Three Omens

During this second lockdown of the pandemic, I’m finding myself re-treading familiar waters. My mindful practice of seeking the beauty in life for what it is, so as to continue cultivating gratitude, requires a deeper sense of focus, a deeper commitment. I find myself wavering in a way, unlike last time. 

For example…

One afternoon on a solo walk I was showered with an array of amber leaves. It looked like a classic photograph coming to life under a paintbrush of golden pixie dust. Magical. The next day, I felt sad and just wanted to be an ostrich. It was hard to see Spirit’s artistry in life. Luckily….a little boy reminded me how life is still full of joy, still full of surprises.

Here are three similar experiences, that I believe are Omens gifted to me by children.

---

ACCEPTANCE

Location: Luang Prabang, Laos, Southeast Asia (2015)

At an evening outdoor market, Dan and I were walking through a narrow aisle, when a little girl was running straight at me. I thought we were going to crash into one another, but when she reached me, she looked up and wrapped her arms around my leg. I looked down at her beaming face. I saw no fear. Just sheer joy. I said “Hi there!” She had been playfully running away from her grandfather when our paths collided. As he spoke to her in Laotian, she held onto my leg. With the tone of his voice and gestures I could tell he was doing his best to goad her back. Each time, she responded by tightening her embrace and with every squeeze her smile got bigger and her large onyx eyes brighter. I came to realize she didn’t see me as a stranger. I was “just someone else”. She held on long enough that Dan joked, “Oh wow, do we keep her?” I laughed. Maybe because of my mixed ethnicity I did look like a local and maybe not. I just felt….loved.

Night Market in Luang Prabang, Laos

SPIRIT

Location: Krabi, Thailand, Southeast Asia (2015)

This is actually two omens in one. 

One afternoon, I floated out in the shallow ocean water and just…was. Between me and the shore was a line of long tailed boats. Behind me, was a great distance of water before the island of Phuket. I could feel the energy of everything around me. It was as though the water amplified everything. So, I closed my eyes, submerged my ears and channeled with Spirit. The message that came through was powerful, one I will never forget. (It really deserves its own blog post). After I was done channeling, I opened my eyes and saw an eagle directly above me. It made several circles before it flew out toward Phuket. Circles represent connection to spirit. The eagle’s orbit felt like a definitive button on the message received. Sort of like Spirit was asking me, “Got it, kid?” Yup!

Afterwards, still filled with the warmth of the message, I decided to sit down on the warm sand and meditate. I sat in the traditional seated posture (Padmasana) and opened my energy to the magic around me.

After some time, I sensed a presence and opened my eyes to see a little boy running circles around me. He was simply…running, as though he could sense a special energy and decided to add his. I closed my eyes so I could better sense his spirit and… he kept running. At some point I sensed a change in his action, so I opened my eyes and waited. With a large smile, he presented me with two deep green leaves. I opened up both of my hands to receive them and he gently laid the leaves in my palms. I smiled gratefully. I was so touched, but was unsure what was meant by them. I looked up at him as if to ask “What am I meant to do with them?” He began to flap his arms and in English said, “You fly,” then pointed up to the sky. He just knew. 

The two “feathers” gifted to me on the beach of Krabi, Thailand

HUMILITY

Location: Santa Barbara, CA USA (present)

Oreo had guided me to a quaint green gate on our afternoon walk. She sniffed its outline thoroughly, while I gazed around. I was standing there just long enough…..“Hi!” Out popped a little boy. He had a full head of brown curly hair and a large smile that said, “Gotcha!”

Such. Great. Timing!

I jumped, smiled and laughed. “Well done!”

“Bye-yeeeeee!” He then ran off into his house.

I laughed the rest of the way home. I was tickled by his timing, the sheer genius of it all and at myself. The had jolted my head out of my ass.

