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.