Many times in my life I have chosen to cling to a symbol, a piece of jewelry, my dad's old coat, that represents where I'm at on my path in this life. There is something about wearing a special something that serves as a reminder of my intention here and the depth of that particular experience.
Tomorrow I'm going to the city, to my cherished, old neighborhood, to sit for a while in the afternoon.
When I walk out into the warm, Los Angeles night, something will have changed. Something not unlike a butterfly which has spent her due time as a liquefied caterpillar.
This year hit like a hurricane in January, (when I declared that my motif would be self-care) with my children and I becoming sick with something as simple as preschool-contracted sinusitis, but that turned for the worse into acute bronchitis, then gave way to hacking asthmatic symptoms that lasted until the very end of June.
Not being able to cure us was very humbling for me.
I had to keep learning again and again and AGAIN that the children and I were going to be okay.
I had to trust.
Two seasons saw me finding my way, my tools, my wings.
Along the road I picked up more trust, and placed it in my reeded basket. I learned some things about myself, gathered some confidence while I kept asking for help, kept trying new remedies, altered our diets, eliminated, added, detoxed, sweat, slept, said no, asked for more time, canceled commitments.
The things I still felt poorly about deep within myself came waterfalling down, out loud. I was losing all control and had to learn how to go on through six months of days not knowing what I was made of, and six months of nights with a baby gasping for breath. Not knowing when we would get better. Or how much I could continue to surrender.
I am crowning myself for the additional things I've overcome, the generational hurts I've ceremoniously healed this year, one of which is over fifty years old. I am honoring that when I get out of my mind and back into my body, my feet, my heart-I can find the surrender necessary to go on, sometimes even joyfully. Because, while I was in the quagmire of shit, I found a goldmine in the fact that I don't have to know.
Building confidence by feeling proud of what we've overcome is a slippery slope. We are told not to be too full of ourselves, not to be too...too...too. Some of us keep our proud moments secret so no one will think we're bragging. We keep our tongues wrapped when we want to shout out about our triumphs. We feel ashamed if giddiness overcomes us when someone notices our possibilities. As my paws have found the road this year, I am letting go of unnecessary thinking, and embracing that when I recognize my power, it smiles back at me.
In honor of trust...and growth, I've chosen to make an exhibit to myself. Not to the world. (I can't take care of myself properly when I care what someone might think about my choices. This has always been so.)
I don't feel one hundred percent at ease sharing these thoughts out loud. But I'm doing it anyway, because to not share would be to do myself a disservice. I am proud of myself. And of you. We both battle for our own confidence each and every day. I see us.
Maybe my exhibit of love for myself will inspire you to wrap yourself up in your own adoring, that you may own how beautiful you are, claim your self-respect, and stand eyes-up in your divine relevance to this spinning orb I love so deeply.
Aho, and Bless.
And most of all...
Awrrrroooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!