“…so learn to laugh at yourself. It’s really the easiest place to begin. It’s about humility. Laugh at yourself and don’t be so pompous and serious. If you start looking for the humor in life, you will find it. You will stop asking, Why me? and start recognizing that life happens to all of us. It makes everything easier, including your ability to accept others and accept all that life will bring.”

— Archbishop Desmond Tutu, “The Book of Joy”

Indeed, kid, and thank you.

The Shore

A month ago, I received that text.

“Friends, I have some sad news to share….”

I stared at my phone in disbelief.

My reply, “WTF?” 

The friend was from high school. We graduated in 1994, putting us now in our mid-forties; too young. 

Chills begin to surge in my body as the news settled in. It was like standing on shore and watching a tsunami coming. Then it hit. The tears fell and my legs weakened. I wanted to sink to the ground right where I stood but managed to walk to a set of steps and sit down. I let the tsunami crash. The guttural sobs came and quickly the cusp of hyperventilating. I saw myself and could see I was just about to hurl my emotional sense of self out of the plane….

From an inner knowingness, I began to draw in deep, slow breaths. A safety parachute opened. The continual slow, conscious way of breathing created a landing space for me to pause and go within. I was able to ask myself, “What do I need?” 

Sisterhood. All of us, friends since high school, had lost Kristy.

The next few hours were spent in sisterhood on Zoom, sharing our shock and sadness. We heart-fully held one another’s hand and walked through our initial sense of grief together. Eventually, the dismay and tears evolved into laughter as we shared memories of a precious time together, so many years ago.

That evening in bed, I could feel the weight of grief in my body. I knew it needed to be moved through and out. I placed myself on the ground, with only a yoga mat between me and the wood floor. There, I allowed my body the space it needed to just be and breathe. I recognized the outline of my body, the weight of sadness in my belly and ache in my heart. Just breathe, I told myself. Just breathe.

In my line of work, I am fortunate to have cultivated a tool box of compassionate skills to call upon when needed. The training, now ingrained through my sense of being, invited and enabled me to breathe deeply, rather than spiral into hyperventilating. The learning and practicing of such various skills didn’t happen during a time of trauma; they were integrated into my second nature when everything was ok. A few years ago, I read a lovely passage about how laying on firm ground can help one feel rooted within themself, so they have a space to steady their sense of being while grieving. I found beauty in the passage and its words found their way into my consciousness that evening.

Our dominate culture values intellect over intuition, rational over emotion. We rationalize away the importance of self care, reducing our ability to listen inwardly and be self attuned. I was born and raised in this dominant culture of belief systems so I was pretty good at ignoring my internal needs. At one point, I tucked and folded myself inward so well that when I simply couldn’t compact any further, I imploded.

The first time I experienced an anxiety attack was seven months after my mother died. After she died, I did my best to propel myself forward and plod on as if it keeping myself busy after the experience of her transition and absence would make me feel better. The cause (of the anxiety attack) was so insignificant, but it was the toothpick that broke the dam. At a home improvement store, Dan had asked which large flower pot I liked better and that did it. I felt the wave of “too much” crash upon me and I couldn’t breathe. My chest and upper back spasmed, while my stomach juggled boulders and mind whirled. Afterwards, exhausted and confused, it felt as though a rip current had been swept me under, thrashed me and tossed me on shore a bit fragmented.

The second time, there was a lot going on with my dad and I had been in a state of continual worry about him for over a year. Fortunately, I had been a yoga instructor for a few years by that point. Breathing techniques had become a natural resource due to my training and consistent teaching. The warning signs of the anxiety attack were clear. Dan and I had just entered the highway and my chest began to tighten and I felt trapped in the car. The tsunami was building.

In the passenger seat, as the car continued down the highway, I began practicing a conscious breathing technique called Dirga Svasm (Three Part Breath). One’s breath is the most resourceful method to steady one’s nervous system. The Three Part Breath is initiated in the abdomen, expands up through the chest and finally under the collarbones. The exhale slowly releases the collarbones, chest and abdomen. When done correctly, can feel like a soft wave moving through you and a sigh of relief. Each inhale and exhale is smooth, slow and signals to the body that everything is ok. By deepening and slowing down my breath I was able to rescind the wave of the anxiety attack.

