Free to Move

Since my time off, from crafting, Etsying, blogging, I've been refueled.

You don't know how much pressure you're put yourself under, or how much the need to do has compounded, until you consciously have to remove all the extra facets of life and want nothing to do with them for nearly four months.  With passions flying about, and a live-life speed at an incredible rate, my balancing act came to a crashing halt, and then I was done.  burnt out.  I haven't been able to touch a craft since the bazaar.  I haven't listed a new item in my Etsy shop since the holidays, or so, and I let my sponsorships end.  There is a little sadness that I let it get to that point. 

I wanted to believe I had a handle on it all, that I could run at 100+mph, do everything with top-notch quality, efficiency, timing, and offer the best in family, friendship, work, adventure--but it ain't so.  Not for me, and I'm okay with that.  Embracing the pieces and re-piecing together what's most important, has been enlightening.  The crash, is part of the test, I guess.  What changes is the answer.

Change Demands Change.

The idea that change demands change, recently came from a mentor of mine in business.  In the same hour, I heard her say, "the same wind blows us all..."

I don't know about you, but there are things that I'm after in this life--

happiness, fulfillment, financial future for my family and time--having the time to

create a home life for my family to grow that is positive and where leadership is being instilled in each one. 

This is where mentors and building alongside those who are after the same goals, passions, desires, and level of leadership come into play.  Having a front-line of excellence to aspire to and to gain wisdom from is hugely important.  In the last month or so, I've considered my mentors in the different areas of my life, and I'm so grateful to them.  They are mentors in family, business, leadership, advocacy, spiritual,

and they encourage me consistently to press in and go deeper in these areas.

 

Though, I haven't been full-steam in my creative handmade life, or in my advocacy work, I've been reworking the personal areas that have become tattered.

With more work and awareness, I know the progress-product

(because that's what we are--in progress)

will be far more effective, efficient, and made of a quality that far surpasses anything done during a mind-bending, soul-draining period of time.

The greatest part, is that I'm free to move--

free to go where the wind takes me;

and I'm again, seeing the beauty in the littlest things.

For me, that is of most importance.

You know?

 

It should be noted, that last night, I dreamt of a giant wave.

When I looked up the symbolism this morning, I wasn't surprised--

a wave represents a reflection of important life decisions;

a clearing away of old habits and a readiness to make a brand new start in a new place.

I'm coming full-circle--in reality, in the moment and even in dreams.

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While I Was Away

While I was away, I rested, read less and wrote sporadically.  I heard the rain more clearly, saw small daffodils in their early blooms, and ran the lake trail in sunshine just three short days after three inches of snow.

While I was away, I heard funny words sputter from the mouths of my babes tenfold, while watching them play baby, superheroes, husband and wife, and I watched him as he marched around the house in his two- sizes-too-small Spiderman costume, hands on his hips, saying, I'm not playing; Brooklynn wont marry me. 

While I was away, my three year old told me I was pretty, and has made it a daily event to crawl into my bed each day before sunrise.  Though he likes to be cuddled and snuggled and held, he hardly told me goodbye when he walked into his new classroom of six other 3 year old boys, just a few weeks ago.  He's so sweet, his teacher said, he's so snuggly.  This I know well, as I wake in the morning with my arm extended toward the headboard and a Spiderman clad toddler taking over my side of the bed. 

While I was away, I realized that having or doing exactly what I am, is exactly what my five year old wants, too.  Are you having Greek yogurt on top of your soup?  Then I want some, too.  I realized that when the boy receives a wood craft at checkout from the Home Depot cashier, that I must ask for two, because the girl believes the crafting world is her territory.  I realized that she likes to be where I am, standing on the stool as I cook, talking in my ear as I sit, motioning me to get out of bed as I wake.

While I was away, I took myself off of my anti-depressants.  I also decided to quit having a drink and no longer crave coffee three times a day.  Thankfully, I haven't an addictive personality, unless hoarding books, running and loving Jesus are addictive--I'm okay with that.

While I was away, I decided to not go back to school to finish my Masters in Teaching, but pour myself into my work in prevention.  Tomorrow, I meet with a man who has built a life around helping hurting teens, prevention and bringing an awareness to suicide.  I plan to ask him about his faith and how he shares it?  And I expect to see that in this work, the brink of devastation thick in the air, while hope rises.

While I was away, I considered shame and how debilitating it can become, how it takes lives and stirs them, shaking them upside down into a tornado of lies and fear, and how, if one can see even a sliver of hope through it, a rainbow awaits her on the other side.

While I was away, I thought about my book proposal and those few chapters that envelope a pain that I knew so familiar, and wonder how I can weave into it The Light?  While I was away, I happened upon this idea a small handful of times--"The more scared we are of a work or calling, the more sure we can be that we have to do it," and I cling to it, even in my baffled-ness.

