Past and Prescence: Lamenting the story.

I used to feel so melancholy during the holidays as a kid. I always felt it was the most reverent time of the year.  Being quiet and reflective of the beliefs that I had grown into.  Being able to wonder and hope but not being able to truly believe.  That was the problem, I just couldn't believe but hoped and wondered if it was all really true.  Could my dreams come true and be fulfilled?  Was there such a thing as abundance and happiness? Even as a young girl I thought only the privileged had those things. Everything they asked for, everything they dreamed of.  Middle class kids just didn't get that validation or bounty. We were to be like everyone else and have those things that were expected of us, being like the others in our class. How could I make my dreams and wishes come true? I knew the limitations of of my family, and of the world.  I never went without, nor did I lack for something to open on Christmas morning.  I had always wanted the riches, magic and abundance that I read of in stories, fairy tales and movies.  I longed for abundant wealth and riches.  I longed for the jewels and crowns of a princess, the lavish furniture fitting a princess or Queen.  I wanted to never want ever again. I wanted to have everything that came into my mind that I imagined. I would have preferred it to be manifested in a subconscious, unconscious way.  The easy way.
In the elementary school years, I thought I was different than the other kids, thinking too much and feeling too much.  Wanting to belong and have friends and people to trust. Wanting a fairytale life that made for happy "Mayberry RFD" moments.  Being intuitive in those years without knowing that I was, was awkward at best. Usually embarrassed and feeling silly.  I was "slow" to learn to trust and easily beguiled. Often gullible to my friends and family's beliefs and opinions.  Even my siblings would taunt me for my gullibility.  Silly how we remember those little things.  I lacked my own belief in my intuition and lacked the trust in myself. I put that belief and trust in people that weren't always the safest or those who didn't have my best interest at heart.
In the middle school and high school years, I found myself wanting the abundance again. I was so reflective of the things I didn't have and painfully reminded of being deeply different. The few things I did know of was how to charm, use my height to my advantage, and to take the banter and wit to the highest level of adolescent whim.  Still I didn't believe in my own intuition and trust my own knowing.  I had trusted the validation of peers and loves who again didn't know me deeply or didn't have my best interest and evolution at heart.
As a young adult, I followed what others told me to do. I made choices that someday would deeply regret and be forever unforgiving to myself.  Still dutiful and trying to uphold an image of what I was supposed to be. I didn't know what that image was until I realized it wasn't really me and wasn't who I felt like on the inside.  I realized that epiphany one moment when I saw a picture of myself and someone made the comment that I look sad and frumpy, overly matronly and Mormon-like! I was all that and those things on the outside. Sad, frumpy, trying very hard to be the super-mom and deeply believing in the Mormon dogma trying so hard to be accepted, loved and respected. Shaking my head now, reliving that shock as I saw myself defined again by another's perception and my own.
Fast forward to this December and realizing that the past five years has been truly painful. Not filled with the abundance of my childhood dreams, but richly filled with the abundance of something far more valuable that jewels, glamour or personal financial success. Filled with those deep dark moments of self realization, actualization and self recognition.   Now it doesn't feel so awkward. Now it is a part of my every thought. Now the knowing is newly embraced and considered. Now I am not afraid to turn it over and examine it in a way that others might not. Now I get the story, the mystery and the intuition that I hadn't before. It was there before but unseen. I was afraid and unaware.  I lacked the ability to see it and feel it, I gave away my power to others. Now I see that rich beauty of this intuition for the gift and abundance that it is, really flowing freely. It is daunting to allow it to wash over me at times. It can feel like a tsunami or like a trickle of a brook. Either way, now I know it is real. That abundance and confidence of knowing has made me realize that the riches of this earth are just a part of the story, part of the fairytale of humanity. The fairytale I can write for myself. I had the power all along, I had the skills to manifest them.  I had given the skills and power away, wanting to fit in and be loved.  I now know I could never fit in. I now know that I can never find my desires fulfilled by others. It is mine to to fulfill, it is mine to do.  It is my work. My soul's mission. To stand in front of the mirror everyday and gaze upon the "me". The one that is different, the soul with skills, gifted divinely to my journey. 

It is my power to wield and own. Like a sword of great craftsmanship, that can have only one owner, one handler, one marksman. Owning the power to carve out and manifest all that my different little heart desires.   It is the legacy I had agreed to come here for. It is the invisible gift I leave for my children and friends. It is that one piece of abundance and spirituality I can skip wrapping and trimming. It will not fit into a box or bag, for it has no limits. There isn't a ribbon appropriate to adorn this. It will never be like the other gifts. It will always be different, somewhat awkward, raw, vulnerable and loving.

The past is a powerful mirror, the photograph unchanging in its shape while the present is my own inner mirror breathing, thinking, feeling and mindful. It is good to look back despite what Lot and his wife taught us. Reflection is only visible in stillness.  I am thankful for the stillness of the season of my reflection.