That’s what I did when our friend died. Breathed. I also allowed myself to be sad, to embody my sense of grief. Rather than pretending the dark rain cloud wasn’t above me, I instead invited it in. I gave myself permission to check-out so I could check in-ward. I rescheduled a meeting and got my yoga class covered to further cultivate the space needed. I chose to be present with my grief.

“We can enjoy the treasures of the world while they are with us, knowing full well we will not bind to them, nor they to us. And as they depart, our arms open wide and let them fly. Steady in both circumstances, we remember who we really are….This concept has its greatest challenge when we are separated from our friends and loves ones, especially without our permission or when it seems permanent. Our heart feels a vast emptiness where it was once filled with love. At these times it takes great strength to restore and sustain our equilibrium. By securing a place within our hearts to hold their love and by continuing our devoted practice our balance is more easily reestablished.” Nischala Joy Devi, “The Secret Power of Yoga”

Throughout the process of my initial grief, I continued to show up for myself through my daily meditations, walks and practices. While this may be viewed as self discipline (intellectual) it really isn’t. It was and is about paying attention to what I need and how to support myself. These acts of self care, I consider rituals, were cultivated when everything was ok. We cannot ready our emergency kit during the earthquake but we can prepare ourselves with coping skills beforehand. The knowledge and know how can and will be absorbed by the brain and body to be stored as resources for the future.

Grief is a road that can be traveled, no matter how difficult it may be. Even if the tsunami does crash or the tornado sweeps you off your feet, your footing can be re-found by stopping to breathe and be in your awareness. When we cultivate a space and capacity to go inward we are able to to see and hear ourselves. When we are able to see and hear ourself we are able to witness our experiences. Baring witness to thyself can be healing.

During this challenging time of Covid, there are many people who have lost someone and maybe many. It is my hope and prayer that everyone takes the time to nurture themself. As individuals we are vast. Be it physical, emotional, mental or spiritual - be present to every part of you, for each element that composes the beautiful, unique tapestry of You is precious. 

Where I'm From

In November 2019, I took “Skill in Action” with Michelle C. Johnson. Skill in Action is a yoga teacher training designed for activists, allies, and agents of change. It was powerful and profound. There was so much to process that my body didn’t know its left from its right when it was time to go home. I opened my car door and proceeded to enter with my left foot first. The rest of my body sort of tumbled in and eventually landed in a heap in the driver’s seat.

In many ways, I feel like that today; like I’m learning to walk again. As my psyche awakens from the pandemic slumber of safety, I am learning to navigate through a world that is a heated and intense political kaleidoscope, with many lenses. I feel called to re-examine my inner dialogue of what it means to be a non-white woman and from a home of conflicting cultures. How do I want to show up on the world? I am now working my way through Michelle’s book “Skill In Action”. Each chapter follows with an exercise. Here I share practice #1, based on George Ella Lyon’s poem “Where I’m From.”

---

Where I’m From

I am from dolls and home made avena.

I am from mud, grass and a sea of unlimited possibilities around the the playhouse.

I am from a Yulan Magnolia tree where I birthed dreams and read, cradled in its hearty trunk.

I am from three languages and a kitchen table that was the center of the world, from Conception and Manuel.

I am from stubbornness and humor, from Shhh! and you’re too loud.

I am from a strong faith and the ability to choose my own religious path.

I am from Southern California’s sunshine and Connie’s spiritual curiosity, from Carmen’s belief in the power of prayer and love served in delicious meals.

I am from the dust on the dance floor, photographs now stamped in the cloud, and trust in the ability to heal and be re-birthed anew. 

I am from the fight of being a non-white woman, from a voice shouting in and to the world and from love blossoming of the Self. 

One Orange at a Time

What do you think of when you see, hold, smell and taste an orange? 

