This Love Series post is dedicated to George Floyd and his family. This is me sending love to George Floyd, his family, and his friends, many of whom are here in Houston.
This is also me sending love to all those who have experienced and continue to experience racism. You are not alone. We will eradicate racism together. <3
P.S. If you need some help getting started, here are some ways to support black lives.
One of my dear friends recently wrote me a letter (for you younguns, that’s a really long text on paper) and she included with it a lovely poem by Mary Oliver:
The Uses of Sorrow
(In my sleep I dreamed this poem)
Someone I loved once gave me
a box full of darkness.
It took me years to understand
that this, too, was a gift.
Unbeknownst to my friend, I had had an entire afternoon of cleansing, freeing crying and this letter with this beautiful poem by one of my favorite poets arrived that evening.
I know a lot of people don’t like poetry or don’t get it. However, I think that poetry, like music, is something that’s deeply personal and sometimes it takes a while to find the style you like. I read many poems as part of my high school education and I disliked a lot of them. But every now and again, I would read one that felt as if it was speaking directly to me.
My favorite poetry is often succinct and reflects the truth of life back to me. I can garner the same lesson from a well crafted poem as I can from a well-written, multi-million dollar, two hour movie. Poems, simply put, are stories, real or imagined, that like any other art form, reflect life back to us and, oftentimes, help us to change, grow or return to that which is our deepest joy.
Poetry can be raw, sweet, clever, life-affirming or speak to the secret and not-so-secret aches that live within all of this. For some, reading poetry can be a spiritual experience – a supplement to their weekly religion or a full replacement. For others, it’s a constant wake up call and challenge to grow. And for others still, it’s a reminder of what makes life life. Poetry often leaves no place to hide and no stone unturned. In its presence, pretense and illusions fall away…and that is why I love it.
I was laying in bed having just finished Hannah Gadsby’s riveting special, Nanette, on Netflix – I was in awe as it had been full of vulnerability, courage and wisdom. There were many great moments in her special, but I think my favorite line was “There is nothing stronger than a broken woman who has rebuilt herself.” I was so moved, I had to post about it on Twitter. A preternatural sense had had me avoiding Twitter all week and that’s when I found out why.
The Brett Kavanaugh hearings and commentary overwhelmed my feed. As I scrolled Twitter, the anger inside of me had hot tears of anger rolling down my face. I remembered all of the me too stories that had recently been shared (and all the shaming and non-believing). I also remembered my own me too story – I’d done my personal healing around it years ago but I’d never dealt with my cultural anger and sorrow. As my daughter slept safe and sound in the room next door, my anger reignited. Not as a survivor of sexual abuse but as a mama who was fiercely determined to not allow anything like that to happen to her daughter. Or any more daughters or sons.
But what power did I have? What could I do? I quietly marched to my office, my anger and sorrow turning to resolve and I opened up my sketch book and began to write the first things that came out. To my surprise, they were not words of anger but words of comfort, understanding, empathy, and hope. They were words to sexual abuse survivors everywhere, including that little girl inside of me.
They came out in a flurry and then started to peter out. It had been so long since I’d been in that place of pain and intense suffering. So I did something I thought I’d never do – I got out my 10 year old journal from when I was healing and I read the fears, pains and sorrow of a young woman touching her deepest childhood pain for the first time. I cried. And the words began to flow again as I wrote to her the things she needed to hear.
This is my #metoo collection. They are reminders, affirmations and messages of connection and hope. If you need to print one out for yourself or a friend, please feel free to do so. They are my offering. They are my hope and my healing.
Here it is – the top dog of positive affirmations. At least, I think it is. After years of reading, soul-searching, witnessing, and listening, I’ve come to see that for so many of us our psychological baggage can be boiled down to one core belief: I am not enough. And when I break down most other affirmations to their essence, what they are really saying is “I am enough.”
Brene Brown has much to say about being enough and feeling worthy but here is a small taste and one of the quotes that I had on my L’Amour Art Car:
Those who feel lovable, who love, and who experience belonging simply believe they are worthy of love and belonging. – Brene Brown, Daring Greatly
It really, truly is as simple as that and that’s why this affirmation is so powerful. If the belief of “I am not enough” is at the core of most of our baggage and it can be changed by simply believing that we are enough, imagine what saying and internalizing “I am enough” could do for someone’s life. I know what it can do for a life because it changed mine and continues to do so.
Sharpie marker. © 2018. Angelle Conant. All Rights Reserved.
