How Can I Love my Aging Body?

I fully believe aging is a gift; I am grateful for the wisdom and resilience I feel I gain with each year of my life, and yet, I cannot seem to embrace my aging body. I feel at odds with my quickly multiplying grey hairs, my deepening laugh lines, and my increasing flabby bits. I want to be a woman who doesn't view the changes in my body with despair, but with pride, but I do not know how to reconcile my deeply ingrained belief that beauty lies in youth, with my desire to appreciate (and maybe even love!) my aging body. Where do I begin?

Dear friend,

We live in a society that tells us lots of things about who we are + what we should look like + how we’re not enough + what beauty is + which bodies are worthy of love -- a society driven by capitalism + inundated with advertising -- a society where corporations make money by trying to convince us that our deepest magic (our delight, our joy, our aliveness) exists outside of us and that we have to spend money to have any hope of getting it back + buy products to attain the wholeness that already belongs to us.

I say this because I don’t think we can truly address your (very relatable + understandable) question without looking at the forces in the world that are deeply invested in convincing us that we’re not enough in some way.

We breathe this poison everyday, so it makes sense that we sometimes (or often) think thoughts like “beauty lies in youth” and that those thoughts become deeply ingrained beliefs.  

So perhaps the first step is to simply acknowledge that this belief isn’t yours.  As in, it didn’t come from inside of you -- from your heart, truth, and knowing.  That belief was someone’s else’s idea, and it got in you.  

This awareness doesn’t necessarily solve the problem or make it easier to release these beliefs.  It’s hard to live in the poison, and there’s no shame in struggling with it.  (And it’s certainly not your fault that these beliefs persist within + around you).

So what, then, can we do to feel more at home in our bodies, more grounded in our real selves, and more appreciative of who we are, exactly as we are?

Here are a few ideas:

1. Look at the big picture (+ get political): 

When I don’t feel pretty enough, thin enough, young enough, or whatever enough, it often helps me to ask: 

Who benefits from my feelings of not-enoughness?  Who’s getting rich off my self-doubt?  What advertising executives are working really hard to engineer these negative feelings to make me a more pliable consumer?  In what ways does spending my energy worrying about my wrinkles (or my thighs or my hair) make me smaller and shrink my life?  How does it reroute my energy + suck up my life-force?  How does it distract or derail me?  How does it suck up power that I might bring to the world in other ways? 

I ask these questions not to blame or shame myself but to ground myself -- to remember that the feelings of judgement, the unkind words, and the general discomfort I sometimes feel in my own skin come from somewhere else -- and that the life-force energy I lose in the process benefits people I don’t like who are doing things I believe are bad for the world.  There are people + systems who benefit from my smallness, and I don’t like those people or those systems. 

This angers me (bringing my own power + energy back online) and motivates me to continue the deep work of inhabiting my body and claiming my full humanity + aliveness in and through my body, even as I live in systems that work against my efforts.  It also reminds me that I do this work not only for myself but for the world I want for others + future generations.

2. Divest

When it comes to actually doing this deep + ongoing work, I frame it as divestment -- the process of taking my energy, time, resources, attention, and money out of one space to invest them in another gradually over time.

Here’s an example of how I’ve divested in another area of life:

My sweetheart + I care deeply about climate justice, but we both live in a world powered largely by fossil fuels.  We want to change that, but rather than taking a grandiose all-or-nothing approach, we’ve opted to slowly divest over time, taking strategic steps away from fossils to invest in the future we want.  Over a period of years we’ve put solar panels on our roof, bought an electric car, transitioned to a more plant-based diet, insulated our home, and invested retirement savings in fossil-free funds.  None of this happened overnight, and we still live in a world that burns lots of fossil fuels, but our own carbon footprint is lower than it used to be.  It’s not everything.  It didn’t magically fix the system causing harm.  But it matters + feels good.

I see this work of inhabiting my body in a sane, grounded, and life-affirming way similarly -- taking small steps in the direction I want to go, gradually divesting my energy + attention + money out of body-negative systems to invest them in another possibility.

This could look like all sorts of things: setting boundaries around media + advertising, stepping away from spaces where body-negative talk happens, or limiting the amount of time or money you spend tending to your body’s appearance -- all to invest in something else that grounds you in embodied delight and supports your goal of appreciating your body as it is.

I like divestment as a strategy because it’s a cumulative, exponential process.  It’s not about forcing or expecting ourselves to be perfect.  It’s not about never having a bad day or negative thought.  It’s not about fighting the whole system at once.  

It’s simply about tending to where we spend + invest our most precious resources: our time, attention, and energy, understanding that these small moves add up to something significant + exponential over time.  

3. Remember:

You say you want to view the changes in your body with pride -- to appreciate + even love your body.  Why do you want that?

Remembering those reasons matters.

Because this is deep + not-always-easy work.  And we need those deep + beautiful + life-affirming reasons to keep going.

For me, it’s about claiming my aliveness + fully inhabiting my experience of life.

Because the things I most want from life (presence, power, connection, truth) happen in + through my body.

