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So today began the task of writing labels for My Storyline quilts.  I have misplaced my book – the one I had made in 2012 -however, I can go online and look at it.

I have three different versions of what the quilt represents.

The book is the oldest version and it is quite remarkable.

I then have the words that hung with the quilts at Copper Country Mental Health.

Then I found 3 pages with short descriptions of each quilt.

 

Now, I am wondering if I do a fourth, or chose from all three, and have a combination with the hanging quilts.

 

I wonder if it is best to update and look at the quilt from this moment in time – or stick to the version from ten years ago.

 

These quilts were created by a woman who had very little understanding of herself, the human journey and her experiences in it.  I am once again blown away by my daring to create given my state of being.

I was pushing back boundaries and overstepping lines – going against the grain – even in quilting.

 

It is like I am seeing hand-me-downs from my old self.

I see so much in each quilt and it brings me back to that time.

How I loved what I was doing with my quilting and how odd it all is – even today.

They are therapy pieces or scraps from my journal.

I can't wait to see them hanging together once again in a new venue.

 

Now, if I can only find the words or voice I want to use as I write about them.

And, a part of me feels the angst of 'airing my dirty laundry' again.

Another part is excited to give voice to the silence that echoes so loudly – still today.

 

Many voices speak in these quilts and they are all Me.

Sitting here today – the artist feels so much more secure, alive, aware, and self-accepting.

Looking in my rearview mirror.

 

Mothering is one of the few jobs we receive zero training for, and one that has the most impact on our family.  There are so many ways we can get this wrong. 

Mothering carries our nature, our nurture and all of our wounds – our unexpressed emotions and our unmet emotional needs from childhood.

Coming from a dysfunctional childhood, we are broken.

Mothering from broken is a mess, I am not even sure I can articulate.

 

Sadly I was 46 years old when I acknowledge my abuse.

That what I called love – was not love.

I didn't know who I was or my own worth.

I had been mothering on empty.

 

By that time, my youngest was 10.

 

Course correcting at time was/is to watch a broken women trying her best to heal her own heart, and to undo and re-do mothering in real time.  There wasn't a do over – but I had to try a whole new way.

I began mothering me, so I could then mother them.

I had to learn how to love me, in order to love them.

I had to see me, in order to see them.

 

Mothering, I am learning, comes from how a woman sees herself.

A woman who is at peace with her own truths, knows her wounds and is caring for them, who has boundaries that match her worth, who can speak up and have difficult conversations, etc will be a better mom.

Mothering is more about the woman who is caring for her family, then her family.

 

A child's job is not to make you a better mother.

A child's job is to be a child.

 

The magnitude we are expecting from mothers who have come from abuse is monumental.

The hill seems too high and our skill sets way way too small.

 

We are trying to become that which we don't know.

 

My role model as a mother was abysmal at best.

The difficult things were the ones she sidestepped.

Seeing the broken was not her way.

 

I never saw how to deal with difficult things in a loving manner.

I really never saw an adult interaction that held the truth and resolution.

Instead the broken things were unspoken and life kept moving on.

The broken wasn't fixed, but left unhealed and unattended, and another day would dawn and life moved on.  

 

I used to deal with problems this way too.

I would go silent for an amount of time, and enough days and life would fill over it.

The wound/fester/hurt was still there – and you could pretend to pretend it was okay.

 

Now I see this as denying what is.

You certainly can deny facts and realities; but they don't magically disappear.

You can't cover up pain with normal life and expect it to go away.

The pain is there, just buried.

 

One of my intentions was to be different than my mother.

To mother looking at what was wrong, broken and to inform, and speak about the difficult things.

I wasn't going to focus on the good in the pile of abuse.

For you can.

 

You can look at what she baked, how she did this or that.

But, the moments in time where a mother would have protected her child – she did not.

 

So, how did I try and do this differently.

I have been doing the opposite. I speak about the negatives, the places where a child is at risk. I challenge choices and actions that appear to not see the child.

 

Mothering from this prospective can feel, I am sure, as if I am questioning their choices.

However, what I am pointing out perhaps is a blindspot.

 

One of my mother's strongest character was her blindness. The ability to overlook and cover up the facts of her world.

 

Perhaps being outspoken and staring at reality – is mothering harshly.

I don't know how to do this with kid gloves or a soft footstep.

 

My brokenness awkwardly challenges anyone who can't see to a child's needs.

How to address both the parent and the child in ways that honors both is something I can work on.

However, a child in danger is typically on short notice.

