Happy Monday! It’s a long weekend here and I am “enjoying” this little one:
I say “enjoying” because after FOUR WHOLE DAYS with a 14 month old, it’s actually “enduring” ha! Toddlers are a lot of work! How did I ever have my own? How do any of us? Even my bestie- a child care PROFESSIONAL- is a little in awe of us. She thinks we’re brave…
He goes home today and while his current nickname is The Terrorist, he’s been most excellent for someone with such high needs. He’s napping now so I can say that ;P I know five seconds after he leaves I’ll miss him <3. And how lucky am I to have full and easy access to him? Pretty damn lucky!
I bought a flat of strawberries on Friday. I froze them all up -made some jam too!- and am thinking about all the yummy things I’m going to make with them:
I love me a man who swears and this human is a particularly fine one 🙂
My birds are so hilariously bold now! The Crow visits me every so often and calls to me to come out. I am very well trained! The Blue Jays sit in the tree and stare in at me, if they cant find me in one room, they fly to another window and the Magpies seem pretty content to just ignore me. I bought some seed for the little birds so we’ll see how they react. As it is now they like to take me out at the knee in the yard by flying straight past me as I walk by…little asses! So far no Mockingbirds though 😛
I hope your Monday is going well and if it’s not I hope it goes quickly for you so you can start fresh on Tuesday!
You might not be able to tell at this present time but I have used to have a hard lacquered shell over my heart.
I grew it myself over the years in response to:
A. Being born a highly sensitive person.
B. Experiencing both ongoing and sudden trauma.
My hard shell has served me well. ( POETRY!) It was a necessary tool I used to protect myself. It gave me a feeling of power, control, comfort and safety.
It helped me as I built resilience and courage. It helped me as I cultivated my fierce sense of honesty, authenticity and integrity.
And then it started working against me and cut me off from intimacy and truth , truth. Connection and freedom.
It be like that sometimes.
Lucky for me, my hard shell was actually a fragile thing. It was smashed to the ground and shattered a few years ago.
That event left me shocked and reeling. Unable to hide. Exposed.
It was awful.
But it was also awesome because I kind of “levelled up” if you will. I grew exponentially within myself. Something that would have never happened had I been wearing that really tight and limiting shell.
I was forced to finally admit that I while, yes, I am still a bad ass. I am not all that tough. I actually do have feelings. LOTS OF THEM.
I have a very squishy heart. My insides are full of marshmallow fluff.
Most people saw through my tough act anyhow. I wasn’t really hiding anything. Mostly I just made a fool out of myself, ha ha.
I was as human as anybody else!
So, I’ve had to learn how to allow myself to be vulnerable. I’ve had to learn how to show my heart, how to live through my heart and how to protect myself as needed, by other means. (Boundary setting and lots of self love)
This whole blog is an expression of living through my heart!
Being vulnerable still scares me of course and it still takes lots of work to stick with. That’s where really where my strength lies. That’s really where my toughness is. Because while my heart is soft and marshmellowy, while it’s squishy and silly, it is also stubborn and fierce and brave.
What are your thoughts on vulnerability? Is it easy for you? Do you cringe too? What does vulnerability mean to you?
” I am not going into Autumn this year without a pair of f*cking sweatpants!” are words I actually yelled not so long ago.
I have no idea. Well, I mean I know why I want sweatpants. I don’t know why I was so fired up about the whole thing.
I tend to do that.
Obviously I was seeking comfort. ANd now that I think about it…I haven’t had a pair of sweatpants since 2010.
That IS a good reason to get all fired up!
I love sweatpants! Why am I denying myself so?!
It’s just not right.
The last pair of sweats I owned were pants of mystical proprortions.
I bought them in a crappy Zellers during a big scary move in the middle of a menstration emergency.
They were cheap.
They were in the men’s section.
They were huge.
They were soft and fuzzy.
They were an ugly shade of brown.
I was a desperate, bloodied woman.
They would do.
Those vile pants ended up being a the BEST PAIR OF PANTS I’d ever owned.
I am not kidding. I don’t know it was my mental state at the time or if someone put a magic spell of love, peace and comfort on them but those pants were like one giant security blanket in my life.
They were always soft. They didn’t rub or pull or tug or ride up anywhere. They kept me warm. They were strong and lasted for eight years with heavy use. I was very sad when I had to throw them out, a victim of a snagging accident in an inconvenient location.
I don’t think I’ve ever been as comfortable since.
So the quest is on! I shall find my next favourite pants. I shall wear them. I shall be cozy!
Do you have a favourite piece of clothing? Tell me about it!
When I was going through a very bad thing a few years ago, it became very apparent to me and ALL OTHERS that I really needed to do some work on my self worth. Realizing I had it, cultivating more of it, and nurturing it every day, forever more.