While I was away, I grew spiritually, and have been working on the ways I can better lead.  I've considered my fear of public speaking and decided that I will no longer fear it, but embrace my unpracticed-courage.  I'm ready to be more, say more and do more, even if my nature depends a lot on solitude and not an ounce in the spotlight.

While I was away, I decided to not settle--not in this life, in circumstances, not in the plans I have for my family and the wants that I have for my children.  I contemplated friendships and what I must give to expect what I expect.  I have set my sights high and expecting a life anointed--a life where God unfolds his favor while we are guided and lead by Him.

While I was away, I lived, loved and grew; I was nourished and renewed and relieved. 

And for these things, I am happy.  For it is the times we are away, the heart grows fonder, the roots grow stronger, and the love runs deeper. 
Friends, thanks for allowing me to be away.

image credit

Why A Serenade for Solitude?

Every now and then, I consider my blog title and wonder if it still 'fits.'  You see, when I started this blog, almost four years ago, I wrote privately.  I kept this little place for myself, and I wrote through the emotions--electronically.  Now, here we are.

For years, mine was a struggling soul.  I believe it had a lot to do with what I now call, my great defeat.  On top of those mountains, I grew up a melancholy child and a thinker.  My mother often said I over-analyzed, and my girlfriend once said, my mind was my greatest asset and my greatest weakness.  My poor friends.  They heard me go rounds with myself over issues that others could simply toss by the wayside.  My other friend said I was the most emotionally genuine person he knew.  A compliment?  Or was that a nice way of saying I was a basket case?  Most likely it was the latter, and I'm okay with it.  I've since embraced my years as a basket case.   

After my great defeat, I struggled with extreme insecurities and fear-based thinking.  Recently, it dawned on me that I may have been struggling with PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) for years, unknowingly.  Looking back on the anxiety and fear that I carried crippled inside, it seems that it very well could have been the case.  I lived rattled.

Then there was solitude.

At first, I fought it.  I turned the music on, crowded myself with friends, drank too much coffee, cried a lot when I should have been having 'a good time,' and clung to relationships that were comfortable.  Eventually, the noise and distractions drowned out, and there I was with myself, with much to be addressed.

I can remember driving from school in Pullman, to visit my sister in Montana (a four hour drive), and telling my friend on the phone, that I was afraid of doing the drive alone.  I was afraid to be left to myself, to play and replay what was in my heart, in my mind. 

I was particularly broken that year, torn up from an on-off again relationship that dated back to my teenage years, with a boy who played a large role during my great defeat.  Finally, after a close decade, and not being able to come to terms with the fact that he didn't fully accept me for me when I was fourteen, nor at twenty-four, the book finally slammed shut.  God had had enough, and wanted me to quit trying to solve the equation that equated to nothing.  But He had more. 

Realizing I hadn't an escape route, I turned inward.  I spent more time in my basement bedroom, wrote more, listened to a lot of folk music and learned to be tender with myself.  I thought of God often, debated religion with myself, and let the questions ride and embraced the unknowing.  I agreed to be more patient with life.  Those were the days that I learned of solitude.

Getting to where I am now, almost six years later, is another chapter; another story.  In short, I can tell you, that I'm now full on the inside, much braver, only slightly worrisome and finally feel that I can be utilized in this life to help others.  I'm less of a basket case and live free and happily to my own song. 

I guess the subject of a blog title change is silly.  It's my life in a one-liner. 

Any questions?

xx

image via tumbler

Ten Years Later

It seems I blink and it's time for a new Little Things post!  I thoroughly enjoy documenting the little things in my life and it is nice to share them with you.  I can honestly say, since I began writing these lists, I've become more positive and grateful. 

I was thinking yesterday, as I talked with a friend about God and how He gives each of us gifts and talents, that I'm thankful that God has gifted me the ability to find awe and comfort in His little things.  Just ten years ago or so, I was a completely different person, battling depression and lacking hope.  My faith was different, too.  I wasn't sure what or how to believe as far as religion went, even though I grew up in a very religious family.  I wanted to know God, but to know Him, you have to believe Him and all He has promised for our lives--and I hadn't the first clue where to begin.  I had felt so sad and broken for so long, and believed that I was less for various reasons, that I kept everything that I'd learned about God at arms length.  How could it be--that He would love me, care about me, want the best for me?  How was I worthy of such unconditional love when I didn't even love myself?

Though I have much to say about the epidemic that is bullying, today it is about the little things, and the way God pours out his love in the surroundings and people of our lives.  The little things embody hope and happiness.  They are the things that make my life overflow in an abundance of inspiring and special moments.

Recent Little Things...

~My daughter's compassion for her father, and wanting to take care of him when he is sick.  Yesterday he had two wisdom teeth pulled and some other work done at the dentist, and before Husband returned home, Brooklynn had a bed made on the couch, an icepack, a heat pack, a cup and paper towels ready on the coffee table.  I think she even had the remote set aside for him!

