100 Questions Day 4: What is my personal blind spot; what have I been unwilling to look at?

My personal blind spot for many years has been my unwillingness to accept my actual role in my dysfunctional relationships and my tendency to lay all blame on the other person in those relationships. In coming to understand that my previous relationship was emotionally abusive I felt immediately justified and validated in so many ways. For the first time I realized that I wasn't crazy. Someone I wanted desperately to trust had systematically broken down my worth and ability to trust myself, my feelings, my intuition, and my ability to reason and think logically. He created situations that forced me to question everything about myself until I was sure that I was unworthy of love or basic respect. He used my moments of vulnerability and honesty as ammunition and weapons against me later to prove his superiority. Sex and intimacy were used as tools for power and control. I was the keeper of his secrets and shame. I was in a very real way victimized by someone I loved. To be honest, it felt so good to have a trained professional look me in the eye and tell me that what I experienced for so many years was abusive behavior. It was so important in my ability to begin my process of healing and moving forward.

Accepting my role as a victim of abuse was just the beginning. What was especially difficult to face was that I actively handed over my power in many ways to A. That my own lack of skills and emotional health helped feed into the cycle of co-dependency. What is always difficult to accept is my behavior that I am responsible for without taking on responsibility for things I do not own. The truth is that he was emotionally abusive, but in some ways it felt easier for me. I didn't have to be responsible for my own dreams, wants or needs. There was a very real part of me that was happy to latch onto what he demanded because it felt less risky. It felt safe at first because it would be his failure ultimately. I didn't have to admit that I was miserable and unfulfilled. I didn't have to take responsibility for digging into who I am and truly understand what I needed and wanted from life. Instead, I poured myself into him. I handed over everything to him because it felt easier.

In fairness, there are many things that contributed to  me giving away my power. There are always reason we do the things we do, no matter how small or big the transgression. In fact, I have a really good understanding of the "why." I am not interested in that at this point. I am interested in reconciling where I come from and the choices I make right now. I am interested in taking responsibility for my role in my life in an honest way. Not as a martyr taking on the weight of everyone else's behavior or a victim at the mercy of the universe with no power. In order to build a life that is authentic and healthy I need to understand my role in dysfunction. It was really hard to swallow at first, but I am grateful for the awareness. It feels good to let someone else "take the lead" for me; I like placing the pressure on someone else when I am honest. I needed to face this character flaw in order to see where it can lead me if left unchecked.

100 Questions Day 3: Are There Any Skills/Talents You May Not Be Utilizing?

This semester is finally over! Now I can actually relax and take some time to reflect before the new year.


I have a tendency to minimize myself in every way possible. I want to take up less space literally and figuratively. A tendency to temper my intelligence, humor, opinions, beliefs, expectations... for fear of making others feel challenged or less-than. I shrug off recognition and praise and pass them to the person standing next to me. There is a cyclical fear churning inside me of not being enough and being too much, and it has led to a disconnection and systematic denial of my own skills and talents.

This past year has been a journey of rediscovering myself; sometimes intentionally, but more frequently through painful lessons and acts of surrender. The process has uncovered a few things I think, as uncomfortable as it feels to say, may be some of my skills/talents like singing, writing, drawing: I am not the best by any means in any of these things, but I am good at them, and they bring me joy. Recently though, I rediscovered a part of myself that feels huge. As if I had a key to my core or soul or whatever we want to call it, and I suddenly remembered that this place could be unlocked.

As far back as I can remember I have had the tendency to be acutely aware of and feel the suffering of others and in the world me. I was a child who truly felt everything. I hated for my siblings to be punished or disciplined (even with good reason) because I wanted to protect them from all pain and discomfort. Characters in books and stories became three-dimensional and I would cry for them in their struggles. Watching embarrassing comedies has always been difficult because I feel the embarrassment, but also the shame.

Then, the past ten years of my life were spent being told that my emotions were not to be trusted or valued. That I was irrational and my empathy was a source of weakness. I learned to suppress my emotions and feelings and shrank into myself. I put on a mask of apathy and cold logic until I became totally disconnected from the girl who cried over putting salt on a slug at 18-years-old.

