1981

me and my dad . 1981

It was the year that changed everything. It was the year when my family went from three to four when my baby brother was born on a day in April. And a piece of my story is that I will never forget the way that both of my parents made sure that I always felt deeply loved.

In families there is always stuff.

(Always.)

I wish we would give ourselves more space to just know that this is true. We experienced stuff as children, and we create it now (even if we sometimes don't want to admit it). Every family has it, which is why I feel it is so important to share our stories so that we know we aren't the only ones.

And today, I was thinking about this stuff, and the truth that there is, for me, so often love in the midst of it all.

(Thank you for that.)

May you find your way to love today.

Blessings,

Liz

on shining a light (on all of it)

Stand in Your Light pocket talisman in the Soul Mantras shop.

A year ago, my life felt heavy, my heart felt heavy. A year ago, my practice was centered around staying grounded and surrendering while holding on by my fingertips. A year ago, I couldn't stop thinking about how I wanted to feel lighter and less tethered to the past. A year ago, I thought I was coming out of survival mode, but in reality, I was still neck deep in it. A year ago, I had no idea how I would do it all and thought I was supposed to have it all figured out by now.

A year ago, I chose the word LIGHT to focus on in 2011.

I chose light because I wanted to manifest more light in my life. I wanted to feel the sun even when the past threatened clouds. I wanted the light to show me I was not alone on my path. I wanted to listen to the light within, around me and trust the way. And I chose light because I simply wanted to feel lighter. I wanted to dance more and seek more joy in simply living.

As 2011 unfolded, light became my guide.

(For real.)

As I began to do some deep inner work and healing from all that 2010 brought through Ellie Jane's birth and open heart surgery and the experiences surrounding all of it, I kept focusing on the light.

I began to realize that my work is to shine a light, a BIG light, on all of it. I don't want to be afraid in the dark and a flashlight isn't enough. I want to shine a big lighthouse-sized lantern on all that has been before this moment, from yesterday to decades ago, so that I can be present to right here and all that is to come.

As I worked with the light, I began to stand tall in these truths:

My work is to invite you to shine a light in every corner of the home that is you. To bring light to the dust and the stacks of stuff that belong to someone else and the truths just hanging out waiting to be seen in the corner and the whispered dreams of the little girl who lives inside you. 

My work is to tell the stories about how I am shining my light to unearth the joy and the beauty and the real.ness amidst all that living brings so that you can be invited to know you are not alone as you stand in your light (so that I can remember I am not alone).

My work is to create talismans that act as traveling companions on the journey.

My work is to show up as me and live with my heart open to all that has been and all that is to come.

As I sit on the edge of a new year and think about all that has been, I feel surrounded by the light that has taught me and will teach me and show me the way.

And as I gather up all the beauty and truth that has been 2011, I think of you (yes you) in your corner and I want to you to hear me say:

Thank you for walking beside me. Thank you for you showing me that my stories matter. Thank you for helping my business grow. Thank you for sharing your stories. Thank you for sharing your light. Thank you for showing up as you. Thank you.

for you

 

indiana lilacs . may 2011

in this moment,

i send you sitting inside grief

and you feeling alone

and you believing it will shift

and you choosing joy

and you wishing for something else

and you grasping at the edge of hope

and you holding life

and you who thought it would be different

and you needing to exhale

and you praying for rain

and you seeking a life raft

and you hoping to forget

and you knowing it is time

and you wanting to dance in the beauty

in this moment,

i send you light and love

and a moment to remember that you

(yes you)

are enough

the pieces.

a few hours into labor . june 2, 2010 (photo by our doula patti ramos) 

Today, the scar that has not gotten smaller or faded, the scar that sits just beneath my belly, hurts. It hurts as though Ellie was born last week and not almost eight months ago. There is so much the doctor did not go over when she sounded like the last moments of a medical commercial as she listed all that might happen. She left out the parts about how my skin would be numb (perhaps forever) and that the scar would just hurt some days and that my body would still be reacting in unexpected ways months later. She left out a lot of things that became part of the story that makes up who I am on this day.

The part of me that is the realest me has a visceral reaction when I think about that doctor. The doctor who I met just hours before my daughter was born. I am pushed by some momentum outside myself to say that I am grateful. Of course, I am grateful that my little girl sleeps down the hall even after her intense entry into this world, and I am grateful that I am here writing these words.