When I see, hold, smell and taste a succulent orange I recognize beauty, sunshine, citrus, and nourishment. There is a deep sense of appreciation for how it was made by the Earth, how it came into my hands, its taste and healthy benefits. 

On a beautiful October morning, my dear friend Mayra, Dan (my husband) and I clipped oranges from our prosperous tree in the back yard. The citrus was to be donated to Santa Ynez Valley People Helping People, a non-profit in which Mayra serves as the Chief Program Officer. I was in wonderful company and knew the benefit of our labor was two-fold: the oranges would be given to families in need within our community and harvesting the oranges would support the tree’s continual health. Yay!

One by one, as I clipped each orange from its umbilical stem, its gentle weight would rest momentarily in my hand, the aroma would fill my nostrils, and the peel’s dimpled texture would be obvious to my eyes. As each orange went from my hand to the growing bundles in the crates, my experience became visceral. Orange by orange, I connected to my mother and her side of the family - when they worked in the fruit fields. 

My mother’s side of the family is Mexican-American. The full break-down is: Spanish, Mexican and Native American. (I’ll only share my mother’s side as it relates to this blog). My mother was born in New Mexico and was the youngest of seven. At some point, the family moved to Orange Cove, a city in Fresno County, California. With its Mediterranean climate, it served as an ideal location to grow citrus and still does. Per the census in 2019, Hispanics or Latinos still comprise a large part of the population at 92.7%, many of them farmers.

My mother’s family did not own a farm but they did work in the fields. My mother hated it. Stories told to my sister and I of working in the fields usually involved intense heat and mental and physical exhaustion. The money earned didn’t go the family, instead, it went to their father who spent it on what ever he wanted to. Some stories were filled with suspicion that it went to flatter my grandfather’s various girlfriends.

As far as I know, my grand parents never had their children exempted from school to solely work in the fields. As a result, all their children were literate and bilingual in Spanish and English. Mom was the first in her family to graduate from college and she later earned her master degree, after she was married with two children of her own. My mother used her education to make sure she never had to resort back to that way of life - of working in the fields. My mom had the drive and courage to push forward despite. She was a female, hispanic who worked predominantly in a white man’s world of education. My mother taught physical education for twenty plus years and later moved into administration as an education counselor. She loved what she did and would not have been able to do so without her degrees.

The idea of college, in my experience, felt forced upon my sister and I. Being that both of my parents were college educated, it was assumed that my sister and I would follow suit. College seemed to come more naturally to my sister than it did for me. If it was not for the various theater and dance programs I participated in while in college, I would have been adrift. I attended and completed college just to win my mother’s approval, to meet some invisible standard she had set for me. When I graduated I was so relieved to be done. I thought “Now, I can go on with the rest of my life.” 

My mother’s mission was for my sister and I to have a different life. Though my mother pushed to provide my sister and I with a better life than what she was raised with, she envied us for it. I felt held in contempt for something she had consciously chosen to do. My mother hated her life growing up and that hate pushed her through school. I hated college and that hate pushed me through life until I assumed authority over my own happiness.

Fast forward to today. Today, in our diverse and intense political climate in which women and people of color are still fighting for equal rights, I know and understand that me being a nonwhite female who holds a college degree is significant. That document, which is stored in my file cabinet, elevates me enough to be privileged in various ways. My degree bares weight with people who use it as a means of evaluation. Culture automatically assumes me with higher abilities, interests and conversations. It makes me relatable to a larger group of people and certain ways of life more accessible than to those without a degree.

On that day, one orange at a time, as the cobwebs and ants dusted my skin, the awareness within grew. Gratitude resonated - vibrated - deep within me…because I am privileged. 

Privileged to be able to enjoy the process of picking fruit; privileged because I don’t have to do it to earn a living; privileged because my parents valued a college education; privileged because my college education sets me apart in many ways I still do not yet recognize. As I gazed upon our collection of oranges, I was keenly aware of the depth of difference between my mother and I and was able to hold it with understanding, clarity and compassion for both her and I.