Or, even after the fact – when I child was in a place where harm was a real potential.

 

I guess what I want to express here is that even a broken mom trying to protect a child feels better to me, in comparison of how my mother left her children without protection.

Maybe my children can parent in ways that are much better than I.

 

I wish I had a mother who would have stated how broken she was and how she didn't know what to do with an abuse.  Instead abuse within our home was never talked about. No one spoke about the uncles who abused or the father. No one spoke about warning us not to go here or there. No one spoke about being abused – when so many were.  Silence was the answer to abuse.

 

My mother came from a large family. She was the only girl who stayed in the family. She believed they were a good group and close knit.  Yet in the mix were pedophiles.  In the outcasts were sisters who didn't join in the family.  Her failure to have boundaries endangered us kids.  When I think of my Aunts and Uncles, I see them as harmless in my childhood. I remember they spoiled us and gave us things our family couldn't afford.  Yet years later after discovering my father abused children, these same 'kind' uncles were just like him.

 

I wonder if her blindness also blinded us.  I don't have a memory of being abused by uncles – but a brother does.  So, what is the reality. Hers, mine or his?  

And when you have a group of people who don't talk about abuse, abuse goes unchecked – but it doesn't disappear.

It is complicated to mother with a family of abuse.  It is hard to make the tough calls and refrain from family functions. I thought that alone would be a signal. That IF I felt it was unsafe, others too would feel the same. That IF I spoke about the abuse within the family tree, others would follow suit.  

Speaking out perhaps hasn't changed others.

Yet speaking out has changed me.

And, as they say, I want to be standing on the right side of history.

When a child comes forth asking about the abuse in our family tree, and they want to know what I did.

I can say I spoke out.

I tried to warn.

I stayed away.

Mothering in the broken mess of abuse – will be to point out the things that are wrong.

Otherwise you are complying with denial.

My mothering is as imperfect as I am.

Speaking up imperfectly is still a long shot better than silence.

I am sorry for the hurt I have caused.

I speak from love.

Love isn't silent.

Love speaks up and shines her light into the brokenness.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I am in the final stretch heading into retirement. I survived my last crazy package season at the post office and now watch as the last few weeks quickly pass by.  

My final work day is January 24th – a Monday.

That is not the best day to end my career with the post office, for Tuesdays and Wednesday are notoriously light mail days, but, it is the way it boiled down. 

 

This is a transition time, a moment in letting the old routine go, and then figuring out a new one.

It will feel unstable at first – for the past structure will be gone. 

In rebuilding a scaffolding for my life, I want to pay attention to how I put that together.

I want to design it with the intentions of it supporting what I love.

 

This may be a milder transition – compared to some I have navigated.

Being a retired person persona will be an interesting creation.

 

There is a little bit of anxiety of not wasting time and days.

And, of slurping up the last of these healthy years in ways that excite me.

And, if I am honest, the transition of having more time – compared to less – will feel expansive.

 

I can take the time to do things right.

To thoughtfully go through drawers and closets – to organize and open spaces for what I truly want.

 

For the past many years I have had one day off a week. One day to fill up with things I love.

Imagine now having 7!

 

The expansion is quite wide.

Yet.

Yet will I have the time to do all that I want to do.

Or more – the energy.

 

These last few weeks will be my semi-retired state – and I can dip my toes into more time.

 

What I feel the most is the absence of stress of trying to fit in my fun things. Or maybe it wasn't stress; but using the last of my energy to get in a fun activity after work.

There is a difference when skiing with full energy – compared to with a half a tank.

 

I am grateful I am aware that a transition is happening and that I am the constructor of how my life will be built around me. So far.

Certainly life can toss in a monkey wrench at any time.

Until then I am the designer of my days.

 

What is best I think is to allow for creative expression. To make a flexible structure that will grow old with me.  I am excited and yet somewhat soulful – for this is exiting stage of life.  The percentage is higher for changes popping in.  It is a precarious stage of life.  

In the past, life itself could offer sudden change.  

Now it is my body.

It is no longer sure footed.

I feel, or more I can see the edge of the horizon – and now have to make these days, moments, and time count.

This transition is one of being old.

Yes, it is a state of mind – however there are true realities – the body is aging.

We can't know how we will age; how graceful will be our parting. 

Growing old is a privilege, for many on our journey left early. 

I don't want to squander the wealth of living into old age.

Since we can't know what the future holds, it is best to go full throttle, even if that is half steam from our younger years.

Living life as fast as I can go.

 

I am feeling the luxury of time.