And when I’m judging my body -- when I’m looking at it as a judgmental observer -- I’ve stepped outside of myself in a way that fragments my experience of living + disconnects me from my life-force.

I do this work so that I’m not living disconnected from my own aliveness.  Because I know I’m here not to be evaluated as beautiful (or youthful or thin or whatever) -- but to live a good life.  And I do that by stepping into the fullness of my life-force + creatively channeling that energy in ways that are truest + deepest for me.  

This is the task of my life.

What’s yours?  And how might you anchor into that intention?  

What are the stakes?  What are your reasons?  And what is the beautiful vision that makes it all worth it?

Much love,

Rae

The Magic Isn't So Fragile

When I first began my oracle art project, I had some grand visions around how it would all unfold.

I imagined that I would create a sacred ritual space such that I could create from an undisturbed, meditative state of transcendence where visions + ideas would descend from the heavens, rise up from the underworld, and emerge from the depths of my own heart. I imagined soft candlelight + gentle music + inner peace.

And yeah...that’s not at all how it happened.

In fact, I created exactly zero (of the 60 total art pieces) under the circumstances I imagined at the beginning.

Instead, I created my art in the gritty shadows of hard days, in small spaces between (or during) zoom meetings, and in moments of disappointment, fear, and uncertainty.

I had moments of creative clarity in line at Trader Joe’s. I tinkered with tricky pieces as I half-watched movies or played a virtual game of cards. I finished one piece around midnight on an Amtrak train, 7 hours into my trip.

I made art through grief, frustration, and uninspired boredom.

These were not the conditions I imagined for my art.

This was not the expanded state of transcendent bliss + peaceful awareness I assumed I needed to access to the magic.

No, the actual process was gritty + glorious + hard-won.

I created from the cracks. I took any space I had.

I opened to the magic wherever + however I could.

And it worked.

This taught me something important: that the magic isn't so fragile.

Magic doesn’t need an ideal set of conditions. It certainly doesn’t need perfection. Because magic doesn’t live inside any of these externals.

The magic lives inside of us.

And our work is simply to create imperfect openings for it to come through.

The magic belongs to you. It always has.

How might you give it room + invite it imperfectly? How might you continue to summon + show up for it? How might you remember that you can't lose it, no matter what?

where we are vs. where we're going

When I first met Jonathan 9 years ago, he was a super bro-y dude from LA who knew more about fashion, gym work-outs, and pick-up culture than feminism, social justice, and progressive politics.

All of this was alarming to me. I told him that. And he listened to me.

When we first met, Jonathan was someone who didn’t know much about a lot of the things I cared about. But he was also someone who was curious about the world, someone who obviously cared deeply about the wellbeing of other humans -- someone who was kind, open, responsive, and emotionally available.

And in that, he was someone I recognized -- someone I knew.

Nine years later, he’s a gritty + devoted activist who’s done things like hunger strike for 22 days in support of climate action (happening now - today is day 13) + open a food pantry in his church that feeds hundreds of people a week + march 30 miles overnight in support of BLM.

I’ve shared this a few times with friends who’ve met someone they’re vibing with but have concerns that the other person doesn’t know enough, isn’t progressive enough, or isn’t invested enough in what matters to them.

Because while I’m all for choosing whatever boundaries + deal-breakers make sense, I also believe that where we are (+ where we’re starting from) is less important than the orientation + perspectives + commitments we bring.

I try to remember this as I relate to myself too. It’s easy to judge where I am in a moment. It’s easy to feel like I’m not enough in some way. And when this happens, I try to remember to anchor into what really matters: my openness to the world around me, my commitment to kindness, my willingness to learn, and my determination to grow.

With Jonathan, I was able to feel into these deeper currents of who he was + where that might take him -- and take us together. And it’s been really good.

It helps me remember + anchor into the currents + commitments I want informing + shaping my life, self, and future trajectory.

Because I know *that* is what will take me where I most want to go + help me become the person I most want to be.

The Thaw

It's always around this time of year (at least where I live in Wisconsin) that we start to experience "the thaw" -- the days when the sun shines a bit brighter + the temperatures rise just above freezing. The ice melts. The snowbanks shrink.

It's a glorious shift -- this moment of remembering that winter will not, in fact, last forever because spring is coming!

But it's also kind of ugly.

All the trash that was buried under layers of ice + snow begins to resurface, a soggy mess littering the alleys + sidewalks. There's mud everywhere, sometimes flooding. Plus, the melting doesn't happening all at once -- the freezing + thawing goes back + forth, so surfaces often get more slippery + dangerous.

I was remembering this after a conversation with my therapist a couple days ago. After I spent most of the session crying for no particular reason, he said: "you know, I think you might be experiencing a thaw."

Sometimes when things have been frozen for awhile, the warming + melting can feel like a jarring jolt or overwhelming flood.

Sure, we're happy to be headed toward warmer days, but in the meantime, there's all of this trash to clean up, all of this flow to navigate, and all of this back-and-forth transition to manage.