People tried to explain it to me and for lots of reasons I just couldn’t get it. It wasn’t sinking in. The problem I believe is that I was looking at it from a logical view point and logic while nice, is not my usual go to method of existing in the world. I need magic and whimsy. I need metaphors and stories. I need imagery and symbolism.
So I struggled and struggled but I kept on trying. In my trying I had many conversations with the people in my life about the subject and one of them was life changing.
“It’s like this” my supervisor said to me. This supervisor being a very strong, confident person of imposing bearing ” I know that no matter what’s happening, I AM the BOSS.” Stretching her bulk up straighter and throwing her shoulders back she continued ” I am the Queen!” She laughed, tossing her hair back as she strutted around the room. ” And I treat myself as such! Always. Without exception. I also don’t allow others to treat me badly because I know that I.Am.The.Boss in my life”
This woman really identified with being a boss. So much so that she went a little overboard and could be extremely overbearing. But there was wisdom in her words. I would never be comfortable with calling myself “boss” even though that’s an apt description but queen…queen was something I could definitely use!
And use it I did. It took awhile and there were many more conversations about self worth and self love, many more discoveries, lessons and realizations but I finally GOT IT and now the word Queen has great meaning to me. It spawned the huge realization in me that I really do LOVE MYSELF. I really do TRUST MYSELF.
I am a dignified Queen. That became my core mantra and soothing balm for all things. I bought myself a crown ring …
and charm for my bracelet..
so I would never forget.
There’s a tattoo in the works to literally drill it into me, ha ha.
I have to tell you, the day my husband bought me this:
I felt like the lesson I learned and the progress I’d made was visible to others too. Yahoo!
Self love/worth is an on going thing. It’s the continuing relationship between you and you. It’s your most important relationship and I’m so grateful for the lessons I learned, even if they did come late, because…wow, I feel so much lighter in this world and very queenly 😉
Do you have a word that signifies your own self worth? Please share! And if you’re struggling please know that you really are a person of worth, no matter what, simply by being alive! ❤
I started going white, just in the front, when I was 21. I dyed my hair at first even though I really liked my white streak. Why? Peer pressure mostly. I didn’t want to look “old” because old was something that was frowned upon. Grey hair on a younger person meant I had given up on myself somehow. Dying the grey out meant I was “fighting” growing old.
This idea is HILARIOUS to me! Like dying my hair somehow hid me from the Grim Reaper. Like dying my hair showed I was doing my best to stay alive or something. Like dying my hair made me immortal.
I eventually decided to stop and embrace my grey and now I’m grey on purpose.
Seriously. I’m not grey enough to have a full head of it yet, so I put in light streaks and my hairdresser and I have been toning the shit out of my hair to get it match the natural tinsel that’s growing in.
It’s glorious and very freeing. I LOVE my hair, the greyer and whiter it gets, the better. My work kids tease me and say “You look like a Grandma!” which makes me laugh as I say ” I AM a Grandma! And Grandmas are the BEST kind of people!” We gotta teach these little ones young.
It wasn’t easy to get to this age positive, grey positive place. There was pushback from friends, hairdressers, society of course. My husband even, in not so many words of course. I wield a mean frying pan plus.. divorce.
But I was angry and I was defiant so I pushed through that NONSESNE fueled by one little experience that shaped a whole portion of my life.
My father in law, in one of the few times he ever made me angry, said this of an elderly neighbour lady:
” Have you seen Wilma’s hair?! It’s so long and scraggly. Grey too. She needs to cut and dye it. She looks like an old sea hag!”
A nasty comment, right? Usually I was able to let his misogynistic B.S. float in one ear and out the other, but there was something about this time, or maybe it was something about me at that time , that didn’t allow that happen.
That comment circulated in my brain as I watched this lady out in her garden enoying life and hurting nobody. How DARE he judge her like that? What gave HIM the right to decide what she did with her f8cking hair? Hadnt she earned the right at her age to do whatever the f8ck she wanted?! And why was it ok for him to be OLD and have GREY hair but not her? Dad wasn’t that much younger than Wilma, did he forget that fact or was this a judgement only reserved for women?
Oooooh, I was mad!
I turned to him, eyes blazing I’m sure and said ” I think it’s beautiful! It’s HER hair and she wasn’t placed on earth to please you. ”
Silence. Dad was known for being an asshole when challenged and not many were brave enough to do it.
He raised an eyebrow and I forged on, my mind made up in an instant ” I HOPE I look like her when I’m that age. You may call ME a Sea WITCH!”
And that was that.
I would have my grey hair. I would wear it proudly in PROTEST of all our stupid cultural beliefs and expectations. And f8ck anyone who tries to tell me differently.