healing

Two steps forward one step back. 

That is what healing looks like some days.

And yea, sometimes its one step forward, two steps back. 

And yes, some days its "Can I please hide in bed and not talk to anyone and have no one talk to me??"

I read somewhere recently that healing from trauma can be done in the quietness of your own mind. Without needing to confront or be confronted, and that sometimes it just happens, on a subconscious level, without even real recognition that it's going on. Of course, go to therapy, talk it out, get support, do what feels good and right for you. But, I think it's interesting that like a physical wound an emotional wound, with time too, can surprise you. No, time doesn't heal all. It takes work. Etc Etc. But. I think what I am saying is that our mentally processing things and getting to a point of "okay" can happen without us really acknowledging it, and one day, you can be like, oh, shit, that doesn't bother me anymore. 

Like the other day, when I watched a show where a couple was bickering in front of their kids, and then some level of unfaithfulness occurred, and what was usually honestly triggering for me, well, it was okay. I could watch it as part of the plot of the show and move on. 

So here I am. The holidays bring this up for me. I know this. I have known this for a few years now. I am faced with family pictures in front of the tree and the whole who gets whom when thing and seeing my sisters and their families and so on and so forth. 

It's a lot. 

Some years I would be happy skipping to January. 

So I figure, make a plan.

My plan last year, this year too, is ultra hyper focus on the kids. Fun traditions. Etc Etc. 

Although right now that sounds exhausting. 

Who else is tired??

I have nothing. This post is a dud. 

Bottom line. 

Healing can happen. It is happening. And even when you can't feel some sort of cathartic energy of it having occurred, just know, trust, you ARE getting there.

And yea. We are tired. All of us. I know it's not just me, most likely, who wants to rent a cabin in the woods for two months until we are past the holidays (or hacienda by the beach??) 

But. We can do this.

new self/old self

Hey folks. 

It's me. June/Sara.

It's been so long. But, I'm gonna tell you about it, most of the everythings anyway, but just to get this out. I MISS WRITING. These pages that are so simple "title" "text" "image" "PUBLISH" have a way of letting me get things out I didn't know were inside of me. Or things that I knew I needed to say but didn't know how to say. And now, well. That is the story.

See, when it all went down, eons ago, but really only 3 years ago, something inside of me wouldn't allow me to write. Not here. Not at all. I tried numerous times to pick up old writing projects, blog here, write there. But I couldn't. I had some kind of clog inside of me. Oh, I am too busy, that is all, I told myself. 

And of course, I was. And am. But it was more than that, more than "it's not a writing time of life for you Sara."

It was wounds. Writing has a way of opening your soul. You writers out there know what I am talking about. The wall collapses. The windows open. Our fingers fly quicker than our thoughts and suddenly things come out that we weren't prepared for, not ready to see. Or, in good times, things that amaze and thrill us. MY GOD THAT CAME OUT OF MY HEAD. I have had that moment many times writing. It is my thing. Call it a gift, whatever. But, for now three years, it's been stuck. I couldn't chance those things to come out on the page, unknowingly, I didn't want to see them. Couldn't bear to look at this blog with references to dada sprinkled everywhere. He is a different person to me now. My children's dad. And that is weird to get over. 

But. My God. I think I can write again.

Why? 

Acceptance. Maybe? So says therapy lady. Accept what is, not what you thought would be, what you thought WAS, just accept the way it is now. 

And so I do. 

And you know what? That makes the typing of the unfettered thoughts coming out way less scary. 

I was numb to it all. For a couple years there. I couldn't see it, just moving forward, only forward. Which is, of course a good direction to go (hahaha) but, it was at the expense of me stilling my mind, and listening to the wounded former wife inside. 

So, now, every now and then, I listen. And I know her hurts, and I know she is angry, and feels ripped off, but God almighty she is a rocking freaking queen. BUSINESS BUILT UP. IN THE MIDDLE OF A FRIGGING PANDEMIC. NEW BUSINESS LAUNCHED. AMAZING FRIENDS. HOUSE. PUPPY. Girlfriend, wounded former wife, you can glow again. 

