Buti (Marathi Indian) – the cure to something hidden or kept secret
After a few times seeing clips of Bizzie Gold and the Dynamic Flow DVD, I was intrigued. I recognized elements from my vinyasa and kundalini practice, but there was an undogmatic freedom and power I had yet to experience. I wanted to know what it was that I was witnessing as I watched Bizzie move. So, on March 19, 2017, I did the 30-minute Dynamic Flow practice in my bedroom. It kicked my ass and I fell in love. I had found the missing elixir to aid my healing.
Despite being what I had thought was pretty fit, as I continued to practice, I found Buti a challenge. My joints would swell. My doctor told me that my body just didn’t like the intensity, and if I were to continue, I should do so mindfully. He, knowing me and my determination, said, “I’ll see you back when you have an injury.” I love a good challenge, especially when my success is up to me and only me. I knew my body should be and would be capable if I listened and supported my effort properly. I kept up, mindfully. My joints stopped swelling.
Within a few months, I had all the DVDs available. I live in a very rural community with poor internet access, so I waited to subscribe to the Tones. The closest, in person, class was over two hours away. No one in my town was doing Buti. Buti, alone, was motivating me to keep up. Before too long, I was following the three days on and one day off schedule recommended by the DVD inserts.
The change was subtle at first. I didn’t know if I’d stay enthusiastic. I had no clue that I was committing to the practice that would lift me out of the dark pit. Oh, but I had. I connected with the tribe of butisattvas on Facebook and was floored by the beauty and loving kindness there. No cat fights. No body shaming. Personal answers to questions from Bizzie herself and all the other master trainers. This practice was not created to leave you in the deep waters to sink or swim. It was created as a tool for thriving. Never before had I been in a group of women that actually felt like a genuine sisterhood.
Soon, I stopped getting on the scale every week. I stopped using the tape measure I bought to measure inches to avoid weighing on the scale. I no longer felt the need to monitor my intake of macros. I just kept up with my autoimmune protocol paleo diet and started supplementing collagen and turmeric. Then, I found Golden Ratio Nutrition and used the protein powder to support my new level of activity in a way that brought vitality.
By July 2017, my community had crowd funded my Buti certification in Nashville, TN with Talen Lane. Experiencing the Buti sisterhood in person gave me a new level of understanding in my practice and friendships that are still ongoing. While I haven’t had the opportunity to teach Buti much in my community (my Buti class will start at Evolation Yoga Kentucky in just a few short weeks), I already use the principles I was taught to enhance the beginning vinyasa classes I do teach. I know that one day I will share Buti with a tribe of Appalachian Kentucky butisattvas, and we’ll be badass.
The most important thing in all this is the fact that I’m ok with my body for the first time in my life. I appreciate its strength and its intrinsic healing powers. I see beauty in its flaws. Even those, like my stretched tummy, that still gives me pause when looking in the mirror. I’m in the best physical shape, at age 39, of my entire active life. I’ve taken my yoga practice to places I could not have without the aid of Buti. I know what it feels like to stand in my worth and know I work hard. I trust that I am strong enough to make it now. I questioned that before.
Yoga means – “union” or “to yoke.” It is the connection of mind, body, and spirit through breath. It is learning to be fully in the body in order to spiritually transcend its limitations. I have practiced yoga for fifteen years now. I taught yoga before Buti, but Buti taught me yoga. This year has brought me away from a daily desire to not exist. I’ve reached a degree of healing that I had given up on finding. I’m pursuing dreams, taking risks, finding inner confidence, learning to be grounded, and showing my daughters what it means to live life out loud. There’s still so much room for growth that I get scared sometimes. How much more wondrously real can it get? What I know now, because I found Buti, is that I have what I need to move forward with grace, supportive sisterhood does exist, and my body is not to be a shamed object. I know that I am fierce. I am strong. I am awakened. I am Buti.
I can’t help but share my story when I hear the struggles of others. The year I became a mother, I learned the hard lesson that ignorance is not bliss. More of us, especially women, should be sharing the truth of our stories. We need to share it all, even the hard parts – the parts we’ve yet to fix or grow into, included. It’s how we learn from our own mistakes and from one another. It’s how we can prevent a little heartache and some aimless wandering. You may be thinking, I don’t want people to think I’m a negative person. Or, on the opposite end, I don’t want anyone to think I’m bragging. I understand. Totally.
My story of healing sounds nearly impossible if I tell it in its entirety. Pieces of it are scattered throughout this blog and my other writings. I share bits of it on social media. A lot of it isn’t easy to hear, but I try not to be shy about sharing those parts too. I’m a warrior. I battle depression, anxiety, Hashimotos Thyroiditis, polyarthropathy (chronic non-specific joint pain), chronic migraines, and chronic gastritis and colitis. I have a little bit of stuff that likes to slap me in the face every morning. But… I’ve lost over 100 pounds, and I have weaned myself off of all prescription medications aside from my daily thyroid hormone.
I could say that the main factor in getting this far for me was consistent positivity, but that would be a HUGE lie. It would not only be a lie, but it could even set others up for failures in their own journey if they think positivity alone can get them where they want to be. Try remaining positive when in constant pain, worrying that something you said days ago was taken the wrong way, and all the while you don't want to exist anymore. In that state of being, nothing is as simple as a positive attitude. Worse than that is if that positivity is a distraction from the things we’re truly feeling, because it will keep coming up and asking for our attention. For those of us born into a state of fairy like bliss, positivity may come naturally. For others of us, life coupled with brain chemistry wired us differently.
I don’t mean to sound derogatory toward people who naturally tend toward positivity. In fact, there are aspects of that tendency that I can become envious of if I’m not careful. Yet, we must point out, in the age of incessant out of context quoting and the popularity of memes, that positive thinking, as it is portrayed by that mostly online culture, is not accessible to many people who desire to make positive life changes. At worst, those types of attitudes can bring shame, guilt, and alienation to those who feel like they must always keep a positive outward appearance to not seem like an ungrateful, sour person.
There have been times when I personally have felt demeaned for sharing aspects of my story that others perceived as negative. Other times, I’ve taken a deep personal look at this idea that a “change of attitude” is what it takes to bring happiness. I saw a meme once that brought such a sick felt heartache to me that it shocked me to feel it. It said:
The person who posted the meme said they had no room for negative people in their life. It felt as though because I was in a state of unhappiness, I was being accused of being ungrateful. I am immensely grateful for my life and always have been. I do go through periods of intense unhappiness without losing that gratitude. Secondly, I felt rejected by this person for any possibility of friendship or working together because I openly share my struggles with depression and anxiety. Our society sees these things as negative, therefore, did they perceive me as one of the negative people they were referring to in their posting?
I took a long time to explore this idea for myself. Was there something I was missing? Is it really as simple as saying – hating my pain is negative, I need to stop whining and just accept my pain as a permanent part of my life. Be positive. It isn’t that simple. For me to make positive changes in my life, I could not wait for myself to feel that positive attitude, I had to harness the energy of the emotions seen as negative to create my forward momentum. I had to transform "negative" emotions into positive motion.
A fair number of people reach out to me who are also feeling sadness, depression, or intense struggle. Often, these feelings are coupled with health problems, financial issues, or loneliness. None of them want to remain in this state. They want it to end or at the very least believe in the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel. It is naïve to expect that someone (even yourself) can just choose not to feel the emotions our society have deemed “negative.” To transform these emotions into forward, or healing momentum takes time, goals with a plan to reach them, and a willingness to be more flexible in your thinking. Consistency in those three things is key. Some things will be worked at hard with no results. Some will make you feel worse before you get better. Others will ask you to confront some really hard truths about yourself and your life. The process will demand you use your intuition to guide your way forward.
A lot of language I hear from people as they share their story is self-limiting, such as: I have no motivation. I can’t. I won’t. Others use blame shifting like: There’s no time. The kids won’t let me. I can’t afford it. I have no support.
