Tag: growth

A Moment of Healing

Trust yourself

Place your hands on the warmth of your skin

Breathe, you are here

There is no sting

Pressure of the phantom hand

Trust yourself

Place your hands with compassion, the places once scarred, mark the beautiful start

Breathe, you are here

Place your hands, the fleshy parts, once blue, now rosy pink. There is no harm

Only honour, only love

Trust yourself

Place your hands, over your heart. Offer compassion to the place ruined not by love but by betrayal

Breathe, you are here

Place your fingers on the softness of your throat, the strong vibration of words now clearly spoken, from a place once stolen

Trust yourself

Place your hands upon the place where your soul resides, accepting both the light and the dark

Breathe, you are here

Place your hands amongst the spaces where your power hums heavy, intimately yours, you owe it no access from others.

Trust. Yourself.

My Voice

Hand across my mouth

Arm across my throat

Words slapped from my lips

These are things that stole my voice.

Speaking to the ether

Not being heard

being told ‘you didn’t say that, I don’t remember, that’s not the way it happened’

These are the things that stole my voice

‘Do not speak until spoken to, no one wants to hear your opinion, no one will answer your screams’

These are the things that stole my voice

Years of tangled compression, oppression these are the things that have stolen my voice I can raise my voice to stand for you

I can raise my voice to stand for social justice Hear the echos? They come loud and clear

But when it comes to self, when it comes to me , it fades to silence

The old compression, oppression, squeezing in, taking the air, taking the sound,

restricts, constricts

My wants, my needs, my feelings, my thoughts I want to stand firm to say NO

No that’s not what I want

No that’s not who I am

These are the things where I’ve lost my voice. The sticky weapons of violence and cruelty that is wound around my voice for years and years and years

Squeezing away the sound, the breath, the air this is the tangled mess I seek to undo

to breathe life

this is where I want to find my voice

this is where you will hear me clearly say

No these are the things that hurt

No these are the things I don’t want

Yes these are the things that are right

Finally my voice will match my world voice

I will be heard

I will be heard

Can’t I just enjoy the moment?

I have been working on details for my daughter’s upcoming birthday.

She’s asked for something small, simple. In part because of Covid, in part because she’s 12, in junior high and her tastes have changed.

And this morning the trigger pulled so quick it was like a starters pistol. The take down by a wall of emotion was swift. These are some of the last of my critical markers to pass.

42, the age my Mother was when she died, I cleared that hurdle.

Grade 6, for my kid- which strangely reflected mine for loss.

I left school months before it ended ( my Mother was ill and we were waiting for her passing.) I never went back to finish. I spent a lonely summer with my dog before grade 7.

In turn Lily was forced from her life ( as were all) by a virus, her grade 6 experience cut short, her summer had very little friend contact and she spent it with her dog.

While my own 12th marked a hard end to my childhood, I see for Lily ( and blessedly so) her own childhood is softly receding.

But this morning I’m overwhelmed by emotion.

A mix of grieving for myself, and the young girl who really needed her Mom.

Excitement that I’m here to share this with Lily, and share her future.

A somewhat irrational fear that it’s a tease and I won’t be here much past this for her. Disappointment at the altered landscape she has to experience. Frustration that both myself and my kid never got ‘normal’ at this age. ( what does that mean really?!)

Fear that I know even less of what to do parenting wise than I did before.

I think my monsters and I have been wrestling with this in the background for a while. Hidden by the immediacy of other battles.

I’m not sure what to do with this.

I’m blessed, I know. It’s irrational I know, ( welcome to the tasty cocktail of mental illness, trauma and life stress ). But it is, for the moment my reality.

I now have a moment before she gets up to start her day, to pack it all away, for now. To get back to helping her with the little details of her birthday, let her excitement be infectious, her smile warm the chill of my fears.

She really is an amazing young lady, and I’m so lucky to be her mom. ❤️

Realizations of the soul

I closed my eyes to the sun. It’s early morning fire burning behind my lids. Do the Gods hear me?

I pray the heat ignites my determination. Keep moving forward, it’s the only place to go.

Pull the brambles from my cloak as I keep moving towards the light, away from this dark bog, fraught with prickles, poisonous thorns and things that bite from the shadows.

I call out, the echo answers.

Exhausted, my flesh longs to rest on the cool moss, allowing the bog to swallow me whole.

Slow through the mud, each step a 1000 pounds.

Will I find myself? Will I find the soul kin I believed were there? Was this all just a theatre for the trickster’s amusement?