The Parable of Socks

There was a funk this weekend about me. I couldn't quite put my finger on it. You know it's the kind of funk where you don't want to go out and you don't really care, but cleaning and sorting sounds cleansing and feels fabulous. Well maybe not for everyone, but for me it was.
That was it, I had opened my sock drawer and was overwhelmed at its disorder and chaos. Like someone had lit a bomb in the drawer while the drawer was closed.  I am usually known for at least a good degree of order and not necessarily sterile clean but "clean" in my house and life.  Here was just one place I had slacked in my order queen duties.
At first I started sorting and matching pairs of socks, thinking, I didn't realize I had so many pairs. I recognized the variety of socks I had and their origins made me smile and laugh. Some were holiday socks that were gifts.  St. Patrick's day socks, Valentine's day socks and Christmas socks occupied my thoughts for a moment. Cleaning my sock drawer near the holidays always seemed such a good idea.  Also cleaning my clothes that go unused is also a good practice to further my belief in the Feng Shui of closets and abundance...make room for more and better!

This past year had flown by and here it is the first few days of  December, just a few more weeks of one of the most emotionally growth filled years of my existence.  I am daunted. Sitting back on my feet on the floor in front of my sock drawer, I feel this deep sadness, a longing to let it rip and just cry.  An aching for tears and release. Staring down at my sock drawer in partial clarity and misty eyed confusion.
There it was laid out like a parable, an analogy for my comprehension to behold. Socks.  Shaking my head and smiling at the simplicity of the Universe. Different colors, textures and sizes of socks.

I wanted order and sense. I sat back and surveyed the contents in disarray.  There were the pair of fuzzies that I wore with my hiking books, out on an adventure and connecting with the earth. Their comfort and purpose there to provide the necessary support for utilizing my energy and go forward in the world.  There were the favorite pairs of gym socks (multiples actually) that still maintained their integrity and shape despite the sweat and wear and tear from a workout.  Their elasticity and "snap-back" ingenuity made me smile. Every time I would get highly motivated there were always those days when getting up and going to the gym seemed impossible due to heart ache or body aches.  Yet elasticity held it post. I smiled and paired the gym socks ready for the next day's workout.
There were the pairs that had lost their elasticity, faded in multiple washings and even some with holes and were threadbare in spots. now here was when it hit me. These sock pairs were the symbol of relationships long since past their time. Faded, threadbare, lacking elasticity to life's pull.  These were the relationships unable to survive the year of growth and wear and tear. Yes these were the pairings that I needed to let go of and honor them for what they had done.  Their gift to me of comfort, support and warmth and fashion.  Looking back there were relationships and friendships that didn't hold up to the test of trials and time. Some of these ended in a pile missing their mate. Some tossed in a pile with their mate only recognizable by their remaining qualities of the story they held in my life.

Then it came like a torrential storm, unstoppable and in waves.  Some waves were great, while others were small. I cried deeply and held my old socks in my hands. There sitting on the floor in front of my open drawer, sobbing and examining my heart and its contents and pairings and trials.  It felt so sad, so ridiculous to be crying over old socks. I mean really, get a grip Ann! Then just as the rain of tears started, the ebb came to a slow sigh! I knew what I knew in that moment, it was timing and course.

Letting go and moving on.  There wasn't a need or purpose in keeping a lone sock, a sock with holes or one that was so faded it wouldn't even make a reasonable sock puppet or the ones that had lost their elasticity and shape, unable to hold up to the me in my new emerging self.  It was suddenly okay, better than okay, it was perfect.  It had balance and rhythm and rhyme to me. I understood the parable of socks.



Thanks Universe...I think!

In my daily behavior today...much different from many other day this year, I am seeing folks post their thanks and gratitude for the positive things and people in their lives.  I too followed suit in posting one to the people in my personal life that held great space for me in this past year of growth.  Now I want to make sure nothing goes unmentioned, no not just the good things, positive people and shinning moments but, the dark hours and painful scary moments that lurked in this past year.  The things I wanted to forget because of the heartache, pain, shame or anxiety they have gifted me with this past year.  Yes, those monsters in my closet.  The ones I won't share with the people that I keep at arms distance or those who might use them against me just to see me squirm. Some might say this has been a difficult year or one that drew upon my greatest strengths and talents.  These are the very things that have catapulted me into the space of self discovery and awareness that has honed me into the woman I am at this very moment.  All of this honor and gratitude goes to the glory of universe and the agreements in the path I have embarked upon!

Thank you for the February heart ache that made my eyes open to the divine humanity I gave to someone I loved.
Thank you for the reminder of my humanity in being a parent to my four wonderful children, they have kept me in balance and reminded me and encouraged me to believe in myself when I felt unworthy of love.

 

Thank you for the gift and knowledge of the divine agreements we make with our creator to fulfill the mission of our design here on earth. I have felt my mantle and mission were too big to bear. I was frightened by the magnitude and responsibilities that came with it.  They were sharp and prickly to handle without gloves.Thank you for the understanding of the grand design of numerology and especially my gift. As exciting as it was to learn about, it was more frightening to trust myself and my skills.
Thank you for he trials of choosing health and seating through my heart aches in the gym and in my daily life.  I forgot how terrifying owning my own power was.