But, I give myself permission to say that I am not grateful for pieces of what happened after I met that doctor.

In this moment, with the scar hurting and my baby girl asleep down the hall, I push myself to remember the beauty of the first 18 hours when I was in labor. My contractions were so close and intense that we all thought Eleanor Jane would arrive so very soon, but the story was to go another way. After many hours, the story involved medication and a doctor who allowed me to push for hours longer than I should have even though they knew a cesarean was imminent and an epidural wearing off in surgery and a woman experiencing the most significant trauma of her life with her minutes-new-to-this-world baby daughter’s cheek against hers and a decision not to start screaming but instead to find the place deep inside me filled with more courage than I thought possible, to just breathe, and then firmly say, “No, I am experiencing pain not pressure” and then more emotional trauma in the minutes and days that followed as no one quite understood what had happened to the woman who was awake during a surgery where the epidural wore off but she didn’t start screaming.

Months later, as the fears of what might happen have quieted just a bit in the months following Ellie Jane’s open-heart surgery, I have found myself sitting inside a bit of space to begin to unpack all that happened in those first few days of June. My heart and body went through a lot in those days. And for many reasons, I was not given the space (I was not in a place to give myself the space) that I needed. Just as we held Ellie Jane and took care of her in those first few days and in all the days that followed, I needed my own moments to be held. I needed someone to put her hands on my face and look me in the eyes and say, “What you went through should not have happened. I am so sorry you had to go through this. Even though I know you are grateful that she is here, I wish it had happened another way for both of you.” And then, I needed that person to hold me while I cried myself to sleep.

Yet, as I sit here with my daughter asleep down the hall, I look at the photo at the top of this post, and I remember how there was bravery and a feeling of being rooted in the best of who I am. I remember that there was music and there was dancing and there was chanting and a sense that nothing else existed but love. I remember the joy of knowing each breath meant one breath closer to seeing her face. I remember the kindness of women I had never met and how my husband was his most confident, calm self. I push myself to remember because this is part of the story; this is part of the woman who sits here gathering up the pieces of herself as she stands in the truth.

*****

Today, I am giving myself the space to share some of my story here, to share a few more of the pieces of the last year that have made it the most difficult one of my life. No drama. Just truth. As I sit in the quiet and listen, it feels like sharing these pieces today and writing more over time is part of the healing that is to come. I feel moved to gently say that I am not seeking advice about where I am nor do I want to invite you to worry about me, as this post is just a part of what makes up the woman writing these words. This woman also spent a good part of today singing and listening to her daughter's laughter and brainstorming and creating talismans to send out into the world. This woman who is me spends much of each day gathering up the beauty that makes up this life. I spend a lot of time sifting through the realness to find the light and the joy. But I also know we must look at the truth and open our hearts to this truth.

Sharing these truths, being willing to look at the cracks and broken places, is how we heal. I believe this. And I believe that we can have the best intentions in our desires to help someone, but in doing so, we sometimes don’t realize that they are not seeking our help. Or sometimes what seems like help is really a desire to fix. Fixing and helping are not the same. I know this because I have been guilty of being a “fixer.” I know this because in the past year people have tried to fix when we needed love. The last few months have taught me the beauty that can be found in simply just showing up and shining your light when you see someone else is walking through a bit of darkness (we all walk through a bit of darkness). I want to write more about this soon…the idea of just showing up and being open to what a person most needs (and saying the words “what do you need?”) instead of believing there is something to fix. (Sometimes broken places do not need fixing.)

Thank you for catching these pieces of me and shining your light in this world…

between

someplace between, this is where i see you. me. me (you) trying to find my (your) way. lost (at times) as the rain drums upon the roof. choosing (at times). i must seek the truth. so much energy pushed toward the spiral dance of figuring it (you) out. i fear i am parched from the seeking. then the truth whips through me again, tugging until i pay attention. it is not the seeking but the spinning. it is the fear of losing grip on the handle of all that i know. all that i (think i) know. the spinning pushes me away from myself (you). i am pushed toward all that i already know. someplace between (the knowing and the spinning), this is where i am.