---

Santa Ynez Valley People Helping People was able to feed 650 people with the oranges from our tree and other produce the organization purchased.

People Helping People is the primary provider of human and social services in mid Santa Barbara County. The population of the Santa Ynez Valley has grown exponentially over recent years to over 30,000 residents. The area is also notable for its income disparities with more than 20% of the overall population living at or near Federal poverty levels. As of 2018, Santa Barbara County has one of the highest poverty rates in California and Hispanics make up more than 54% of its population. 

To learn more about this amazing community serving organization, please visit: www.syvphp.org

What I've Learned From Our Dog

We rescued our dog Oreo from the Santa Barbara Humane Society five years ago. My husband convinced me to foster a dog as part of a Decompression Program (for dogs who had been in the system for a few years that needed to be reintroduced to living in a home). I initially balked at the idea because we had only been in Santa Barbara a few months after traveling for a year. As far as I was concerned, we were a flight risk. Per the formal agreement with the Santa Barbara Humane Society, we were to foster Oreo for only ninety days. Yet it was me, whom within two days of fostering, decided we had to keep her. We were meant to. I knew it in every part of my being - that deep knowingness - that this is what was to be. While it seemed illogical for us at the time, it was a wise choice. We’re proud to be foster failures. Oreo is the first reason Santa Barbara became home. She turned my husband and I from a couple into a family and has been a grounding presence every day.

Oreo is a bodacious beauty. People assume by the size of her muscle-mass-form that she must be a male. Oreo was in the shelter for two years due to her size, color and breed; large, mostly black and being a pit bull mix. Yes, sadly, people can and generally do transpose their prejudices upon animals too. Oreo seems to overcome what life tosses at her. She has won over many people with her genuine generous smile and an excitement that makes you feel like she’s been waiting to meet you…forever.

Here’s what I’ve learned from her:

1. Strength is both feminine and masculine.

2. Make a bee line for someone with a humongous smile and it will make them feel loved.

3. Play with all your might and you will forge deep friendships.

4. A generous smile is a wonderful hello.

5. Play hard and sleep well.

6. Sometimes, simple actions say a million words that words cannot say.

7. Staying mad is a choice.

8. Enjoy every meal.

9. Daily treats are important.

10. Having friends is vital.

11. Affection is a healthy action.

12. Nap often.

13. Another’s grouchiness can be shrugged off.

14. When others cross your boundaries it is important to speak up and stand up for yourself.

15. Extend a paw and open one’s heart.

16. Cocooning on cold, cloudy days is a necessity.

17. Gazing off into the distance and simply listening to the world around you is an essential part of every day.

18. So is soaking up some sunshine everyday.

19. It’s important to let someone know you missed them.

20. Don’t impress upon someone your idea of them; you’ll constantly be disappointed.

In my interactions with Oreo, I spend a great deal of time observing her and intuitively listening to her. I provide this offering for people and their pets in what I call Pet Communication. While I am grateful to be gifted and able to share this with people and their furry (or feathery) loved ones, everyone has the potential to practice this intuitive communication. It’s sort of like speaking another language, but rather than using another part of your brain, you use your heart. In order to connect with animals, we have to move beyond our individual ego and simply. be. present. We need to listen with our hearts. 

Body Shaming to Body Loving

Body shaming.

I’ve been good at it since I was eleven years old.

It was handed down through generations from a seed planted long ago. 

I used to believe beauty was a level of perfection and my physical body was far from it. From the time I started exercising, every repetition made, every step taken, every advancement was towards achieving an idea of perfection. That meant, every effort reinforced how flawed I believed I was. 

When I learned my uterine fibroids would prevent me from birthing, I felt shame because my body was “broken”. I went into survival mode and sought out many holistic practices in an effort to heal my uterus. Just like exercising, each treatment was me attacking the belief that my body had failed.