 

 

 

Have you ever heard the term Past Year Review and how you can use it?

Tim Ferriss's podcast reminded me of this today

 

Here are the transcripts explaining Past Year Review and how you can use this past year to make next year one that excites you.  

I’m often asked about how I approach New Year’s resolutions. The truth is that I no longer approach them at all, even though I did for decades. Why the change? I have found “past year reviews” (PYR) more informed, valuable, and actionable than half-blindly looking forward with broad resolutions. I did my first PYR after a mentor’s young daughter died of cancer on December 31st, roughly eight years ago, and I’ve done it every year since. It takes 30-60 minutes and looks like this:

1. Grab a notepad and create two columns: POSITIVE and NEGATIVE.
2. Go through your calendar from the last year, looking at every week.
3. For each week, jot down on the pad any people or activities or commitments that triggered peak positive or negative emotions for that month. Put them in their respective columns.
4. Once you’ve gone through the past year, look at your notepad list and ask, “What 20% of each column produced the most reliable or powerful peaks?”
5. Based on the answers, take your “positive” leaders and schedule more of them in the new year. Get them on the calendar now! Book things with friends and prepay for activities/events/commitments that you know work. It’s not real until it’s in the calendar. That’s step one. Step two is to take your “negative” leaders, put “NOT-TO-DO LIST” at the top, and put them somewhere you can see them each morning for the first few weeks of 2022. These are the people and things you *know* make you miserable, so don’t put them on your calendar out of obligation, guilt, FOMO, or other nonsense.

 

I don't have a calendar per say – but I do have photos.

Maybe this year I will write on a calendar events or things I did and committed to – in order to do this better next year.

 

I love the idea of a NOT-TO-DO-LIST which may be more important to hone in on.

The things we repeatedly do that bring us down or make us feel anxious, negative etc.

 

Often we feel that life is serving us up things that suck the life out of us, and we fail to recognize our voices saying Yes – when we should have said No.

 

As I head into my retirement, I need to be aware of what I volunteer for, and how it aligns with what I love to do.  I want to make the most of my upcoming years and my healthy years.

I don't want to squander days away repeating my NOT-TO-DO-LIST from this year.

Perhaps I can make notes on the calendar of the things not to repeat as I go along.

When my husband and I are out to dinner, we often judge our meals by whether we would order them again. That perhaps is how we should live our lives.

If you would do it again – then make plans and add them to our calendar often!

If not, chalk it up to experience and put it on the NOT-TO-DO-LIST.

 

Each season of the year offers up to us opportunities to say yes; and no.

Each day offers the same.

And, even each hour.

 

How we spend our hours is how we spend the year.

 

This bike!  

This bike makes me feel like 14 year old girl – and now I will have endless time to ride!  

This will be on the calendar many many days.

 

And, these skis bring me such joy.  They give me confidence in their sturdy width.  These too will be added as much as possible.

And then these two!  Seriously I am living a very abundant life!  AND, with all of these toys come badass women who love to play with these toys!  

Here are some who I call Friend!

Last but not least are my family.

Oh the joys and memories we have made this year! 

I will so plan on seeing more of these little ones!  Talk about getting positive energy – these little ones fill me up with so much joy!

My year is overflowing with wonderful people and adventures.  My photo calendar of this past year is crazy full of Positive! 

 

 

 

When hanging up ornaments with my granddaughter, we excitedly found our favorites.  She loved one that was handmade by a friend of mine.  I love the ones with pictures of the kids when they were young.  I also love the ones my husband has given me and my children. I love the ones that represent what I love. I love the ones I have purchased on our travels – each old memories.

Many of the ornaments are not expensive – yet they are so valuable in the moments of my life that are meaningful.

 

Our tree memories begin with our married life. 

Thirty four years of Christmas trees, and a Manger.

 

I no longer put up the Manger I received from my brother.  Our silence for the past 6 years left it cold.

It is interesting to me how our relationships get instilled into 'things'.

Their meaning means more – or less.

 

Christmas is a feeling.

Love is our Christmas tradition.

 

My body or soul feels at peace with the items I have chosen to put out at Christmas.

It would be odd to me to have items from those I am estranged from.

I don't know what to do with the Manger – it holds memories of the good times too – when our children were young. I received the Manger before I was married. 

I wonder if there is a way to separate the feelings from the object.

Can new emotions and memories overlay the cold feelings.

Will enough time pass where it can be displayed without the memories of our silence?

 

The weirdest or most awkward part of estrangement are the things I used to love.