~The surprise parcel of housewarming books from my dear friend, Ann.  I've spoken of her before, as I met her at the Olweus Bully Prevention Conference last fall. 

Her son didn't make it through his abuse before he took his own life. 

Even through the subject of bullying takes on a very personal meaning to Ann and her family, she is an ambassador of hope, and her kindness speaks multitudes of the very person she is.  She is a gift.

~The smell of campfire.

~A sunny Fourth of July forecast ahead!  It usually rains here in the great state of Washington on the Fourth.

Piecing together bits of our home and finding inspiration for the one-days...

~Camping.  I. need. a. camping. trip.

You too?

Would you like to join The Little Things series?

I host every Thursday and would love to have you join!

You can link up on my right sidebar, and please do visit the others who share their joy!

xx, Cassie

image via pinterest

questions of merit and clarity.

October is Bully Prevention month.

Two and a half weeks ago, I returned home from Seattle, where I took part in four days of Olweus Bully Prevention Program training.  In all, I was away for five days, and they were the longest, mentally draining, at times emotionally exhausting days I have experienced since before having children. 

While on my train ride to the north, thoughts of what ifs began to unearth from the deepest pits in my mind.  Will they ask why I was there, and if so, could I answer effectively without any quiver in my voice?  Had I healed enough, and was I ready to teach on this issue that for so many years bound my heart in rivets of lies, and caused me turmoil so great that I was unsure if the depression would ever allow me to be normal again?  I wondered if I was qualified to sit in a room with teachers, principals, administrators, even authors and those who follow their names with M. Ed. , Ed. D?  Would the emotions heave onto my heart and make speaking unbearable, or would I want to leave all together like I did in college while the other soon-to-be teachers talked frivolously and ignorantly about teens and rights of passage?

Suddenly, I was questioning if my own experience had any merit, if my heart for the kids who deal with such issues matter enough, or if my personal experience is enough to get my foot in the door, and in front of the teachers who may or may not think their school has a problem, or in front of the teachers who really don't get paid enough to act as social workers on top of their long list of other teacherly duties, but who feel it their ethical obligation to know how to intervene when they witness or hear of peer abuse among students.

When I realized what was happening, I consciously pulled myself from the negative self-talk of pre-destined failure and inadequacy, and looked north.  I set all the had-beens aside and moved my mind from the realm that I've lived, and away from the feelings that still manage to creep in like the coldest gusts of air that move in from some distant door left ajar, to keep moving; to press on in these moments of not enough answers, and embrace them, and accept them as part of reaching my destination.

God knew I needed some reinforcement, and offered clarity in the softest voice.  We had just been shuffled around into new tables of five and were to begin the next exercise.  After a few quiet moments of reflection, we were to share any experiences of bullying or being bullied in school, and what it felt like when we were at that age...The table leader shared her most vivid memory and then asked me if anything had come to my mind?  For a moment, I floundered.  I have stories falling out of my back pockets, the question was really, which one to choose?  I grappled for a moment, finally choosing one that would suffice.  You'd think I'd be okay with making an example out of myself, especially at a bully prevention training, since I do quite a bit of writing on the subject, but divulging such experiences to strangers, on the spot nonetheless, was quite uncomfortable.

After a short break, the woman who had been sitting next to me returned to the table and said, "I think that was really brave of you to share your experience."  I was surprised and caught of guard to be called brave, and thanked her.  Then she told me that her son had committed suicide four years before as the result of having been bullied.  I was stunned.  Her words pierced my ears and heart in an instant, yet she told her truth with such blatant honesty in the softest voice.  She continued to talk, and I attempted to add in where I could, to be polite, but really, I felt as though I'd slammed into a wall.  You don't know how much you don't know, until someone unexpectedly hands you unfathomable pain, in one sentence.  We exchanged a few more words, briefly explaining each our passion on the subject of bully prevention before the session began again. 

I was still stunned.  After a few more minutes, the reality of the heartache and the loss and the passion that sat next to me, caused my heart to wrench.  I wanted to release the emotions that had filled my chest in an ongoing sob.  I wanted to make a quick exit and return another time, when the emotions and the reality were detached from the program and the workbooks, but I couldn't.  So I gathered myself up with thoughts of her strength.

Meeting Ann, was a blessing, and an undeniable connection was made.  Her story and her strength encourage me in my journey and in my passion for bully prevention because it is kids like her Jeremiah that no longer have their voice to stand against bullying, but who deserve to be stood for.  It is these kids and those who are currently dealing with peer abuse who make it easier to pray for more courage, confidence, persistence and tirelessness to do this work, to prevent others from having to deal with peer abuse, and make something of the memories that would otherwise remain the colorless time in my life.   

You can stand for the silent too, and read more about Jeremiah's Hope here.

October 22nd is Jeremiah's Hope for Kindness Day.  