This can look like all sorts of things:

We begin to emerge from a period of emotional stuckness or depression and all of our feelings also begin to reemerge (perhaps with a vengeance).

After being cooped up indoors to stay safe during a pandemic, we finally get vaccinated + begin inching back out into the world -- and feel all sorts of overwhelm + uncertainty around what that might look like.

We finally get to freedom + safety after a hard + scary period of trauma, which means there's finally space + bandwidth to actually look at the harm + begin to heal, which isn't easy.

When we're trying to survive a winter (of any kind), we're often just trying to make it through. Survival is often all there's room for, and there are all sorts of things we can't see, deal with, or begin to process until what's frozen begins to thaw.

And so when spring finally comes, that thaw might bring a lot with it. That's normal + okay.

So how might you take care of yourself not only in the frozen moments, but also in the thawing moments? What might it look like to be gentle with yourself when spring comes?

Should I seek more meaning, or just be content where I am?

Q: I'm at a place in my life where I'm struggling to find my purpose. It feels like my days are consumed with tasks and keeping everything together, but nothing larger. I find myself seeking more meaning in my life, but I don't know where to begin, or if this is even a worthwhile thought. Should I just be content with where I am?

Dear friend,

Your question -- should I just be content with where I am? -- feels like not-the-real-question, but let’s start there anyway.

Sure, it’s a good + supportive thing to practice being content with where we are + what we have. There’s a grounded + healthy power in being able to burrow + sink into one thing, one moment, to find the timeless depth + infinite possibility that’s available within it. Presence, mindfulness, gratitude, and contentment are all skills we can build, and they’re super useful tools to have.

And we can do all of that while also following the sparks of our longing for a more meaningful thing at the same time.

Which is what I would recommend.

Because it’s not an either/or.

Seeking something larger + deeper + more alive doesn’t mean we’re ungrateful or not appreciating what we have now. Our longing can coexist with our contentment. Our desire for something more can flow together with the simple granularities of our daily lives. We can be grounded, present, and well, even as we’re in conversation with desire for a deeper + bigger thing that we may not even have words for.

So sure, continue to deepen + sharpen whatever practices support your ability to be satisfied, grounded, and present now. Enjoy the good times, sink into moments of delight, and remember all the ways blessing touches your life.

But know too that this isn’t the end of the story. It’s simply one part.

Which brings me what I think your real questions are:

Should I give up on what my soul is longing for? Would it be better to just push these thoughts + yearnings + questions away? Is the “something larger” even possible for me? Do I have what it takes to create more meaning + step into the larger thing pulling me forward?

These are harder questions than the one you asked, but my hunch is that they’re the real ones.

And we only ever get anywhere by asking the real questions.

You say you’re “struggling to find your purpose,” so let’s talk about that.

I don’t know what it means to you, but my sense is that “purpose” is often understood as something external that’s assigned to us -- something we have to find + figure out -- and if we don’t: we’re failing, or even worse, wasting our lives.

There’s also the ways capitalism has co-opted the word, convincing us that our “purpose” -- if we have one at all -- must be some grand thing that will make us money + be impressive to others.

So I don’t see “purpose” as an especially helpful concept or frame.

Still, I think your instinct is right. I get your question + I get your longing + I think it’s really important to make room for both.

Because our souls were made for the “something larger.”

Our hearts know that the magic is real and that we’re meant to participate in it.

So it’s okay (a good sign, even) that the collection of tasks + the “keeping everything together” doesn’t feel like enough.

Because we need the poetry, the mystery, and the awe. We need creativity + connection. We need spirit + magic + the More.

So yes, “seeking more” is a worthwhile endeavor. But don’t take my word for it. Ask your soul. Ask your heart. Ask your bones.

You already know the answer.

You say you don’t know where to begin.

Begin with this. Begin by telling the truth about what you want + what scares you about that.

Tell the truth about what you feel + what you know in your heart + your bones + your body. And tell the truth about what you don’t know. Let that unknowing wrap itself around you + take you deeper.

Longing can be a hard thing to make room for. Because it often comes with the fear that what we long for isn’t possible for us. So we push it away, pretend we don’t want it, or tell ourselves that we should just be content with where we are.

But the task is to make room for the longing -- to practice being with it, even when we’re not quite sure where it’s leading or what it’s asking for. To not rush ahead to “but how am I going to make this happen + what if I don’t?”

Your desire for something larger + more meaningful may feel frightening -- like it might hurt you by getting your hopes up + setting you up for disappointment -- but if you want to take this journey, this is precisely the place to begin.

Because your desire is the life-force + animating energy of your quest. It’s the energy pulling you forward into a new possibility.

Get to know it. Listen + feel into it. Let it help you.

Let it guide you to the one right next thing at a time.

Because this journey is an unfolding + deepening that only ever happens one right next thing at a time. One step leads to the next. One decision opens up a whole other world of possibility that wasn’t available to you the moment before.

So practice sinking deeper into your longing, rather than pushing it away.

Practice calling in support + asking for help (because you don’t have to do this alone).