While having a conversation with was my dad I suddenly felt overcome with sadness for the state of the world. I found myself choking back tears for the Syrian refugees. For the anger and rage and violence filling so many people. For how disconnected we are in a time where we have access to the whole world. It took everything inside of me to not burst into tears. All I could think to do was how sad and isolated we have become, and how desensitized to human pain and suffering our culture is today.  I felt stupid at first with a million tapes running through my head: "You're being ridiculous. Stop being so emotional. Pull yourself together. You're just being dramatic.."

The truth is, it felt like coming home. Like I finally opened the door to a part of myself that I had kept locked away and hidden. And that I protected this part of myself from all of the darkness and grime that I was swimming through because I understood the importance of empathy and connection. I understood on a visceral level that this was an essential part of who I am as a person and my purpose in this world, and it needed to be preserved. And it came crashing back and I feel like I found myself. That I have been wandering in the dark and realized I had the flashlight in my backpack the whole time.

100 Questions Day 2: What Do I Need To Say That Others Have Left Unspoken?

This question was a little confusing, but I interpreted it as giving a voice to the things other's should have or couldn't say to me in life. There was a lot of pain in this question, but I also realized how much progress I have made. I don't need to hear these things from any specific person other than myself. I can create my own closure.

Day 2: What do I need to say that others have left unspoken?

It isn't your fault. I tore you down because I don't know how to love myself. You were and are always enough. I took as much as you were willing to give. I lied. And lied. And lied. You were right not to trust me . I didn't value you. I didn't understand how to love you. I am sorry. I never allowed real intimacy. I let you down. I saw you as an opportunity and obstacle most of the time. I blew up our life and always thought I had the power to keep you coming back. You deserve better.

I saw you as an escape from my discomfort. I violated your body, spirit, mind, trust, and you as whole. I am responsible. I am opportunistic and callous. I used you. I am a predator. You didn't ask for it. You are not responsible for my behavior. 

I was insecure and wasn't ready, but the time we had was good.

I did my best and I love you.

100 Questions Day 1: Where Is My Heart Guiding Me?

100 Questions That Will Transform Your Life

I am going to answer one question every day for the next 100 days. I have been feeling spiritually disconnected and trying to keep myself busy in an attempt to not feel “unproductive.” Really, I have been terrified of the next two months bringing up feelings that I have no interest in feeling.

So here goes Day 1:

Where is my Heart guiding me?

My mind keeps pulling me in a million different directions: “You need a ‘real’ job.” “Go to school full-time.” “What will people think if you get a job at a coffee shop?” “What have you done with your life?” “If I don’t move closer to J, this will fall apart.”

But when I let myself get quiet for just a second, I start getting a pretty clear vision of what my heart wants:

I love my apartment. I love the area I live in. I love learning and digging into school. I love my coffee shops and local food and bookstores. I want to get involved in my community. I want to develop real relationships. I want some roots. For the first time in my life, I really feel like I am tired of running.  I have worked hard, even if it feels like I’m starting from scratch now. I gave my marriage every portion of myself until there was nothing left to give. I worked and went to school and did whatever I needed to do to support myself.  

It is ok for me to have a season of rest. To slow down. To fill myself with good, and joy, and happiness, and all of the things that provide nectar for my soul.

I want to get a job that doesn’t suck my life force away, but allows me to buy nourishing foods, go see movies, and start horseback riding and going to yoga classes. I want to actually learn while going to school. I want to spend meaningful time with J and nourish our relationship, while still nourishing myself. I want to spend time with my niece and nephews and family in meaningful ways. I want be involved in my church because it fills me up and I want to give back the overflow. I want take walks, go hiking, and fall asleep at the beach. I want to start saving money for my future family.

My heart and God have been patiently whispering these things to me in my stillness. As my eyes get heavy at night and I can’t distract myself anymore. I am terrified of taking care of myself and allowing myself to be happy, But my mom said something to me today that really made me stop: “A beat you down for 10 years, are you going to take his place?”