In memory of those who have dealt with peer abuse and those who are still dealing with peer abuse, please wear yellow.  It was Jeremiah's favorite color.

via

a bold step in my journey

Tomorrow morning, I meet with a prior teacher of mine,
 who is now a local high school Principal.
On our agenda:

the issue of school bullying.

I haven't talked about it much, besides vague references here and there, and brief mention of it on my sidebar, so today, I'd like to share with you the details.
Currently, I am taking the appropriate steps to become an Olweus Bully Prevention Trainer.
My desire is to help schools reduce and overcome what school bullying has become today.

In the eighth grade, I was severely bullied.
It occurred regularly, with everything happening short of being punched in the face.
I think about the emotional abuse I endured, and have often wished I had been
physically beat up, rather than emotionally beat up. 
Unfortunately, there was no choosing in this matter.
My belongings were stolen, threats became the norm, my locker vandalized, the bathroom walls were scrawled with my name more than naught, my gym clothes covered in slurs.  
I was voted Valentine's Day princess at the school dance with a handicapped boy voted Prince, and my first crush only paid me attention over the telephone and off school grounds.
I took an F in PE because I was scared to be in the locker room,
and I was unsure of going places because I wasn't sure who I might run into.
I was taunted, belittled, and most of my friends dropped off the map, afraid to be bullied, too.
They eventually came back around after my older bullies left for high school, which left me both relieved and conflicted.

Before that year I was "normal,"
outgoing, the student body vice-president of my elementary school.
After that year, I was a shell, afraid, insecure, broken,
and later numb to everything that had ever worried me.

In the years following,
I managed to pick up the pieces and move along as one does in life.
But the brokenness never disappeared, and the scars remained in my mind and in my heart, affecting my relationships, my trust, and the love I was able to give and accept.  I was entirely different than I was before that year--expecting the hate, the abuse, the dislike, assuming my worth was somewhat disposable if they--whoever they were at the time, chose.  Unfortunately, the effects of this abuse didn't end with a school bell.
This way of thinking trapped me in and out of depression over the next ten years or so. 

It was during the time that I was pregnant with my daughter that I finally put my foot down.
I thought if I am going to bring new life into this world,
I have to bring her into what is
 right and true.
It was the mother's love that I felt for her even before she was born, that helped me see the way that my mother cared for me, and how she ached as I dealt with my brokenness. 
It was then that I realized I needed to be better for myself and for my daughter,
before I could teach her about
happiness--the fundamental of life.
But there is no happiness where there is no truth.

It is both amazing and troubling to realize how damaging words can truly be.
The school-age is an especially vulnerable age when small things are huge,
and when
what is petty to us adults has the chance of becoming magnified in young eyes.
They are years which are capable of inspiring or hindering souls.
In my case, those years placed rivets on my spirit,
and it took many more years to break free.

In the last four years or so, I can say that I have broken the surface and made significant progress in uncovering the issues of self-worth, and to a large extent, the self-hatred that I carried with me over ten years.
It has taken much faith, self-talk and the reminding of myself that I am not the things that I believed I was after that cruel year, but am and will be everything that I want to be.
I've had to remind myself that what was screamed were lies,
and of the truths that I know,
in effort to keep my experience in perspective.

Today, my perspective is that my experience
is part of a larger plan.
It is driving me into an advocacy for change
and to give help and hope.
I believe my greatest work lies in what was my greatest challenge.

When I was younger, school bullying was taboo;
teachers thought the best way was to let students work it out,
children were afraid to tell their parents with worry it would get worse.
Children are still afraid to talk.
However, we are learning this approach is not effective,
and not talking is driving some, who are hopeless, to the edge.

Tomorrow morning, I will share some of my story.
In the past, it has been only shared with those close to me.
Tomorrow, I will share in effort to help;
to help others understand, and
to help those whose lives have been
bound by rivets and lies,
and encourage them into living life in
truth and happiness.

weheartit

Maya Angelou Sings

Last Wednesday, I joined two friends from my teenage years for a special occasion. First we met for salads at the delicious eatery, Pizzacato, then crossed the bridge into downtown Portland for an evening at the Schnitzer Concert Hall. There we were, along with 2500 or so others, waiting for the wise words of the "global renaissance woman," and Pulitzer prize nominee, who is

Maya Angelou.

As the Schnitzer curtains opened, an urgent hush fell over the audience. It's not every day that one can hear first-hand the words of such an experienced and accomplished woman. She stood standing as the claps creshendoed, plateaued, and then calmed.
Then,

she spoke poetry.

It's as though her words traveled down from the stage and up the balcony into my life, and it's as if I'd seen those very things she spoke of with my very own eyes,

because the poetry of

Maya Angelou

inspires such soul movement.

"This little light of mine...

I'm gunna let it shine..."

she sang unexpectedly.

Then she began to unfold stories of truth, promise and inspiration;

stories of her Uncle Willie, "black, poor, crippled," who had lived in such a way that even white men were encouraged by his words and had gone from being poor wee-ones in North Carolina, into the political world.