Practice making room for whatever deeper thing is calling to you.

And practice trusting what’s alive inside of you + saying yes to that -- yes to yourself -- again + again.

Much love,
Rae

The Healing Power of Truth

cw: domestic violence

A few years ago, I worked with a client in my DV advocacy work who experienced a serious + violent crime -- the kind that landed her in the hospital + the harm-doer in prison for more than a decade.

I remember her + the case for lots of reasons, but there was one thing that made it especially unique: there was clear + unmistakable footage of what happened. Surveillance footage captured the entire incident.

Which meant that the truth of what happened couldn’t be denied, evaded, or minimized.

For those of you who’ve experienced abuse first-hand (or just understand how it works), you get how much this matters.

Because in pretty much every case, there’s denial + gaslighting. The harm-doer usually does whatever they can to instill doubt + disconnect the victim from their knowing, memory, and sense of reality. (Which is often effective due to the nature of trauma -- I once worked with one survivor, for instance, who was shot by her harm-doer, and he had her convinced for a time that he wasn’t actually the one who shot her.)

But in this case, there was no saying “it wasn’t me” or “it wasn’t that bad” or “it was an accident”. There was no question of how it all went down.

I remember the moment, months after the incident, when we were all in court for the sentencing hearing. They played the video. I’d already seen it a couple of times, but even so, it was one of the most profound moments I've experienced in my work, ever.

We all saw it. He did. She did. His family did. The judge did.

We were all witnesses to the truth. We were seeing what actually happened.

And it was, at the same time, the deepest relief + most wrenching agony.

I remember thinking, what might be possible if there was never an escape from the truth?

It would be excruciating, no question. But just considering the depth of healing it could open took my breath away.

If there was no escaping the truth, we might actually get somewhere.

Because truth is the ultimate magic + the ultimate healer.

I remembered this as I watched Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez recount her experience of the capitol riot yesterday.

She said she was sharing what happened because our stories heal + truth matters.

She also drew a parallel between the cycle of doubt survivors experience (and that she herself experienced as a survivor) and the denials + minimizations of reality we’re currently seeing from the folks who are trying to convince us that it would be better to just let this go + “move on” (so that they can evade responsibility + keep the door open to repeat these behaviors if/when they become convenient again in the future).

She rightly called this a tactic that abusers use.

As much as the truth matters, it matters even more in moments like these.

Truth is resistance, power, and healing. Especially in a culture where abusive tactics like these are common practice.

Please never stop exploring, speaking, or standing in yours.

Creating in Hard Times

About nine months ago, I had an idea to create some tarot art.

I remember the night I created my first image (a recreation of the Moon card) -- and what it felt like to follow the whim of an idea, holding it lightly but also feeling unstoppable, as I half-watched a movie with my sweetheart.

I think about this moment a lot. Because it was the beginning of something important.

That first step evolved into something more. Art became a thread that tied me together + tethered me to a grounding, supportive practice + gave me something magical + alive to explore in a hard time.

This opening into art + creativity in a hard collective moment reminds me of how, sometimes, the tough stuff can burn away the bullshit + open a way to something more + something deeper.

Not always. And often not at first. Sometimes life is just a mess, and we need to devote all of our energy to surviving + making it through. That’s real + okay -- and I’ve been there too.

But sometimes, the hard moments create a space of freedom + clarity + imperative. Sort of like: I don’t know what’s going to happen + I’m scared/sad/angry about that, so why not create the most magic I can? Because what else is there to do?

And if things are going to collapse, why not add the made up “rules” that keep me small + hiding to that list?

I’ve often found that in hard times my reasons for not doing what feels alive to me just feel less + less compelling.

And certain kinds of fear feel less + less relevant.

Over the past year, I was scared a lot -- about the pandemic + what was happening in our social + political life. But that’s all the fear I had bandwidth for really. Any fear I might have felt around making + sharing art seemed almost absurdly inconsequential.

So this might be something to look for when things get hard + begin to shake, crumble, or shatter around you. What survives the fire? What still matters? What’s still worthy of the limited energy + resources you have? What, even in the rubble, sparks in your heart + makes you feel alive?

In my experience, these are the clues + touchstones for the path forward -- the things that help us cope, connect, and create -- the treasures that remind us that what matters most is still present, possible, and making its way toward us, alive + unstoppable.

Just like you.

Inauguration Day Thoughts

I didn’t feel how I expected to feel today.

There were some tears of relief + hope, but I mostly felt flat, numb, and unsure.

Which I understand. Because our insides move in different ways + at different speeds than our outsides.

Once the crisis is over, once the immediate danger has passed, grief demands its due.

Our nervous systems require tending; our bodies demand care + release; our spirits need rest -- all in ways that were impossible to get + give in the middle of the hard thing.

I know from my work in DV + life experience that surviving a hard thing is just one part.

The healing that comes after is just as intensive, gritty, and necessary. It asks just as much, often more. And that journey isn’t easy + doesn’t always feel good.

So the question I felt today was: what next?

