In one of my favorite Pearl Jam songs, "Thumbing My Way," Eddie Vedder writes...

Taking on this principle, that I think of as everything is shades of gray, I have found a freedom from the heaviness placed upon my spirit by a society that values labeling everything so that constructs of conformity can be created to judge oneself, their social position, their righteousness, and their ability to succeed over the likelihood of failure.  In other words, a view of people and situations, being defined as "positive" or "negative" in nature by the stories and principles which precede them, and therefore the experience you have of them following suit.  So much of our lives are labeled along this dual spectrum before we even have the opportunity to fully experience it ourselves.  It equates to us being told what to experience, how to react to it, and what we should feel about it.  It can so muddy the way we access life, that many of us become dull or unsure of what we actually feel or enjoy.  How do we know, if everything comes to us prepackaged, label applied?

To experience things labeled as "negative" has become so unacceptable in our culture that a space to process our feelings around those experiences, we inevitably have, is hard to find.  To express feelings that are considered "negative" has become taboo.  Frustration, under these conditions, if expressed, can result in our own label as a "negative" person.  Our grief process suddenly has an arbitrary time limit, and it too is labeled "negative" as we're accused of dwelling and being unable to "just let go."  Yet, in this human experience, to deny the importance of the entire gamut is to drown the possibility of anything to have significant meaning -- for us to better understand ourselves or others.  How is a fullness to be experienced without access to the complete range of the spectrum?

There is no doubt that tragic life events mark us at times in irrevocable ways.  Not all of them can be said to be advantageous to our own well being or even, perhaps, to those our wounded self encounters.  For myself, multiple childhood traumas left me with reactionary patterns, physical and sexual shame, and social anxiety in particular situations that I've had to work very hard to accept or transform into something that gives me the space to have my fullest expression as an adult woman.  These traumas were reinforced, changed, or exacerbated by several additional traumas I have experienced as an adult.  Without going on about the details of those traumas, I want to express that to varying degrees, I understand trauma to be a universal experience.  How we process the trauma, while following certain tendencies identified by science, is largely individual.  What seems a minor occurrence to one individual may send another to the brink and vice versa.  Neither individual is wrong in their experience of the occurrence.  Many variables are at work, and it is unhelpful for us to classify another's reactions based upon our own or our analysis of what they should be, as we are outside players.

I am writing this during a pandemic where we have been asked to shelter in place, practicing physical distancing from non-household members as much as possible.  Those in positions and careers deemed non-essential have been restricted from work and providing for their families with no tangible timeline for a return to anything resembling normalcy.  Children are home from school and separated from friends.  Some parents are juggling attempts to earn income from home while also helping their children complete school work there.  This assumes every family has a laptop or other device that can be used and that there is enough time in the day for everyone to do their tasks on that device if there are not multiple of them.  Essential workers and healthcare professionals feel more at risk for contracting and spreading the virus so much so that some are choosing to house themselves away from their families, causing further isolation and financial burden.  Unemployment has been expanded to the self employed and small business owners, but computer systems have not caught up to the demand or new parameters, and some are being denied.  Again, no real timeline.  No idea of what we'll return to, and many unsure if the job they worked so hard to create for themselves will exist in our future.

I'm writing this at the hardest moment I've experienced in all this.  A tornado like storm has taken out power for thousands of people in my area.  Mine has been out for 3 days now. (It was out 5 total.) It's maybe 40 degrees Fahrenheit in my house.  I'm sitting on my couch in my winter coat, under quilts, my hand is almost too cold to move my pen across the paper.  I was once building my local yoga and movement clientele, living in a two income household - jobs which were built from the ground up so we could remain in our community where we were raised and contribute to creating whatever could be mustered in our economically struggling area.  My philosophy had always been not to sell my soul to money and a rat race when I was free to build some version of a dream and come home from my work more fulfilled.

Now, no one in my household is allowed to work outside of the home.  Our work, as it was known, may not exist for some time.  The task is, now, to try to obtain unemployment, and create income that's possible from home, trying to sale online classes, artwork, editing services... something.  Sales of anything in such an economically dire time is a shot in the dark.

In the last month, I have found myself needing to accept donations of food and money, worrying if I will need to relocate during a pandemic, concerned about the future for my children, distrusting information from most sources, playing out scenarios to earn money, unable to do anything aside from hours of yoga and physical movement, and now, being reminded of times when I was younger and entire days were spent trying to stay warm and find food.