I don't know how to keep the love – and not feel the absence.

 

And, the Manger also holds religious tones.

I don't know what to do with them either.

The story, the tale, the sermons, the feelings of worthlessness, the one and only, the weird forgiveness notions, like a fairytale of manipulation and control.

I believe in love.

Love that doesn't need forgiveness.

Love that is kind, pure and whole or wholly of you.

 

I guess it is best the Manger stays in the barn another year. 

For it is imbued with so much meaning, that means less to me.

 

Love is on display again this Christmas.

Decorations of love on our Christmas Tree.

Family holidays are here. Where family gather, memories shared and new ones created.  And, for the estranged – there is a disjointed halting engagement with these days.

 

The heart of the estranged has two chambers – the old broken heart – and the new heart that moved on without them.

I am still shocked on one hand that it has been almost 17 years – and yet at times it feels not that long ago.

The hurt for sure has lessened – or more time has passed and life has filled in around the hole.

 

During these family holiday times, you can't help but think of family; even if it is the estranged family.

How strange I must be to them. 

And, them to me.

Strangers now – ghost it seems from a long ago past.

 

I once hated these holidays, for they were so hard to navigate – the jumble of new good times, tossing with the echoes of old.  

 

It is a different grief – or so I believe – than those who have lost someone they loved.

We lost someone, but we lost who we thought them to be.

Or who we needed them to be.

Regardless the relationship broke.

Love wasn't there.

 

I don't know the loss of losing someone who loved you. 

Really loved you.

I lost instead someone who didn't love me.

Who I once loved.

 

I can't even say if I knew what love was then.

But in my heart – where I carried them and cared for them – something shattered in the truths of abuse.

In the tangled mess where who I thought they were and who they showed me to be, my heart broke.

 

Family holidays always remind you of your broken-hearted-ness. 

Estrangement often equals brokenness.

Where you broke from your family.

You are broke.

Or, so you feel.

 

It is hard to have holidays and just focus on the here and now and not let the past broken hearts come in.

Perhaps it is insanity to think, you will ever forget such a huge broken heart chapter in your life.

Maybe holidays will always hold the strains of past heart aches – and the joys of new moments.

If we allow the sorrows of old their moments to be part of the present.

 

The broken heart moments shaped me into who I am today.

I am more compassionate and empathic and open and understanding.

My new heart is wider deeper and kinder.

There is a freedom to me, that makes me a better person.

 

So, during this holiday time where not everyone has whole loving heart families; but maybe two hearts (broken and new you trying) – let's allow for non-traditional traditions.  Let's be open to even not celebrating. I know often many can't wait for the holiday to be behind them. For the normal days to be – just days of living.

For it is hard celebrating family, when yours is broken or fractured or different or with holes of those who passed.

Do what you can to do turkey day.

Carve out moments where you can give yourself joy.

Even little ones.

 

This year our Thanksgiving was last Sunday, when the kids were available.

So, my dreams did come true, Thanksgiving this year will be just a regular old day.

I love it.

And what I have found, is that everyday for me is family day.

The family in front of me.

 

One more thing, I know many who say there are family that isn't family and to focus on them etc. Or your family of choice.  However, what I know to be true for me, is that there will always be the drag and pull of the old family ties. I am not sure you can ever escape them.  My DNA and genealogy is tied up with them. No matter how many wonderful relationships and friendship I have made and love, there is a huge part of me missing.  Those who know and hold the early years of me. You know how familiar we are with family, how we just know what we know – that part is missing with me. There are so many in my past, who I no longer know or who know me. The gap grows wider and deeper the longer I am estranged. The phantom limb – is what comes to the holidays.

I don't think you cannot think of them.

Instead I think, it is best to bring them in on your time, to find a place for you to acknowledge the loss.

To have a day of old, broken, lost, new, and hopeful future.

Which is life.

All the pieces of me, make me me.

I am grateful today that I landed here.

With a heart that loves me.

And, allows me to love my family in front of me.

Back in April I ordered a Mod Bike – the Berlin – an Electric Assist bike. 

It has been backordered and then backordered again and again. It finally arrived on Saturday, in the middle of our camping weekend. I was so happy that it finally made it to my home.

I was a bit nervous to try it out. I couldn't imagine having a helper on the pedals with me. Would I be able to control or feel comfortable on it – and how long would it take.

 

So, last night, after reading some of the Owner's Manual I took it for a spin.  

Down the dirt road I went – and I felt like I was about 6 – with endless energy – I was riding with such ease.

