my mouth with the back of my hand and a toast to being filled to full.

Love,

Jen

God can handle it or Death to/by affirmations

Reach, Acrylic & Sharpie on encyclopedia page, JENNIFER

Affirmations sort of suck don’t they?  I love a nice quote or encouraging thought, but there’s something about affirmations that feel like putting a band-aid over a gaping hole.  You can slap a whole box of band-aids over a gaping hole and there’s still a deep and wide gaping hole.

Who are affirmations for anyway?

They’re for you and me, I suppose, certainly not God/the Universe.

I’m fully convinced that God can handle your deepest, darkest, and stickiest heart and soul gunk.

In fact, I’m certain of it.  I’m also certain that you won’t get kicked out, explode, or disintegrate by expressing what’s inside of you on paper, in prayer, in your art, in sighs, tears…however it comes out.  The Universe isn’t the harsh parent, or the teacher looking at you over her glasses…and you are not the bad child.  You are loved, safe, and seen.

And while I’m being bodaciously bold, I would add that whatever an affirmation can do, being open with your soul can do it better.

Love and peace to you!

Jen