"How dare we not realize the power each one of us has?"

"How dare we say, I cannot be a light for you?"

"This little light of mine...

I'm gunna let it shine..."

she sang again, with the final word trailing.

Interwoven throughout her lesson on the power and the inspiration that each one of us withholds, whether we realize or not, were more gems of wisdom.

"Go to poetry,"

she said.

"It has saved my life.

We look to laptops and the Internet. What if they go down?"

She referenced Paul Laurence Dunbar's poem "Sympathy,"

and Daisy Bates as, "an American treasure."

She mentioned her Inaugural poem for President Clinton.

"Courage," she says,

"is the most important of the virtues.

Without courage you can't practice any other virtue consistently."

"This little light of mine,

I'm gunna let it shine..."

She closed with these encouraging words~

"If you are asked to do something good--always say yes.

Then pray."

"This little light of mine,

I'm gunna let it shine.

This little light of mine,

I'm gunna let it shine.

This little light of mine,

I'm gunna let it shine.

Let it shine,

let it shine,

let it shine..."

Applause and a standing ovation followed,

and then the curtain closed.

Because she's an American legend, and because

I, too, believe poetry can save lives,

I am giving away
Phenomenal Woman: Four Poems Celebrating Women

by Maya Angelou.

GIVEAWAY CLOSED.

To enter this giveaway you can do any of these things (in separate comments):

1) Tell me of he or she who has been a "little light" in your life and why in a comment.

2) Share with me your mantra or a favorite quote in a comment.

3) Blog about this giveaway on your blog and comment below.

4) Become a follower if you haven't already and comment below.

Good luck! I can't wait to read your comments!

Giveaway closes Friday, June 11, at 12pm.

Winner announced shortly after.

image credit

together

you and me.
we are moving into something new--
something stronger.

you say iron sharpens iron,
and the ones he's worried about
he attempts to crumble.

i try to keep a few steps ahead,
but at times it feels like
i'm being attacked from every direction.
today, for a minute,
i felt like hiding.

but
you hang on
to me.
loving me.
me loving you.
encouraging me to move forward not back.
reminding me to keep my head up,
because the fight is worth it
and
the victory sweeter.

together.

-cbm



this moved me today.
you?

Wont you?

Credit

If only every girl could hear this...

credit
This morning with a couple free moments to spare before the day began its snowball effect of children, meals, and cleaning, and as much writing as I can possibly squeeze in, I looked to my Glamour magazine for some eye candy to help wake my tired eyes. Free moments for such guilty pleasures are rare, and to prove this, I'll just tell you that I am on day three of even getting through the magazine!

During my escape, I came across the short editorial titled "The Most Important 433 Words to Read This Month." Enraptured with the title I continued to delve. Just three words in and she had me.

"Dear Emotional Creature,

I believe in you. I believe in your authenticity, your uniqueness, your intensity, your wilderness. I love the way you dye your hair purple, or hike up your short skirt, or blare your music while you lip-sync every memorized lyric. I love your restlessness and your hunger. You possess the energy that, if unleashed, could transform, inspire, and heal the world.

Everyone seems to have a certain way they want you to be — your mother, father, teachers, religious leaders, politicians, boyfriends, fashion gurus, celebrities, girlfriends. In reporting my new book, I learned a very disturbing statistic: 74% of young women say they are under pressure to please everyone.

I have done a lot of thinking about what it means to please: to be the wish or will of somebody other than yourself. To please the fashion setters, we starve ourselves. To please men, we push ourselves when we aren’t ready. To please our parents, we become insane over-achievers. If you are trying to please, how do you take responsibility for your own needs? How do you even know what your own needs are? The act of pleasing makes everything murky. We lose track of ourselves. We stop uttering declaratory sentences. We stop directing our lives. We forget what we know. We make everything OK rather than real.

I have had the good fortune to travel around the world. Everywhere I meet teenage girls and women giggling, laughing as they walk country roads or hang out on city streets. Electric girls. I see how their lives get hijacked, how their opinions and desires get denied and undone. So many of the women I have met are still struggling late into their lives to know their desires, to find their way.

Instead of trying to please, this is a challenge to provoke, to dare, to satisfy your own imagination and appetite. To take responsibility for who you are, to engage. Listen to the voice inside you that might want something different. It’s a call to your original self, to move at your own speed, to walk with your step, to wear your color.

It has taken me so many years to be OK with being different, with being this alive, this intense. I just don’t want you to have to wait that long.

Love,
Eve Ensler. "

If only Eve Ensler's encouragement, praise, understanding and advice could be heard by every girl, I believe there could be a re-awakening--for every girl and woman who is struggling in some way, small or big to live life deeply and richly AUTHENTIC.