When I realized this was the underlying approach to healing myself, I knew healing wasn’t possible. So, I decided to stop. I instead chose to believe I was whole and beautiful, just as I was. This became my new “work out regime”.

I stopped running, working out, acupuncture, herbs, even being a vegan and just started practicing on liking myself. It felt so weird! My ego flipped out a little - how could I lessen my intention to fix myself?!

I started small. For instance, when I looked in the mirror to see if my outfit seemed presentable - I’d look at the clothing and not my flaws. Enjoyed the chocolate candy and did not count the calories. Went for a soothing walk with the dog and opted to not worry about the cellulite I should be burning off.

I began to enjoy myself, nature and life again. I could take a long walk on the beach and appreciate the beautiful view and the simple sensation of my feet sinking into the sand. Food tasted good again and I had a renewed vigor to create healthy, balanced and delicious meals. I simply let go of the criticism and embraced self compassion. 

There is a story about a woman who went to a silent Buddhist retreat. She was used to going for a daily run and asked one of the monks if it was ok that she ran daily whilst on the retreat. The monk replied, “Why? What are you running from?” He suggested she reflect within and ponder as to what the intention was, what exactly drove her to run. She stopped running and did not restart until it was something she did for the sheer joy of it, months after she returned home.

This story struck home for me. I realized how much I had been degrading myself with every form of exercise I did. I had been reinforcing my negative self image for 30+ years. So, I stopped. Stopped running, stopped lifting weights, stopped measuring my waist line. 

Feeling insecure and unsafe in my own body and now knowing how the opposite feels - so precious, loving and nurturing - is why I highly value creating a safe space in my classes and workshops. If I can help you tap into self-love, even for a second, then that love has a chance to flourish. When we can stop the wheel, be still and present to thyself - we can connect within and remember that we are radiant energy and not just physical matter. We are connected to a greater source that connects us all - beings, plants, Earth. This connection is reconnecting to our true essence.

I close with these questions, dear reader: when was the last time you looked in the mirror just to smile at yourself? When as the last time you rested your hands over your heart and just breathed?

If you can’t remember, then stop - right now - and go do it.

---

If you’d like to share what the experience was like, please feel free to post a comment.

It's Ok to Cry

Really.

Crying has been demeaned by many as a sign of weakness and inferiority. However, it is powerful. It is a powerful release that unfortunately many feel uncomfortable doing or don’t know what to do with. 

Crying during a yoga class is natural and therapeutic. During the course of a physical practice, tension can be released from the body. As a result, emotions that have been locked away are freed and the release can be so overwhelming that one simply needs to cry.

I understand many people are conditioned to suppress their tears, especially in a room full of people. The conditioned response is to worry what others will think of you and how you might make them feel uncomfortable. People tend to place their emotional needs last. Allowing yourself to cry is a choice. You can opt to place your feelings first and let go. We don’t need permission - we hold the authority of ourselves. 

I have had many practices where emotions have surfaced and the tears flowed. It felt so freeing and empowering. From a standing forward fold where the tears fell upon my feet to being in child’s pose and my tears drenched my mat, each experience was awe-inspiring. In those moments, I felt my tears, my emotions and was so aware. 

One’s yoga practice is sacred. Not realized by many but showing up to practice is a ritual. You make your choice to go to class, show up, go in, roll out your mat and step or sit upon it. The moment you step or sit upon your mat is you stepping into a space of awareness and allowance. Yoga - no matter the style of practice - can encourage and guide people into being present in their body. That connection is self-loving and nurturing. Healing. 

The space I create in my yoga classes and workshops are intended to feel safe. It is important to me that the people I work with know and understand that it is ok to laugh and cry. In setting up for my Soul Rejuvenation workshops, I always set out a few tissue boxes and make a point to let everyone know it is ok to have an emotional release. During a traditional yoga class, I will subtly place a box of tissues near someone if I notice their tears. 

