There was this piece of me—a young, vulnerable, desperate piece of me—who begged for someone to finally just tell me who the hell I was supposed to be, or do, or what my life was supposed to be about. Every time life intensified, waves of hysteria would swell from deep within me, the fear that I’d get it wrong… that I couldn’t trust myself to know what was true for me. I felt terrified that, without external guidance, my life would be wasted.
But then I started to explore what one of my early teachers called “the spirituality of the self”. I studied the way I reacted to the world around me, the way I allowed certain relationships, circumstances, and experiences to affect me. I learned I was powerful, far more powerful than I’d ever imagined, and that I could change reality by changing the way I was showing up in the world. In time, I released what no longer served me and made space for my truth to become my life. The artist, the lover, the priestess, the mother, the healer, the dancer, the writer . . . one discovery at a time, I hosted a reunion of the pieces of my soul.
This transformation was possible because of the supports I cultivated for myself along the way. My blog is an extension of my journals. I use it to share the lessons I’ve learned, powerful resources, and inspiring stories of my clients’ transformations. Dig in and find the information and inspiration you need today and keep coming back when you need another dose! If you can’t find what you’re looking for, email me your question and I’ll see what I can find for you.
Once a year this country celebrates motherhood with an over-commercialized parade of bullshittery. Lots of the women in my world are triggered by Mother’s Day (read: all the holidays). It’s a perfect storm of unrealistic expectations, being stretched too thin, grieving the loss of those who mothered us well, and the great resurrection of old mom-related heartbreaks. For many, Mother’s Day cultivates a great deal more pain than joy.
If all you can summon Sunday is to hate Mother’s Day, then hate it. Suffer through it. Wallow in the pain that rises. Sometimes that’s what we need to choose for ourselves. And I say, just do it! Hate Mother’s Day. Hate it for whoever it was or is that’s making your heart ache like the six year-old inside you. Hate it for the one who rejected you, the one who abandoned you, the one who hurt you, and the one who betrayed you. Hate it with your whole heart.
But if you’re done feeling that way, take back Mother’s Day.
Stop allowing things you have no control over to wreck you.
Beat a drum. Read poetry. Touch the earth. Get some peace and quiet. Dance your ass off.
Do anything you can to release this pain by cultivating love for yourself, giving love to others, and finding something new to honor.
If nothing else, just consider the possibility that there is a powerful rebellion in refusing to treat yourself like the women before you treated you. You simply cannot bear to keep perpetuating this same old tired violence against yourself.
Choose love. Choose you.
A woman currently enrolled in my triggers workshop left the following comment and the response from TVIMH rocked my world:
Christy, when you ask about our childhood and what was done that filled those fuel tanks in the first place.. it kinda triggers me, because I’m raising kids, and I’m totally afraid that I’m screwing them up. Like… my gosh, what am I doing to teach them their triggers? Argh.
The message from The Voices In My Head was strong but deeply freeing:
I don’t know anyone who grew up with zero baggage. Maybe it’s that they don’t exist or maybe it’s that there’s just no reason for them to make their way into my garden. Either way, it’s clear that any time, energy, emotion, money, etc. that you invest strategizing or worrying about how to get your children to adulthood unscathed is a sacred resource entirely wasted!
Your kids deserve to be empowered by their own life journey in all of the ways that you have by doing your work and tending to what you carried into adulthood.
Does that mean you don’t need to do your work? That your aren’t responsible for shattering the cycles so the heartbreak of previous generations won’t vibrate into your children and grandchildren’s lives? Nope, that’s not what I’m saying.
Do you work. Heal your wounds. And teach your children–through your breathtakingly beautiful living example, sharing the tools, and cultivating the support they need from outside your family as needed–to heal their heartbreaks, too.
This is your home. Clean it up. What your kids inherit will certainly need to be cleaned up again. Blessedly, all of your hard work is not lost. You do your part and you’ll gift them a radically different experience than the one you inherited… and the tools to do what they need to do with what remains.