One of the easiest and hardest things to do is be yourself. To be an individual and to live life from the inside out. To seemingly be immune to the good opinions of others. To find your lane and stick to it. To be relentlessly you, no matter how others trend into new and different ways. And, most importantly allow others to do the same. To live life outside of group mentality.

I was raised in a religion that loved conformity and actually shunned those who didn't believe the same and see the world through similar eyes. Taught to leave the self and its desires, and follow the group.

Group mentality and group think was where my comfort was found.

Being part of.

Being accepted by.

 

What I didn't realize is that I had left me, the individual, the self – behind.

Silently following the masses.

Isn't there a saying about following the masses, "be careful the M is often silent."

 

Anyway, being raised without a self focus and instead being taught to do things that will please the group or at very least not get you shunned, is a lonely existence for your self.

I truly had no idea who I was outside of group mentality.

For 46 years I lived contorting myself in order to blend in.

To not stand out as Me.

 

I would say and be things that didn't align to my feelings – in order to be compliant and accepted.

Being accepted and liked mattered most.

Rejecting my own feelings was normal  - back then.

Not knowing thoughts outside of the group think.

 

Each decision and choice I made, was first measured against what others "might think".

Their response to my actions mattered.

Their opinions of me needed to be favorable. I cared too much.

I needed them to like me, cause looking back now, I had no idea who I was or even if I liked me.

 

As I looked back at the 34 years of marriage and my husband. What stuck out most, was his ability to be himself; no matter what.  The consistency in which he has lived his life according to his very own moral code and standards, is quite remarkable. He has rejected all things that are not in line with how he feels and what he believes.

There is no pretending to pretend, even for a moment.

His realness of who he is, and how he presents himself in our lives, is a solid core to trust.

I trust who he is.

I trust him to be himself.

 

What beautiful gift he has given us, by simply being himself.  

It allows the rest of us to follow our own paths.

 

Love to me, is allowing the other person to be fully themselves.

Love is freedom.

 

I was never a good pretender.

Life was much harder living to fit into a group – even when I sought comfort there.

 

I also mothered from two different perspectives.

One being of teaching children to conform and fit in. Raising children to be part of a religion, means you follow its rules; and not the self. You are raising them into something; not following who they are.

After leaving the religion, the world actually opened up to my children to be themselves.

To not have to fit in a set of ideals.

 

The difference of mothering with an end goal in mind – compared to letting the child show you, who they are is a world a part. There is no common denominator between the two.

 

Mothering with love was not an option.

Mothering was more about them fitting into a mold that was already formed.

It had things that were acceptable and then things that were not acceptable.

 

Opening the space up to be whatever, was a freedom I call Love.

I could then relax and let them be.

Be who they want to be; not what I needed them to be.

 

Imagine a world where we all were allowed to just be ourselves.

Where no groups were formed and rules to be followed.

Wars would end.

Humanity would thrive.

Love would naturally flow between us all.

 

I have lived life from both sides now and I know – love is the freedom to be you.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My granddaughter asked me, "Grandma what is an heirloom?"  We were going through some of her stuff and re-organizing her room.  Our day then was spent looking at all the stuff in our house, with new eyes. 

Heirloom – "a valuable object that has belonged to a family for several generations."

 

She wondered how things became heirlooms, and how others did not.  There are things she sees value in that would not be classified as an heirloom. 

 

The juxtaposition was not lost on me, how one week I am getting rid of family art and the next weekend looking at heirlooms.

 

Homes of couples, usually have two families blending together.  Our pasts flow with us into our present.

Each of us have values we want to pass on, and others we want to cast aside.

 

My focus in the past decade and a half has been to re-cast the pattern that is me.

To do my best not to pass on what was given to me.

My intentions were to create something of value to hand down.

The heirlooms I was most concerned were not things.

I wanted to hand down family values.

Values with real value.

Love that holds truth, honesty, integrity, freedom, authenticity, courage…

Love that has boundaries and limits.