When I was nameless, I could feel them, hear them.

I claimed my name, they faded violently from my grasp.

I open my eyes to the sun. Memories serve only to puncture.

The only message from the Gods is too keep moving, nameless once again.

Moon

I closed my eyes. Let Her silver glow wash over me.

The words I long to have heard, I speak to Her through still lips.

The coolness of the air prickling my skin, little reminders of how alive I really am.

My cheeks are wet, I am comforted by her soft embrace.

Blessed are the children of the Moon, for no Mother is more forgiving of our shortcomings than She.

DM.

Tired Thoughts

Vulnerability is to be strong. So I have read. We all have the desire to be loved, encouraged and accepted for who we are.

There was so much more I was going to write. And part way through, I realized it is pointless.

Wether I am kind or cutting. Giving or closed off. It will never be correct as people put their own meaning on the things others do. We will always be the bad guy or the weak jerk in someone’s story, no matter the intent.

It’s easy to let that removed judgement defeat us. Turn us cold, label people as toxic, cruel – hold on to anger, hurt.
To stop trying, loving, understanding, trusting, accepting, respecting, connecting……. we do not allow vulnerability, where true healing is found.
We turn this on ourselves, to reinforce kindness comes with payment, we are unworthy of love and acceptance, we are unworthy of working towards better.
And so the cycle goes.

Whether I am a good character or bad character in the story you tell yourself- I can not change this. But I am learning to accept I am a whole character trying hard to hang on in a world that makes it very hard to be vulnerable, content, kind and forgiving.

❤️

A Good Day Song

Why are we so afraid to be who we are?

It’s hard work to let the beat of your heart lead you. Easy and safer to blend in? Is it?

I don’t know?
It seems the older I get, the more me I’m becoming me.
Bold, open, red haired, red lipped, opinionated, loving, thirsty for knowledge, bubbling with creativity, sci-fi fantasy horror loving, music and dance adoring, striving for connections, impatient, giving, foul mouthed, no shit taking, I will beat back my monsters, warrior, wanting to lead my Village, loyal, celebrate those around me, tender, selfish, sensitive, sensual, silly, proud Witch.

However, sometimes some on the outside ( and some of the monsters on the inside) sing in a chorus:

Don’t come across too smart, then you are a snob.
Don’t be too kind, then you are a doormat.
Don’t dress to bright or noticeable, you are only doing it for the attention
Don’t vocalize your opinion, you’re just being annoying.
Don’t choose something just for you, you’re being selfish
Don’t admit where and why you see what you do, you’re just being too weird

Damnit!!
Use big words, educate yourself, know most knowledge does not come from books but from having the chutzpah to ask questions and being open.

Be kind, lend a hand, a heart, hold back judgment, risk the odd hurt, so you can experience connection.

Wear black, wear gold, red hair, grey hair, long, short, shaved, wear hot pink, short skirts, long pants, heels, flip flops, push up bra, bra less, red lips, clean face…. who cares as long as you are doing it for you and you feel damn good in it.

Have an opinion, vocalize, but back it up smartly, allow others theirs and know when to STF up.

If filling your cup means you are better able to serve those around you, then fill your cup. You are the only person that you have to wake up with everyday, it is not selfish to take care of your body, mind and soul.

Be weird, everybody has a glitch or two. Try to work on the negative ones, but celebrate the ones that make you, you. Celebrate the ones that make your tribe, your tribe.
Love more
Judge less
Be kind to self, they way you are kind to others.

How do I love thee?

What is Love? As a noun- (1)profoundly tender, passionate affection for someone. (2) A feeling of warm, deep affection, personal attachment, parent, child or friend (3) sexual passion (4) A term of endearment or affection

It is a powerful word, yet too often thrown away on the wrong things. Do you really love the sweater that you saw in the shop window? Thrown in with a few ‘air kisses’ love ya!!! Easy to overuse and dismiss. But when you really say it and mean it, who is it for? Why?How does it make you feel when it is said to you?

The first love I really remember experiencing was that for my Mom and my Nanna. How do I know this is my first recognized love? By the utter hole it left when they both died. I could not breathe, I deflated, I lost a beat or two of my own heart. Family love, the first ties that bind.