For the last year, I've been attempting to peel back the layers of my own authenticity in the fullness that I know it exists, and try and examine where there are gaps and blank spaces. It is a daunting task to try and recover where along my path I may have been disrupted or deterred in living a FULL and authentic life. Because the truth is, I am still working to claim this sort of life for my self.

My teenage years were quite rough. School bullying and immense pressure to adhere to religious views that didn't necessarily line up with my spiritual beliefs are just two reasons that had me overcome. The pressure to-be or to not-be and to please others was consuming and devastating for me as a teenager. I felt like I had to grow up fast as I was challenged to ask myself BIG questions of WHO AM I? and WHO AM I NOT? (even when they say I am), while other kids appeared to be relishing in the moments of school sports and boy crushes. It caused many a storms and numerous gray clouds continued to hang their dreary loom over my life for many years.

Over those years, I attempted to confront the struggle that was happening inside me, and understand where I let myself down and how my vulnerability made me susceptible to an enormous lack of confidence, depression and unhealthy relationships. Grappling with the situation felt like a battle that I may never win nor understand. I remember thinking...I'll get to it all one day. I know it all has to be sorted out, but, right now, I am too tired. I'll do it when I have the energy. Eventually, it was through a series of people, life-altering events and a new-found faith that I began to heal and was able to begin to create my authentic life.

I was both surprised and not at Ensler's statistic that "74 percent of young women say they are under pressure to please everyone."

One day when I was living in Utah during my first two years of college, I went to the scrapbook store. I was big into scrap booking at the time and spent much of my free time creating memory books for the years gone by. While I waited in line to make my purchases, my eyes could hardly ignore the fact that behind the cash register on a tall shelf were twelve or so glass canisters of different flavored home-made suckers--and beautiful I might add. I deliberated for a few moments, scanning over their flavor names, but as with many other instances in life, I struggled to make a decision. So instead of asking the kind employee to add a sucker to my bag of goodies, I decided I didn't care anyway and headed for home.

When I returned back to my apartment and found my roommate, Heather, whom I've known since second grade, I began to explain the sucker saga. It wasn't because I was suckerless that I was upset. It was the sheer fact that I felt so frazzled and indecisive when trying to choose a flavor that I could hardly believe that it stressed me out the way it did. Actually, it stressed me out so much, that I opted to ditch the whole idea and deprive myself of the sweet indulgence!

Silly sucker story, I know, but it was then that I realized that something was seriously wrong with my ability to make decisions for myself, and do so decisively...and when appropriate--quickly.

The reason that I share this sucker story is that I've been in that place when I wanted to please the masses. I wanted to be this, that and more, and the results were devastating to my contentment. I was frazzled, frustrated, living life less-than authentic. I was gaping in places that needed fulfillment. I tuned out of my own life and was living elsewhere, listening to others, contributing to their life, while failing my own. I did so until it all became too painful and I began unraveling even further than I thought possible, and began to see that the living and breathing I'm doing is for my SELF. I realized, as much as it seemed that others' happiness meant my happiness, I was wrong. I had been living a false belief that needed a quick overhaul.

My roommate, Heather found my sucker story silly, too, but she caught wind of the fact that I was teetering on the edge of some big changes. A couple of days later, with all of the love and kindness in her heart, Heather came to me with not one, but THREE suckers! "Now you don't have to choose just one!" she said. She was right! Who said I could only have one?

I'll never forget Heather's thoughtfulness and kindness that day, or the support she gave me when I packed my bags and moved back to Washington the following summer without her. She's been just one of the many who have watched me struggle and fall and climb back up time and time again. She's a gem of a friend and I will attest that she is an AUTHENTIC soul, who encourages others to be the same.

Becoming more each and every day,
~C

FYI: I wrote most of this post over two weeks ago--sorry for the delay.

A big year and million little pieces

With the New Year still new, millions of thoughts and ideas for how I will spend 2010have crossed my mind. I decided to go without a list of things that I will "resolve" during this year and chose two words that sum up two main areas that I desperately would like to lend my focus.

1.) SIMPLIFY--Limit the ways in which I over-extend myself to emotions, people, projects, obligations etc. I'm learning that the simplistic life is a happy life. I realize that this day in age living a simple life is not so simple, yet I refuse to be completely ruled by the ways of society! I plan to garden and take in many breaths of the four seasons as I enjoy the outdoors and the beauty of the NW this year. I'd also like to reduce excess spending and use up what I have before I buy more!

2.) CHERISH--My children are growing up rapidly! I am lucky to be a stay-at-home mama, but I am a busy/ambitious/business oriented stay-at-home mama. Did I ever mention we own a business? This year I plan to focus on cherishing the simple, everyday moments as much as possible. I refuse to be overrun with have-to's and am resolving to be more in tune with the beautiful family I've been blessed with, and the love and happiness that they offer me day in and day out. The memories, growth, learning and all that having a family has instilled within me over the last four years are the things that are irreplaceable. They're the things that I cherish, and want to cherish even more.