Sometimes we gotta talk to ourselves like that you know, the third person, because our rational selves move along with pizza night and tennis lessons and back to school shopping and etc with nary a thought to it all. It is easier sometimes, when we start acclimating to former pain (and yes, its former, wowzah, I wrote that) in any case, sometimes it is easier to acknowledge that former pain in the third person. I know that hurt Sara. I know you feel belittled and torn up and betrayed. But. It's gonna be okay.

MORE THAN OKAY.

I can't tell you all. Too much detail of course isn't meant for public spaces, but, the things I am learning about myself, about recovery from trauma, I CAN TELL AND BY GOLLY I WILL.

So. 

That is that.

About myself. I am a pretty trusting extrovert who has lots of great ideas and is, at 44 years old, quite capable of putting them out into the world. 

Wounded self. Doubts and fears and has a tiny touch of self loathing.

Myself. Joined a boxing club. Eats dinner in restaurants alone. Launched a new amazing course for women going through a mid-life pivot (be it career or what have you) and is pretty free and trusting of her kids in mothering. So much more.

But wounded self. Watches hours of Netflix, still has trouble setting appropriate boundaries, says yes, too easily, can't sleep at night.

Myself though. She is winning the day. 

And she is back. June is here still. She now orders pizza on Wednesday nights and gives unfettered access to devices and buys clothes instead of making them. But she is also creatively pursuing the flourishing life she envisions. And she is pretty damn amazing.

Rock on mamas.

I missed you.

  

thoughts on unravelling, authenticity, and wonder

So it is fall. You know my love of September. Schedules. Rhythm. Routine. Not to mention, now that I am back in the Midwest, digging out cozy sweaters, making tea mid-afternoon, all that.

What a weird year this is though.

Instead of hustling kids to get out there books and schoolwork, juggling toddler and home duties and canning the end of year garden produce.

Instead. Well, that hasn't been my September in a couple of years. Still, it feels like it SHOULD be my September.

Instead I am hustling big kids out the door to catch the bus a block away. They are big enough to set their own alarms, make their own toast, put together their own lunches (really they do!) Little guy and Green into the minivan, the clouds and sun mixing into shadows on the drive down our big hill to the elementary school and the little preschool next door. And then I go back home. Flip open my laptop. And work. Some calls. Some errands. Scheduling out my week. What deadline is approaching. What work is looming. What work I need to hustle to find. Then pick up the littles. Big kids come home. Victorious or not at another day in another new school. Swim practice. Dinner prep. A half a glass of wine as the wind swirls outside, leaves shuffling around the yard. Bring in the trash cans. Bath time. Bed.

Big sigh.

The day in and day out of life, as a single mom.

And yet. And yet. The emails from friends. Texts from colleagues. Intriguing ideas to float. New projects on the horizon. The ever present novel manuscript that needs revising (again).

It fills me.

I find myself surprisingly, able. Able. Somedays more than others. There is no panic, on the other days. Just a sense of exhausted pondering. Am I doing too much. Am I giving enough energy and time to the kids (the answers always feel yes, and no).

But I sit down with a friend for a glass of wine. We walk down to the river and talk. And I hear the heartache. The unraveling of bullshit that happens in the 40s seems to be all around me. Therapists and heart searching. Boundaries and bravery.

This is what it is.

Right?

The real.

I may not be crafting wooly hats for babies. Or writing funny posts about misadventures with applesauce canning any longer. Instead the "real" of this era of my life pushes into my present. So, I must write REAL. Not that I didn't before. There is so much goddam real in early years of motherhood. But instead, I realize, that part feels capable. I mean, I made a kick ass apple pie the other day. Two of them. With apples the kids and I picked on the way home from church one day. I mean, holy fucking June Cleaver of me, right??

Friends. I made the apple pies from scratch, no recipe. And they were amazing.

But. How do you write real, expose it, let it breathe out there in the open? I have been thinking so much about this era of unravelling. Is it in the air of the nation? Are we all kind of feeling the "real"? Or, am I hyper aware of it, now that my unravelling has happened, my story changed from the ending I thought I knew was coming, into something new? Something unexpected? Something liberatingly unknown?

The unknown is terrifying. But it is also insanely freeing.

As we open up to each other. About the real. The unknown. The unravelling. We find each other. And in that we find ourselves. And, I have discovered, we can still give, even as we feel undone. It is so possible. So beautiful. SO much more authentic.