There have been countless opinions written in the last weeks about how we should be spending this time.  People telling us how we should be feeling.  Most seem to be saying that we should be taking this time to replenish, reassess, and reevaluate.  Recommendations are given to get creative, play, explore new hobbies, and enjoy time with the family.  All of these things are worthy endeavors and may be accessible to some, but for others of us getting to a state where those things are mentally possible can feel rather impossible.  For many of us, including myself, this time is the ultimate test of our resiliency and the tools we have worked so hard to obtain for our personal wholeness and growth.  This is a trauma.  A collective trauma, and with everything we have we are battling reverting to old ways of coping, of simply hoping to survive while discarding the goal of thriving for the time being.  Keeping afloat is overwhelming enough.

It's April.  This morning, the temperature is cold for this far into spring.  I'm wearing a flight jacket with Navy patches that belonged to my Papaw Hansel who served in the Korean War as a frogman, which he explained to me was a precursor to the Navy Seals.  He once told me a story of standing on the deck of his ship in open ocean.  Enemy planes had been circling overhead for hours and they were sitting vulnerable.  He said that tension got so high many were locking themselves away below deck puking in fear.  He chose to be there, on deck, watching the enemy and flipping them the bird.  He told me sometimes they'd fly low enough that he could see the whites of their eyes and he smiled.  All they could take from him at that point was his life, and he wanted them to see his smiling face.  They eventually abandoned the intimidation tactics and flew away.  Papaw died of bone cancer an octogenarian.  No too long ago, but long enough.

Sometimes, though, smiling in the face of threat is not possible.  Perhaps a greater good is to be considered and no one can agree on an approach despite working toward the same goal.  My dad is a huge fan of the Webber and Rice rock opera, Jesus Christ Superstar.  I grew up with it as a regular lullaby.  He can sing every word to every song from beginning to end.  Judas Iscariot opens the story and as much as it is the story of Jesus the Christ, I always felt more drawn to Judas.  The empath in me felt his worry and his desperate attempts to preserve his friends and their ideas when the world seemed to be falling apart.  What do you choose to save under those circumstances?  What do you trust?  Judas opens, "My mind is clearer now.  At last, all too well, I can see where we all soon will be."  He goes on to implore Jesus to listen, to remember they are the weaker underdog.  That if they make too much noise, they'll be crushed, and that he is a man and will die, perhaps taking out the rest of them too.  Judas asks his friend to remember his loyalty, saying, "Please remember that I want us to live, but its sad to see our chances weakening with every hour..."  Judas did not want to betray Jesus.  He wanted to live.  He wanted the principles they were teaching to live.  In his duress, the only way he saw to do this was to sale out his friend.  "Our ideals die around us all because of you.  And now, the saddest cut of all -- someone has to turn you in like a common criminal, like a wounded animal..."  I cannot help but see this very scenario playing out with everyone spouting the results of their fears on social media. 

My maternal grandmother, who I called Mimi, told me the story of the Judas Tree.  The Judas Tree is another name for the redbud tree common in the eastern Kentucky hills.  It blooms in early spring, right before the dogwood, heralding the coming relief of a break in the weather.  Mimi said that when Judas decided to end his own life after ushering in the death of his friend, he chose to hang himself from a sturdy, tall tree with white blooms.  The tree took the shame of Judas as he died, shriveling and gnarling.  Its blooms shrank and blushed with the guilt and embarrassment.  It became our beloved redbud tree.  It grows in our hills alongside the dogwood who's blooms are known to tell the story of Christ.  Judas still the dark harbinger of beauty and light.  I always found it hauntingly comforting that the leaves of the redbud are heart shaped.

In Hermetic philosophy, the Principle of Polarity/Duality, is stated as follows: Everything is dual; everything has poles; everything has a pair of opposites; like and unalike are the same; opposites are identical in nature, but different in degree; extremes meet, all truths are but half-truths; all paradoxes may be reconciled."  Everything existing on this plane that is experienced through individual perception is a spectrum, a double sided coin, no matter how seemingly concrete.  Our existence is multifaceted, double jointed, layered, and told back to us in stories.  In the bittersweet story of Judas and Jesus, the idea of duality is clearly illustrated.  Even in the sequencing of the blooming trees that carry their tale, it is clear.  Without Judas, Jesus is not possible.  Their story plays out in a full spectrum of continuous love.