Love that honors who you are, what you feel, and will challenge beliefs that feel wrong.

Love that is deep and ever changing – while being the same in substance.

Love that will hold the difficult moments as well as the beautiful joys.

 

Love that allows each to be true to themselves.

To not have to wear a mask to fit in.

 

I believe the heirlooms will mean more, if they come from a person of substance. Someone who lived their life unapologetically, and remained true to themselves; always.

No matter what life gave them, they did what was true for them.

My heirloom is of emotional intelligence, to know who you are and be that.

Be that in all ways.

 

The saddest life to me, is one where you cannot be yourself.

We all know our own truths, they live within us.  The grandest life, is when you can live out loud.

May my legacy be "You be You" or as my license plates read "UBEEU".

 

 

I was in a discussion last week with a few artists, and we were talking about doing art; but not Art that would be for sale.

 

I always had this impression that if you did art – the next logical step was to sell Art.

Especially when you did fabulous art.

That doing art would lead to selling art and teaching art.

That the circle of art, when done well, would lead to selling art.

And, some may even believe you are not an artist, until you sell your art.

 

What never occurred to me was that many do art for personal reasons.

It isn't for others, it is something they choose, to add to their lives.

They do so for reasons we can't know.

Art is an additive to their lives.

It brings them something.

 

Art is a land without many rules.

How then did I place so many rules upon it?

 

Art began for me as therapy, and often still is.

 

The pull to the basement and fabric was like a drug.

A calm down drug.

An anti-anxiety drug.

The place where I found the essence of myself.

The lone self – that wasn't tied to anyone and our complicated relationships.

 

Art found Me.

 

The me I was before I joined others.

 

I can see how it would be easy to escape life by being immersed in Art.

And, not really deal  with the choices you have made or failed to make.

I can understand how you could live almost split lives.

Where one is happy and free in their art – and the other is trapped into a life out of control.

Unable or unwilling to course correct, when relationships are toxic.

 

Art for me walked with me as I made course corrections so that the self in Art, and the self in life, both had freedoms.  

My life became like my art, where I had choices.  Where, when with whom, and if I went and if I didn't go. What I said or what I didn't say.  Boundaries and choices created a life I wanted to be in – not one I want to escape.

 

Yesterday I looked at my brother's art and my father's.

Art's legacy is in our family.

It flows through generations.

Wood solidness carved.

Changed.

The simple, and the intricate.

 

It is funny, in a peculiar way, how wood carving was the modality used.

Taking something solid and changing it.

 

I was young when I got these carved hearts from my father.

I cherished them – at the time. A clue to my unawareness.

I think the hearts and spoons were the only gift I ever received from him.

 

They made it from the shelves and into a box.  Now what?  I don't know. 

 

These were the only two things I wanted from my parents and my childhood home.

The plates were my mothers.  

Are the best parts of them in their art and what they cherish.

Is that the best part of me; my Art???

Do we all put ourselves in our art?

More to explore with art and the artist, and what the things we chose to keep or discard.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I have been having cravings for deeper friendships – feeling like I was missing a piece of life - when I realized, what I am actually missing are friend dates.

Times where you can sit and just visit. Whether it is over a cup of tea, a meal or just visiting in person in a home. 

Shared close times with friends – where we could explore many different topics, share our lives and experiences, our dreams.  Getting to know each other in new ways. 

 

During the past many months, I have been able to meet with many outside. We have been able to go on adventures and be together; but there is something about sitting and just being and sharing our lives.

The luxury of time and sacredness of close being.

We can give the bullet points of our lives as we hike along or paddle etc -but we don't get down to the deeper levels of where our souls lie.

Levels where I long to be.

 

While life has slowed and spaces are wide open – but the virus has kept us cautious, apart and in the bullet points in many lives.

I feel we are getting close to the end game – in the last many miles of this marathon – and soon we will go back to living closer to each other.

AND, I will be retiring, and life will really slow down and open up – and I am so eager for friend dates.

