Thistles are considered 'pernicious' weeds and the only way to get rid of them is to dig deep, pull the entire root and fill the hole created with something else.
There's a thistle in my heart...it's pernicious, painful and needs to be pulled from the root. I've let thistles grow in the garden of my heart for much too long and avoided the dirty work of getting on my knees, putting my hands in the dirt and pulling it out by the root. The garden of my heart is beautiful...I love passionately, I give generously, I'm forgiving, funny, kind, intelligent and curious in astounding ways. Yet, in this glorious garden of my heart there are thistles strewn throughout. They poke me, catch me unawares and it's time to get rid of them.
I'm down on my knees, ready to dig in the dirt and pull them from my garden. As I understand it, thistles, just like heartache, will reoccur over and over until you get to the very root of them and remove them completely, replacing them with 'competing ground cover'. In this case, competing ground cover might look something like art, a good book, walks on the beach, amazing sex, good food, laughter, sleeping in a tent, cooking fish I caught, yoga...a myriad of things to fill in the holes being created by my digging.
Yes, it's a dirty job. There are thistles that poke, dirt gets moved around, my shoulders are sore from the tension, my eyes are tired from the tears, but the garden of my Soul is worth the work.
Maybe, at the end of all this, I'll invite someone special into my garden to plant some seeds!
Wednesday, July 27, 2016
Sunday, July 24, 2016
Anniversary Reflections
Thirty three years ago today I got married. At ages 18 and 21, we were naive, uninformed and ill prepared to deal with buying a home, paying bills and handling the emotions that type of commitment took. I, particularly, was ill prepared.
We are no longer married and not even friends. Friendship with him would be so fun. He's intelligent, talented, hard working, super funny and the father of four of my children. He'd be somebody I'd pick for a friend now. I would love to call him and chat about our crazy kids, our super cute grand kids, the stupid shit we've done over 33 years of knowing one another...but we're not friends...we're ex somethings...ex spouses...ex parenting partners...ex friends...ex lovers. We share four kids and memories of fishing and four-wheeling and fun and work and remodels and learning to be grown ups. We share hurt and growth and somewhere deep down in the depths of our souls, when we look at our kids who look so much like 'us', we share love. For me, it's impossible to love so deeply the humans we created who look like such a reflection of him and not feel love for him as well. Something in me believes I know him well enough to know he feels the same.
Thirty three years ago today I changed my name and lost my Self. My life became about being what others expected of me. I've done things I didn't really want to do, didn't do things I did want to do, in order to be pleasing or right to someone outside of me. I've done some interesting things, had astounding accomplishments whilst raising five kids, have failed miserably at relationships, kept trying when the odds were against me and struggled to get back the name, the voice, the path I veered off of 33 years ago.
Today, I take back my name. The name the original man in my life gave me. The man who from the day I was born until now has been consistent, constant and never changing. My father remains the most steadfast, predictable, habitual and committed man I've ever known. I am emotional, outrageous, out spoken, curious, and loud like my mother. Yet it is my father's influence that constantly shows me the path to take, the way to live a solid life and the character to be who you are all the time, no matter what. My father is unwavering in his commitment to be him and live his beliefs.
The day I got married, my dad held my hand, said 'Shorty, you don't have to do this' and I wish I had been courageous enough to say no...to find my voice...to say 'I'm scared Daddy and I don't think this is right'...but I didn't. At that moment, my voice, my Self, was lost and has struggled to re surface for years. That voice, that Self, appears randomly and then gets silenced by rejection, fear, need for acceptance, self doubt and recrimination.
As I take back my - his - name, I pray that the character he's shown me becomes more prevalent. I vow to myself - on this day of remembering vows - to be Me. To recognize the sound of my own voice. To say no when I mean no. Say yes when I mean yes. To make some amazing art like I did when I was a kid. To listen to the sound of my soul rather than the voices in my head put there by others who want to judge without knowledge. To run on the beach. Have fires. Light candles. Read books. Have amazing sex. Eat good food. Laugh with my kids and grand kids. To be passionately, habitually, committed to Me.