Humility – it’s something I learned an awful lot about back in my very Catholic days and every now and again, it pops up from my subconscious. Just as it did one day when I was sitting on the couch, feeling rather pleased with myself for finding a clever solution to a challenging problem. As I contentedly thought about the work I had completed, a voice in the back of mind whispered “Stay humble. Humility is a virtue.” And for one deflating moment, I believed it. But then I wondered, ‘What is humility, exactly?’ I’ve always had a vague understanding of what humility is but didn’t know the exact definition. I opened my phone and got this: “hu·mil·i·ty (noun): a modest or low view of one’s own importance; humbleness.” Well, now, what about humble? So I looked that up too: “hum·ble (adjective): having or showing a modest or low estimate of one’s own importance.”
Well, that is definitely not something I believe. I don’t believe it is a virtue for me to keep a low view of my own importance. In fact, I think it is detrimental for anyone to do! The world does not need people who think they are less than others – the world needs people who are not afraid to recognize and claim their own power. Perhaps that’s part of the reason our world is in the state that it is in – people have been told that keeping a “low view of one’s own importance” is a good thing. So we’ve doubted ourselves and quieted our voices all while the person who told us to ‘stay humble’ is tooting his own horn louder than anyone else and enjoying all the space he created at the top of the tower.
No, humility is not a virtue – it is a tool to keep people ‘in their place.’ And I will no longer allow that lie to take up precious space in my head or my heart. It is my belief that we are all just as important as everyone else – no more, no less. And when we claim that equality and the power that comes with it, great things can happen.
New York City.
My daughter threw a 30 minute tantrum today.
What if we could all throw tantrums?
I say tantrum, but I look at it through more of an RIE parenting lense so really she had a 30 minute emotional release. And it all started because she wanted to play with the printer’s tray and I wouldn’t let her. I said, “I won’t let you play with the printer” and physically prevented her from reaching it. She pushed against my legs, crying for the next 30 minutes. And I just let her. I didn’t put her in time out; I didn’t try to bribe her or distract her with something else; I didn’t try to rationalize with her – I just quietly and calmly held the space for her to have her feelings. The most I did was prevent her from hurting me or herself and acknowledge her feelings a few times at the beginning. And I didn’t take it personally – I knew that all this crying and pushing wasn’t about me or about the printer. It was about something else entirely. Perhaps it was about all the changes that have taken place in our lives the past two months or the busy-ness of it all. Or perhaps it was something else entirely. To be honest? It doesn’t matter what it was about. What mattered was that I was able to be her safe harbor as her emotions crashed over her.
When we were about 20 minutes in, I started to wonder what the world might be like if everyone were able to have such emotional releases. If there was a judgment-free, intervention-free place where adults, teens, or children could express their anger or frustration or confusion or sadness or whatever else they might be feeling and have others quietly and courageously bear witness.
I was lucky enough to be a part of such a space for 7 years in my women’s circle and I can attest that it is truly powerful to be allowed to express one’s feelings with total acceptance. These marvelous women would bravely sit in a silent circle and bear witness to my pain. They would not offer me a tissue when my nose began to run or give me advice on how to ‘solve’ the problem. They would simply sit there, listening, watching & waiting, as I moved through my emotions. At times, the sobbing would slow down and it would seem that I was done, but these women were wise and knew to wait. A few minutes would pass and a new wave of grief or pain would wash over me and it would all begin again. They trusted that I was strong enough and capable enough to feel my feelings and to know when I was done. It was a powerful experience that I am incredibly grateful to have had and to have given to others as well, including my daughter today.
And what happened, you might ask, at the end of that thirty minutes? My sweet daughter lay on the floor, stomach down, completely spent and sniffling slightly as her breathing began to return to a normal pace. She lay there quietly breathing for about 5 minutes before she looked up at me slightly and said, “Can I watch Sarah & Duck?” And that was it. It was over and we cuddled on the couch watching our favorite duck waddle about on the TV.
It’s my first post of 2018! Woohoo! How’s your 2018 going? Mine has gotten off to a rocky start. Things always seem to fall apart for us after the holiday rush of Christmas and New Year’s is over. So I decided to revive and revamp some old reminders on my refrigerator. I had put them up sometime last year and then taken them down months later as they seemed like they were no longer needed. Ha! I was incorrect. For me, personally, these reminders are helpful with my daughter who is in the throws of the terrible (or terrific as my mother-in-law likes to say) twos. The first two are to help keep me grounded:
Crayon on Paper. © 2018. Angelle Conant. All Rights Reserved.