I then went to the end of our road and on to pavement – and then I noticed a thump thump thump each time the rear tire rotated around.  Something was not right.

 

So, I headed back home – excited that I LOVED the bike and that I could ride it with ease; but sad that it wasn't right. 

Oh my gosh, there was one small hill and I tried the assist at 1, and then 2, and then 3 – we flew up the hill. Granted it was a small one – all I could think of was how many other hills and places we will see.

But first I had to solve the thumping of the back wheel.

My mechanic husband ascertained it was a flat spot on the rim.

 

Today I had a few back and forth emails with the Mod company – and we both agreed that a new rear end will be shipped my way.  Leaving Austin Texas tomorrow via FedX.

Again I wait – and it is a bit harder.

I know what I am waiting for.

I Love Her!

 

She is my retirement gift to myself.

Her and I will explore many miles of roads and trails together in the years to come.  

I knew the longer I waited, the less days I would have to ride her – but she will be there next Spring. 

She will spare my titanium hip stress.  

She will also be good for my hurting hip.

She will save my body wear and tear – or so I hope!

And make me feel like a young girl on a new bike!

 

 

On Tim Ferris's podcast with Ramit Sethi they spoke about your Rich Life. 

The idea is what would define a 'rich' life for you?  

It doesn't have to be about finances or even items – but what feels luxurious to you.

What do you do to spoil yourself and make your heart sing?

How often do you feel joy by doing something you love?

And they also talked about dreaming into the future – of planning for a richer life experiences.

To put goals out there, and ways in which you can achieve them.

 

Ramit said that we are taught to save; but we are not taught how to spend.

Often we don't know how to spend what we save when we arrive in retirement.

 

We find security in the big bank roll – or how we so diligently have secured our retirement years – but never talk about how we will spend that retirement money.

 

He also has a challenge to spend $100 on just you – It can't be for your kids/grandkids or someone else. Just you.  To think about shopping for yourself.

 

What I loved about the conversation was that there were exciting dreams and ways in which we can save to experience things we love – to go places and plan and dream.

 

In my first 46 years, I didn't know how to focus on what I loved.  But, in the past 16 years  I have learned to this quite well. And, it isn't selfish feeling at all.  It is self-loving.

I love myself enough to have purchased a kayak, bikes, skis etc.

I see clothing that will work well in the outdoors and spoil myself buying it.

 

As a couple we have been good of taking care of us.

We go out to dinner and splurge – to take rides and weekend getaways.  We not only save but enjoy the fruits of our labor.

 

I have little bits of dreams for retirement – ideas that need to be fleshed in and planned for.

Road trips, bike trips, kayaking, camping, hiking, art fairs…

With family and friends.

 

Mostly what I am doing already; but maybe bigger, longer and further away.

Perhaps retirement opens up the landscape of time to do more of what you love.

My rich life is what I am living today.

 

Often we wait to be delivered 'riches' when the richness of life is doing that which you love to do.

How grateful am I to be living a life full of riches!

And the greatest richness we can own is the relationship we have with ourself and then with others.

 

 

There is a frustration, and an excitement, when I feel out of control, or more wanting to control – a place that feels familiar to so many past events. A rage and carelessness floods through me.  

 

Mostly it is when plans go awry.

 

I have an inappropriate reaction to reality.

Or, an appropriate one, coming from whence I came.

 

When I was old enough to babysit – every few months or so, I would arrive home from school or wake up in the morning and my mother would be gone.  Leaving the house to me and all the kids.

It didn't matter to her, what plans I had made, what was going on in my life – her needs eclipsed it.

There was no asking.

 

I would be plunged into caretaking with a careless heart.

Into her world of raising children.

Lots of children.

Too many for a young girl to handle, on her own for a whole weekend.

Without prep.

Without notice.

Without the proper skills and understandings of child rearing; I was but a child myself.

 

And, then after a few days, she would appear.  She would be there in the morning.  Having come back home the same way she left, unannounced.

Her morning wake up call – would announce she was back -"Rise and Shine Everybody".

To which my anger abounded into a full blow rage at her.

Seething inside a volcano of hatred.

For her audacity to have left me in charge.

 

She appeared to have rallied.

To have found her re-charge.

And, was back – for now.

No explanation.

I never had a way to reach her.

Nor, did I ever know where she went.

 

This feeling of being in control – but out of control – and to be at the whim of another's choice – has stayed with me.

 

My responsibleness – and love for my siblings had me doing my best in the worst situations.