During the last argument between Jesus and Judas in Jesus Christ Superstar,  Judas delivers the lines -- "To think I admired you, for now I despise you!"  Jesus answers, calling him a liar.  Judas understands that Jesus realizes the necessity.  Judas asks him what if he didn't betray his whereabouts, stayed, and ruined his ambitions.  Jesus screams at him to go.  Love and hate are the same in nature, only varying in degree.  One can quickly appear to be the other, as the energy applied toward the feeling of it shifts.

It seems then, that on this plane of existence, that duality is necessary for us to make sense of ourselves and the lives we are living.  Otherwise, would we even know we are alive?  Would it matter?  Have we become so adverse to the range of human experience that we are paralyzing ourselves to life until death stares us in the face and we have to pay attention?  Are we so appalled by and fearful of death, we forget to live?  How often does hardship become the impetus for the most beautiful growth?

I know, sometimes, within our awareness, nothing good comes of tragedy, especially that which we perceive as preventable.  One of the things that happened to me repeatedly over the course of a few years when I was a small girl can be described as nothing but atrocious.  I didn't ask for it.  I was powerless.  I didn't deserve it.  I still wear its physical and mental scars.  I cannot see anything good for me that has come of it.  Yet, because of the experience, I feel I am more open to being present for the story of others.  It has led me to a portion of my work, and perhaps, even the ability to write this piece.  I wouldn't be the me that I am without it, the wounded animal that I am.  Is that good?  Bad?  Does it matter? That event continues to impact me and those I encounter.  When I listen to another's story without judgement, is the thing that happened to me made new and good?

I know this current experience is marking me.  I know it is changing the story for all of us.  We didn't get the trigger warning, and here we are.  Dust made of many of our plans.  All we have is now and the opportunity to interpret the conditions we are actually in, and decide to do one of three things --   accept them, change them, or wait for more information.  The alternative is to wallow in the mire.  But, the time to hesitate is through.  Try now.  We can only lose, and our love become a funeral pyre.  Regardless, I am lighting my fire.

It's a marked and steady decline from my youth.  It would take me an entire essay to explain to outsiders how living here is so unlike the urban American experience that it is as if you're from an entirely different country.  Cultural norms, stereotypes, and etiquette are difficult to translate.  It's a place that the developed world over still finds it politically correct to publicly and openly insult without most people thinking less of you for doing so.  I've experienced it often firsthand, even from people I thought respected me.  It may be worse from within our own state where whole swaths say, "We're not THAT Kentucky," when referring to the eastern part of the state.  

This place, more so the landscape, is my home.  It is the substance of my blood.  It's a place you should experience with a guide.  Not just any guide.  Not a romanticized reframing narrative of how its quaint, enduring beauty has been falsely portrayed.  Not the resiliency narrative of a people perpetually oppressed and misunderstood as if they were the butt crack of society.  The scapegoats.  While both hold merit and are important pieces of the story, they are glorifying oversimplifications.  It's far more complicated and nuanced.  In not taking the time to convey or discern the big picture, many efforts of revival here shoot off their own toes, spin wheels, and self sabotage. 

As much as this place is a part of me and what I want to keep in my life, there is a significant aspect of me that feels stifled, put down, and silenced.  Working on my own groundedness, I have realized that the place I call home has never fit outside of a few mossy rocks and rolling mountain streams.  That part of me wants to go.  I imagine some sort of balance where my permanent dwelling is here or another part of Appalachia and I travel for my work.  I have both worlds in that scenario.  I have my landscape.  The microcosm that created my body and foundations, while at the same time finding a wider interpersonal community where I can contribute through sharing embodiment workshops, yoga, and my writing.  I can share with people who are interested in my perspective and experience, while I learn from them and their offerings.

I have some beautiful opportunities to share some aspects of who I am here.  Those chances keep me from feeling devastated.  Yet, overall, I often feel a waste.  I feel as if I am an odd peg with a chipped corner and one side swollen from getting wet.  I belong to the set, but I don't fit well in the hole.  The only time I don't feel awkward here is when I am teaching a yoga class.  As soon as I end with "Sat Nam," the awkwardness floods back in.  I have stopped being in public here aside from errands, school events for my children, teaching yoga, and wherever I can escape into the woods.