I’m not going to call those “just excuses.” They’re not. Many of these things are very real obstacles. I am, however, going to call it “stagnant” or “stiff” thinking. While some obstacles will be ever present, those things do not have to block us in other areas. If a person I’m talking with doesn’t respond to my suggestions, or seems resistant, I know what I am offering isn’t something they are ready for at the present time.
For example, diet can be pretty difficult to change, but you want to make yourself physically healthier overall. Don’t start with diet. Start with exercise. You can exercise at any time. You can exercise for free. Research shows that exercise lifts the overall mood. Exercise can look a lot of different ways. Begin by setting a goal. I will exercise 3-4 days a week. Then, make a plan. I will wake up 30 minutes early and do chair yoga. I will always use the stairs at work. After dinner the kids and I will walk the dog. With that, you’ve begun. As you reach goals, you’ll become motivated to create more. You may begin see some of your obstacles differently, turning them into opportunities.
If you’re wanting to begin a healing journey, but find yourself “stuck”, ask:
For those who carry some heaviness of heart or circumstances, it can sometimes be the things meant to guide us toward the light that add to our darkness. No one sharing these memes or ideas means harm. The most important thing to remember is that everything exists in shades of gray. Nothing is completely black or white. No one will be happy all the time. You don’t have to accept your darkest days as a state of permanence.
According to the Buddha, there is suffering. Suffering is common to all. Everyone experiences the tears of birth, sickness, old age, and death. Buddha said,
“There is happiness in life, happiness in friendship, happiness of family, happiness in a healthy body and mind, but when one loses them, there is suffering.” ~from the Dhammapada
The following are two long Facebook posts I have made this week leading into the Trump inauguaration.
January 19, 2017
"Mama, you're pretty crazy," Gwennie says to me this morning while I'm getting her dressed. "Yeah Buddy, I am," I say. I had just been thinking about how these small eastern Kentucky towns are so insular. Thinking about how they aren't big enough to hold all the passionate, smart, and rightly heart convicted people in them and keep us all kind toward one another, not jealous, and without drama.
In two days, Donald Trump will be inaugarated. So many are scared. I remember when some I know were scared that Obama was the AntiChrist and made ready for an oncoming revolution - stockpiling guns/ammo, canned food, and water. I'm not scared of Donald Trump. No. I fear the hurt we might cause one another when our hate has light shed upon it. Hatred of ourselves and fear of the unknown. Unconscious beings giving birth to unconscious actions.
Appalachia has been deemed Trump Country by the press. Most of the people I know did in fact vote for Donald Trump, if they actually voted. People I love and respect voted Trump. The answer as to why someone could vote for a racist, misogynistic, and sexually deviant (I don't judge what he likes to do in his bedroom. I don't agree with that kind of judgment as long as it is between fully consenting partners. I'm judging the fact that he wants to shut women up by "grabbing them by the pussy".) individual is very complicated. I do not judge anyone for voting for Trump. I don't bash or treat anyone who voted for him like an idiot. I can understand how they came to that decision. We meet each other where we are.
The fact is, we have a national narrative to change and some healing of ourselves to do. No, we are not racist, sexist, or religiously radical people. No. We were all born naked of a womb and shaped by genetic predisposition and how the world around us shapes how we think we fit into it.
I overheard a conversation in the grocery store a few days ago. "___ wants me to get whole wheat bread. I hate that stuff," said Man 1. "Well, Preacher Bill says it's us who is supposed to do what you all say," said Woman. "That's right and it just ain't that way anymore now is it?" said Man 1. "I don't know what's gotten into this world. Everything is so out of order. We'd all be better off if we could just get in line," said Man 2. "That's the Truth. And, I trust Preacher Bill," said Woman.
I know Preacher Bill. He's a friend of my stepdad and the preacher of my stepdad, mom, and brother's church. He's coming on 80 if not already. He's a kind country man and he loves people so much. He came to visit Deladis in the hospital here in Whitesburg when a stomach virus put her in for 4 days. He slipped me a $20. Beautiful man. Loves us dearly. You and me. Is he right here? Absolutely not, but I know where this teaching comes from. I know Preacher Bill's heart and the life experiences that has shaped his train of thought.
Yesterday was a very difficult day. Out of the gate I had to drive an hour and fifteen minutes away to the doctor way too early. I got pulled over, cited, and received a court date. (Please someone tell me how to erase leadfoot out of my DNA.) And, had some hard conversations. But, later on I had to be in Hazard for a story I am working on. I sat down with some people and heard their tale of struggle, but ultimately of hope. I got to tickle some baby toes. On the way there, I passed by a trailer park. It was one of the ones that have trailers packed into a space like sardines in a can. But, one woman had a side yard. And this picture is of her January garden. Everything in it was created by what many would consider trash. She was out hoeing. A just beyond middle aged woman. Two doors down, her neighbor flew a Confederate flag. As they say, Appalachia isn't a diverse place. All foreigners are Middle Eastern, Indian, or Asian and they are doctors who won't stay. While there is truth in every stereotype, and in many ways one can draw that conclusion. This woman was a dark skinned Asian with beautiful black hair. Living in a trailer park. Hoeing a lovely January garden with frost cover made from trash.
I love my place. I also hate my place. It's a balance. But, if I have the power, I am going to try to paint in the mind of America a truer story of my place. A bigger picture. A call for empathy. A call to hear the voices of the voiceless. A calling out of hate directed toward those you see as inferior to you.
January 20, 2017
We are probably all aware that rural America has been dubbed - Trump Country. Many liberal minded folks have taken to degrading rural Americans - and especially coalfields Appalachians in multiple ways and across a variety of platforms.
I've been trying to read Anthony Flaccavento's latest article in Yes! Magazine for 2 days. The next few months are going to be busy for me at WMMT. I'm working on some big things. So, sometimes, I can't keep up with all the reading I should be doing. However, I've been to Anthony's farm and we featured one of his talks on Mtn. Talk Monday. He's a smart man. In this article, he tries to address what liberals/progressives are questioning - how did we lose the rural and working class? Many of that camp of political beliefs feel they are the champions of the poor. What I have found to be true is they misunderstand us a great deal.
We are not stupid - we are common-sensical, practical, and connected to our surroundings in a myriad of ways. I heard more wisdom from a 23 year old mother of 3 when I interviewed her than I have heard in a long time. You can get the same thing at a DQ if you sit at a table across from where the old men meet every day and drink their coffee. Sure, you can hear a lot of bs that way too, but isn't it what we choose to pull out that frames the meaning of what we hear?
This young mother who I won't name right now because I'm working on making a few things with her story and would like you to listen to her, has said it best. This isn't a direct quote, but what she said was something like this - They think we like Trump so much. It isn't that we like Trump, it's that we hate the government. Well, not that we hate the government, but that we really distrust them. That is what got Trump elected. She's right. This has been a fact for a VERY long time.
Now, he is our president and we are about to see what that means. I think Flaccavento's #3 on his list is really good. Those of us working and hoping to diversify our mountain economy need to start producing tangibles. Start using practical language. Tell folks what it will mean to them, not later, but right now. And, if it doesn't make a difference right now, question whether it is the best use of an opportunity to work for good. Where are your efforts here best utilized? Where is the grant money you received best spent?
I sat in a meeting yesterday with a group of healthcare providers and administrators being asked to believe that story circles and art projects can help them figure out how better to help the community. One administrator said, I'm sorry... I have no clue what you are talking about. We work with numbers. We are practically minded. Another said, Yes - I thought it sounded like we were going to sit around and draw and figure out how to help someone with diabetes. LOL On the surface level, it does sound like a laughable proposal. But, when we think of qualitative and quantitative data and how one can inform the other, the idea changes. Thinking of how in one conversation we can pull out multiple ways to help our community by addressing hardships, it changes the picture a little. We talked about that, and they understood it very well. We listened to one another and addressed our individual concerns.