the truth and the beauty (of all of it)

vivienne holding art by sabrina ward harrison

i am sitting inside some pieces of truth and beauty and pain and life and goodness all at once over here. and navigating these waters after having lived in survival mode for a long time has me feeling a bit tender. and i am okay in that "i know i am okay and life is full of such goodness" sort of way. but i also don't want to minimize or dismiss the whispers that are knocking about inside me, so i am also giving myself a little space to be honest with myself and a few trusted friends that my body, mind, and heart have been through so much this year. even though i deeply know how blessed we are that ellie jane is healing so well after such a huge surgery, i am aware that i have healing to do too. that i have pieces of my story that need to be shared inside the safe spaces of my life.

so after acknowledging these truths aloud last evening, it was with a tender heart that i began today. and when i had a moment just for me and i opened my laptop, the kind eyes of a dear friend were what i stared into as i looked at the image above in google reader, as i looked at an image that forced me to stop and feel and listen.

little did she know how much i needed to be seen in a way that someone invites you to feel seen when she snaps a photo of herself that reveals wisdom and truth and beauty.

this is the power of self-portraits and revealing ourselves to ourselves, and then, when we choose, to take the next step of revealing pieces of ourselves to others. this is the power of healing ourselves in a way that holds up a mirror for someone else.

yes.

*****

the woman in the photo above is my dear friend vivienne. she is teaching an online course called "you are your own muse" that begins monday. when i think about all that she invited me to look at with just this one photo, i am full of anticipation for all that i will uncover while taking her course. (and, i have it on good authority that a few spots are left.)

hope your weekend is full of joy and light,

liz

::yes::

lately, i have been asked variations of one specific question: is there anything i can do? 

i have to admit that i am so grateful when someone does ask this because often it means they are putting their own thoughts/need to share a story/need to tell me advice to the side and trying to understand what i need, what we need. and when i hear that question, sometimes the answer simply comes right out of me. and this can mean that the answer is too quick and not quite what the other person wanted to hear. other times i am not honest and just say, "oh we're/i'm okay." 

after spending time at the reveal retreat with some beautiful, amazing, strong, brave women and encouraging them to hold the space for one another, for themselves, to ask for what they need, to own the truth that lives inside them, i am pushing myself to show up here and ask you, whomever might be reading this, for what i need.

our daughter ellie jane turned four months old yesterday, and this friday morning, october 8, she will be having open-heart surgery. 

yes.

this is why so many people have been asking if there is anything we need.

this is why my heart feels like it might break right in two at any moment, and i keep visualizing all the energy and wisdom and knowledge of the women who came before me somehow constantly stitching it together so that i don't simply combust from the fear and can instead be completely present for whatever ellie jane needs.

this is why i am so grateful for the gift that was...that is...eleven amazing women showing up to share in community and truth and love and giving themselves permission to share pieces of who they are and where they stand on their journeys. because, truly, where else would a mama who is me be with her baby girl when we stand facing the scariest, most important day of our lives, than surrounded by eleven other women who have given themselves the gift of revealing the beauty amidst all of the "stuff" that brought them to this moment?

yes. 

i am simply taken out at the knees by the truth that is the gifts given to one in the midst of the fear and the desperate hope. to be honest, it almost pisses me off because it just never stops...the beauty standing shoulder to shoulder with the shit. how the beauty and the joy and the hope and the truth shift it all. 

however, i do not always remember this. nope. i do not always see that beauty. sometimes i am so far under the fear that i am hoping i have the snorkel + mask from our old house on oak road in my pocket so i can somehow breathe as i try to remember which way takes me to the surface.

and so today, i will answer your question, your beautiful question of "is there anything i can do?" 

yes, you can do something for me...for us.

you can spend a moment or two thinking about a loved one in your life, someone you want to spend some time with, someone maybe you need to see or talk to. consider asking that loved one to join you in doing something you love. perhaps you will meet a friend for a date or take your son to the park or ask you mother to join you for an afternoon of paints and collage papers or take your daughter and her best friend to the ocean or sit curled up with your cat and have a poetry reading for two or invite your husband on a photography adventure or count the squirrels with your dog or call someone whose voice you need to hear. 

do this.

then, spend some time thinking about the love that filled the space between you as you connected with one another. maybe this love was apparent, maybe you have to really spend some time being open to finding it in the tiniest sliver of a moment.

you will find the love.

then, maybe you could take a second or two to gather up some of this love and send it ellie's way this friday morning and in the days that follow.