We are no longer married and not even friends. Friendship with him would be so fun. He's intelligent, talented, hard working, super funny and the father of four of my children. He'd be somebody I'd pick for a friend now. I would love to call him and chat about our crazy kids, our super cute grand kids, the stupid shit we've done over 33 years of knowing one another...but we're not friends...we're ex somethings...ex spouses...ex parenting partners...ex friends...ex lovers. We share four kids and memories of fishing and four-wheeling and fun and work and remodels and learning to be grown ups. We share hurt and growth and somewhere deep down in the depths of our souls, when we look at our kids who look so much like 'us', we share love. For me, it's impossible to love so deeply the humans we created who look like such a reflection of him and not feel love for him as well. Something in me believes I know him well enough to know he feels the same.
Thirty three years ago today I changed my name and lost my Self. My life became about being what others expected of me. I've done things I didn't really want to do, didn't do things I did want to do, in order to be pleasing or right to someone outside of me. I've done some interesting things, had astounding accomplishments whilst raising five kids, have failed miserably at relationships, kept trying when the odds were against me and struggled to get back the name, the voice, the path I veered off of 33 years ago.
Today, I take back my name. The name the original man in my life gave me. The man who from the day I was born until now has been consistent, constant and never changing. My father remains the most steadfast, predictable, habitual and committed man I've ever known. I am emotional, outrageous, out spoken, curious, and loud like my mother. Yet it is my father's influence that constantly shows me the path to take, the way to live a solid life and the character to be who you are all the time, no matter what. My father is unwavering in his commitment to be him and live his beliefs.
The day I got married, my dad held my hand, said 'Shorty, you don't have to do this' and I wish I had been courageous enough to say no...to find my voice...to say 'I'm scared Daddy and I don't think this is right'...but I didn't. At that moment, my voice, my Self, was lost and has struggled to re surface for years. That voice, that Self, appears randomly and then gets silenced by rejection, fear, need for acceptance, self doubt and recrimination.
As I take back my - his - name, I pray that the character he's shown me becomes more prevalent. I vow to myself - on this day of remembering vows - to be Me. To recognize the sound of my own voice. To say no when I mean no. Say yes when I mean yes. To make some amazing art like I did when I was a kid. To listen to the sound of my soul rather than the voices in my head put there by others who want to judge without knowledge. To run on the beach. Have fires. Light candles. Read books. Have amazing sex. Eat good food. Laugh with my kids and grand kids. To be passionately, habitually, committed to Me.
Monday, June 13, 2016
Scars Of The Heart
"Scars show us where we have been, they do not dictate where we're going." - David Rossi
They say scar tissue is harder to pierce than unscarred places. Scar tissue replaces 'normal' skin after a wound. Physicians say that every wound results in some degree of scarring and thus scarring is part of the normal healing process. Yet the new material formed by the scar is 'usually of inferior quality'. If a wound takes more than two to four weeks to heal, a permanent scar will be formed.
So what about the unseen wounds? The wounds on my heart and my psyche? What about the wounds that leave me fearful of strong emotions and create chaos in my life and those around me? What about that scar tissue? Is it of 'inferior quality' leaving me incapable of allowing something good to happen to my heart?
If I could love the wrong person that much, shouldn't I be able to love the right person so much more?
Today I was told to not the let the wounds of the past ruin today or undermine what may come in the future. The truth is, I don't know how. I don't know how to not look for the fake, the game being played...rather than seek the truth I look for the lie. Rather than trust the feelings, I look for the hurt. Maybe if I'm prepared for the hurt, the shock of it will be reduced and the impact less. They say scar tissue is stronger than 'normal' tissue. My heart disagrees...my heart is not strong enough to endure another break. Henry David Thoreau says the only remedy for love is to love more...scary prospect...to love even more than I have loved before.
My response was: I'm trying. I'm really trying.
"A final comfort that is small, but not cold: The heart is the only broken instrument that works."
-- T.E. Kalem
They say scar tissue is harder to pierce than unscarred places. Scar tissue replaces 'normal' skin after a wound. Physicians say that every wound results in some degree of scarring and thus scarring is part of the normal healing process. Yet the new material formed by the scar is 'usually of inferior quality'. If a wound takes more than two to four weeks to heal, a permanent scar will be formed.