In fact, I am going to start this friend dating soon, one on one outside – as the temps warm up.  

 

Friend dating – it is all part of the sisterhood of friends!

 

As I was falling asleep last night, I thought of the hearts of so many strong women I know. The sheer strength of the love it holds; and more the heartache.

It is remarkable to me how we can walk and breathe and live all the while with a beating broken heart.

And, that beating broken hearts can continue to love and feel joy.

That they dare love, and live on.

 

The longer we live, the more chance there is for experiencing and witnessing the breaking hearts of our family and friends.

 

We fear a broken heart.

I sat with that awhile.

 

Is a broken heart part of the contract of love?

A loving heart becomes a heart of sorrow?

 

It seems more true the heart grows deeper and knows the preciousness of things.

A heart beats wisdom of the fleetingness of it all.

 

My heart broke and it loves in a braver way.

Perhaps it is stronger in its brokenness.

 

And, when you can survive a deep deep sorrow of a broken heart – you gain strength and even carelessness.

You care less about mundane and trivial things and more about what matters.

I am drawn to women who have suffered, survived and now thrive. Who dared to love and live with beating broken hearts. Who are resilient in life. Or perhaps the willingness to live a life of meaning, even with a beating broken heart.

Women whose lives are not defined by their losses; but rather are determined by their ability to live, love and dance with life. To live on.

To live on with colorful lives.

With new adventures.

 

May the newly broken hearted, breathe in hope by the examples of strong women they know.

Beating broken hearts are able to capture life again – as they love what they love.

Maybe the key to living life in all its forms, is to seek what you love.

What you love doing, who you love being with.

Love perhaps, is the only thing that will heal a beating broken heart.

Or make it a heart you can live with. 

The new heart is different than the loving heart without sorrow.

Yet it is a fuller heart; for it knows the costs.

To all the beating broken hearts – my heart is with yours.

We beat with the courage of love.

 

Getting older feels odd, and then stagnant.  

The body is beginning to show its age – okay it has now for quite sometime; but I am seeing more old than just regular me, and yet the inside feels like Me unchanged.

The body now bruises with big bursts of color and I don't even remember how IT happened.  For it doesn't take much to color my skin.

My joints hurt less – with the less carbs I eat.

The lighter I am – the easier it is to navigate the things I do.

I am grateful there are not too many "old people" body issues with me yet.

I love that I love.

I love that I am loved and can accept it.

I love that I can feel love; and sorrow.

I love that my body can express itself.

My heart is free to be Me.

I am so very grateful that I have a beautiful circle of women who enjoy being outside and doing fun things.

It almost feels like I am in my second childhood.

Where there is more time to play and the responsibilities are being reduced each year.

Next year, I can retire.  

That will plunge me right back to age 4 – no school and no work – just play!

As the outside of me is showing its age, the inside of me is not.

I feel the same – but with a wider knowledge – experience has added volume to me.

Or color and intriguing details – like the finishing touches that make Art pop.

And it seems perfectly aligned that as my responsibilities are reduced, I get to play grandma.

We seem perfectly matched.  The childlike wonder is in us both. And, perhaps a slowing down and wanting to embrace the little things in life.  I am thinking the best grandmas are the ones whose little girl is eager to play once again!

Sometimes being a mom felt like I was "playing" mom. That I wasn't really old enough to be one. 

And, then other times it seemed like I had missed my childhood; for I was a second mother in my childhood home.

The only down side of getting old – is that there is less time to live.

Which makes it doubly important that you don't waste time – that you live this day, and this moment.

When I look backwards in my endless amount of photographs, it shows I am doing an excellent job of using my time with things I love.

I celebrate Me today. 

Who I am, what I have experienced and more, the bravery I have had to be Me.

Looking at all my pictures, getting old is so much fun.  Here is to another Year!  Let the Adventures begin!

 

You are as young as you feel inside.

