Tag: growth

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?

Tell Me About Trust

I am the child of mentally ill people and addicts.. alcohol, drugs, and twisted behaviour, all colour branches on my family tree. Do I carry anger toward them? Yes, but not because of who they were, not because of what I feel was done to me, but anger that there are some scars and wiring I can not outrun. There are behaviours and thought patterns that I can fall into so easily if I am not on guard. While those around me are aware, and aware of some of the triggers, other than just being humanly mindful I expect no one to walk eggshells or manage this but me. I have an anxiety disorder that in the past has immobilized me, can make me paranoid, distrustful, emotional, rash, very angry and dark. I rarely trust my initial reactions to emotional based situations. So I breath and wait it out. – If I am in a decent headspace this serves me well. However if I am in an already anxious state and I let myself overthink too long, then the risk of past negative behaviours rises. I react big, dramatic and suck the oxygen out of the room. It is over the top, overwhelming to both myself and the recipient. Or I don’t react, I let it slide, I don’t state how I really feel, I ‘maturely’ move on. This second reaction leads to more paranoia, I second guess my assessment of people, their feelings and their intentions toward me. I then slide into a mode of distrust and I get so sad, the monsters tell me I am being used, I am made fun of and disrespected behind my back, my mental health issues get used as a scapegoat for judgment. This is what makes me angry, that even this far into adulthood, every relationship I have is shaded by what I witnessed growing up.

My father was a quiet man when sober, gentle, loving, encouraging, smart, funny and artistic. When drunk? Loud, brash, cutting, mean and often would try to tell others in the room about how nuts my mother could be, and that I was cut from the same and would never amount to much more than a whore (he told my first real boyfriend that, we were 14, ). If it were only the child- me bearing witness then I was privy to the conversations of the horror he was raised in. Listened to tales told by the monsters in his head. How the bloodline needed to end with me….. If we were weathering his deeper seated mental issues along with a run ‘off the wagon’, then out came the guns. From this I learned to be quiet, observe, look for warning signs, how to tap dance and soften the world around as to not bring the danger to me. I learned very early not to trust that things are as they appear.

My mother was a strong, funny, opinionated woman, she had my Nanna’s Irish wit and a temper to match. I do not really know if she drank to cope or to keep up with my father, so her world could be more tolerable. She did her best to shelter and protect me, until she couldn’t. The truth about my mother’s cancer was never fully told to me until I was older, even then, my older sisters and I have never had an open discussion about it. Back then, some information came as an after thought, filtered by accident to me, most of the four years she was sick I was only told she had a sore back. I know looking back, all of them were trying to protect me. Amongst other things, including the loss of my Nanna, one of the biggest things this has left me with, is a fear of loss for the good in my life and the need to have a strong circle of women around me. Some of the other things this has left me with is deep anxiety about betrayal and being thought of as unstable, (other than the crazy of my known anxiety monsters which I will mostly own).

Recently, some commentary about my communication abilities, read that, as my dramatic flare for imagery, description and feeling, have been misinterpreted and twisted around, used to justify another’s action. This happens, I put a lot out there (umm, blog?!FB?! IG?! General conversation) and I need to be prepared that this is a risk. When this came to light, I did what I do. I breathed, I waited, I weighed, I did the mature, be the bigger person thing. Be subtle, and move on. Only, it has kept a low hum in the back of my head, it’s taking up space. It’s trying to creep out more. For the most part, I detest this paranoid wiring, but there have been times where it has proven to be correct. I think this is in part why I have not been able to make any consistent changes to this behaviour. So now what? Well, I think I’ll wait a bit longer before deciding what to do, I’ll meditate, write, breathe. Measure what I know to be real against what I am now unsure of. Try to keep this state of uncomfortable from blowing any more into a full fledged state of anxiety.

I am well aware that being publicly up front that I have some form of mental illness will leave me open to others thoughts and opinions. These things really only hold sway in my head coming from people who know me, that I trust. I know I risk that ire now. Who knows how many of you that know me, will read into this and wonder if it’s you. If you have to wonder, than it isn’t. Trust that.