So what about the unseen wounds? The wounds on my heart and my psyche? What about the wounds that leave me fearful of strong emotions and create chaos in my life and those around me? What about that scar tissue? Is it of 'inferior quality' leaving me incapable of allowing something good to happen to my heart?
If I could love the wrong person that much, shouldn't I be able to love the right person so much more?
Today I was told to not the let the wounds of the past ruin today or undermine what may come in the future. The truth is, I don't know how. I don't know how to not look for the fake, the game being played...rather than seek the truth I look for the lie. Rather than trust the feelings, I look for the hurt. Maybe if I'm prepared for the hurt, the shock of it will be reduced and the impact less. They say scar tissue is stronger than 'normal' tissue. My heart disagrees...my heart is not strong enough to endure another break. Henry David Thoreau says the only remedy for love is to love more...scary prospect...to love even more than I have loved before.
My response was: I'm trying. I'm really trying.
"A final comfort that is small, but not cold: The heart is the only broken instrument that works."
-- T.E. Kalem
Thursday, May 19, 2016
The Road I'm On
Someone said to me the other day, when I asked him what he was looking for:
I don't even know anymore. I guess I'm just gonna follow the road and see where it leads.
Depending on the intention, the road you're on makes all the difference in the world.
If you have a specific destination in mind, with a time frame, the road you take to get there can be the one thing that causes success or failure. You drive to your end point without much observation of what's around you. The focus is the destination and what's going to be experienced when you get there. You have a predetermined plan and getting there isn't part of the adventure.
If the intention is to enjoy the journey, the road is not such a pivotal player in success or failure. Whatever road you're on, you find things to enjoy: the view, the curves, the smells, the tastes, the lessons along the way. You slow down, you look more intentionally at what you're going through; you let yourself escape into the experience of what's happening, you find joy in the surprises, you enjoy the touch of new found places, you look at familiar but different views, you recognize some parts of yourself you'd forgotten existed. The journey is the adventure.
I love road trips when I may not necessarily know where I'm going to end up. There have been times when I've found exactly what's perfect for me at the end of those road trips. There are other times where I'm so focused on the destination and getting where I'm going, that I forget to enjoy the process of getting there.
I'm choosing to stay on the road I'm on. I'm choosing to have a destination in mind and still stay on this road with all of its curves and lessons and views. I'm choosing to know where I want to go and still let the road unfold before me. I have no idea where this road will lead or if I'll find what's right for me at the end of it. But the journey is amazing, the views spectacular, the smells enticing and the unknown keeps drawing me further down the road.
Wherever the road ends, I'm enjoying the journey. Learning to balance having a destination in mind while not forgetting that the route of getting there is as powerful as arriving.
I don't even know anymore. I guess I'm just gonna follow the road and see where it leads.
Depending on the intention, the road you're on makes all the difference in the world.
If you have a specific destination in mind, with a time frame, the road you take to get there can be the one thing that causes success or failure. You drive to your end point without much observation of what's around you. The focus is the destination and what's going to be experienced when you get there. You have a predetermined plan and getting there isn't part of the adventure.
If the intention is to enjoy the journey, the road is not such a pivotal player in success or failure. Whatever road you're on, you find things to enjoy: the view, the curves, the smells, the tastes, the lessons along the way. You slow down, you look more intentionally at what you're going through; you let yourself escape into the experience of what's happening, you find joy in the surprises, you enjoy the touch of new found places, you look at familiar but different views, you recognize some parts of yourself you'd forgotten existed. The journey is the adventure.
I love road trips when I may not necessarily know where I'm going to end up. There have been times when I've found exactly what's perfect for me at the end of those road trips. There are other times where I'm so focused on the destination and getting where I'm going, that I forget to enjoy the process of getting there.
I'm choosing to stay on the road I'm on. I'm choosing to have a destination in mind and still stay on this road with all of its curves and lessons and views. I'm choosing to know where I want to go and still let the road unfold before me. I have no idea where this road will lead or if I'll find what's right for me at the end of it. But the journey is amazing, the views spectacular, the smells enticing and the unknown keeps drawing me further down the road.
