Tag: sharing

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Tiny Dancer

This quote from my friend and author KJ Ramsey kicked me square in my elastic waistband, comfy pants.

“unless peace begins within my very breath + bones, it might just be performance.”

Gah. I feel attacked. Well, not really attacked, but uncovered. Revealed. The phrase has bubbled around in my guts for a couple of days.

Why?

Why is it dwelling and gurgling in my soul?

Truth be told y’all, it’s conviction. Conviction is easily defined as declaration/pronouncement of guilt, sentence, judgment. {And if you’ve been hanging around here long enough, y’all know that I come from a long line of guilt riddled/flinging women.}

But why did this particular quote convict me so?

Because. It. Is. ME!!

I’m in a pretty strange season of deconstructing, uncovering and discovering Self. It seems somewhat silly, at 53, that I wouldn’t really know Self; but I am learning and unlearning more every day. The little revelation nugget shared by KJ really cut me to the marrow.

Has my life been a performance?

Have I learned how to behave based on the cues from “directors” in my life?

Have I acted in a way just to please an “audience”?

The short answer to the above questions is yes. But y’all know I can’t just give a short answer.

As the daughter of big time people, in a small, small town; there is an element of constant performance.

Don’t behave in a way that disgraces the name.

Be a good girl.

Smile and always be gracious.

I was that girl for a little while… My mom would tell a particular story of my childhood, over and over. I don’t recall my age but it was my very first dance recital. I had practiced and practiced and felt confident in my steps. When the little dance number was finished, every other child ran off stage. (Allegedly), I remained steadfast and blew kisses to the roaring applause of the crowd.

The birth of the performer.

I used to think she retold the story because she thought it adorable. As I grew older, I realized it was mostly an accusation, a spotlight on my flair for being dramatic or need to be the center of attention.

Ironically, I truly dislike being the center of attention. My exterior is somewhat a misnomer. It would appear that I like to be seen, but truth be told, it’s armor. (And a scoop of rebellion.) People are quick to make assumptions about you based on outward appearances. For some, the exterior is porcupine-esque. If you look dangerous, people will not approach. It’s safety. It’s protection.

For years, I was the shape-shifter. If I was more like “this”, So-and-So would approve of me. If I was more like “that”, What’s-Their-Name would love me more. Shape-shifting is performance. It isn’t authentic. Neither is people-pleasing. And it was pretty good at that as well. But you know who wasn’t pleased? Me.

I was a pretty good phony. Making it all look like life was ok. While I quietly recoiled and lost Self. It took decades for me to realize that I wasn’t happy and neither were the people around me. It was up to me to stop performing and seek Peace.

I had no clue what Peace looked like. I still struggle with it. The need to be valued and seen and blow kisses to an adoring audience simmers beneath the surface. The need to strive and please still bubbles up occasionally. The sure fire way to quiet that urge is Truth.

Truth speaks and reminds us our value is non-negotiable. To others, it simply is or it isn’t. Our performance does not increase our value. “But if I do this, they will love me more”. Nope. If love and acceptance is performance based, it isn’t genuine. No act of service, gift, performance will tip the value scale. It just teaches others how to treat you.

The Critic will watch for your misstep, that’s a given. But, the Fan will applaud when you rise up. They will truly roar with adoration for being authentically, albeit clumsily, Self.

I am an eternal student. I will always seek new and interesting pathways. I will always ruminate on the ways of old and uncover their meaning. I will always learn a way to dance through my chronic life. Even when the physical body is unwilling; my soul still will tap dance.

Performance or Peace?

Excuse me while I just shuffle-ball-change my way, exit stage left.

I choose Peace

Mary Lee’s School of Dance circa 1970-something
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Ruminating..

I felt an urgency, a nudge to explore today, albeit a bit strange writing for me to begin, mostly because I don’t know where it will land. Possibly it will be just me preaching to myself, but I hope that along the way, it speaks to you. I’m usually so intentional as to my message, but there are days when you just need to see what bubbles up…

It’s no secret that I have a collection of autoimmune diseases. I’m quite transparent about them. I don’t share for the sympathy, but for solidarity. Most of us that battle chronic illness look quite normal on the outside, while inside, our body rages against itself.

The medications for said illnesses are more like poison than relief; although attempting to navigate the illnesses without them would cause more damage and devastation to the body. While many go a more holistic route, I’m trusting the science…

…however, at some point you have to take some accountability. To love yourself enough to make changes. For yourself.

The level of chaos that stress, anxiety and unprocessed trauma leaves within your body is insurmountable.

The body remembers.

The soul holds space.

I won’t replay “old tapes” here, as I’ve already written volumes on it, but pain is universal.

I’ve always joked about my Lithuanian/Catholic heritage and that my people invented guilt, but sometimes the level of guilt we hold-in, roll-around-in and walk-in daily is more destructive than anything. I do feel guilty that I’ve not taken better care of me. I do feel guilty that had I made better choices, some level of illness could have been prevented. Even while most of it is just really bad genetics.

Guilt and shame are really heavy. I mean really fucking heavy. But they are not independent, they are co-dependent. They require a “target” for their strength. While some carry enough guilt themselves, to punish themselves; others may feel their strength by serving it to others.