Do I have what it takes to do what’s being asked of me now? To do the work of tending to my own healing, supporting others in doing the same, and continuing to participate in our shared work of democracy + collective liberation?

For today, I’m just letting these questions settle + feeling the feelings + making room for what wants to emerge next.

And reminding myself that it’s okay to feel the weight of what comes after. It’s okay for this to seem like both the end + beginning of something hard. It’s okay to feel deflated + exhausted + overwhelmed. It’s okay to wonder if what changed today will be enough + if we have what it takes to bear what our healing requires.

Whatever you're feeling, I hope you're making room for all of it -- and giving yourself space, grace, and love while you're at it.

The Magic of Collage

I’ve been playing with digital art for about 8 months now, and in that time, I’ve fallen in love with the practice + process of collage -- not only as an art form but also as a way of seeing + relating + building.

In my collage art, I take bits from lots of different images + put them together in new ways.

Which is a fractal of something much bigger.

In a way, anything we make is collage, and creating collage art has tuned me in to how I practice this -- and how I might practice it more in other ways.

First, collage requires us to make the most of what we have.

When I make my art, I’m working with the images I can find (a built-in limit + occasional source of frustration).

Sometimes, I have a vision in my head, but I can’t find what I’m looking for, so I have to use something else + try to fit it all together in a different way.

But getting inventive when the raw materials are less than ideal is a useful skill in art + life.

I think of this past year -- how we all did what we could to make life livable + functional in a pandemic -- how we figured out zoom + home offices + virtual school, explored new hobbies, connected in different ways, and more.

Life became a patchwork of different threads. And that definitely didn’t make it all okay. There’s been lots of grief, loss, and chaos.

But lots of creativity + possibility + change too. Because we had no choice but to rearrange the pieces of our lives to create a different collage than the one we expected.

I also think about how a collage often starts with one tiny magical thing.

Sometimes, a complete vision comes to me for an art piece that I want to bring into form. But more often than not, I start with one bit of one image that feels electric + alive -- a person, shape, landscape, object, etc. -- and then explore how I might build a whole story + complete work of art around it.

These fragments + treasures become the magnets that pull in more ideas + move the currents of creativity.

Sometimes, all we need is one bit of magic, one touchstone that feels alive, one special ingredient to get started.

We can build a lot from a single seed of possibility.

And finally, there’s magic in collage around what happens in the layering, touching, and relating.

Because a collage is more than a collection of images that look good together. It becomes something other + something more.

The bringing together of what we don’t always expect but inexplicably works is a wonder.

It opens possibility, challenges expectations, and inspires us to keep exploring + creating.

So if this resonates, I definitely recommend collage as a creative + spiritual practice. What might you collect, bring together, and create?

Sinking into the Deep Place

A few years ago, in the aftermath of a shattering heartbreak I knew would change my world forever, I heard a voice inside me say: “you are living a deeper life now.”

This voice had the resonance of truth + immediately calmed my nervous system.

I knew this was the path.

I knew my heartbreak was inviting me into something else + something more.

I knew there was work to be done -- but not the kind of work I was used to.

Ever since, I’ve turned toward depth.

I’ve done a lot of digging, sinking, and settling in. I’ve tried to ask big questions + make space for mystery. I’ve wandered in the shadows + journeyed into the darkness + searched for the magic underneath it all.

And I’ve turned my attention to creating deep places -- spaces where we’re invited to tell the truth, sit in unknowing, and feel for what’s real -- where there’s room for *all of us* + all of what we bring + feel + know + desire.

Because, as I've learned, “living a deeper life,” has less to do with the action we take + more to do with the space we create.

This deep place is where I go to create my art. It’s the place I go to heal + answer the call of my grief. It’s where I find magic + remember awe. It’s the space I create for my clients in my one-to-one work.

And it’s the place where I find my way back to myself -- into what I know + who I am.

What's calling to you in these shadows + spaces? How might you sink into their depths? What might Deep Place look like for you + how might you begin to create + cultivate it for yourself?

Making Space for Healing

Healing is often less about the action we take + more about the space we create.

There’s a place for action, of course -- but in my experience, doing (+ the idea that doing is the only way I fix things + make progress) can often get in the way, blocking the energy that needs to move through me in weird, wild, and unpredictable ways.

Earlier this week, I talked to my therapist about the insurrection, and the session was mostly my incoherent rambling.

I acknowledged at one point in our conversation that my all-over-the-place ranting reflected the jumbled + not-at-all-put-together state of my psyche at the moment.

And he simply responded by saying that my jumbled psyche was exactly what we were there to explore + make room for.

So I kept talking + shaking + feeling + ranting -- and it helped. It created flow + cleared space.

And space + flow were what I needed.

In my experience, an action plan -- especially in situations like these -- is often my attempt to control + repress my primal energies + embodied instincts that actually need to move + unfold in ways that aren’t at all linear or rational.

Because what’s alive inside of us carries deep, healing power -- especially when we let it do its work + magic in us.