Wherever the road ends, I'm enjoying the journey. Learning to balance having a destination in mind while not forgetting that the route of getting there is as powerful as arriving.
Monday, May 16, 2016
Without My Sister
Learning to do things without my sister is difficult. She was my person...I was her person. When I couldn't figure things out, when I was scared, alone, wanting to go to my unhealthy habit places for comfort, she was the one I called. She was the one who understood, very deeply, my need for escape. She understood why I chose the things I chose as escapes. I understood why she also needed to escape.
My daughter told me this morning learn how to channel my sister so I could keep my head in the game and not run away from the hard stuff. I'm trying. My sister said a lot to me. She also held me accountable. I knew that if we agreed on a boundary, she'd hold me to it. I can hear her voice in my head, I can imagine what she'd say to me on days like today where I can't stop crying. But the accountability piece is missing. Since she's been gone I've been looking for her replacement. Someone who knew all my secrets, who I could tell new secrets to and they would keep them. She was my secret keeper - old ones and new ones. She went to her grave holding my secrets...I live my life holding hers.
My very first boyfriend called me a few weeks ago. It felt like life again...it felt like someone who knew stuff about me that no one else knew was here again. I was so thankful, so grateful, so excited to have someone I'd been so intimate with at such a young age to be here and present. I was trying to revive my relationship with my sister. I was re-imagining what it was like to have someone that close, that intimate, someone with such longevity present in my life again.
But that doesn't exist. There is no one like that in my life. Eventually, I will accept the fact that there never will be again. I cannot re-imagine or re-create the relationship I had with my sister. There is no one who will ever hold my secrets again...except me. I'm my own secret keeper. That kind of love can't be replicated. There will never again be anyone who knows so much about me and loves me wholly for who I am. That thought is so scary, so daunting...so excruciatingly painful that I am paralyzed with the grief of it today.
It's been nearly a year and a half since my sister died. The entire year following her death was a year of repeated bad decisions. A bad relationship decision. A bad move decision. A bad car purchase decision...A year of loss and grief. Exactly a year after she died I left all the bad decisions behind and am making new decisions...although I still drive that bad car decision.
I have never felt so alone. I've never felt grief to this depth. I've never experienced the loss of someone I love this much. I don't know how long it takes to adjust. I don't know how to live with out a secret keeper.
I miss my sister today.
My daughter told me this morning learn how to channel my sister so I could keep my head in the game and not run away from the hard stuff. I'm trying. My sister said a lot to me. She also held me accountable. I knew that if we agreed on a boundary, she'd hold me to it. I can hear her voice in my head, I can imagine what she'd say to me on days like today where I can't stop crying. But the accountability piece is missing. Since she's been gone I've been looking for her replacement. Someone who knew all my secrets, who I could tell new secrets to and they would keep them. She was my secret keeper - old ones and new ones. She went to her grave holding my secrets...I live my life holding hers.
My very first boyfriend called me a few weeks ago. It felt like life again...it felt like someone who knew stuff about me that no one else knew was here again. I was so thankful, so grateful, so excited to have someone I'd been so intimate with at such a young age to be here and present. I was trying to revive my relationship with my sister. I was re-imagining what it was like to have someone that close, that intimate, someone with such longevity present in my life again.
But that doesn't exist. There is no one like that in my life. Eventually, I will accept the fact that there never will be again. I cannot re-imagine or re-create the relationship I had with my sister. There is no one who will ever hold my secrets again...except me. I'm my own secret keeper. That kind of love can't be replicated. There will never again be anyone who knows so much about me and loves me wholly for who I am. That thought is so scary, so daunting...so excruciatingly painful that I am paralyzed with the grief of it today.
It's been nearly a year and a half since my sister died. The entire year following her death was a year of repeated bad decisions. A bad relationship decision. A bad move decision. A bad car purchase decision...A year of loss and grief. Exactly a year after she died I left all the bad decisions behind and am making new decisions...although I still drive that bad car decision.
I have never felt so alone. I've never felt grief to this depth. I've never experienced the loss of someone I love this much. I don't know how long it takes to adjust. I don't know how to live with out a secret keeper.
I miss my sister today.