Trump has already threatened to privatize the Corporation for Public Broadcasting which could devastate them. Nothing new. People have been suggesting it for years. Remember the Save Sesame Street campaign? He also wants to defund The National Endowment for the Arts and the National Endowment for the Humanities. I have a job in LARGE part because of these organizations. I have health insurance through my employer because of them. I share the news of our community to a national audience in part because of them. I don't make a lot of money doing the work I do, and not one person I work with does. We do this work because we care. Who knows what will happen if they take these organizations away.
In February 2015, Kentucky Gov. Matt Bevin on his visit to Hazard said that we needed coal companies because they are the patrons of the arts. Let's see if Frankie Justice wants to fund my radio position. I'm not anti-coal. Have not bashed it. Will not bash it. I hope miners go back to work. My dad is one. My grandfathers were miners. But, is one person's job more important than another's. Where politics are concerned, it seems so.
Who knows what the next 4 years will bring? I didn't watch the Obama inauguration and I did not watch Trump's today. As the mama said, I don't trust the government to give any hoot about me, my family, my community, or my country.
If you ask people in the county where I'm from - Letcher County, Kentucky, about my family, they would say that I come from a good home and good people. They would be right. I knew love throughout my entire childhood and I know love from my family today. In Part 1 of this series, I shared some of the moments from my coming into adulthood. When I shared the post on Facebook, several comments were about how real it "seemed" or "felt", and how they were sucked into the story. I wrote the piece in second person. I answered them that it felt real because it was; it was my own experience and every bit true.
I shared my personal experience because I am not ashamed of it and I believe it isn't an uncommon one. Part of me believes that the things I described are more related to living in a certain economic class of people and family dynamic in the United States than it is a uniquely Appalachian experience. It is maybe the truly severe bits that I didn't tell of that would fully couch my early life experiences more in place. The experiences I could share of joy and honest sadness would as well. I purposefully did not tell my most tragic of memories. The Appalachian experience gets plenty of attention for the tragedy of it. The unfortunate reality is that this tragedy is most often displayed or filtered through the eyes and mind of an outsider looking in and distributed through the national media outlets. Very little have I seen someone completely embedded in Appalachia and particularly eastern Kentucky telling the story and it reaching far and wide. For, if it were an eastern Kentuckian in complete control of the telling, the complexity of the Appalachian experience would be revealed. It would demand to be thought about instead of gawked at. To be digested and integrated instead of judged and laughed at. The truth is we are a people who have for over a century now have been told that our way of life isn't normal, isn't proper, isn't fulfilling, isn't joyfilled, isn't healthy, is poor, is backward, is ignorant... is less than. So, I ask. What do you expect to witness from the people who live in arguably the most beautiful natural landscape in all of the United States when for generations we have been told by nearly everyone that comes to visit that they can offer us something better, or that we need saving? Then, in turn, they exploit our hard working ways, our strong backs, and our common sense for their personal gain of ego or profit. What do you expect to see? What?
Now, I come to the part where I have to call out the most well meaning among you to think for a moment about what impact you want to make in my community. Why are you here and what do you want to offer us? And, if you offer, are you going to deliver and do what it takes to understand us well enough that you can? Otherwise, please, just enjoy yourself while you are here, make good memories, spend a lot of money, and pass on through. We aren't here for saving or for boosting anyone's ego. We are a people in transition. We will either succeed and be a story that renews the viability of the American Dream for the average and less than average person or we will fail and be a lesson to the country in the many different ways slavery can still occur in this country legally to line the pockets of the rich white men in control while others bank off the tragedy in their own ways under the guise of morality and ethics.
My people have been in the Appalachian mountains since before written record... since before the white man. My Cherokee ancestors made their home in these hills, respecting the land and managing the resources for posterity. My great great grandmother walked with a lame leg from New Echota/Calhoun, Georgia into Dayton, Tennessee at age fifteen. She followed the ridge as her people taught her to escape violence from white men as her mother wasn't able to do and the family who were separated from her through the Trail of Tears long ago and were in Oklahoma on Indian Territory and couldn't save her from the hardship. She had made the trip herself to Oklahoma several times with her parents. So, she walked. No, she ran away to never look back.. From Dayton, TN, she ended up in Hazard, Kentucky where her husband worked in the mines and was eventually killed in them. She remarried a British man there as I understand.
My Scotch Irish people came into these hills to escape the slums and prejudice of the cities. They wanted to find a home that reminded them of the Old Country so they settled in these mountains where they wouldn't be bothered. They developed a strong sense of place here, becoming clannish and protective of one another and their land. It was a sensibility born of necessity that has been passed down in our DNA as a trait that is as natural to us as breath. Many see it as mere violence and stupidity. We know that for us it has been necessary to fight for home, family, and freedom on our own soil more than it has been to fight in foreign wars. It has become our way to be wary of a stranger. It is a way we have survived. So many of us cannot be convinced to resist this instinct because we are not yet comfortable in this country, but we are at home in these hills.
I have spent all but seven years of my 37 in eastern Kentucky. I have seen very little of the United States or the world with my own eyes. I have only seen the ocean twice as an adult. I can't say I will ever see it again with any certainty. I have lived most of my adult life without health insurance. I've paid my own way in this world since I was sixteen. I have had to go to food banks to eat. I have had to use a chamber pot to relieve myself in my own home for months. I have had to have my teeth worked on at a RAM (Rural Area Medical) clinic, waiting all day in very uncomfortable conditions with a thousand or more people receiving medical care in an open very public place. I have lived with a drug addict. In fact, she was my stepmother. She'd make me pay my car insurance twice sometimes eventhough I had record of my having paid it. I know where the money went. She's dead now. I'm pretty sure drugs were the cause. She left my dad beforehand, but she was my stepmother from the time I was nine until I was 24 or so. I know addiction. Honestly, I know too many good and very intelligent people who have lost their lives to drugs either literally or because they are just a ghost of who they should be. People I love. People that have so so much to offer our place. I love them still and my heart aches for the loss of them and their contribution.
I have had to shelter my brother and sister under my arms and usher them into the house like a mother hen because our neighbors, two brothers, would take to shooting at one another. They lived in small campers and peed in the creek and crapped in the woods where we played. I don't know if they bathed. And yet, when my baby sister put a knife through her hand in the front yard, it was one of them to came to her aid using his shirt to put pressure on her hand. He saved her quite literally. It was one of them who worked on small motors and rigged bicycles to be motorized, buzzing up and down the holler. He chased an emu down the holler once calling - "An ostray... an ostray." That was funny. Almost as funny as when he came and demonstrated for us his Achy Breaky Heart dance.
Another neighbor had a hog farm. I watched many a killing there and can recall the smell every time I fry bacon. I put a rusty nail through my foot at their barn once, jumping from the loft. Another let their toddler run in the holler road with a sagging diaper. And later, one of their toddlers would get bit twice by a cooperhead on two different occassions walking through the grass barefoot at dusk. They lived in a trailer that most of the time had no running water or electricity.
I know what it feels like to have the wind blow hard on my face and through my hair from riding on the open highway in the bed of a pickup truck. I know what it feels like to be an adolescent girl and be looked upon by the eyes of a very drunk man and how the room smells after someone has holed up and went on an alcohol and cigarette binge. I know what it is like to share one bathroom and three bedrooms with five adults and six children. I have also seen what it takes to bring yourself out of a dark hole and run your own store as my great grandfather showed me with his Cowshed Trading Post. I know family secrets that would make you cringe.