How might you trust + make space for what’s real + alive within you? How might you welcome the healing powers of your deepest, truest energies?

thoughts on processing the hard moments.

It’s normal + okay to have less to give in hard moments.

This may seem like an obvious point.

But it’s a reminder I often need.

In the past few days, for instance, I haven’t done much except consume the news, process my feelings about the news, and do the basics of self-care to try to ground + recalibrate my nervous system, which is all off-kilter because of the news.

Yesterday, I was feeling a little frustrated + anxious around how unproductive this seemed.

Until I remembered that caring for ourselves in hard moments is a big job.

This week, my nervous system needed more care + my emotions needed more space + my body needed more grounding.

And that took time + energy away from other things.

Still, it was a solid investment + use of my resources.

Because it matters that we tend to the basics. And it’s okay for priorities + expectations to shift to meet us where we are -- in the hard moments + messy realness of our actual lives.

I hope you’re giving yourself the space you need to breathe, rest, and feel deeply this week.

Take good care, friends

Transitional Moments

It was my first day back to work today after two weeks away, and as always, the return felt a little like a crash landing back to reality.

Not because I dislike my work or daily routines, but because transitions (even the small ones) tend to jostle us around a bit.

They ask us to move, adjust, and shift. They pull us away from our present rhythm + push us into a different one. They often take more energy than we expect.

So today, I was remembering this + reminding myself that it’s completely normal to feel disoriented, low, and off-kilter when we’re moving from one thing to the next-- and to need a little more rest, space, and patience as we recalibrate our rhythms + resettle our nervous systems.

In my experience, this is true whether we’re talking about a small transition -- like going back to work after a vacation -- or a big transition like a move, career change, or loss.

Sometimes, we just need a little more grace + gentleness + care, especially as we’re crossing thresholds, making changes, and wandering around in liminal spaces.

How might you give yourself some extra space + care in your transitional moments? What might it look like to take it slow + tend to what you need + make room for who you’re becoming as you step forward into the new thing?

Letting Go

Earlier today, I went through a bunch of old papers -- notes + writings from my college + grad school days, cards from loved ones, notebooks filled with random scribbles, and materials from programs + trainings I've long since completed.

All of it has been sitting untouched in a grocery bag in my attic for over three years (since we moved in).

I pulled out the materials one by one, wandered through the memories, and remembered who I used to be + what used to matter to me.

And then I threw most of it out.

Because the past selves I found in those pages were ready to be released + set free to make room for the self I am now (+ am becoming).

It was time to let go.

I don't need my past self to hold on + carry me. I can do that for myself.

I can set my younger self free, let her go + let her die, and trust the ME I am now.

How about you? What are you releasing these days? What's ready to die in your life to make room for a new thing?

Love from the Other Side

About a month ago, I had a session with a medium, and today feels like the day to tell that story.

This was always something I figured I would do someday but decided to do it now after receiving a trusted referral that felt right.

So, for context: I sense the presence of my loved ones on the other side all the time. I dream about them often. I feel them around me. I also work with the ancestors in my spiritual practice. And I was prepared for this medium to be quite accurate + precise based on my recommender’s experience.

But when the medium (someone I’d never met before + had only ever spoken with via text to arrange the appointment) mentioned that first loved one by name, all the hair on the back of my neck stood up.

It was absolutely chilling.

Part of me was like, yeah, of course this is happening, totally makes sense. Another part of my brain was freaking out + manically searching for an explanation.

The session was solid, with lots of names, dates, and meaningful details that validated the love + presence of my beloved dead.

My grandmother was the one who had the most to say (very congruent with who she was in life).

At one point, she mentioned an art project I completed this year (my tarot deck), a project I was just beginning at the time, as well as some future visions for my work + creativity. The idea that my grandmother would see + support my work in this way was super moving to me, especially since, by some standards, it’s a little weird + witchy.

At one point in the conversation, my wedding came up, and the medium encouraged me to go look at my wedding photos because she thought there might be some kind of message in the background of one of the photos.

So right after the session, I went to grab my wedding photo book + found a folded up sheet of paper in the front cover. When I unfolded it, I saw that it was my grandparents’ Christmas letter from 2014, the year of my wedding -- which was already spooky because it was like my grandparents were continuing the conversation (which of course they were, but still).

In the letter, my grandma not only mentioned my wedding, she also mentioned my “lovely” upcycled dress + how much she enjoyed our vegan food (which were two of the weirder --and in the case of the vegan food -- more controversial, parts of the festivities).

I’d totally forgotten about this letter. It reminded me that my grandmother not only supported + appreciated what made me unique + even weird, she also openly bragged about it to her social circle via this letter. Her support wasn’t a new thing.

I also remembered the last time I saw her when we both knew she was dying. The last thing she said to me was: live a good life. I’m grateful she's still apparently invested in that outcome and so lucky to have her in my corner. She was a force to be reckoned with, and I'm pretty sure that hasn't changed.

Anyway, sometimes life is weird + mysterious + beautiful + numinous + shattering -- and I think those moments are worth sharing + those stories are worth telling.