Hell. No.

Did you lose your song?

Where did you lose your song little bird?
I never hear you anymore.
The sun rises quiet and alone.

Was it in writhing flesh
lost in strange bodies,
cold touch and whiskey breath?

Where did you lose your long little bird?
I thought I heard you this morning,
but it was the wind chilling my bones.

Was it in cutting words
reflected in the mirror,
violent hunger and sweat?

Don’t you know?
The mountains have nothing to echo,
they are just carbon and voiceless stories.

Don’t you know?
The moon has stopped chasing the sun.
There is no melody to bring the morning.

Butterflies Again

I’m feeling butterflies again
I was sure that winter had frozen them all –
stopped every last wing from fluttering.

Maybe his eyes thawed them.
“What! What could you possibly see here?”
But I couldn’t make him look away.

Or maybe it was the way he didn’t touch me, at least not at first.
He leaned in (inhale) and pulled back (exhale) with my breath –
And reached for my scars instead of my display.

He shared space with me.
On mountaintops and the edges of black seas.
Tangled on couches and rental car back seats.

And maybe I wasn’t ready.
And maybe I was broken.
But the butterflies have awoken –
there is a wildfire burning in my veins
consuming my past and turning her to ash.

Holding Hands in Holland

Hands that lead me,

   spin me and heal me;

       I feel lost and found and swept away.

Eyes that hold their gaze,

   tearing through the shame,

      seeing the softness I thought was lost.

Lips that graze my skin,

   raw and vulnerable,

      Breaking through my rusted armor.

I feel myself splitting open at your touch;

Torn between what was lost.

Trapped in this disguise.

I am desperate to escape you

   before you feel my brokenness. 

But then you pull me close:

"You don't need to run away anymore."

I am home.

I can love.

I can be loved.

Falling

I am in love with him. Desperately at times. Madly. Completely, I can feel my body melt and give at every touch. His breath on my skin sets me on fire.

And the way he looks at me… It’s as if not a single person in this world has ever actually seen me before. Like I have only seen shadows and distorted fun-house reflections mirrored off of other’s eyes. But his eyes are the truth.

And they swallow me up. And I forget my name. I forget the stories of who I used to be and who I thought I had to be after everything got smashed to pieces. 

All I see now is the raw, wild, writhing thing. This eternal being pressing up against the edges of her skin. A girl who dove into darkness. A girl who fought her way to the surface. Who is harder now, but finding her softness in his hands.

He has taken my broken, ugly pieces and examined each one. Turning them in his hands until, slowly, the edges lost their sharpness. He has patched my cracks with gold. 

Is this what love feels like?

I want to inhale you.
Feel your breath travel through me,
hot and wet in my mouth
burning my throat like whiskey.
Filling me up; all passion and desperation

I want to settle in your bones.
Wrap you around me like an old blanket,
soft and warm; your skin feels like home.
Your arms and legs tangled around me
so I forget where my own body still aches.

I want to fall inside your eyes;
they are wells of honey and fire that swallow me up.
Penetrating my deepest wounds.
Staring straight into the ugly dark spaces
I still have light. I still have softness.

Armor and Alchemy and Yellow

It's so hard to feel softness now. This armor is real, and hard, and so heavy sometimes. I can recognize and see the unhealthy beliefs. That romantic love is a myth. That I can reclaim power and control in my life by giving up what is intimate, and delicate, and raw in crude and sloppy ways. Much better to throw it out before someone tries to take it first. That I can disconnect from what is light and begging to feel inside of me. That the only way to feel alive is to degrade what is sacred and innocent inside of me before someone else can again. That none of the pain counts or touches me if I somehow make it all my fault.

If I throw myself at what is ugly and dirty and dark -- rub the mud on my face -- the world will know how dirty and broken I am.

But there is also hope. This tiny ember deep in my stomach that I am going to be ok. This won't last forever. I am a fucking alchemist and will turn this tarnished armor into gold. That I am not alone. That everyone is broken and ugly sometimes, but there is something clear and wanting inside of us. Begging to be released. Something the mud can never touch.