And, again. I am confident none of this is uncommon. What I take issue with most of all is the shame we are made to feel about images in the media that others don't understand. The shame that comes with having these stories exposed to outsiders without any of the context. Books could be written, are being written, and should be written on how and why things are as they are here. Why aren't more of us being trusted to tell our own story to the world? A set of photos, an article, an essay is not enough to reveal anything much of substance that an outsider can understand. While we are seeing attempts at bringing more fullness into the display of our tragedy as shown in the recent series release by VICE, it still isn't enough to produce much more than gawking.
I put myself through college and I have a bachelor's and master's degree. I educated myself at the encouragment of a few good teachers, the cultural programming in my school provided through Appalshop, and my grandmothers who both encouraged me to be bookish. I now work at Appalshop as the Public Affairs Director of the radio station there - WMMT-FM. As others in our community are aware non-profits like Appalshop are often questioned in this region. As a young person, I would have never dreamed that I would be able to attend AMI (Appalachian Media Institute) or to work at Appalshop someday. Eventhough I had some friends whose parents worked at Appalshop, I was aware that many people there weren't from my town or weren't of families I knew. I knew no one who had gone through the media institute and spoke about it. When I met the kids from the institute, they all were from somewhere else it seemed. Other than a few, it did seem like people from somewhere else documenting our lives. People who had gone to fancy colleges and travelled a lot. People not like me and my family. I was in awe of them and their life. I wanted a life like that.
Things are a little different these days, or maybe they are the same and I'm just now understanding the reality. Most of the folks I work with are Appalachian, eastern Kentuckians, or long time residents. Not all of us graduated from college. All the kids attending AMI this summer are from eastern Kentucky except for one, I think. Appalshop is working closely within the community and with community leaders in a variety of ways. We are helping to initiate cultural programs in the schools again. And, WMMT is making radio that tells our story in our own words as well as the news that is important to us on a weekly basis.
I mention this because we have an outlet for our voice and the truth of our story that has the potential to be seen nationally. We have this resource right in our yard. Yet, I am well aware of the distrust and I totally understand where it comes from. I also think I know how to change that with many in the region.
What I urge us to do as we begin to reframe the stories being told about us in national media is to have a strong voice. Don't shy away from the images like those taken by Stacy Kranitz and displayed through VICE. I know these images are real. They tell a truth. It is a truth we need to address and if I am truthful myself, we aren't doing what we can to tell this story and to address this truth and people are dying because of it. We want to keep images of drug use, violence, and poverty confined to the urban experience and maybe even the urban minority experience, so we can confidently say, this is not us. No, that particular image is not us, but the images Kranitz gives us is. Period. The people in the pictures gave consent to be photographed. Why do you imagine they did? Were they paid and desperate for money? If Kranitz is acting ethically, no. Can we imagine a minute that it is because they are in pain and they want someone to know, understand, and offer some support for finding an answer or simply aknowledge their humanity? Can we think that just for a moment we need to own these pictures? Own them, talk about them, respond to the truth they reveal. I fully do not believe that we can see any triumph in this place until we own the tragedy and stop trying to push it back in favor of the few positive stories we are seeing, that are happening in spite of the tragedies out of tremendous perserverance and unbendable will. These stories should be told side by side as two sides of the same coin. We must expand the story and include even the ones in our communities that do not get told, for there are many. In eastern Kentucky, it's all real and comes from the same beginning.
We can revive a squaredance. We can create a state park. We can grow a pretty garden and sell at the farmer's market. We can promote art and music. All are important and necessary for moving forward. It is important to our children because it helps instill a pride for their place in them which we hope and pray doesn't get trampled by outsiders telling their story. Tell me though, what does that mean to the drug addict sitting in a haze on their bed wondering if they will have a meal today? What does that mean to the man who's life experience is described like this - "A true redneck don't give a shit about nothing but putting food on the table, working, and getting drunk." -Patrick Green from VICE (What it Means to Be a 'Redneck' or 'Hillbilly')? And, then you have a community with an outrageous unemployment rate. What does it mean?
I suggest we all not be ashamed of the tragedy. I suggest that we own it. We don't make excuses for it, but we analyze how it happened to our people and we begin to promote those stories. We praise those lifting themselves up and finding opportunities to be fulfilled here and to help their communities. We also understand that it is because of who they know, unending effort, continuous learning, and a little luck that it happened for them. It's true, and that's ok.. I know because my life could have looked very differently had I not had certain traits and support. I am a lucky one.
I urge us to not jump to defend ourselves every time these types of stories come out. We should stop that because it isn't nearly as interesting as the story itself, it will widely get overlooked, and it will not stop sensational media from being created. Ask anyone living in Compton, Mexico City, Baghdad. Yeah, do we know what life is like there? Instead, put our own images out with our own stories. Be loud until it can't be ignored anymore. Tell the truth everyone wants to hear, but give them the whole picture. While at it, share the story of the kid who made a film about her teenaged pregnant friend, or drug addicted parent, the dirty water coming through the pipes in their home, or how their vision for the future includes tolerance, inclusion, love, and peace.. Hear our young people when they say they don't need protection from transgendered people, but they need some resources to deal with the drug addicted people in their lives. They need some money for college. They need you to care how literate they are. They'd like to know and understand fresh food and clean water. Every year in the hospital in Manchester 200 babies are born. One-fourth of them will be taken to Kentucky Children's Hospital in Lexington because of Neonatal Abstinence Syndrome (NAS) or drug withdrawl. It costs about $53,400 to treat one baby with NAS. Most of that is covered by Medicaid. Then, what about after effects? Tell our children there is a future here when they are born to these statistics and with everyone arguing over whether or not Obama is the anit-Christ, there is a War on Coal, how good Christians don't condone this gay stuff, and how we are going to get ammo after they cut us off. We are side tracked by lies. Our children are being born into statistics we aren't addressing and we want to highlight the positive as a means for what? An Appalachian born child is well aware of what they have to overcome to have a life seen as meaningful to the outside world. We've been expendable for a long time, even to the people helping us. Tell us our tragedy matters and it didn't happen because we are stupid, ignorant, inbreed hillbillies. Tell us you see our tragedy and you see us too and we are beautiful.
Ok, I'm tired. I've been writing almost three hours. Can of worms... out. My contribution may not be very academic. I'd talk more with anyone in person if this at all feels convoluted. This contribution though is real. It came from my heart.
Motherhood: The Title of Guilt
Our family gathered to wait with us. It was snowing, and all the local buses were on calls. Our drivers came from Elkorn City to Prestonsburg to pick us up. We waited over two hours after getting the news. I had time to explain to Ivy about surgery. How most of the people she is close with have had surgery. How she was born and alive because of surgery. How she's strong, and I won't leave her side. I would never leave her side.
She slept on the ambulance ride. I texted with some of my mama friends and family a little, but I mostly watched her sleep. It was hard to reach her where I was belted in, but we had the kindest EMTs with us, and the man in the back also had three daughters. He'd reach over and run his fingers through her hair every now and again. He won't know how much I appreciated that he wasn't afraid to touch her for me.
Like I said, I planned. What would this look like? I had only been with my job since October 2015. I guess they'd just have to let me go. I had been a stay at home mom for 10 years and nothing like this had every happened to us then. Now, I had made the decision to change our entire lifestyle so I could find fulfillment and a purpose beyond parenting, and this happens. As my mind is always analyzing, I asked - What is Universe trying to tell me? Have I become a neglectful parent in my pursuit of engaging work? Am I a selfish mother in even considering how this all will affect me?
Thank God, it wasn't cancer! Ivy is on the mend. University of Kentucky Children's Hospital and her surgical team were amazing. She had a 6cm vascular abonormality that was a total bizarre fluke. They removed it all, and now, almost two weeks later, you can only tell that she was operated on because she has four little incisions covered with surgical tape.