Celebrating Tiny Wins

One of the things I’ve gotten really into this year is working out with youtube exercise videos. I haven’t been to the gym since March for obvious reasons, and now that the weather’s getting colder + the days are getting darker, I’m mostly exercising with my virtual fitness instructors that I’ve come to know + love.

One of my favorite things about these videos is the instructors' upbeat enthusiasm + earnest encouragement. When I started, I thought this was going to annoy me, but I’ve come to love the cheesy pep-talks + all around extra-ness of the whole thing, which has offered some wholesome delight through the heavy dreariness of the year.

A few days ago, I tackled a harder-than-average workout. This is what the instructor said at the end as we were cooling down:

“I think we need to acknowledge that before we even started, you saw that this workout was an hour; you saw that it was high intensity; you saw that it had cardio *and* resistance work. You saw all of that, and what did you do? You decided to do it anyway. You saw something you knew was going to be a challenge + you decided to do it. That’s how strong you are. That’s not easy. Never underestimate your strength. What you’ve done today is yours.”

Y’all, I was so moved I started crying.

Which is perhaps an indication I could benefit from more honoring + affirming around my efforts + steps forward + wins.

Rather than beating myself up because something feels hard (because it “should” feel easier so what’s wrong with me?), perhaps it would be a better strategy to try affirming the resilience + strength it takes to be alive in this collective moment (let alone productive, in any sense of the word).

So I’m trying to give myself credit for the small wins that, if I’m honest, take some effort -- the 20 minutes of uninterrupted writing I managed to fit in today, the workout I just completed (even though it took me a half hour to work up the stamina to tie my shoes + put on a bra), the nagging task that’s been on my to-do list for 2 weeks that I finally did in 5 minutes.

Because it’s okay + human + to be expected that things feel hard + take more out of us + don’t always feel like enough.

Because there’s a lot of hard stuff we’re doing, enduring, managing, and surviving right now.

And all of this means that our resilience + survival is that much more impressive + worthy of our celebration + affirmation.

What might it look like to see + name + acknowledge the small victories + steps forward -- the tiny acts of care you give yourself or your loved ones, the small thing you did today that felt good, the grace you extended when it was all too much, the moment you remembered to take a deep breath?

It all matters.

You being here, continuing on, is enough.

Navigating Stuckness

Stuckness is one of my least favorite feelings.

I hate feeling uninspired + lethargic.  I despise the moments when it feels like I’m not moving forward -- when all my efforts at progress + creativity feel like walking through a mud pit. 

Maybe you can relate.

I know that for me, even though I enjoy my moments of peace, stillness, and quiet, I prefer those sprinkled between action + momentum + flow.  

Because I want to be moving + making + growing!  I want to surf the waves of my creativity + throw myself into new adventures + get started on my next trek up the mountain.  

I want to feel like I’m making progress.

And in the moments when I don’t...it doesn’t feel great.

So here is some of the I wisdom I try to remember + some of the advice I try to give myself in those moments: 

1) Stuckness is part of being human.

I hate that this is true, but since it is, I might as well roll with it.

Stuckness always feels the hardest when I push against it + make it mean that something is wrong with me -- when I forget that it’s something I can expect as part of the human experience.

When I remember that moments of stuckness are part of it (life, creativity, growth, being human), it still doesn’t feel great, but at least there’s some context + understanding + a little breathing room.

2) Things are still happening when we feel stuck!

Like change, growth, processing, rest, healing, alchemy, becoming, and deep + slow movement.

We are organic creatures.  We don’t move in straight lines, and our progress isn’t linear.  

That’s just part of this aliveness thing.

Which means that stuckness is often an invitation to pause, rest, and sink into these invisible forces at work under the surface.

This helps me (sometimes) see stuckness as an in-between, liminal space.

It reminds me to ask: What if there’s a magic at work that I can’t see or feel yet?  What if there’s something happening *for* me here?  

3) Feel your feelings.

Sometimes stuckness happens because I’m not letting myself feel my anxiety, frustration, uncertainty, or confusion.

Sometimes, I’m stuck because I'm holding back + stuffing down what’s real inside of me -- my feelings, my desires, my needs -- what I need to say, what I want to express, what I yearn to acknowledge.

So it’s worth asking: Where am I holding back?  What am I denying or avoiding?  What am I afraid to feel here? 

4) Look at the long game.

A little while back, I felt stuck creatively.  I was bemoaning my complete lack of artistic flow + new ideas + creative energy.

And then I stepped back.  I looked at the big picture.  

I remembered all of the art I've created in the past 6 months, which was quite a lot.

Sure, I felt stuck in that moment.  But was I actually stuck when I considered the larger trajectory?  Not really, no.

Sometimes, we’re less stuck than we think. 

When you look at the big picture + remember the long game, are you actually stuck? 

And what changes when you take stock of your accomplishments and consider all the ways you’ve grown in the past 3 months, year, or decade? 

Try looking bigger + giving yourself credit where you find it. 

5) Think smaller.