Being able to be is one of the greatest things we can do for ourselves. 

What is Sexy?

I was eleven years old when I first shaved my legs. They had to be smooth for beach day. When I ran into the ocean, the salt water burned my freshly exfoliated legs like a wild fire. I took it like a champ and just figured it was “one of those things that made you a woman”. I didn’t question WHY I believed it necessary to endure the discomfort. Going to the beach became something of a chore and less of a joy as it became more about appearance and less about fun.

As I grew into my teens and 20’s I did not question what was needed to be sexy. I just did it. From uncomfortable bras, torturous bikini waxes, to sitting in a hair stylist’s chair for what felt like forever to get perfect highlights…..what was supposed to be beautifying, now in hind sight, seemed like a hazing process into woman-hood.

I invested a lot of effort trying to excel UP to expectations of what I thought a man would find attractive. I had society consistently telling me how important that was. Endless advertisements supplied their infinite commentary.

This induced belief system required a process of discomfort, a lot of time, and some pain to be deemed worthy of looking sexy. But, did I feel sexy? I honestly don’t think so. I had been so invested into looking sexy that I barely checked in to see if I felt sexy.

Ready to feel sexy and take charge of my sensuality, I took a pole dancing class in my early 30’s. Bold and brave, I showed up to that 6-week class with a, “Here I am world, hear me roar” attitude. Here’s what I learned. 

1. It took a GREAT deal of upper body strength to look graceful and not to bash your face or boobs into that pole. Kudos to all the pole dancers in the world who make this look easy.  

2. One could get really dizzy practicing. I made myself so nauseous one time I almost threw up spinning around that damn pole. Not sexy.

3. The S-curve that a woman’s body can create is what is sexy. It doesn’t mean you need have an hourglass figure or dress a certain way. It’s about connecting to your sensual serpentine energy. That was empowering.

My 40 year old self today says, “Bullshit.”

No more bikini waxes, uncomfortable bras or coloring and straightening my hair. No more mimicking society’s definition as my own standards of what it means to be sexy. No more sacrificing comfort for cuteness. No. More. Bullshit. 

“It’s fine if you want to shave your legs, just think about why you’re doing it. Think critically about where it’s coming from and why you’re engaging with those ideas.”

— Artists Norah Sadava and Amy Nostbakken, “Mouthpiece”

I now question everything. Ladies, we need to question everything ever programmed within us. If it doesn’t make you feel good; toss it. Disregard the daily bombardment of ads that tell you how you need to look. Per the marketing firm Yankelvich, Inc., the average person was exposed to about 5,000 ads per day in 2018.

Explore what makes you feel good. Find what makes you feel like the beautiful woman you already are. Have an opinion. Use your voice. Look more analytically at your beliefs about yourself.

As you learn and understand your unique sensuality, please practice forgiveness. For yourself and to the women who came before you. Generations pass down belief systems. It is important to understand why and to forgive those women. We can learn from them and we are meant to. It does not serve us to be angry or blame them. After all, we have been wrapped in the same web together. We each need to recognize and celebrate our individual strengths and gifts and to support one another.

The act of appreciating my body is in allowing myself to stop, listen and sense what resonates with me. While I may not be a roaring lioness on the strip pole, I am a bad ass goddess. I understand the beauty of my body; as it is and not for what it “should” be. The practice of yoga helped me developed an inner connection to my body and spirit. I now appreciate my body’s magnificent capabilities and embrace what attributes make me ME, both inside and out. Perhaps for you, it is a luxurious bath, or leisurely walk in nature - what ever helps you get in touch with your inner self - do it, honor it.

Recently after a shower with my hair wet like a mop, wearing raggedy jean shorts and a t-shirt, my husband said to me, “Wow, you’re hot.” 

Me: (I looked down at my outfit and laughed) Like this? 

Hubby: Yeah. You’re comfortable and that’s hot.”

Best.

Compliment.

Ever. 

---

“Mouthpiece” is an acclaimed theater piece about the female experience.