We got home on a Monday evening late. I went directly back to work the next morning. I didn't want to go. I wanted to stay, but now, we are dependent upon my income. My income pays for all the new things in our life. A house that meets our spacial and privacy needs, tuition for cottage school, babysitting, food, insurance and my medical bills, my supplements and medicine, and gas money. I can't not work.
Again,because we can't do without this income, I thought, what have I done? I had to think on it awhile. I came to a conclusion that I had come to months ago as I was making the decision to go back into the workforce. It doesn't matter if I am a stay at home mom or a working mom, I'm going to have guilt placed upon my shoulders by myself and by society for all the things I'm expected to be and cannot. We cannot be everything - even to our children. Becoming a parent shouldn't mean we are expected to. Then, I realized, being at work was a kind of relief. I wanted to be both places, actually. At work, I could breathe. I could focus on something a little less heavy for awhile. I could see something through from beginning to end.
I remembered an essay in _Brain Child Magazine, online that I had read back in September before I knew I had gotten my current public affairs position. Aubrey Hirsch writes:
I’m learning a lot, too. The big revelation for me came the first time he woke up on a Saturday morning and, as we were lazily playing in our pajamas, said, “I want to go to Melissa’s!” Movies and mom blogs had prepared me for this moment to be heartbreaking, but it wasn’t. It was totally fine.
Before she ends the essay this way, she wrote, "Watching another woman cuddle and comfort my son didn’t feel bad; it felt great. I knew he would be fine and that Melissa would take good care of him." With those lines, I was reminded how I'm not a natural nurturer. When my own mother was caring for my dying grandmother, she broke down in her stress and grief and said, "I'm not good at this stuff. If I had wanted to be a nurse, I would have went to school and become one!" I realized so much watching my mother caring for my grandmother, and when she spoke those words so much acknowledgement poured through my soul. Hugging, rubbing, touching, holding... it all wore her out too. She too had to make an effort to do it in an extended way. I realized it wasn't that she didn't want to hug me growing up, but she got tapped out quickly. It didn't mean anything was lacking in her care of me or her love for me. It just meant she would show it in different ways that aren't typically associated with the act of mothering, and she did.
I hadn't thought I would be a mother up until a few months before I began trying to become pregnant with my first child. My plan was to be a writer. For various reasons, plans change. In this season of my life, I'm revisiting the dreams of my early twenties. Some would call that a mid-life crisis. Others might say I'm finally accepting myself. The biggest point is that I don't have to feel guilty for it. In fact, I have come to understand the huge contribution working mothers make, and how it actually is more difficult in many ways than being a stay at home mom. Mentally and emotionally, being a stay at home mom almost devastated me. It brought me to a very dark place after years of denying to myself that I really felt the way I did about not pursuing my interests.
You DO NOT have to be a martyr to be a mother. I wish for the life of me that society would help us convey to our daughters that you DO NOT have to be a martyr to be a woman. For if you find yourself a mother with a career or job, you may also find yourself holding the brunt of household chores, cooking, bill paying, errands, and outside family commitments. Going out and finding yourself is just another thing to add to the plate that is already spilling over the edge. Yet, it might be the most important piece in being not simply a caregiver, but a role model for your children. Being a role model can be achieved in the home and outside of it and will be particular to any given woman.
I'm still trying to find the balance of being both in the home and out of it. The truth is, I'm going to give up most of the yoga classes I teach so I can be home a few more hours in the evening. Mothers need rest and cuddles too. Even mothers who get tapped out quickly. We all need self care, but from what I see, especially women. Pursuing the interests and hobbies that help us nurture ourselves so that we can nurture our children and loved ones.
Hillary Clinton, back when I was younger was known for saying, "It takes a village to raise a child." She is right. Back in the day, the whole holler watched after your kids while they ran from house to house and hill to hill. Only since we have become nuclear families and neighbors with closed doors have we lost the village mentality. That doesn't mean that it still doesn't take a village.
Things happen, and I will be the mother who deals with them as they come. I will be the mother who seeks and finds herself. I will be the mother who shows her daughters that a woman can be whatever she wants without the permission of anyone. I will be the mother who knows and understands that we are each unique and being a good mother simply means providing an environment where your child is nurtured, safe, fed, warm, and loved however that may appear.
Two days after my birthday in 2011, before I became a mother for the third time and that birth along with subsequent events sent me into this bizarre realm of simultaneous excited joy and the personal space of death (I've not maintained spaghetti arms - LOL.), I received my spiritual name from the 3HO organization. I read the name - Hari Dass Kaur, but I felt disconnected from it, disappointed even. The email read:
You have been blessed to live as Hari Dass Kaur, which means the kind, creative and prosperous Princess who loves to serve God and who is God's Lioness.
Hari Dass Kaur, the very essence of it's meaning is vague. The names are translated from Gurbani (in most cases) - sacred language of the Sikhs- using the Gurmukhi alphabet - sacred alphabet of the Sikhs. However, there aren't literal translating capabilities using the English alphabet, so it is tranlated in order to achieve the nadh, or the sound current of the name, which is the most important part. This means it is more important that the name be pronounced correctly than spelled a certain way. The names are meant to lead us more fully into our destiny as we adopt them as our legal name, a name we use, a personal mantra, a prayer, a meditation, or any combination of these. The more we speak or hear this spiritual name, the more this destiny becomes our reality.
"Hari" is one of the many names of God (Source, Creator, Universe). It is the aspect of God that actively creates or takes away and in taking away creates a new thing, being, or situation. And, as the email said simply, Dass means "to serve." I couldn't help but think, why else is anyone here? We are here on the whim of the Divine no matter how we understand what the source of our existence is. I closed the email and had looked at it only one other time until a new virtual friend of mine reminded me of the 3HO spiritual names and I remembered I had one.
About two weeks ago, I opened that email again. After all that I have gone through beginning with the triumphant birth of my Gweneth, and the sweet bliss that entering into the realms of death gave me... My midwife being arrested and charged with murder when the birth of a baby she attended directly after mine ended tragically. The case being drawn out for three years without a trial. Her being on house arrest and in a county jail for 10 months. Me conversing with those working on setting her free. Opening my life up to these strangers. The emotions involved. My PTSD being triggered which was still very real from the first time I became a mother. My realizing I had no business being a doula, birth advocate, or childbirth educator anymore as my thoughts on all of it were drastically changing and I had a ton of inner work to do. This thing which had become my identity falling away much to my relief. This resulting in a constrained sense of freedom that wanted to be expressed. Extreme ups and downs as I fought against accepting and expressing the emotions that would lead me to this freedom. Excessive amounts of physical and emotional pain that made me wish for death. Pain like I wouldn't wish on the people I consider my worst personal enemies. Working to fight this disease (Hashimoto's) that keeps trying to put me in a place of weakness. Finding a way to begin speaking my truth. Asking my husband to see and hear me again and also be present. Knowing that I was strong enough to expect that because I deserve that. More emotional extremes that made me feel like a lunatic. Becoming a public affairs director for WMMT - a small community radio station. Sending my daughters to a cottage school. Moving into town rather than living off grid. Exposing myself in so many ways to more people than I ever wanted to... I understood that name, Hari Dass Kaur, for the first time.
Regardless of what your belief is in a Divine Intelligence or even that of a seemingly miraculous, but very explainable science, I think we'd agree that if we aren't living in our Truth (not being true to ourselves), what's the damn point? Why even live at all if we don't allow ourselves the freedom to be the fullest expression of who we are? If we aren't allowing this quintessence to be expressed, this embodiment of life force that is uniquely ours from the moment we opened our eyes/third eye in this life, we aren't only short changing ourselves but everyone else in our life. Hari Dass Kaur (the kind, creative and prosperous Princess who loves to serve God and who is God's Lioness) might be the hardest thing I have left to express in this world. I've learned to express emotion. I can complain with the best of them. I love words. I love writing words. I love the radio and making stories for the radio. I adore art and making art. Music pervades my soul. I enjoy feeling anger and expressing that to anyone ready to listen when the time is right. Expression isn't hard for me. Allowing my Truth to be the expression of my life no matter what that means for me, my friends, or my family, that feels scary.