I am sitting in the same house, in the same room, in the same chair, and body – when my whole view of the world changed.

The outside world was the same.

But the way I viewed myself and the world around it was completely upside down and backwards.

The truth has a way of setting you free – but I heard, it will make you miserable first.

 

Looking back over the past 16 years, the first few were extremely rough. (Learning about my sexual abuse by my father. I had been in a deep state of denial for 46 years. My body knew; but my head did not acknowledge it – or failed to record abusive behaviors.)

The first few weeks/months and years I felt a stranger in a familiar land.

Reconciling the feelings of my body – with the thoughts and beliefs in my head – was to re-learn what it meant to be Me.

 

I know there are stroke patients or ones who suffer brain trauma and they have to re-learn many facets of life. This is how I felt.  The simple choices, became hard.  I didn't trust my head's judgments or the thoughts that arose. I had to double check them with my body and my feelings and the little girl inside.

I didn't know what love was.

I didn't know who I was.

I didn't know where I came from – what the truth was or what was fiction.

 

What I did know, is that if I could stay  the course, if I could walk the hard walk, if I could veer off the legacy of abuse and into a new pattern, the history that flowed from me – would change.

 

Looking back, there doesn't seem to be a choice. Or perhaps I was already half awake when the truth fell in.  But, the character of who I believed me to be, really grew from that day forward.

 

I used to see my mother as a woman of morals, values and pious.

Only to learn that my beliefs about her –  didn't match her actions.

 

What I then had to do, was to make sure that my actions matched who I wanted to be.

Because 16 years ago – I was my mother.

I believed that I too was a woman of morals and values. I wasn't too into religion. I had began to back up and out of the church.  But, was wondering how to share this openly.

 

The transformation to verge away from who I was – into who I dreamed I could become took a long time.

Morals and Values are not just words.

They are the actions that can be seen and felt.

 

What I find so interesting about the church that I was raised in, is that it is all in the head.

There is a saying from Gandhi 

Your beliefs become your thoughts,
Your thoughts become your words,
Your words become your actions,
Your actions become your habits,
Your habits become your values,
Your values become your destiny.

I believe this to be true.

It all begins with what you believe.

About yourself, others and the world around you.

 

A simple yet profound belief of who my father was, who my mother was, what the religion actual stood for or more blessed away, changed my thoughts.

For, once you see – you can't un-see.

 

While December 4th is a date that changed my life forever, it isn't tragedy or a negative day.

It is however a day of loss.

And, gain.

 

I lost the woman I was.

I was disconnected from my body and the truth of reality.

And, that is to not live a full life.

 

Today, while in the same house, room, chair and body – I am completely different inside.

My head, heart and soul are together in harmony.

We can accept tough truths and know what response will honor us all.

I am deeply grateful for my journey today.

 

The legacy of abuse only works, if you act as the generation before you.

 

My heart sings, knowing I walked the walk my little girl would be safe in.

And, other little girls after her.

 

While I thought I wasn't able to save my little girl. I actually did.

I saved her to be open, free and innocent in the present.

I have no shadows of guilt or regrets.

 

The life I lived for 46 years was directly a response to the sexual abuse I experienced.

But, it was only by bringing it into the open, that my little girl felt safe.

All little girls need someone to see them, and act with love.

 

I celebrate the 16 years of walking with my little girl and learning about love.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It is Thanksgiving, and many of us may be giving up our traditional Thanksgivings, in hopes of lessening the spread of Covid.

As I thought of so many feeling disheartened by the lack of normality, it came to me that there are many whose Thanksgivings will never be the same – again.

We are being asked to pause.

We are not being asked to NEVER.

 

If we can remember, that for many of us, our loved ones are still here, and there is a potential of another gathering.  We can take a pause and do something non-traditional this year.  We can breathe in that we are being responsible. We are doing this – so to spare another – a Never.

 

Also, there are many of us out here who have had non-traditional holidays, due to estrangement.

We have selectively chosen to redefine what holidays mean.

