I’ve got a list of things I want to do to make our home more lovely and cozy and fun to live in. Some of the things on the list require lots of planning and time but color-coding our books took very little time and I was absolutely giddy during the process.
Sometimes when life gets especially heavy or stressful, I forget what brings me joy and pleasure. I know that joy & pleasure are essential but sometimes I just can’t remember what it feels like or what I might do to capture a quick moment of joy. So color-coding my books and discovering that the process as well as the outcome brought me joy was a lovely surprise. I hope it brings you a little joy too. 🙂
I was about to open my computer when I saw a beautiful screensaver photo and I had a strange urge to sketch it. Turns out it was Ireland. This is significant because before the pandemic started, we were beginning to plan a family trip to Ireland – I even have a couple of library Ireland travel books still sitting on my bookshelves.
I’ve had a rough time handling things recently and this was a lovely reminder that this self-isolation and pandemic will end. This is temporary. And we will get to live our lives, out and about in the world, again.
This is my sketch of a photo by David Soanes Photography. The photo says it is Antrium, Ulster, Ireland.
I’ve done it. I’ve released my first single. A song that I’ve created, recorded, mixed and mastered is out in the great wide world.
You can check it out on most major streaming services including Spotify. You can also purchase it here.
I thought I’d have more feelings, bigger feelings about it, but I don’t really. It actually feels really normal and almost routine even though this is the first single I’ve ever released. And I think that’s a good thing – a good sign of the many singles to come. And they will be singles. That is my current, preferred way of releasing my music. Perhaps I’ll gather them all into an album some day but maybe not.
What I do know is how hard I’ve worked to get to this point – there was such a steep learning curve for me in recording, mixing and mastering. It did not come easily or naturally but I’m glad I took the time to learn it (and, of course, I’m still learning). In addition, there was the emotional work required of me to be vulnerable enough to share this and that work still continues.
I hope you enjoy it. And if you don’t, that’s okay too. My music is not for everyone. But if you do, feel free to share it with like-minded friends, add it to your playlist, leave me a comment, and/or sing along at the top of your lungs.
I look forward to sharing more with all with you. <3
P.S. Be on the lookout for this symbol for the story behind this particular song (coming soon) :
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.
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.
When we moved into our home, 2 of the large trees in our backyard had been significantly trimmed. One of the trees, which I’ve (hopefully correctly) identified as a Linden tree, has been laid bare by the cold of winter. Although I love all the trees in my backyard, this one is currently my favorite (Shhh, don’t tell the others!). It’s got offshoots bursting out of every major branch and it’s trunk. I often think to myself that it looks like a crazy hairstyle on someone’s head.
The leaf-less Linden tree.
As I was meditating in the backyard the other day, I was staring at this lovely naked tree and its many small branches shooting out and that’s when it hit me: this tree is me. That’s Me. That’s what I look like. This tree is a perfect representation of me and my creative expression. I’ve got all these different creative pursuits and expressions bursting out of me everyday. Some of them big, some of them small but all of them take time and effort – they haven’t shown up overnight. I’ve built them up slowly, taking small steps to create this beautiful thing. This sometimes chaotic, sometimes cohesive thing. And some of these pursuits I’ll try for a while and they won’t be a good fit for me for whatever reason and they will fall away. Just like a small branch that a tree tries to grow and then,because of shade or competition, it starts to fall off. That tree has to decide where it is going to put its energy and resources; which branches are the most important. That’s where I’ve currently been in my creative journey: whittling down, prioritizing, and taking small steps in the hopes that I’ll end up with something beautiful and worthwhile.
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:
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:
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 myLove 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 newCosmos 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 thispale blue dotwe call home.
This 10th installment of The Love Series is dedicated to breastfeeding aka Booby Love. 😉 I drew this picture only a couple weeks after my daughter finished weaning so it’s a bit bittersweet. My goal was to make it to at least 2 years old and we made it to 2 years and 3 months. Did you know that there is a such as thing as post-weaning depression? I had no clue (despite many La Leche League meetings and breastfeeding blogs) and was a little blind-sided when I decided to reduce my daughter’s free-for-all nursing schedule to only one nursing session in the morning. I wasn’t even ‘weaning’ in my mind, just putting down some boundaries. But not long after we made the change, I felt awful. I was moody, crying all the time, anxious and depressed. I had no idea what was going on and was obsessing about why I was feeling this way and how I might ‘fix’ it when I stumbled upon post-weaning depression online.
After knowing why this was happening to me, I was able to relax and just accept that this was a temporary hormonal shift and to give myself a little break. A few months later, when I decided to wean fully, I was prepared. Thankfully, going from a 5-minute nursing session per day to no nursing wasn’t as large of a hormonal shift (I’m assuming) as I didn’t have such severe symptoms – only mild depression and anxiety that lasted a couple of weeks.
While I was pregnant, I’d heard many women recount their experiences of postpartum depression and anxiety, but I’d never heard a woman discuss post-weaning depression. So this is my little PSA. Post-weaning depression is a thing. Maybe if you know it’s a possibility and that it could be coming, you’ll have a better system in place to cope until it passes.
These 2 years of breastfeeding have been quite a journey. Those first couple of months of figuring breastfeeding out were complete hell (the postpartum depression and anxiety didn’t help either!) but I’m glad we persisted.* There have been some truly wonderful moments – one of which is captured in the drawing below. It was in those first two months of hell that my daughter was nursing and laid her hand upon my chest with her pointer finger, pinky and thumb extended forming ‘I Love You’ in sign language. The significance of this is that my husband and I had made that sign to each other since first saying “I Love You” to one another. We still make that sign to one another and now my 2 year old daughter does too.
*This statement is not meant to judge, criticize or shame any mother who could not or didn’t want to breastfeed. Every person fights their own battles and must do what is best for them and their baby and I 100% recognize that was is ‘best’ for me may not be ‘best’ for you. You do you. I’ve got your back.
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
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