I am realizing as I am getting answers from the medical end of my health and emotional issues, that what I have been experiencing over the last four years, but very intensely since Spring of 2015, is a kundalini awakening. If anyone clicks on that link, I'm running the risk of being seen as a "nut". That's ok though, I don't care. I'm used to being seen as a nut in most ways. I fly my freak flag with pride and have since I was very young. However, I'm also a serious person and hope to be taken seriously, not made fun of. I know that someone will see this as beyond eccentric and into the silly. I run the risk of friends, family, and colleagues seeing me as someone lost. Kundalini awakening is true though. I'm in this process right now, and it isn't at all simple (though not everyone experiences it the same way). I hurt on many levels. I long for things to feel balanced. Until I realized that kundalini awakening was what I was experiencing, I was perfectly fine with death as a solution to what I was feeling, though I didn't want to inflict it upon myself. I was tired and didn't want to try to overcome anymore. I didn't want to fight. I didn't want to cry alone, or whine to my friends on Facebook and embarrass myself. I didn't want to experience anything but nothingness.
Now, I feel I have a plan. I have a way to exist. I work on seeing this awakening process through and I become the expression of life that I was meant to be. Through all of my struggles, sadness, fighting, winning, feeling, joy, pain, learning, I can be of service to the Most High. That Higher Power that is in us all. That Truth. I can be there for others. I can use my gifts and experiences to reflect back this Truth to others so that they too can see it in themselves, knowing they aren't alone. The thing is, I don't worry about what this means. I don't worry about more pain. I don't worry about loss of any thing or person. I'm not concerned about suffering. For what I know is, I am complete and this life is a brief moment in the expanse of time and all that is given me is purposeful to an end goal. This isn't just some meaningless accident of tragic chaos, suffering, and pain. I'm capable of working through all this with the help of those the Universe will send me who want to support me through each stage of this journey. I know I will find that place of peace. Now, hope has returned in the name, Hari Dass Kaur.
Gifts from the Universe
“The moment you touch your soul, you become fearless." -Yogi Bhajan
This past summer and early fall, I gave myself the space I needed to get in touch with my soul. I found there a fire burning so bright and asking me to change my whole life to feed it. I made some significant changes. I went from homeschooling to working mother. That was the biggest. I decided to move on the grid. I'm packing today. I began teaching yoga, and I applied for and received a grant from the Kentucky Foundation for Women to finish an essay collection I'm working on concerning events in my own life as a rural mountain woman. I feel the essays will illustrate the universal experience of being a woman. My 3 year old goes to a babysitter 3 days a week now. Between yoga work, driving, and my work as public affairs director at WMMT, I'm doing this thing 50-60 hours a week.
Another gift I gave myself during this time, was to be honest with me. I searched my heart and let myself be free to experience things my heart longed to experience. We don't have this freedom all the time, and when we do it is intoxicating. I'm 37, so maybe what I experienced some would call a mid-life crisis. I'll be a lucky person to get another 37 years, so maybe it is. For me, it held real meaning. For the first time in a long time, I gained the feeling that there was something to hope for, not just for my daughters, but for myself. I felt like I woke up and had decided to come out of the shadows to live.
However, there were some moments for those who were attending to my needs that became frantic. What I was experiencing while they were assessing my bleeding and getting it under control was bliss. My body grew warm and fuzzy. My ego retreated. I felt whole. I didn't care if I continued on in life in the physcial body. I felt like I was completed. It is very hard to describe, but I haven't felt anything as good before or since. What makes it even stranger to talk about is, if I hadn't been tended to. If I had been alone to care for myself, I likely would have bled too much and passed on. In the moment where the veil between worlds grew very thin for me, I felt most at peace. That makes people uncomfortable. That makes it hard to share because there aren't many who understand.
This summer, I began finding a way to live and recreate those feelings of letting go completely. It isn't as easy to replicate in life as it is when your body actually is letting go of its life blood. Life is complicated. I'm a realist. I fought to keep that energy going, but it became just embers and I've had to accept that for now. I couldn't control the death of it and I've taken that in a hard way. I've sunk into a dark and grieving place. I'm not a crier. I've been crying a lot lately. The hope I built has been put away. I'd say it is gone, but there's always the possibility she will return. She stayed in Pandora's box after all. I just have to not wish for her anymore. I find myself thinking more and more about those moments. "Kelli, stay with me," she said. I thought, why? I decided I didn't care to stay and if it was meant that I go, I'd let it happen. "Just a minute," I said. Another minute in complete surrender. I long to go back there. I'd happily go back there unafraid.
I was fighting tears Monday while driving the girls out of the holler. Right as we were going into the creek, I noticed what appeared to be an old weathered bone on the flat rocks in the shallow part of the creek. I collect bones, skulls, and other natural oddities, and I stopped to get a better look. I opened the car door and discovered this very heavy statue. It's been either buried or in the water a long time. It was painted at least twice. Once red and once black. It had also been mounted to something. Maybe a fence, entry way, or gate. It looks like it is holding a staff or spear. A resting warrior. The Universe had sent me a gift with no explanation of how it made it there on that day for me to find. Universe told me to rest. To be patient. It's ok.
Then, I get word from the artist Bonita Parsons that someone who wished to remain anonymous had bought this piece of art from her and asked her to send it to me! I adore this piece and when I found out I cried. I feel so unworthy of such a gift. I socialize very little. I don't talk on the phone even with family and friends I want to talk to. I forget to answer some messages I get on Facebook. Very few people really know me. I am as a ghost and very alone. I have no idea why someone was compelled to gift me this. It makes me feel very thankful and at the same time sad. When I write about my own life, I write it honest. It isn't a bad kind of sad, but it is a type of sad. I've cried several times over the receipt of this gift. I simply don't feel worthy of it and would like to understand why it was given me.
The Universe has gifted me twice in a week when I just wanted to completely give up. I don't want to stoke the embers. I want a lobotomy. Yet, Universe is telling me that my life is a gift. Don't squander it. It is ok to be sad, but it isn't ok to take yourself away from the collective before it is your time to go, whether you do it metaphorically or physically.
I discovered with certainty this summer that my totem animal is the crow. Crow medicine and those who carry crow as a totem can be intense. It's true. It's not a thing we can help and it comes to use by nature. Crow crosses the veil of existence on the regular and is thought to live outside of time and space. Crow carries an honest message and doesn't care to deliver it. Crow is lonely, a loner, but never without work. Crow has magic. People come to us in private to hear their secrets. It's kind of like what I imagine a priest in the confessional to feel, except we don't absolve or give penance. We acknowledge, accept, and help the processing begin as best we can while still being what we are.
I had a dream this week. A woman with a clipboard met me at a convention and said, "You've been idealized." I got so mad at her I could have hit her. I turned around and went back to the room I had just left instead of entering the convention. I've been worried about what she means. I hope that isn't true of me, and yet, when I receive anonymous gifts, or am told I inspire. It is hard to swallow. I'm struggling with my inner light. I'm just living life as best I can right now. Nothing I'm doing is special or beyond what any other human is capable of. I've been called by some younger women a "hero." That makes me very uncomfortable. I don't understand where it comes from, or what I'm supposed to do with that fact. It's hard.
This week though, Universe told me I have a job. My job as the holder of crow medicine will include these things and it will include them whether I am experiencing the light or the deepest darkness. I hear the crows cawing as I'm writing this now. I can't not accept it. It's what I am. My heart won't let me say, no, as long as I am living. It's just that I don't feel that character in me. That sage hermit woman in the woods who holds the secret the adventurer hopes to find. I've not gotten the ability to fully stand in my own light. Maybe I never will. How can I be anything to others? How can I do what I'm asked while at the same time feeling I have no outlet for it myself? Words though powerful are never enough and that is all I have. Typed or written words.