There are ghosts here to dodge.  Eyes that have shared with you behind a screen like a confessional, but won't look at you in the grocery store.  Ducking behind displays on aisle end-caps to avoid small talk that is only cordial.  Empty store fronts of inaccessible, unsustainable opportunity.  A community you love so much it breaks your heart, but has only so many tiny spaces where you can squeeze in for a moment if you can behave not pushing too many wrong buttons.  I've pushed those buttons, and like a mouse in a scientific experiment, received the electric jolt to associate with the behavior. I use the word "afraid" a lot.  I'm adverse to small town drama because it is no longer worth the consequences.  I'm happy to risk when my heart is passionately led.  Other than my personal work in my little room and teaching yoga privately and at my local library, I haven't felt passion in a very long time.  I have not felt the space for it.  I have not had what I need to add fuel to what burns in me.  The burning turns to sadness unexpressed and dies there uncomfortable to breathe.

I don't know my answer.  I want to trust that the opportunity comes where I find that balanced place I mentioned before to feed my soul.  I know that it is becoming harder for me to accept as when I visit away from here, even conversation in the checkout lines feels so much warmer and genuine.  There are more spaces for me than I have the ability to fill.  Here, I find myself more insular and reclusive than is healthy for me, and I don't have much impetus to change that in the current configuration of home.

Maybe... just maybe... I haven't been home yet.

The same three episodes of Anthony Bourdain's No Reservations played repeatedly at least three times that night.  One, he was somewhere in Spain eating in a local's home.  I thought of how Mimi always was the one cooking for us when we all lived together.  How would Bourdain feel about her food?

I had been watching Anthony Bourdain for years.  I was relieved that at least those three episodes was something of a distraction as opposed to infomercials and other random television bullshit that plays in the wee hours of the morning.  Through Bourdain, I saw parts of the world that this working class mountain girl will never get to see with her own eyes.  I would watch him have experiences as I would want to have them.  Ask the questions I was curious about.  See the parts of life that aren't just for show.  His jokes felt like they were coming from a friend who got my brand of humor.  Watching him felt real.  There was empathy in his eyes.  A knowing from somewhere deep.

I lost my Mimi not long after that night.  She had played the biggest role in raising the woman I am today.  Having watched her suffer, I stopped fearing death.  When I understood that miraculous healing is not what we are owed and that this life is but a blip in the whole scheme of things, I realized that death means freedom.  It's real freedom.  And, that when she passed on, she would no longer hurt, suffer, be cold, feel bodily pain, worry, fear, or anything like that.  She'd be transmuted.

I experienced the death of my grandfather, aunt, and uncle during that same period of time.  And, each time, while I was sad and wished they didn't have to go, I started feeling relieved for them. They each had to suffer so much before death.  Sure, you may think it morbid.  Heartless even.  But, freedom is boundlessness.  I only want freedom and boundless nature for my loved ones.

It was within this time frame that I began to not want to exist.  I wanted that boundlessness too.  I was done having to be at the doctor all the time, having entire days lost to physical pain and listlessness.  Done wondering if I was a good enough mother.  Done trying to juggle finances and being poor despite busting tail.  Done waiting to live because everything was consumed by timelines and priorities I didn't create.  There was nothing to make me want to stay aside from the pain that it would cause my daughters to know that I couldn't stay for them.  That was the only thing that kept me living.

You cannot judge someone for feeling this way.  Sure, you can say, look at all they have going for them.  Look at the life they have that I wish I had.  You can call them ungrateful, negative, thoughtless, selfish... but, unless you can understand the loss of emotional attachment to living coupled with a physical, mental, emotional and spiritual exhaustion associated with going about the day in and out... in and out, then you cannot know how not wanting to exist feels.  You cannot judge what you cannot comprehend.  

It isn't that a person does not value or see their blessed life.  It isn't that they are negative or have stopped seeing beauty.  And, other than putting a higher priority on their own suffering than that of their loved ones, you can't even say it is selfish.  We make other similar life choices all the time.  Accepting or declining medical care, smoking cigarettes, walking a tightrope, doing drugs, eating crappy food, driving the car too fast, climbing Mt. Everest... things that we deem worth the risk despite the pain it might cause to us or others in the future.  In a way, that's actually living.  The thing to realize is that the people who decide they don't want to exist are too exhausted to keep trying.  They made the pros and cons list.  They did the risk vs. benefit analysis maybe 1,000 times.  And, in the moment they end it, the finality of not existing felt like freedom.  Boundlessness.  All else would go on.  Life, for all of us is a series of struggles as much as it is blessings.  We cannot save our loved ones from that experience because they are alive. 