Guilt and shame are manufactured, they are not naturally occurring. Whether you are the one to hold it or the one to serve it, at its core, is pain. I know for certain that I have caused a lot of people, a lot of pain. I carry that burden. I own it. But I can no longer carry it. I have to put it down.

My body remembers.

My soul holds space.

Perhaps, you’re reading this feeling as though you have been served a lifetime of guilt and shame.

Your body remembers.

Your soul holds space.

That guilt and shame is not yours to carry. It is the deep rooted pain in someone else that felt better by hurling it at you.

“When you know better, you do better.” I’ve heard it a million times and said it almost as much. But there is such truth; a necessary accountability. When we know better, if we do not do better, we just play Ring-around-the-Rosie with the pain until we ALL fall down. When we take the accountability for doing better, we can be better.

I’m not that crazy to believe that by being better that I can make myself well. Yes, I have incurable illnesses, but I can be better. Shaking off guilt and shame ventilates a space that allows Love to expand her footprint.

To love each other better, is a grande notion, but what amazing and potential power there is in loving ourselves better.

When we learn to love ourselves better, we create a lighthouse for others to navigate their way. When we love ourselves enough to say “enough” to the things that no longer serve us or create real joy in us, we can truly be better.

This shedding of the things that are no longer serving us, might be:

  • Bad behaviors or habits that you have used for coping skills
  • A job that you dislike and carry with you to the point of punishing those around you.
  • A relationship that feels one-sided, empty or unhealthy
  • The “old tapes” that I mentioned earlier that seem to replay over and over.

The body remembers.

The soul holds space.

Peeling back the layers of pain is super messy and really fucking hard. YOU. ARE. WORTH. IT. Your literal health is depending on it.

The old joke, “ How do you eat an elephant? One bite at a time” is actually pretty sage advice. Make a conscious choice today, to do ONE thing better. And the next day, ONE more.

Help your body to change its memory.

Give your soul the nourishment it needs to grow and not just hold space.

Be well.

Love well.

For Yourself.

Blessed be ❤️

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May 9

A seemingly random ordinary day, however this solitary day holds a whirlwind of symbolism for me, my MayDay.

I will hold this day sacred, thus the details are held sacred as well. Even without sharing this sacredness, I can share the sentiments.

At 52, there are miles and miles of memories; some good, some quite honestly, fucking suck. MayDay holds them both.

Many of my childhood memories are fragmented and splintered. Childhood trauma that swims into adult trauma with a paddle board of PTSD, and the Soul learns to protect itself by shutting down certain memories. While frustrating, I consider it a gift.

There are amazing gifts that the soul provides, even if the logical mind retailiates against them.

While on a work trip to NY, I was told, in an delightfully yet incredibly crude delivery, that I was an “emotional tampon”. Any energy that flows past me, I absorb. My friend and colleague, tossed their head back and cackled, exclaiming “I have never heard a more accurate description of her”. WTF Dude, seriously!? As put-off as I was in that moment, I whole-heartedly agree.

Decades after that NY Revelation, I have made the investment to the explore the depth of this truth. I AM an emotional tampon, aka an Empath. I can feel the anguish of another soul, merely by sharing space with them. Good or bad. It goes beyond a sixth sense, it takes up residency in me. I am still a work in progress as to the shaking off or shedding of their energy, but it is a gift I don’t want to be wholly rid of.

I hurt with you. I rejoice with you. I feel that shady-ass-sideways-glance of the super creep, deep within me. Like physically, bone weary depth. I trust that. Now. A childhood of trust and broken boundaries still haunts me, but I now lean in to that vibration in my gut. Trust it.

Circling back to The MayDay, the cacophony of vibrations that fill a single day.

On any single day…

You might be in a desert place of emotion, please trust there will always be a refuge on the horizon.

Conversely, while on the mountaintop, you can assuredly see the valley that awaits your descent.

While in a circle of people, you can almost count on a Judas in your midst. Take heart, the greatest story in Christianity hinges on Judas.

While betrayal cuts deep, it is necessary to bring about new birth.

I’ve been the Judas, I’ve also been the BirthMother.

My MayDay honors all the facets of my Soul. It’s where my story sings the loudest, it’s where my heart hurts the deepest.

It’s the MayDay of my childhood with a handmade newspaper cone of handpicked violets on my doorstep – it’s the adult MayDay distress call made to anyone listening.

MayDay. MayDay.

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One Word

2017 was the first year I purposefully set a “one word” into being, rather than offering up a well meaning, but never fulfilled “resolution”.

My word for 2017 was Boundaries. I totally lost sight of my word, allowed myself beyond boundaries that were healthy or helpful. My word rediscovered me, revealed itself where I had least expected, and showed me lessons learned while I wasn’t looking.

My word for 2018 can be found in the waiting; for my 3rd grandchild to be born, for a BIG birthday year, and the vision of a 2nd book (yet to be written).

My word can be found in the hoping, believing in better health solutions and for relationships restored.

Yes, I can safely say, 2018 is to be filled with Expectation!

Cheers to 2018! And all that you are expecting!!