About a Relationship
This month marked 21 years since I told my husband I'd be his girlfriend for sure. I had just turned sixteen. We married when I was 20. In June, we had been married 16 years. I used to share those numbers at every opportunity that arose. I'd share it like an accomplishment for which I should receive an award. Yet, most of the time it was taken as some kind of impossible feat we had managed to pull off. "You two are so sweet." "You were made for each other." "You've got such a great man/woman." Those are the comments we get, and to be honest, I'd get angry sometimes at those assumptions. Then, we get the questions about how we do it. Do we argue/fight? Do we disagree? Do we aggravate each other? How do I get someone to stay with me?
I am most definitely not qualified to give relationship advice. Simply because I haven't bailed on my husband, and he hasn't bailed on me, doesn't mean things have been, are, or will be fabulous. I suppose we are both pretty loyal people by nature. That might be one thing that has helped us remain married. We have some common interests. We have children. We also respect others who are at least attempting to live consciously. We are also friends. Long time friends. You know, the kind of friend you have that you'd forgive for almost any act of offensive and even harmful results to you or others. You just know each other that well. You know where actions and behaviors come from. You know when someone is acting from a place of self control or out of control.
I come from a "broken" home. My parents divorced when I was eight. I have spent most of my life lamenting their split. It created a lot of uncomfortable and sad moments for me and my siblings/step-siblings. However, in my experiences of the past year, I have come to realize that my parents divorce wasn't the fault of one of them in particular. It takes two to make or end a relationship. I released so much of the fear, anger, and sadness in my heart around my first nuclear family not making it. I opened to more fully embrace a broader definition of nuclear family and even release arbitrary expectations I had put on myself as someone's wife. Self sacrifice can only go so far in a relationship before it turns what should be a mutual compromise into an unhealthy harboring of hurt feelings and disappointment. For the first time, I understood in the depths of my soul why my parents' relationship didn't stand in the storm. It was an incredible moment of healing for me.
People tell me and ask me about John being my soulmate. I have always answered that I guessed he was, and I still do. What I understand now is that he wasn't my first soulmate, he isn't my only one, and he isn't the last one. He is one of many persons of all genders with whom I have a soul contract. The following quote is from an article that explains soul contracts and sacred contracts, which I have come to firmly believe in on both the intellectual and spiritual levels. It just makes sense to me given my personal experiences and interpersonal ones as well.
These are people who become key to the progressions in life like your parents, certain friends, romantic partners, spouses, and siblings. These souls can also be people that you only know for a brief time but who have an impact on your life and open up opportunities related to your Sacred Contract.
I don't know for how long I will have a deep connection with anyone with whom I have a soul contract. It is something we, hopefully, will mutually decide if we have respected one another and have continued to make an effort to see the other's wholeness as an individual.
Being married is a tremendous amount of hard work. It's an agreement between two people to devote themselves to making a life with one another and always consider the other in making decisions that involve everyone living under their roof. It sometimes requires us to delay our own ideas, druthers, or even comfort for the sake of the couple/family as a whole. It demands open communication and when that isn't in place, things will be guaranteed to be extremely unhappy or fall to shambles. In order to maintain a romantic relationship with someone, you MUST respect them. You MUST make an effort to be a witness to their life, emotions, and dreams. You MUST be willing to meld them with your own where you can. You MUST be willing to bare witness to the others erotic and explore it with them. Otherwise, if we cannot make exceptions for our partners, or we do not feel seen, wanted, or respected by them, some action needs to happen.
In this life, I have loved a number of soulmates. I still love them and always will. I will love them for what they taught me. I will love them for the time they spent with me, and their willingness to see me beyond what the average person opens up to seeing. I will be grateful for what I share with them.
I've realized that love isn't something that should be controlled. We all need to feel wanted and cared for, and we can all find that if we open ourselves to loving and being loved. We cannot force another to accept our love or force someone to love us. That's the beauty of it. "It hurts so good." Those individuals we grow to love have to be ready to accept what we are offering. The need is there in all of us, but it is the want that matters when it comes to love. It is the want and the ability to acknowledge that one is worthy of another's love. If those things aren't there, there's a forcing involved, and the relationship will be strained.
After years with someone, sometimes complacency can occur. One, the other, or both of you can become too satisfied with how you've formed your life together that you fail to see the reality of your own or your partner's feelings. Depending upon the personalities in the relationship, one partner can feel like things are going well and the other like they are drowning. Blindness to the others reality can occur. It can alternatively result in arguments that go nowhere. If we are living life on autopilot, we won't understand what is happening, proper communication won't occur, and the relationship will be unfulfilling or end in an unhealthy way. If you choose to make a life with someone, be willing to learn yourself enough to know when you need to open a channel of frank, respectful communication and when it is time to walk away out of love for the other and yourself.
In this world, there are too many strained and contrived relationships. There are too many that should have never resulted in marriage and many more that ended needlessly. There's so much heartache in this world that none of us should endure a relationship as a martyr. If we are going to raise the next generation to be strong, independent, comfortable, and unembarrassed to love, we have to show them that love means many things. Love is the ultimate strength. Mothers and fathers shouldn't preach contempt for one or the other to their children. If they at one time cared enough for each other to make a life and to have children, they should continue to respect each other if at all possible. Again, it takes two. If the partner is unwilling to act in a way that allows friendliness, it isn't something that should be taken out on children.
I don't know what the future holds for my family. What I hope is that I have partnered with someone who will always remain my friend and someone who I can always hold the deepest respect for. I think I have. I also have to trust myself enough to not be so self sacrificing that I become sad and stifled, or so bent on my own desires that I sacrifice the good of my family and the person I partnered with. I pray that my partner will do the same. What I want people to know who think things are perfect just because you can give a big number of years, or because you've been with someone since you were a teen to know is that it isn't cute. It isn't always happiness and roses. Many times, it isn't even sweet. What I also want to say is that is okay. We're all growing. Sometimes we grow together. Sometimes we need to grow apart. The most important thing is that we do our best to live consciously, and acknowledge the Divinity in others. We have to see our impact on others. We have to try to understand ourselves. We must have a deep desire to share ourselves, but to also provide the nonjudgmental arms for another to be vulnerable in. None of these things are easy. It's all hard work. Relationships are hard work. If one lasts many years, it isn't a coincidence or a fluke. It isn't a fairytale. It isn't guaranteed to last another day.
Think of it this way. Our paths cross like a web. Some of our paths will be connected always. Some only briefly. Yet, each thread is needed for the whole design to appear. We need each and every person in our lives. They offer us a piece of themselves as a lesson to cherish whether hard or simple, devastating or sublime. Be thankful. Be thankful and grow in your personal understanding. Grow in your ability to act from a loving place in all areas of your life. Do this, and you will find your many soulmates and have a life filled with love. As bittersweet as that might be, it is our truth.
Two days after I accepted a position teaching on an emergency certificate at Henry County Middle School in northern, central Kentucky, I received a call for a job offer as an editor and reporter for the Flemingsburg newspaper. I had put in my resume with the career center at Morehead State University where I had graduated just a few weeks before with my Bachelor's in English and Creative Writing. Both of these offers came from that. When I turned down the newspaper offer, my heart sank. I had taken the teaching position because I felt like I had to. How could I turn down $25,000 a year? It was more money than we had ever seen. I might not get any other job leads. Working at Big Lots furniture department couldn't last forever. Yet, I had never seen myself as a school teacher. I come from a family that have devoted their life to education. I was confident I could do the work, but I didn't really want to from my heart's standpoint. So, when I told the newspaper I was already employed, I could have cried. Patience and trust in Universe is a hard lesson to learn.