 

So, on this 2020 Thanksgiving, I hope that we can feel love.

Even if it is from afar.

Love with the potential of many future gatherings.

I feel hope, that when we all gather again, we will feel deep gratitude at the simple things. 

This is a moment in time.

A page in a chapter.

 

Take the time to feel even the simple joys that are present today.

 

It is easy to fall into what we can't do, and fail to see what we can do.

Do something today that makes your heart sing.

Being thankful you can.

Seeing these rocks light up last night – was the perfect start to Thanksgiving.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

What does your heart want – was a questioned posed on a podcast this week.  I don't think we ask this of ourselves very much.  We typically know what is expected of us, what others are doing, or not doing, but rarely do we just sit inquiring with our hearts.

 

I have been riding along the route this week pondering this question.

 

The first and most basic thought is, "I want others to be free to be their authentic self."

My heart truly beats for others to listen to their own truths.

And, to be courageous enough to voice what needs to be said.

 

I was 46 years old before I heard the longing of my heart. 

It was very young when I heard it breathe.

My heart seemed to know when I would be able to hear it.

When the outside world fell silent with disappointment.

 

I am not sure if I turned a deaf ear on what I used to focus on, or did I suddenly hear a new voice from a new direction. I am most inclined to believe it was the first.

 

Our hearts, I believe, want our attention.  

It seemed my heart had to be broken by the outside voices, in order for me to hear it inside of me.

What does my heart want?

 

Back then, it just wanted me to be with my truth.

Period.

To stand with it and not turn away.

Even when, or especially if its voice was in opposition with others.

 

By following a very simple and basic – and even historically, old system –  I leaned into my intuition, and followed my feelings. 

 

I wonder what the difference is between feelings and heart, and even soul?  What is it inside of us that leads us intuitively – to honor the truth of our lives and experiences – and to do what we know in our hearts is right for us.

I used to think I had a conscience, but mostly it was a belief system that was formed around a cult.  Its bells rang when I veered off the rules of the religion. It wasn't an organically created. It wasn't Me.  It was how I was programmed to be.

 

Becoming me, took time.  I had to sit with choices, explore feelings, write out the different choices and who they would serve, and what the long term consequences would look like.

I heard the line from an audio book, that a man speaks to his great grand children when making a decision, and sits with how it will affect them.

I get this.

I want my choices to stand the test of time.

That the decision will go smoothly into the next generation not placing a debt that will be hard to live with.

 

I believe, my siblings and I, carry a huge debt from our parents.  Its burden isn't one that is easily lived with; plus what we add to it. 

As I was unwinding the programming, and the affects of being sexually abused by my father, it truly felt like I was trying to turn around generations of poor choices. That so many of my ancestors made the 'easy' choice to go along to get along. To forgive and forget and live as if there were no abuse. 

Which only carried its debt to the next generation – compounding the negative impact.

 

By stopping and listening to my heart, and living my life differently, I have reduced the weight my children have to carry. I am carrying and owning what happened to me, so it doesn't spill down to the generations below me.

And, hopefully showing a model of being yourself.

Regardless of what it looks like.

 

When I first heard my young inner self, it was from beneath a pile of stuff other people needed from me.  I had been trying to live a life that others needed me to live.  There was very little in my life where my heart could beat freely.

 

I now feel the lack of weight upon me.  I am no longer under the influences of the cult and family – those two were very huge.  

Now I am able to live free as Me.

My inner feelings, knowing and being guide me.

 

No one is using my heart.

What does my heart want?  It wants this for others. Especially those who have come from heavy dysfunctional families to be free.  Free to feel soulfully connected to their own hearts.  

 

On Facebook a quote caught my eye. "Unpopular fact: There is still grief involved with letting a toxic person go."

So, while my heart was singing with a new connection with me, it was also grieving the loss of family.  It still grieves today.  

My heart has many broken pieces, and yet it loves more deeply because of what it has lost.

 

On Independence weekend, I want this personal freedom for all.  