because here is the truth (my truth): i want to one day be able to do these things that you will do. i want to be able to do these things with her...i want her to dip her toes into the ocean and giggle as the sand rushes between her toes. i want to read to her every single mary oliver poem i can find. i want to teach her tree pose and how to braid her hair. i want to hold her hand in mine while her daddy holds her other hand as we walk off a plane in paris. i want to hear her first word and her 100,000th. i want to walk with her through an indiana cornfield. i want to tell her everything i know so her path is always filled with soft light if she chooses to seek it. i want to hear her laugh at yet another of her daddy's silly jokes. i want to sing to her until she joins in. i want to watch her stand tall rooted in her own truth on her path even though her back will often be toward me as she finds her way.

yes.

and i know that it is the brave choice to answer, "yes, there is something you can do." i know it is the brave choice to say, "you can be a light on my path so i don't get lost in the darkness. if you really want to help, you can sit inside the love in your world and then, for just a moment or two, shine just a bit of your light this way."

each day this week and the next and the one after that, i am going to push myself to make the brave choice. 

yes.

(thank you)

making choices as i find my way...

the author's advanced copy of my book arrived. yep. i am holding it right there in that photo. with my name on the cover and everything. my. name. is. on. that. book. it is a bit unbelievable i must admit.

part of the unbelievableness is because i am so preoccupied with ellie's health needs right now. so time for celebrating that this day has come doesn't exactly fit into the schedule in between medicine and feedings and appointments and calls regarding all that is to come...

but then there is this other reality that i so very much want to share my book with you! i want to invite you all over for a big ice cream sundae party complete with champagne and show you every page and point out my favorite parts...i want to tell you all about why i wrote it and why i hope you will find your way to a bookstore near you and seek it out or order it from me with a signed note addressed just to you.

but gushing about the book in this space feels a bit like answering the question, "how are you?" with "just fine" when what you really want to say is, "pretty damn bad thanks for asking."

so i thought about not even talking about the book here...but that isn't the right answer either. (i am sounding a bit like the guy in that scene from the princess bride. you know the guy. that inconceivable guy. but this is the way my mind works sometimes. too much thinking.)

so while doing all this overthinking, i found myself seeking a space away from the mind chatter and i did what i often do. i took several deep breaths and gave my mind permission to quiet a bit and i turned to words on paper and wrote this poem note:

in this moment, i am
choosing to seek joy
making space to soar
resting inside hope
dancing through the fear 
pausing to notice
(with each breath)
the truth that lives inside me

a few hours later, i was creating a few custom soul mantra lockets and saw this poem note again and decided to hammer the words joy, soar, rest, hope, dance, and pause into a few small lockets i had on my studio table. it was one of those moments where i was singing along with paul simon while creating with my hands and smiling knowing i was supposed to be right there in that moment. knowing it was all coming together just as it should.

this evening, while thinking about how i want to tell you all about the book and why i am proud of it and why i think you will want to read it, i thought about this. how i turned to poetry and creating in the midst of the swirling challenges of our current every-day world. how finding my way to the words that live inside me invited me to find my own rhythm again, so that when it was time to be back in the world of medicine and calls with the insurance company, i felt more grounded and more like me...even though this is so different than the life i had imagined living with a three-month old baby, my baby. even though i am more scared than i have ever been, i am finding my way back to strength and bravery and the wisdom that lives within me.

and then it all came together: my book is about this very thing. it is about how we can see poetry, photography, and art as tools on our path, and how these tools help us unearth the truths that are whispering inside us. this book is about seeking the beauty in each day, even when that day might also be full of challenges and heartache and fear but also when it is just full of the everyday stuff that life gives us. it is about turning to words and paint and paper to see yourself. it is about picking up your camera to document the life that you are living right now. 

and as i live this life and walk on this new path, i realize the gift i have given myself in already having this rhythm with my camera and pen and all that waits for me in the little room. i have given myself a gift of knowing what i need to find the joy and the beauty in this life. 

yes.

this is why i want to tell you more about Inner Excavation. this is what it it all about. we choose what we shine a light on in our lives. we choose what we see in each moment. we choose. even when life is full of the everyday struggles, we choose. and creating can become the way we document these moments of our truth.

yes.

i hope you will join me in a moment of celebrating. because i will own that what that photo above represents is indeed a beautiful page of the book that is my life.

(thank you)

blessings,

liz