Thank you for the lesson in humanity of falling on my face in October to get a massive concussion and broken nose.  This has shown me the power of shame, the torment of guilt and especially the strength in picking myself back up and brushing myself off.
Thank you for the lesson of lost trust and gained trust in the things seen and unseen. Those have hurt the most. I have felt lost and found all within a singular experience of looking into the soul of mankind.
Thank you for the loss of friends so that I can make room for the friends of higher vibration and enlightenment.  Those moments of loss made me ache and cry yet held me open for the right kind of guides to get me where I am today.

Thank you for the fear that the economy failures and political short comings of my nation, as dark and dreary they appeared, I have felt an underlying sense of security in the unseen and faith of a soul.
Thank you for the ability to define and be aware of the darkness of humankind, while forgiving their  fragility despite how much it hurt me.
Thank you for allowing me to see and feel my dark side.

Just a bitch?

Men never get called a bitch. Imagine what that would be like! Just think how they might feel if we called them a bitch? Go ahead and do it in your head and think of that one manipulative person you know in your life right now that has been the bane of your existence.  now imagine his response to being called a bitch.  I know that it was powerful wasn't it? I bet you are smiling!
Because as much as women want to be thought of as smart, assertive and worthy of respect, we certainly don’t want to be thought of as bitches.
Or do we? After all, the term “bitch” is really just a rhetorical tool for turning confidence, dignity and power into things that are unseemly. It’s a personal attack that’s used to make any woman who seeks or displays these characteristics into something ugly, fearful, even bestial. In short, it’s used to keep us in our place and out of the old boys’ club.
“Bitches get stuff done.” – Tina Fey
Perhaps it’s time we flipped the script and stopped letting the bitch label hold us back. Maybe it’s time to replace the golden rule – be a bitch.

As women, our fear of the dreaded bitch label is so strong and so pervasive that it affects our behavior in ways we don’t even recognize. It alters the way we communicate, how we speak and how we’re treated. Subtle word choices and statements weaken women’s voices in the world, and something as small as changing how you say things can help you start reclaiming the respect you deserve. Here are just two of the many ways to start being a bitch who speaks her mind:

Stop saying “I’m sorry.” There’s a time and a place to apologize. .

Stop modifying your statements. “I’m sorry, but…” isn’t the only phrase women use to sabotage the strength of their statements. “Could you do me a favor and…” is another one. “I totally get where you’re coming from, but…” and “I was wondering if there was any way we could…” are two more. Phrases like these litter our speech, and each time we use one, we weaken our own voices. Stop being so afraid of being called a bitch and just say what you mean and what you want. Don’t apologize for it, and don’t water it down. When you say what you mean, you’ll be heard, understood and respected.

Is everyone going to be a huge fan of the new straightforward you? Probably not. In finding your voice and speaking with clarity, you do risk getting called a bitch. But you’ll also get your point across, and all powerful women will tell you that clear communication is vital for success.

Powerful Women Set Standards and Stick to Them
It’s hard to become a successful female if you don’t have a core set of principles to guide you. The most successful women set standards for themselves, for their families, for their work and for their image. Unfortunately, bold and decisive females are often greeted with more disdain than respect. Stick to your guns and you don’t get congratulated for being professional, you get criticized for being a bitch.

“Just because I have my standards, they think I’m a bitch.” – Diana Ross
So what do you do if that’s the penalty for sticking up for what you believe in? You do it anyway. When you put your heart and soul into what you do and the people around you don’t live up to your standards, then calling them out on it does not make you a bitch. It makes you serious. It’s what you do when you want people to know that if they waste your time, you won’t just smile and take it.
 

Gaslighting is a term often used by mental health professionals (I am not one) to describe manipulative behavior used to confuse people into thinking their reactions are so far off base that they’re crazy.

The term comes from the 1944 MGM film, Gaslight, starring Ingrid Bergman. Bergman’s husband in the film, played by Charles Boyer, wants to get his hands on her jewelry. He realizes he can accomplish this by having her certified as insane and hauled off to a mental institution. To pull of this task, he intentionally sets the gaslights in their home to flicker off and on, and every time Bergman’s character reacts to it, he tells her she’s just seeing things. In this setting, a gaslighter is someone who presents false information to alter the victim’s perception of him or herself.

When someone gaslights you, they try to create the perception that your very real, very rational concerns and reactions are silly. More than just disagreeing with you, they annihilate your objection as a whole, as well as your right to have one. The more you’re gaslighted, the more you become like Bergman’s character. You start to deny your own reactions, to suppress your thoughts instead of speaking up. After all, you don’t want everyone to think you’re a crazy bitch, right?

“Success is getting what you want; happiness is wanting what you get.” – Ingrid Bergman
You could simply be a bitch and do what bitches do – stand your ground. Explain exactly how you’re being manipulated, then reiterate your point and your right to have it acknowledged.
It’s no wonder. Throughout our lives, women are taught to behave in ways that are completely contrary to their goals. We’re expected to water down our statements when we mean to assert ourselves, to accept the respect we get instead of demanding the respect we deserve, and to do everything we can to avoid being called a bitch. In short, it’s not working out.  Don’t be nice. Be a bitch.  We might just change where we stand.