Teaching middle school taught me a lot of important things. I also have a $35,000 Master's Degree in Teaching that I'll be paying for the rest of my life. I won't ever go back to teaching in public education unless it is at the college level. I could have taken the newspaper job, potentially been happier, and in a lot less debt now. Hindsight. It must have not been for me to do right then.
I hadn't planned on being a mother either. I've written about that before. Everyone was shocked when I changed my mind and began trying to get pregnant. When I finally did give birth, I didn't go back to teaching. I had always thought that if I had children at least one parent should stay home to raise them. I had always felt like motherhood was a thing only those who are ready to sacrifice everything to be a deeply devoted nurturer should embark upon. I thought that, for me, it would have to look a very particular way in order to work. I knew me. Why have children if you have to pay someone else to raise them? I've held so many strong ideas as golden. It's a beautiful thing how life teaches us even when we are mule-headed.
That same little girl was always more at peace outside of a child's world. I didn't play much with toys, choosing books, chemistry sets, long hikes, and arts/crafts instead. I wanted to hang around the adult table and listen to their stories and talk. As a mother, I have been present and attentive, but not the mother who sits in the floor and plays for hours with toys or watches many cartoons. I'm still the me I have always been. I'm a good mother just as I am. I have a good relationship with my children. They know I love them and find my lap home. They know my words, my food, my stories, and my songs. My lap and arms will always been their home.
I still ascribe to the dream of homesteading, homeschooling, and living off the land. It just isn't doable with small children as a solo project. So, my plans have had to adjust. There are so many ways a good life can look. There are countless forms of good parents. Each of us are unique and important. I have to be open to all the possibilities. I have to be willing to learn and change my ideas based on experience and new information. I have to see myself and my fulfillment as an important piece of what it takes to be a good mother and a good example of what a woman can do in her life for my daughters. I am me and I am their mother. That is fact.
What I also am is a capable, literate, educated, backwoods, mystical, yogi, mountain woman who loves to read, have long and meaningful conversations, philosophize, study the people of the world, and to listen and share stories. I have a contribution to make and the opportunity to do it with a great group of people in a place dedicated to making sure the stories never die. Taking this job sets our family on a new path. I am having to change everything about our life, and that is a little scary. It is the right decision though. I am making it from a place of hope and I will not feel failure or guilt for making it. It is a decision I am making as my heart has opened, come to understand, and forgiven my own mother. It is a decision I am making in honor of my paternal grandmother who was a proud working mother and reminded me not to martyr myself for an ideal that was not manifesting. This decision holds in memory my maternal grandmother from whom I first learned the feeling of nurture and who was a single working mother of three. She was also a working grandmother who provided a roof for many years for five adults and three grandchildren. They all were good mothers. They all loved their children and did their best. That is all we can do. Give it our all and move forward from a place of love.
I start full time next week. I have a lot to do to prepare. There's a great deal to be excited about. My efforts will allow us to begin the process of coming off of welfare, get a more reliable vehicle, find a home that has more space for our daughters to come into their own, travel more, not have to worry as much about money, and provide a well rounded education for the girls. I need to celebrate.
Realities of Invisible Chronic Illness
Hashimoto's disease is a condition in which your immune system attacks your thyroid, a small gland at the base of your neck below your Adam's apple. The thyroid gland is part of your endocrine system, which produces hormones that coordinate many of your body's activities.
What makes it incredibly hard to give it my best shot is that because the thyroid gland is essential to producing so many other hormones that regulate my body functions and moods, when I am having a flare up, it can feel as if I'm completely losing control of my mind and body. Dealing with this disease is the hardest thing I have ever done. Harder than a 34 hour natural labor. Harder than saying good-bye to friends and family who pass on. Harder than running to the top of a steep hill 10 times fast with no break. You get the point. It's difficult. Honestly, I don't want to do it anymore. I know it is an endless battle.
Imagine having all the symptoms of a major mental illness such as manic depression, paranoid schizophrenia, psychotic depression, or even a bipolar disorder. One day you wake up with overflowing physical energy, even feeling severely anxious, with a rapid heartbeat, profuse sweating, trembling hands, and diarrhea, and you can’t stop losing weight. Then soon enough, without warning, your energy plummets. You feel like a slug, are constipated, your hair starts falling out, you gain weight no matter how little you eat, and you are severely depressed. You may have difficulty swallowing, sound hoarse, and feel like you have swallowed something that wont go down. And then, suddenly, your old symptoms return, and you feel anxious, sweaty, trembling, and panicky. This cycle can repeat itself again and again.
The thing is, I have to fight. I have things to do. This disease is something that I've been given, it is part of who I am, and who I will become. It doesn't have to be all bad. Sure, I just outed myself as someone who might display signs of mental illness. Is that the smartest thing in the world? I'm not ashamed. Many of us live with illnesses, mental or otherwise, that to folks we encounter everyday are invisible. We seem fine. We are hard workers. We get things done. We are driven. We seem in touch. The fact is, that we may be all of these things because everyday is a new struggle and we know that if we don't do it, we won't. There's no in between.
I don't think any of us who share about a chronic invisible illness are expecting condolences or accolades. It doesn't mean we are heroes for going on with life. It doesn't mean we need sympathy because our lives are over and we'll never see our dreams come alive. No, we share because we inspire one another to reach just a little higher. We help each other gather the information we need to take charge of our health. And, we want everyone to know that if we can do it, so can you. All we have is now. If we can make changes that will help us live our lives more fully and experience our bodies in a greater sense of freedom, why wait? No matter how challenging it is to change, why wait? Now, is the time when we can work. One step at a time.
This week I have driven my friends batty with my looping thoughts and stress. I left my beloved yoga mat at the front desk of the recreation center right within my eyesight. I forgot to grab my phone on a day when it was really important that I stay connected. Yesterday, I went about the day without taking my supplements, my heart medication, or my anxiety medication. I didn't realize it until I was overtaken by heart palpitations and feelings like I was surrounded by a strange glass box. When I'm having a flare up of the disease, it is like all my thoughts are in a fog. I get stuck on a topic with worry and I cannot shake it. It's as if I'm in a never-ending state of multitasking. This doesn't even begin to address the physical symptoms. It all can be embarrassing sometimes.
I will never use Hashimoto's as an excuse for my behavior or my physical issues. Yes, sometimes I may choose to share with someone that Hashimoto's is why I do certain things, or sometimes don't seem myself. It's not an excuse though. It's a reason. It's a reason to take better care of myself. It's a reason to deepen my spiritual connection. A reason to listen more to my body. A reason to be okay with a little comfortable discomfort in order to grow as a person and in strength. This is my body. It belongs to me. There's no disease stronger than me. The disease is just another teacher among many.
The man golfing above is my Papaw Hansel. He passed away earlier this year of bone cancer. My Uncle James is holding him up so he can take a swing and not fall. This is the blood from which I come. We don't lay in the bed until we have to. We grab the bull by the horns as they say. My last moment with my Papaw was my dad and I lifting him to adjust him in his bed. He looked at me with those sly eyes and looked at my dad. Dad said, "She's a brute ain't she, Papaw?" He smiled. He was proud of the strength in me. I have always been one to want to please my elders. Giving up isn't an option.
Yet, on days like today, when the sun is shining and the trees are calling, I just want to rest. I want someone to hold me, tell me its okay, tell me I'm doing a good job, I'm a good person, and I can rest. I want to breathe and feel. I want to cry and laugh. I want to be with those who accept me as I am and like me that way. Today, I'm again alone. Today, I'm going to my yoga mat with Warrior Workout and see what I can become for it's all I know to do.
Kelli Hansel Haywood is the mother of three daughters living in the mountains of southeastern Kentucky. She is a writer, weightlifter, yoga and movement instructor, chakra reader, and Reiki practitioner.