My first romantic love came when I was young, all of 14. This was big, tingly and overwhelming. We often tell our children that their first relationship is not ‘real’ love. But in looking back, I have a very different opinion. Is it the way I experience love with my husband? No, not exactly but in some ways it is. With both, the pulse quickens, there is an excitement (that would be the addition of sexual desire), a comfort and shelter that I feel. I think that romantic love is a fluctuating balance of sexual desire and deep, profound, tender, passion and affection. The difference between that first love and the love I have now, is it’s ability to weather storms, to ride out the fluctuations that come with how life rolls. I believe this comes with maturity to know that the feelings of sexual desire will fluctuate, and that should not be used as the only measure of romantic love. It is in the ability to have one another’s back, to forgive and at times hold accountable, it is the coffee ready first thing, and the encouragement to do and be better. I am blessed to have an incredible love, it has been strong, deep, and one we have maintained through storms and calm seas. It is one that I am home in, but still get all butterflies on date night. For that I am very lucky.

I knew pure love the moment I looked at my son, and later on, my daughter. It is like a blinding white light. The depth is overwhelming, The hold it has is soul deep. This happens periodically even to this day, my son is grown and my daughter is 10. There will be just a moment I take to observe, they won’t really be doing anything special, eating dinner, laughing over a joke or telling a story about their day, and the tremor of this love bursts it’s pure white light out, it’s blinding flash gone in a second, but it is always there under the surface.

Love of the friendship kind. This one is tricky. It is easier to express to some more than others. Each one has a depth and meaning all it’s own. I truly love the people of my inner circle. My best friend of 3/4 of my life is someone I love deeply. We have been through so much, fought hard, but when the chips are down, I know she will have my back, as I would hers. She is the keeper of the record of my growth as a human. She is the best and worst judge of me. She is a part of me. There are others in my inner circle, my tribe of women who are funny, inspiring, human, messy, bright, and ferocious. I love them so very much. I am moved by what they accomplish. I am moved by the ways in which they support each other and the ways they support me. Though the women far out number the men in my inner circle, those who are there, are there for very good reason. And yes, I have a warm attachment love for them as well. They are smart, they are strong, willing, kind, humour filled people, that represent such wonderful examples of husbands, brothers, fathers, friends, They inspire and teach me from a perspective that is largely unknown to me.

I have loved pets, to this day, I get teary over each one lost to the rainbow bridge. They each have a space in my heart for the connection we still share. There are two that stand out for the depth of love and loyalty they gave me, and the depth of love and loyalty I needed to give. My dog Princess, she saw me through one of the worst periods of my young life. My familiar, my black prince of a cat Lestat. He found his way to me, when I needed unconditional love the most. For 18 years that sassy cat appointed himself my guardian, as he did with my daughter until she was 2. I mourn him everyday.

To be on the receiving end of any of the loves, having been someones child, I know that soul pull now from both ends. My mothers love was warm, light, and for a time very safe. My Nanna’s love was the same in it’s brightness and warmth. When my children hug me, or tell the way I have moved or inspired them, well, there are no words to describe that pure moment of receiving your child’s connected love. To give love romantically, with abandon, is joy, but to receive. It can be so enveloping, safe. Add to that the spark and passion of ongoing sexual desire and chemistry and it is no wonder the butterflies still go crazy. The bonded love of a pet, there is no other, even when they sleep on your face, eat your sandwich or throw up on the carpet. The nuzzle, lick and perfectly timed snuggle is worth it every time.

But there is one love I have not touched. It is the love of self. This I believe is the hardest to achieve with out condition. This is one my anxiety has diminished in me, at times, taken it away. It is an easy one to preach, but a truly hard one to live. Large ego and narcissistic behaviour often gets referred to as ‘really loving ones self’. I disagree, I think large ego and narcissistic behaviour mask self loathing. True love of one’s self also includes acknowledging accountability, being willing to learn, playing the strengths while working with the weaknesses. Celebrating one’s victories and success, but not at the cost of another. This, well, this is where the love work really lies.

It is my practice to tell people how they affect me. When I love, adore, appreciate, am inspired by, or feel gratitude toward someone, well, I let them know. Sometimes it comes across like an unintentional freight train and it freaks some people out. That’s a thing for me to work on, but honestly, I react, describe things how I feel in that moment. And in that moment it probably is big. I will let them know why. I think this is important. Interestingly enough this generally only applies to good stuff. When it is not so good, it takes me a long, long time. This has some good benefits, and some serious drawbacks. Again, an ongoing case by case lesson. I like to know how I have affected someone. It helps me to learn, learn what I am good at, learn what I need to work on. And it really is a good building block for working on the self love area.

What is love?