Caring for children who were left behind.

I wasn't their mother, but I was left to act like it.

This happened mostly before I could drive.

I wasn't allowed to drive a car; but I was allowed to care for way too many kids.

 

So, in my nowadays world, when someone abandons plans – my knee jerk reaction is to see my mother's past behaviors.

A question that is asked in the healing of the past is "What does this remind you of."

 

I wrestle with my emotions and control when others change plans.

 

It feels deeply hurtful to me.

I feel disregarded.

In a volume way way too loud.

 

I believe, that these are the expressed emotion I had way back when – when my mother changed her mind on being a Mom, on those weekends.

 

Her running away, literally – to escape – left me unseen.

Her emotions, her feelings, her life mattered more; than mine.

 

As a child I didn't have a choice.

I was left in a home with babies and young kids.

Without a parent in charge.

I had to stay and live out the cost of her choice to leave.

 

I had to bury my resentments and cope.

To be in charge in way that was impossible and way beyond my means.

 

She would often praise me for the good job I did – or bring home a 'gift' as perhaps payment.

But, my rage and resentment towards her never really got to be fully expressed.

I wasn't able to voice my anger and feelings.

 

It is the way of a dry drunk. When they are happy, you are not going to bring up the crap and set them off again.  In a way, I suppose I was happy she was back – for the simple reason – I was no longer in charge.

 

I resented the fact that she could pop out of her life whenever she wanted.

I resented the fact that she came back cheerful.

 

What I didn't know way back then – was all the abuse that was going on in my home, and in my neighborhood. The sheer volume of what she was leaving me in charge of blows my mind.

 

I have been wondering about the exaggerated feelings – when someone changes plans – and how it affects me so deeply.  I tried to find the links backward.

I guess what is even odder, is that now I get left usually having fun – not left in a mess of untold proportions.

 

I know that my feelings are my problems.

Mine to resolve and express.

And, that anytime I feel out of control – I have given my power to someone else.

 

Of course as a child – especially in toxic homes – we are powerless.

Powerless is actually the voice of our childhoods.

Not love.

Not responsible love.

Not caring.

But not being seen.

 

I get me – and my weird overblown responses.

 

We are formed by our childhood experiences. I seek relationships that are solid and reliable – and I also know that I am the one who needs to be the most solid and responsible – for me.

We are all free to chose – our choices matter.

 

(For those who don't know. I was the second oldest to 14 children – and the oldest girl.)

 

 

 

 

 

“Wherever I am, wherever we go, home will always be the in-between place, a wilderness I've grown to love.” “EVERYONE WHO IS born holds dual citizenship, in the kingdom of the well and in the kingdom of the sick,” Susan Sontag 

I finished Suleika's book "Between Two Kingdoms".

I highly recommend it.

 

What I was introduced to is the Between Space.

Where many folks live.

 

In life things happen – and we can't go back to the before, and we are not fit for normal.

Or, we have changed so much, there doesn't seem to be a place among the rest.

 

Again, hard to explain – but it feels right for me.

 

I am different.

Not the daughter and sister I used to be – nor will I ever be again.

I am not striving to fit into a new place in the family.

I am living in the between space of both.

 

No longer defined by the labels – rather living without them.

 

Life is often defined in or out.

With or against.

 

When there is the third option.

I didn't understand that what I was doing was developing the third option of in-between.

While you feel like it is an outcast position – it can also be an empowered one.

A sovereign space – where you live from.

As an individual.

Honoring your truths and experiences – being/feeling/knowing differently.

 

I am thinking there are more of us in the in-between.

And, instead of feeling like the "other" – we can make that a more normal space.

We are tossed into this space typically by a life interruption event and often strive to fit back into

something – and it is impossible.

Little did we know, the in between is a life space.

An honorable one.

 

The vast space of freedom to NOT fit in.

 

We are different.

Unique 

Outstanding

 

Subconsciously I felt less than – due to my in-between status.

Suleika has shown me the beauty of not living in the kingdoms.

 

So, if you find yourself outside of the norms or ensconced in the family – know it is not only okay but a valid

place.  

It is your land.  

A kingdom of your own. 

And, you the queen of it all.

It is up to you how you decorate and orchestrate the things that live in this space.

There are no rules to be had.

It is the space where you are free to be you.

Untethered and detached from so many of the labels and constraints of 'normal'.

A false unreachable space.

I am so grateful it is impossible for me to reach normal.

The freedom that has given me is immense.

Freedom to just be, here as I am, right now.