For more information, please visit:

http://www.quoteunquotecollective.com/mouthpiece/

Writing To Heal

“One moment we’ll be feeling good, moving on in some productive activity - or some not-so productive activity (one doesn’t have to be productive!) - and something will happen to bring back the the grief as though it were all fresh.”

— "Healing After Loss", Martha Whitmore Hickman

On Friday, August 17, 2018 my dear friend Matthew Hoyne died after a well fought battle with cancer. We knew the day would come when we learned of his diagnosis. Even so, the sadness, grief and missing him was no less.

With Matthew’s passing, I consciously decided to give myself the space needed to experience and process my grief. Though familiar with loved ones transitioning, giving myself this needed space was a first. I didn’t properly grieve when friend Kelly and my mother passed away. Instead, I went back on auto pilot; returned to work, planned my wedding, and relocated to Old Town Pasadena. Nine months later I found myself with an anxiety attack at Home Depot. The trigger: my husband asked which large flower pot I wanted for our balcony. That was it. 

Wiser this time, I allowed myself to be with my emotions as much and often as they were willing to arise. I took advantage of the bereavement support made available by Serenity House and decided to participate in a Writing to Heal Group. The group met once a week, for five weeks. In each gathering, we wrote about our grief for ten to fifteen minutes, the rule being that your pen had to keep moving across the page. Worry not about punctuation, grammar; just expression. We then each shared our writing. Listeners could comment on what was shared, not judge the writer. 

This particular group happened to be all women. These women were not afraid to say how much they hated hurting, or were angry for missing, or were simply grateful for loving. It was comforting to hear their words, while being able to share my thoughts and feelings in a open-setting. Writing, sharing and relating through our grief was a profound privilege. It was empowering to be a part of such an amazing group of ladies, who bared their strength by being vulnerable, honest and REAL.

Following is my writing from our last week together: 

When I stopped and listened, my body told me what it was holding. That gave the gate-keeper of my emotions to tell me their story. And there it was, almost like a surprise; my boxed up feelings. I could feel the crease of concern between my brows. My brain was trying to understand what was coming out of the box - as if in doing so - it might be able to keep the waves from rolling out. But, out they came. Anger, sadness, grief, an intense frustration of not being able to articulate the feelings, guilt for the feelings, and hurt. My heart though, felt like the patient mother; waiting, observing and able to embrace every part of me that was present, with absolute love. My body wanted to get up and run out of the room proclaiming “Nope! I don’t want to feel this!” but my heart allowed for everything simply to BE, to flow, to process. I simply trusted the wisdom of my heart, the Love. I surrendered. 

It was ok to feel what I felt because emotions can guide us. I had to wonder how much I had been burying. Was I coping? Ignoring? I was not sure and decided to not judge myself, but nurse myself. I decided to just be there, in the moment, as I was. I started there.

A few days later, during my morning pranayama practice, as I watched my breath, I could feel that little pocket of wanting to cry. And it was ok to feel that way.

In a society where talking about one’s grief can make people uncomfortable and the subject of death is still largely viewed as taboo, Writing to Heal was deeply healing. Creative expression without judgement, who would have thought that baring one’s heart and soul with fierce honesty would prove to be just what I needed? There where many moments when I cried along with the writer as she read her words. Other moments, I wanted to give a high five for their authenticity. I may never see these women again, but they have made an imprint upon my heart that will forever be. 

Though I miss my dear friend, Matthew, I am so grateful for the never ending love that always IS. I feel as though he continues to gift me his friendship through the love and support of amazing women all around me. Thank you, Matthew.

A heartfelt thank you, to every incredible woman,

that touches my heart and blesses me with their friendship. 

---

If you are seeking support through your bereavement, please take a moment to contact your local Hospice Care. There are many free resources available. Below are two websites you can refer to:

www.grief.com 

http://www.mygriefangels.org/grief-support-directory-.html

Remember, you’re worth it.