Friday, March 4, 2016
Guided Towards the Door
My life is a story and just when I think the main characters have all been chosen, the story line changes. Tomorrow, a chapter closes. Last year, from start to finish, was an entire year of bad decisions. It started with a memorial for my sister and ended with me being completely upended. A year of loss, avoidance, denial, rejection and heart ache. A new year begun with the realization that every thing I need, I already have.
Passionate, forgiving, loyal, constant love and belonging. A safe place to live. Someone (several someones) to hold me when I cry, to celebrate my successes, to call me on my shit, to let me love them back just as fully. My family...my kids...their mates...this kind of love is so rare and such a gift. I'm blessed to have it many times over.
The last couple months of 2015 were spent in tears. The beginning couple months of 2016 were spent questioning everything about myself. After a year long experience of rejection and loss, those questions needed to be asked and answered. The answers are all right here. Like Dorothy, I have everything I need.
Last night, a man put his hand in the small of my back to direct me towards a door. That simple gesture sent chills up my spine. It's the little things, the simple gestures of kindness that remind us of our humanity, of our need for human touch and connection. The simple act of guiding someone towards a door.
Tomorrow, a chapter's ending gets written. I'm being guided toward a door that leads to the unknown and just like always, I'm insatiably curious. What comes next? Who am I gonna meet? What am I gonna know a year from now that I don't know now? What am I gonna learn?
I'm incredibly thankful for the friends I made this past year, the child who changed my life, the hand in the small of my back to remind me to connect with mine and others humanity and head towards the open door.
Passionate, forgiving, loyal, constant love and belonging. A safe place to live. Someone (several someones) to hold me when I cry, to celebrate my successes, to call me on my shit, to let me love them back just as fully. My family...my kids...their mates...this kind of love is so rare and such a gift. I'm blessed to have it many times over.
The last couple months of 2015 were spent in tears. The beginning couple months of 2016 were spent questioning everything about myself. After a year long experience of rejection and loss, those questions needed to be asked and answered. The answers are all right here. Like Dorothy, I have everything I need.
Last night, a man put his hand in the small of my back to direct me towards a door. That simple gesture sent chills up my spine. It's the little things, the simple gestures of kindness that remind us of our humanity, of our need for human touch and connection. The simple act of guiding someone towards a door.
Tomorrow, a chapter's ending gets written. I'm being guided toward a door that leads to the unknown and just like always, I'm insatiably curious. What comes next? Who am I gonna meet? What am I gonna know a year from now that I don't know now? What am I gonna learn?
I'm incredibly thankful for the friends I made this past year, the child who changed my life, the hand in the small of my back to remind me to connect with mine and others humanity and head towards the open door.
Monday, January 11, 2016
Trust...Vulnerability...Disaster
“I'm not upset that you lied to me, I'm upset that from now on I can't believe you.”
― Friedrich Nietzsche
It's true. And what's worse, is that now I know you're untrustworthy and there are people who I love immensely who trust you. More than anything, that's what bothers me the most. I took a risk...I believed you...in fact, I defended you...Loudly..."I believe him" I said. "I trust that he's telling me the truth", I said.
Now I know it wasn't the truth...If it was just you and me, I'd be perfectly okay...I would cry as I am right now this very minute; asking myself how I allowed myself to be this vulnerable...I'd get angry...and we'd move on as if this fiasco never happened.
But it's not just us...People who I love trust you and love you. Ernest Hemingway says the best way to find out if you can trust someone is to trust them...I trusted.
― Friedrich Nietzsche
It's true. And what's worse, is that now I know you're untrustworthy and there are people who I love immensely who trust you. More than anything, that's what bothers me the most. I took a risk...I believed you...in fact, I defended you...Loudly..."I believe him" I said. "I trust that he's telling me the truth", I said.
Now I know it wasn't the truth...If it was just you and me, I'd be perfectly okay...I would cry as I am right now this very minute; asking myself how I allowed myself to be this vulnerable...I'd get angry...and we'd move on as if this fiasco never happened.
But it's not just us...People who I love trust you and love you. Ernest Hemingway says the best way to find out if you can trust someone is to trust them...I trusted.
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