May your life reflect who you are inside.

 

 

 

 

On a podcast, it was suggested that we write about our experiences with Covid 19, so that we can remember how it was for us during this time, and the things that stand out or were a hardship, and even those that improved our lives.   Some are even writing one sentence a day depicting your day.

 

My experiences are as an 'essential worker' and I have kept on working. Not only working, but working harder than in 'normal' times.  I am overwhelmed at work.  First it was the fear and the unknown of the virus.  Once I got used to watching my hands and wiping down the surface of my jeep and keeping things sanitized – sorta, I relaxed into a new routine.

However, the day upon day of heading out with a cart load of packages got tiring by the end of month one.  We are soon will be entering into our 4 month. 

I have gotten better at sorting the packages and keeping my jeep organized, and even have become accustomed to the large numbers of parcels.  It has become a new different  work day.  

Yet I am tired – and I understand – I order as well.  And, I am as many of you are, concerned about how long this goes on, what the future will look like, and how many of those we know will become sick or worse pass on.  The stress of the unknown is wearing us down mentally.

 

I am physically tired, mentally tired and then when you see others acting so neglectfully, you become tired in your thoughts. And disheartened in your fellow humans.

 

While we are all supposedly working to reopen safely, there appears to be a bit too many who have considered this virus not a threat, and masks not useful.  It feels like we are bailing out the boat, and they are splashing about bringing in more.  

I feel we would all feel better if we were in the same boat, and working together.

 

And, the folks who are being civil disobedient, are from churches who I once thought of as caring individuals. Well, some.  And, some are from ultra-conservative religions who I am not surprised are not following a rule that originated outside of their religion.

Yet, I am still surprised in their uprising for liberties – when they have given up so many rights to be part of the religion.

I wonder if there is a hierarchy of liberties?

They are free to give up the rights of their woman and their bodies.

They are free to give up the rights of who they are friends with, what they drink, to dye their hair, paint their nails, pierce their ears, tattoo their body, to not have sex prior to marriage etc, oh the list is long.  These liberties they have no trouble giving up.  But, tell them to wear a mask and social distance, and it is a revolt!

I am quite sure there can't be a reasonable explanation for the lost liberties it requires to be part of their religion in comparison to wearing a mask.

I don't know how they got so sidetracked in this virus.  An illness that has now become political – and it feels insane.

This part I have no idea how it works itself out, and before it burns out, it will have us on two sides of living during a pandemic.

I feel odd when I encounter the mask-less.  Odd, in knowing they can't be counted on to help the vulnerable, to help the stressed and overworked folks, by working to slow it down.

Instead it feels like they are adding fuel to an already burning fire, while we are trying to spread wet blankets.

We can't know if masks works, if social distancing help, – but doing nothing gets nothing but more sickness.

 

My emotions are triggered with the divide.  I feel the futile nature of what we are trying to do. I feel that the truth isn't being noticed. And, that many are playing into the hands of the virus.

And, there will be a cost.

Sickness will spread and lives will be lost.  And for what?

So that you can have your limited liberties?

Really?

You may be mask-less, but the lack of the mask is the least of the liberties you have lost.

Imagine the loss of an open mind?

The loss of being an individual.

The loss liberties of being free to be yourself.

And, the loss of caring for the most vulnerable.

Perhaps what adds the most stress is knowing there are those among us, who are self-absorbed, and that behavior adds weight to an already heavy time.

It is hard to even articulate and sort out the different strains a pandemic can have on my life.  

What I am trying to do is my part. To at least not make things worse and to make life livable while we traverse through these times. I do go out and do things outside with friends.  I am living within the guidelines – and maintaining my good life.  Wearing a mask doesn't take away my love, peace and joy.

 

Mostly the pandemic displayed heroes, and it also displayed fools.

Life often gives us the opportunity to learn about people.

We will remember those who walked with us in ways that didn't weigh us down.

I am happy to be in the company of caring souls.