Yellow:
Never has it felt so harsh,
Distorting the night --
False.

Yellow:
Cigarette stained teeth,
Fading bruises --
Marked.

Yellow:
Hot shame burning my skin,
Sharp and rough --
Pain.

Yellow:
Where is my canary now?
Where is your song?
Betrayed.

Let's Sketch!

I forgot how therapeutic it can be to just sketch. I used to draw incessantly. Art class was my favorite in middle school and high school until I moved to a smaller school and couldn't take any more classes since they only had two available. At some point I convinced myself that I wasn't good enough to make art. Like I wasn't worthy of creating something just for the sake of creating and expressing beauty in my world.

In an attempt to get back to my roots and just release all of my pent up energy the last couple of months, I started sketching again. I don't care if they are better or worse than anyone else's art; the process has made me happy, and relaxed, and peaceful. So I wanted to share some because why the hell not?  
                                             

Endings, New Beginnings, and Fat Horses

The first part of this year has flown by in a sometimes terrible, but also wonderful way. I have grown so much. I have be stripped of everything I thought I knew, my plans, old support, new friends, old friends, and many old beliefs and ideas. By the beginning of March I was feeling completely lost and alone. I had know idea who I was, what I wanted, or how to move forward from where I was standing.

The only thing I could do was try and pick up one foot at a time. Even when I tripped, fell, or slid backwards; I made the decision over and over to get back up and take one step at a time. So with skinned knees and elbows, bruises and scars, I feel like I'm standing on a new summit. I am getting ready to head to Europe to work for 3 months. I am letting go of old, and somewhat new, relationships. I am practicing acceptance. I am trying to lean into the things and spaces that scare me. Relaxing and releasing rather than resisting.

In the past two months I also started drawing and writing again. Looking back at the beginning of this blog an original goal was to rediscover my creative outlets again. I am writing and creating for myself. Without expectation, and it feels amazing.

So, in an effort to do things that terrify me, here is something I wrote recently:

I won't be sorry.
You touched me and caught my body on fire.
With every breath, and sigh, and moan
I opened. Uncovering my shame and letting
light shine into the fissures in my skin.

I won't be sorry.
You pulled me through my fear into the dark,
wild and raw. Your lips poison and
honey. Dripping with what might have
been, but never will again.

I won't be sorry.
You took me to the edge of my small world,
never peeling your eyes away from mine.
Your words pulsing through my tired veins, alive.
Hungry, and wanting, and alone.

I won't be sorry.
You woke me from my slumber, then
quietly slithered away. Leaving me
breathless and panting. Your fruit full
of nectar: sour, and sweet, and true.

And a fat horse for fun:

Finding Healing in Hardwood Floors

A little over a month ago I went through something that was life-altering. I have been terrified to share my experience, while simultaneously feeling like I have to tell everyone I contact in an attempt to explain my state of mind and behavior. Like I have VICTIM tattooed on my forehead. Like every can see that I am a complete, hot fucking mess. 

 Someone I felt I could trust, that was my friend, took advantage of me. There is no way for me to explain the feelings that have come with this event. There is a very real sense of loss. That something has been taken from me that I will never get back. It is tangible, like a physical piece of my being has been stolen. 

My days have leveled out more often than not, but the days and weeks following were the worst kind of roller-coasters. Some days I will be perfectly fine, and then I just am not. It's like the world is caving in on me and I am completely alone. All I can do is wait for the storm to pass, and hope that the people around me can be patient in my struggles. 

Shame and loneliness seem to color my world most of the time. I am ashamed for so many reasons. That I put myself in a vulnerable position. That I can't remember. That I am still struggling. That it is muddled and difficult to define and explain. That I can't just slap a label on it that others will accept and understand. That I can't just move forward. That I am afraid of so much now. That the anxiety and fear can come crashing down on me with no warning and all I can do is hope it passes faster than last time. 

My mom came to stay with me for the week after this happened. She was wonderful and knew how important it was for me to be engaged in something physical in order to process what happened and how I felt. So we started tearing apart my house.