As for my writing, I have yet to zero in on a concrete plan. I had hoped to be knee-deep in a book proposal by now, but I am not. Instead, documents and scenes flood my word processor and my mind. The plan is to meet with Kerry Cohen, the author and memoirist who has kindly offered to help guide me in my process, so that I can begin the mountainous trek involved in writing such a proposal, and really, such material.

For years, I've practically felt plagued by my need to write my story, while without the exact knowing how to go about writing such memories; worrying that I might be overcome with depression while trying to invite such dreadful memories back in to be able to write them, means re-living them to an extent. And really, living them down is what I have been trying to do for so long, that re-living the memories is daunting, and frightening.

Monday, I was on the phone with my Mom and was telling her about the last three weeks that I have pretty much taken off from everything--blogging, reading, writing. I had been feeling so overcome with it all that I was feeling depleted, and to be honest, I feel like I am still coming to.

During our conversation, I jumped around talking about a possible business opportunity, while another thought of an Etsy shop crossed my mind. Then it dawned on me, here I go again--searching high and low for something to fulfill the ambition that my heart wants to zero in on. Then I find myself fighting back the urge to just cry because of how difficult it is to want to write but feeling unable to find the right balance to do so while raising a family. There is something inside me that can't seem to reconcile a little less time here to be used over there, so I pull back. Oh, balance. What a tricky fete to conquer! But then I have to wonder, is it me feeling guilty to want to take large quantities of time away from my kids to try and write this book, or is it some of this and feeling cold feet? Kerry Cohen said, writing a memoir is like telling the world your secrets. Certain days, I am not sure I am up for all that.

My Mom's and my conversation ended pretty abruptly. I was in the driveway of Brooklynn's preschool and had to get out to greet her. As I waited for her to be released, I stood shivering in the rain. Why would I even think to wear running shorts without pants today, I thought. Then I looked down into the large puddles in front of me. I watched as the rain fell, drops expanding to create a ripple effect, growing larger and larger. Then my writing came to mind, and I was reminded that my writing isn't all about me. It's about the others who might be affected by my sharing and the ripple affect that may be created. Then it all feels worth it. The rainy years, the tear drops, the pivotal moments. I don't believe it was for nought. In fact, I know it wasn't.

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Tears, Fire & Oxygen

Yesterday, I had a meltdown.  Husband happened to be in the vicinity when it happened and was able to talk me through, as I took deep breaths and blinked my eyes--a lot.  You know, the trick to keep them from pouring out like fountains?

Passion is a force of contradictory measure. It can catapult you onto a blazing trail of infinite possibility or become so over-stimulating that it stops you dead in your tracks with a dear-in-the-headlights sort if fear.  And because passion comes from the soul, any work derived from this place, is considered by many to be soul work. So when dealing with such work and feeling that 100% is not being given to the cause, it can bring moments of upheaval and panic that only near-meltdowns seem to remedy or Husbands and friends and family members can encourage through. Yesterday, my Husband did so with tender-boldness.

Husband is known for being matter-of-fact.  He's a cut to the chase kind of guy--he shoots from the hip so to speak.  I can always count on him to offer up his opinion and I have learned to value his constructive criticism (almost).  He's not one to sugar-coat just because he loves you, in fact, because he loves you so, he'll tell you the truth if he feels you'll be better off for it, even if it hurts a little.

Yesterday during my meltdown, Husband listened to my brief scenario of frustrations and demanded that I pick up the pieces. "I've seen that fire blazing under your @$$ since Tim Perrin emailed you a few months ago, and you've brought your expectations to a new level," he said. "Don't go dropping everything you have ever hoped for, now, because I've told all my friends--my wife's a writer, and we're not in this to look like idiots."  Besides being called an idiot, he did a good job of knocking some sense into me in that no-B.S.-sort of-way that I love him for. And he didn't say it because his friends really care if I ever write a thing, but because he knows that to live my life fulfilled, I must write.

He also reminded me that when a fire rages, there is no denying it the oxygen to burn. Time and care are just a few of the necessities that will keep it carefully maintained and flourishing in the night, providing warmth to the soul.

I've also realized that when you're dealing with grand aspirations and the makings of dreams, life and choices appear much more fragile than before. It reminds me of the preface to 'The Alchemist' when Paulo Cohelo talks about the main reasons why people quit seeking their dreams. It's because they are afraid to lose them, he says.  I don't want this fire for the written word to go out on me; I've gotta keep tending to it.  And there is payoff in the work--I know I'll keep warm by the fire.

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The Beach and Stormy Seas

On a whim Saturday morning, Husband and I decided to take the babies to the beach for a quick and relaxing getaway. My in-laws are building a home in Long Beach, Washington, so it was to there we headed. Shortly after buying the beach property, my in-laws had Husband and Little Brother, aka--the guys who can build anything, build a small cabin to house all of us beach-hungry kids of theirs until the house is complete.