So often problems with my daughter arise when I haven’t been taking my time to meditate and breathe or because I’m trying to move at my adult pace. Granted, sometimes moving at an adult pace is necessary, but often times it is not and it’s important for me to remember to s l o w d o w n. For me, I find that something magical happens when I slow down and move at my daughter’s pace. I’m able to see the world from her eyes and be fully present and connected. And really, what’s the rush?
The second two reminders are mostly in regards to my daughter but are also applicable to me:
Crayon on Paper. © 2018. Angelle Conant. All Rights Reserved.
I have a strong aversion to mess but life and toddlerhood and art and a myriad of other things can be quite messy! So this is a reminder to myself to allow messes to happen. Throw a tarp down and let the kiddo paint a cardboard box and get covered in paint from head to toe. Let her dig in the mud and pour water in her sandbox. Let her play and be messy. And also, don’t be afraid to get messy yourself – with the kiddo, in your art, in your writing, in your music, in the kitchen, anywhere!
The other reminder is a crucial one. Get outside. Last year, when I had this reminder on fridge and I was having a bad day, it helped me to remember to take the kiddo outside. To a park or just in the backyard. On days when I have very little to give her, going outside always seems to help both of us. I get to recharge (being outside does that to me) and she gets to play happily as she tends to entertain herself very easily outside.
I’m happy and grateful to have these reminders back up on my refrigerator and I can see that they are already helping. What reminders do you have (or want to have) on your fridge? Let me know in the comments. 🙂
Well, I missed Earth Day in April and I’m a little early for next year, but as my favorite baseball cap says “Every day is Earth Day.” This is the 12th installment of my Love Series and how the woman in the picture looks is how I’m feeling today – full of love for our Earth.
I’ve recently been watching the new Cosmos with Neil Degrasse Tyson and reading the original Cosmos by Carl Sagan. And I must admit, it fills me with awe for this Earth, humanity, and the entire Cosmos. Those great works have also reminded me of how precious and unique (as far as we know) our Earth is and how we must care for it because, right now and for the foreseeable future, it’s the only one we’ve got.
So maybe go and do a small thing for the Earth today. Plant a tree. Pick up that piece of trash (yes, I know you didn’t leave it there, but someone has got to do it – why not you?). Volunteer for a beach clean-up. Give a little extra effort to recycle that (fill in the blank here). Start composting. Hug a tree (it’s not just for hippies). Or go do a naked gratitude dance in the woods (this one might be just for hippies). I don’t care what you do as long as you do something. One small step. One small act for this pale blue dot we call home.
Marker and colored pencil. © 2017. Angelle Conant. All Rights Reserved
I visited a historic battleground monument and museum today. As usual, I was quite bored. As my 2 year old took a break in a hand-carved wooden chair, laid against a well-maintained marble wall, I breathed a sigh of relief that I didn’t have to pretend to look at all the war memorabilia, at least for a little while. As she started to squirm indicating the break was over, I said to her, “Well, are you ready to look at more old, white dudes?”
An over-simplification, to say the least, but a fairly accurate generalization (there were a few photos of white women hidden among the displays as well). As we gazed at the guns and swords and rifles and pistols and military uniforms, my 2 year old asked what they were and it was difficult for me to give her a clear, but appropriate answer. “These are weapons to kill other humans” was accurate but a little much for a 2 year old (and even for me). So I simply told her this was a ‘sword’ or ‘rifle.’
Even that felt a little wrong to me. I want to shield her from the violence that we humans commit against one another or the fact that we’ve created machines to perfect it. I don’t let her watch something so violent on television so why would I show her this shrine of violent instruments?
As we continued on, it became apparent that the museum was severely lacking in color. As in people of color. There were no indigenous people or African-Americans in this war of the Americas according to the museum’s display (although they surely had been there). No, the largest and most prominent displays were of old, white men and their weapons.
The old, white men and their weapons. That seems to be all I hear about these days. And I wonder if perhaps these shrines to violence that we’ve built all over this country don’t contribute a small part to all that is going on today. There are towering monuments to war and the heroes that fought them. There are entire museums that document the wars and their weaponry in great detail. Even my history classes in junior high and high school talked mostly about ‘the great wars.’
I understand that wars are huge, world-altering events that take many, many lives and those lives must not be forgotten. And I understand that, sometimes, we must fight for justice and what we believe in. But I wonder if we were to build more statues and monuments of peace and less of war, if things might be a little different. If we had more museums of peace and fashion and science and food and love instead of war, if things might be a little different.
I wonder how different the world might be if my 2 year old and every 2 year old were able to go to a museum of kindness today and be shown the great acts of kindness that humans are capable of. I wonder if things might be just a little bit different and a whole lot better.
Strawberry Fields in Central Park, New York City – A Tribute to John Lennon