The place I am staying at was built by family in the early 1900's. Only family has lived here, but as my great-cousins became older the house was neglected and difficult to maintain. At some point they installed carpet throughout the entire house except the laundry room and bathroom. The house felt small, dark, and depressing really.

So my mom and I went to Walmart, bought some tools we had no real idea how to use and went home with a half-baked plan. We took down all of the cabinets, removed the hardware, and scrubbed everything down. Then, we started ripping up the carpet in the kitchen. Underneath the carpet was industrial style tile, so we started tearing that up as well. What we uncovered was this gorgeous old-style plywood. 

Over the next week my mom painted the cabinets and hardware and I spent days scraping adhesive off of the wood. Everything was trial and error. Almost everything was more difficult than necessary, but it was an amazing process. I can't explain how satisfying it was to strip away years of neglect and abuse to uncover something that has become truly beautiful to me. There was literally years of dirt and grime built up on almost everything in the kitchen. It didn't matter though. After about a week and a half, I had this bright, beautiful kitchen, new skills, and a confidence that I can do new things by myself. That mistakes can be wonderful learning experiences and even end up better than your best laid plans. 

After finishing my kitchen, I immediately moved into the living room. Yesterday I finished staining the floors, I put together a table set, and I bought myself fresh flowers.

I'm not going to say that I am ok. I don't know that I will ever just be ok. This experience has changed me in very real ways. How I view the world and the people around me. But I get to choose how I respond. I get to choose whether I let someone else's callous and disrespectful actions define me for the rest of my life. 

I am choosing compassion. I am choosing to give myself the time I need, even when I feel like it is taking too long. I am choosing to lovingly peel away the neglect and abuse I've experienced in my life and trust that there is something beautiful and whole underneath. 

On Loneliness

The past two months have flipped every belief I had about myself, life, and other people upside down. Although I am facing multiple challenges right now, loneliness has been especially difficult. The problem is that I'm not talking about a surface level loneliness. This can't be fixed with friends, or family, or dates.

When I break everything down, this loneliness is in knowing that I abandoned myself. The past ten years of my life have been consumed with trying to become what I thought other's wanted. I have clung to other people's passions, dreams, and beliefs because I was too afraid to own anything as mine. It was easier to follow my ex into whatever project he was obsessed with that week. It was easier to subscribe to his religion. It was easier to focus on my failing marriage rather than face the fact that I had no idea who I was or what I wanted out of life. It was easier to find purpose in trying to control what I had no control over than accept responsibility for myself.

Now, I am alone and I have no idea who I am. I am alone when I am with or without others. I try to distract myself with new people, projects, books, exercise... but eventually I get quiet and can't avoid that I feel hollow. That nothing except time is going to fix this. That all I can do is keep waking up, even when it feels like a waste.

An Exercise in Trusting Myself

My life has been a crazy, wonderful mess lately. I am in the process of a divorce that has been heartbreaking, liberating, and strangely sweet and loving. After being accepted to my favorite University I made the decision to drop my classes the semester in exchange for the opportunity to go on a three month trip to Europe this summer. In the meantime I have become an apprentice at a new (legal) craft distillery. If someone had asked me six months ago what my life would look like right now, none of these things would have even been a blip on my radar.

Everything is different, and unknown, and beautiful. I am scared sometimes and very sad at others. Nothing has gone as planned, but who is to say my plan was even a good one? My plans were made in unhealthy places. My plans were made out of fear and a desperate need to control my world. Who says I need a plan at all. I have no idea where my life is going to lead, but maybe that's the point... Maybe the point is to get out of your own way. I don't want to block any experience, encounter, relationship, or opportunity because I am distracted by my own small, worried ideas.

My theme for 2015 is Trust Myself. This is a completely new and foreign idea for me, but I am determined to live this year trusting my Higher Self. Trusting that still, small voice inside that whispers my own, authentic truth. Trying to model my life after what I think other's want, expect, or demand of me has been a shit-show so far; it's time to try something different. It's time to trust that I have everything I need inside myself. No person, place, job, thing, or experience can fill me up. I am not broken.

I am scared, but willing.