Stuckness + perfectionism go hand-in-hand.

It’s easy to feel stuck if I think my progress needs to be perfect, my creativity needs to be grand, or my achievements need to be huge (whatever that means).

But most of the time, all I need to do to get unstuck is the one right next thing.

I need to go for a walk, take a shower, send that email, fold the laundry, or spend 15 no-pressure minutes on that art piece.

In other words, I need to step down from my grandiose visions of success to take the one concrete + humble step in that direction.

I need to take tiny steps, seek out small successes + failures, take care of the basics, and tend to what's needed in the moment.
*******

So, if you, like me, sometimes feel stuck, welcome to the weird + beautiful + nonlinear process of being human!  Let's love ourselves, do the best we can, and find our way forward together.

Our Work Continues

I was on a work call last week with other domestic violence advocates across the state - these are regular gatherings to discuss our work, and this call was an election debrief.

We talked through how we’re doing, our collective relief that Trump is out, our concerns around the ongoing strength of white supremacy, and what our work looks like in this moment.

Near the end, an advocate from a more rural part of the state (who works at an org that made national headlines when they lost county funding in retaliation for their public support of the movement for Black lives) said, through tears, how lonely it often feels to be doing this work where she lives + how much the space meant to her.

It reminded me how essential it is that we keep talking + connecting + telling the truth + holding the vision for each other + finding the way forward together.

The work of building a better world often feels overwhelming.

It’s a big task. There’s a lot to do.

And I know for me, it’s often easy to overlook the small stuff, like showing up + speaking truth + sharing honestly + connecting with your comrades + supporting your people.

These simple things mattered a lot to my colleague across the state.

And they matter a lot to me too.

People hear you when you speak. They see you when you show up. They feel your kindness, care, and devotion.

It all matters.

And there are people who need what you have to share, give, and express.

So please keep showing up + sharing what’s yours to give.

Our work continues.

Making Room for Deep Feeling

I’m struggling to find the words today, as I’m still totally disoriented + exhausted + emotionally drained from the events of this week.

I’m referring, of course, to the United States (narrowly) beating back fascism + saying a collective “no thanks” to authoritarian rule.

So that’s good! But what a week of being reminded of the complexity of human emotions.

Over the past several days, I've been feeling -- often in rapid succession and sometimes all at once -- deep relief, frenetic anxiety, awe-inspiring connection, deflated exhaustion, triumphant joy, cosmic awe, agonizing grief, and a lot more + in-between.

I avoided the news + then I consumed it obsessively. I danced in jubilant victory + cried in despair. I felt some of the deepest relief I’ve ever felt + then I felt completely deflated + lost.

Maybe you can relate.

I’m sure you don’t need the reminder, but I’ll say it anyway (because I’ve been saying it to myself, and it helps): your feelings are valid + normal + to be expected.

Because we all experienced a fair amount of collective trauma over the past four years. We’ve been lied to + manipulated. We’ve experienced gaslighting + denials of reality. We’ve seen harm come to our fellow (national + global) citizens + perhaps been the victims of that harm ourselves. We’ve watched people we know, and perhaps love, get swept into the currents of nationalism, violence, and white supremacy.

We went through something deep + harrowing + weird + painful.

And in any experience like that, so much of the deep work of feeling + healing + reckoning comes after we get to safety.

This week was an exhale. But for me at least, it was also a rushing-in of all the stuff I couldn’t deal with or look at or sort through in the midst of the crisis.

So I'm remembering: taking a step out of survival mode is also taking a step into all that healing + repair ask of us.

I know I’ll be grieving a lot of what happened in these past four years for a long time (in part because a lot of the hard stuff isn't gone or over).

And that means making room for *all* the feelings (the hard ones + the beautiful ones) -- and creating as much groundedness + space + safety for ourselves + each other as we can right now.

Small Acts of Courage

I grew up in a small town in Minnesota (so a fairly conservative part of the country). My parents still live there, and earlier this fall, they noticed that all the political signage in their neighborhood was pro-Trump.

So they decided to get a Biden/Harris yard sign so that other progressive folks would know they weren’t alone.

The sign got stolen within a week, so they ordered another one + put that one up (taking it in at night so it wouldn't get snatched again).

The day they put up the new sign, someone rang their doorbell. It was a neighbor they’d never met who stopped by to thank them for putting up a new sign + not giving up. She said it gave her hope + made her feel less alone.

On the eve of election day, when so many of us are feeling anxiety, grief, uncertainty, and maybe even tentative hope, this is the story I’m holding close to my heart.

I’m remembering all the small acts of love, kindness, courage, integrity, and solidarity I’ve witnessed over the past four years -- all the ways I’ve seen people trying to do the right thing in a hard time.

I’m remembering all the ways we’ve shown up for each other, big + small -- and all the ways I’ve seen folks reach out to let others know they’re not alone.

No matter how this goes down tomorrow, let’s keep doing that.

Because all the things we do to support each other, care for ourselves, and try to make the world better, matter.

Let’s keep going.