Here is my realization for you in this month of September. This, the importance of LETTING EACH OTHER SEE OUR UNRAVELLING, but also. This.

When I find myself, now that my life has stabilized into a norm (work comes in, checks follow, bills get paid, and etc.) I realize my gratitude gets stabilized too. Now, I am not talking about gratitude, sure sure, healthy kids, place to live, meaningful work, no. Not that.

I am talking sheer WONDER, AMAZEMENT at life and how it is unfolding.

This is the gratitude I find myself need to go to. Gratitude is a cliche these days. So, yea, let's call it wonder. Eyes wide open, taking in the unbelievable goodness at life, in a wondering attitude of blessing, even amidst the shit life is always throwing. That goodness is there for the taking. GRAB ONTO IT.

Friends, who text to say GIRL, LETS GET A DRINK or, sure you can randomly stop by with your four kids for some coffee! Colleagues who say, OMG let's do this awesome cool thing together. Work that comes in from people who believe in my abilities and want TO PAY ME TO DO IT.

Wonder. Wonder and authenticity.

These are my words for this month.

Go and conquer friends. And, if you need an ear. Message me. We are all in this together. Maybe you are being asked to move a mountain to show someone else how it can be done.

my next venture / this is what it is

Writing is unclogging my brain. Thinking through all of the mess. Finding the clumps and clogs, pulling them free. Letting the water flow again. What is it? And why not? Let's keep the juices going. Keep the rhythm flowing. Even if some words and images and thoughts and memories stick like gum to the bottom of the shoe and where are we and what are we and I am pretty sure that there is nothing left in my brain if I can't empty the good things too because they are there but there are so big they are foundational. Solid things that don't move. All of the toxins that have eaten them away though. I am not sure what they actually look like anymore. This is the discovering. After the years of wrong thinking. And now I lie here. Unsure of what is good. Sometimes it all looks like sludge in my mind. So. Get it out. Flush with cold water. Air dry in the sun to stop the spread of slow decay.

Fortify.

Solidify.

This is what it is.

And where are we then once the dry has come. Assessing the damage. Looking, sifting sorting, at all the pieces left. Hands cold from the icy water. Soggy mind comes alive as the piles grow.

Yes to this.

No to that.

Get that out of here.

And here we are then.

Standing above the piles.

Time for the slow burn.

And I watch a movie with the kids. The superheroes mother says to him, "Stop being who you are supposed to be and start being who you are."

Do you hear that? "Stop being who you are supposed to be and start being who you are."

But not just any self. Your fullest self. Your best self, not your basest instincts. The best you that is in you.

And what then? Become more of you. Keep becoming. It never ends. Find and be more of that person.

Sometimes though, people spend so long being who they are supported to be that they forget who they are, or they never discover that glorious person inside.

And oh my god. This is your 40s. Or where I am in my 40s.

Opening your eyes and saying, who has the world said I am supposed to be?
And...who am I really?
And...how can I be, more and more, who I really am?

I mean, if we all stopped being who we are "supposed to be" and stopped living in fear, resentment, drudgery, and started being who we are, our glorious best selves, alive, full of purpose and energy, can you imagine the vitality of such a world?

That isn't to say, shrink from responsibility, or spend your days on the slopes or on the beach or running from your problems or any of that. Thats indulging in our base side, our impoverished "lack" selves.

The full side. The whole side. The flourishing life side.

The side who says "I've been driving bus for 20 years but dang, I am going to cosmetology school." (An overheard conversation at church the other day)

The side that says, "I have been afraid of filing my LLC for years to start my own consulting and coaching business so I am going to do it, dammit. I am."

The side that says "My pieces of art doodles are worth my time. I am going to take a class and do this more."

Or. "My book manuscript is good but I am going to hire someone to look at it and help me make it better."

The side that says, " I've been teaching Sunday School because my mother in law wanted me to for 10 years but I don't actually LIKE teaching Sunday School, so I'm not gonna do it anymore!"

These are the pieces that we need to feed. This is the self we are unravelling.

Find your joy.

Invest in it blossoming.

The world needs you to flower.

And so. This is my next venture. Coaching. To do this. Filing an LLC (finally) to help others going through this. I have thoughts. Ideas. And I think you might just dig it.

More to come. Much.
xoxo
Sara