The cabin is a cozy little place with kites adorning the walls, a stove to warm fingers and toes, and usually 1-4 outdoors men hustling about getting ready for the next clam dig or crab fishing trip. During the evenings, we usually snuggle in for a movie or spend the night entertaining each other with jokes and stories.

Saturday, Husband, father-in-law & my uncle-in-law took to the seas in their fishing boat to catch us some crab and they did not disappoint! They returned home with 36 MONSTER CRABS!   Let's just say our dinner was nothing short of a feast.  Since the catch, we've made some Divine Crab Pizza and some good old crab cakes. Mmm.


Sunday, we headed for the beach to enjoy one of the last 70 degree afternoons of the year here in the NW. With sand in our toes we ran. jumped. yelled. laughed. played. chased. searched. stared. listened. breathed.

Playing on the beach was the perfect preface to a session of Care of the Soul reading. With Asher asleep and Brooklynn sitting comfortably in the camping chair next to me watching DORA on DVD, I began to read.

Thomas Moore writes,

"There is nothing neutral about the soul. It is the seat and the source of
life. Either we respond to what the soul presents in its fantasies and desires,
or we suffer from this neglect of ourselves. The power of the soul can hurl a
person into ecstasy or into depression. It can be creative or destructive,
gentle or aggressive. Power incubates within the soul and then makes its
influential move into life as the expression of soul. If there is no
soulfulness, then there is no true power, and if there is no power, then there
can be no true soulfulness." pp.129

During a period of time in my late teenage years, I battled depression. I suffered to the point that I was not sure if I'd ever be "normal" again, or if I'd ever be able to feel anything again. I was numb, unable to express myself or make decisions. I was in an unhealthy relationship that was far too unnecessary for a girl my age. It was during this time that I suffered the great conflict of pleasing others and repressing my own needs. Much of the emotional turmoil had to do with differences in my spiritual beliefs and those which I was raised to live, but also was the fact that I had no idea what it meant to take care of my soul.

Around this time, I remember sitting in a booth at Sherry's Restaurant across from my girlfriend, Emily dissecting my sadness and the hopelessness that I was feeling. That night we drank coffee into the wee hours of the morning and she listened as I attempted to strategize an easier course for myself. The struggle proved to run deeper than what a few cups of joe and some good conversation could fix, insomuch that its stubbornness followed me into college, visiting me at often in-opportune times. Although much of my depression had subsided by this time, I was still encountering rough waters. After each hit, I wanted to believe that the storm had settled indefinitely, but just as the ocean conjures, stormy seas would meet me again in clouds of questions and painful crashing waves.

One afternoon during my senior year in college, while driving the winding 270 from Moscow, Idaho back to Pullman, Washington--just nine short miles, the realization came to me--that until I put in the precious time to embrace the ache and dreariness within me, I was never going to reach solid ground. I had to reconcile the weathered parts inside before I could reclaim the parts of myself that I never seemed to have hold of, but seemed to have hold of me.

In an older post I wrote about this period of time when I described my process as I tended to my pain, the questions and the truth. I write about that particular year and that basement that I lived in with adoration, as it was there that I sought and met the beginnings of a personal reconciliation. It was in that tiny little basement bedroom that I surrendered to it all and with what I had of myself spiritually, began to heal and nurture the parts damaged in the storm.

I recognize this cycle of quiet-tending-to throughout difficult times I've faced over the years of my life. Its been necessary as I face trying seasons and it is necessary in my everyday as I am a woman who could not sanely exist without heaping amounts of solitude or my faith.  I'm just happy that at this time in my life I can run. jump. yell. laugh. play. chase. search. stare. listen. and breathe. and do so soulfully and faithfully.

"It is the Soul that Makes Us Human..."

Seems that creativity continuously escapes me, as of late. No matter how many times I try and indulge and divulge, the words to explain my heart scamper off, leaving no path to follow or reason for its hiding. And for weeks now, inspiration has also failed to meet me on the other end; resulting in my feeling deserted by her displaced absence and a longing for her return. However, it is quite possible that the white-washing of the canvas is meant to be. I have, after all, been spending a great deal of time tending to my soul and waiting carefully to hear the whispers of my heart.

The waters have been murky with patches of clarity lately, causing much distress and confusion, and long followings of self-talk. I've been reading Thomas Moore's Care of the Soul, and it is the perfect companion for this period of self-reconciliation. I feel encouraged and nurtured by Moore's words; that hope lies in the parts of us that are unfortunately perpetuated. I'm trying to better understand these parts of me and how to handle them when they are stirred, because the living and feeling never halt. Understanding how to be and deal with such vulnerability is what I am after.

"Care of the soul is not solving the puzzle of life; quite the opposite, it is an appreciation of the paradoxical mysteries that blend light and darkness into the grandeur of what human life and culture can be." ~Thomas Moore

Love this sweater/shawl. I want one. :)
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