I understand how "out there" this sounds.  Unless you've felt it, it's a hard thing to intellectually grasp.  We are born with the instinct to survive.  A newborn baby has the ability to wiggle, smell, root, and find it's mother's breast with no help when placed on her abdomen.  I watched my grandmother fight for her life even after she knew it was over.  We fear the unknown, naturally.  Until, through experiences and chemical configurations in the brain, loneliness, and lethargy from whatever cause, the unknown becomes more appealing than the experience we are having.  Suicide is NOT normal.  It is NOT an answer.  It's an avoidance of the problem all together. 

What we have to do though is make "suicide" a word we use.  We need to ask our friends about it in conversation.  We need to check on the friend that seems so very strong and courageous as often as the one who is having obvious struggles.  That doesn't mean a text (though that is good), it also means visits.  It means getting up in their business even if it gets on their nerves.  It means meeting them where they are - even when they decline invitations, finding something that they can say yes to and doing that.  It's about really seeing a person.  Not just a social media account.  It's about eye to eye conversations.  It's about belly laughs.  It's talking about the tough stuff.     

In a culture that puts so much value on "manifesting" and "postivity," we cannot neglect the experiences that allow us to understand what a "happy life" means.  We cannot stop giving space to our pain and hurt.  We cannot underappreciate sadness.

Stop avoiding your the topic of your friend's suffering.  Stop ignoring that funny look in their eyes that you kind of wanted to ask about, but didn't want to intrude or make things uncomfortable.  Be willing to get uncomfortable dammit!  It won't KILL you!

This past week, despite all the great things in my life, the feelings of not wanting to exist would well up from time to time.  It happens when I haven't had a break and get really tired.  Now, that I understand those feelings, I think I will always face them when things are especially tiring, hard, or the right combination of this or that brings them up.  I have attempted suicide twice in my younger years, before I truly grasped what it was I wanted to do in attempting such a thing.  Now, being a mother will keep me from attempting, because I know that I don't want to be a source of any suffering for my girls.  Yoga will give me reprieve.  I will be open about the thoughts and tell people that if I quit talking about it, that's when they need to pay attention most.  Being unmedicated now, I know I must diligently use my new coping tools.  I will teach yoga, and I will give myself and my gifts as a resource to humanity.  Anyone who wants to sit with me, I will, with honor, listen and I will share if you want to know.  Don't discredit me or the things I share with you because I have these feelings.  Don't label me negative.  Yet, I will still be ok with the thought of not waking up.  I have lost my attachment to living even in all its beauty and glory.  Time is only now and a long, happy life is never a guarantee.  No reason to be attached.

Then, today, while wishing I had more energy to face my day, I saw that Anthony Bourdain had made the choice to end his time here on earth.  I cried.  I've cried multiple times.  I feel like I have lost a good friend.  I've openly talked about him as my favorite of favorites.  His work opened the world up to me.  I'm devastated especially for his daughter, whom it was obvious he loved dearly.  I hope she has a good network surrounding her.  I hope Anthony is free.  Boundless.  He, if any of us, knew the beauty this world offers as well as the bad, and understood it twice as good.    

             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. 
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                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.
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                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:

1. When is enough – ENOUGH?  When you find you’re truly fed up with something, you’ll be more motivated to change it despite the odds.
2. How long will I give this situation power over me?  Am I letting this circumstance dictate how I experience my life?  Does it deserve that much power over me?
3. What resources do I have that are in my favor and can I utilize those aspects of my life or personality to address the areas that aren’t working?

These questions aren’t easy to answer, especially if you’re being honest with yourself.  Often we become too comfortable in discomfort, and the very thought of changing our story brings up anxiety which tricks us into self-sabotage.  It isn’t easy or simple to shift toward an unknown even if it can create positive change.

             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, 

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:

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.

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.  

Today, we are preparing for another round of snow.  There is the possibility of six inches.  My car is in the shop for who knows how long.  Yet, I feel okay with that.  Me, who doesn't like to sit around the house, is okay with these moments here, just me and my girls.  In our school time today, I found inspiration to write for the first time since the snow in my girls' enthusiasm for getting back to a normally structured homeschool day.  I was inspired by the fact that even though we have had a rough patch, we have 122 attendance days completed as of the end of this week for the 2014-2015 school year.  I was inspired that my house feels tidy enough in this moment.  I can not feel like talking to people.  I can only want to see a few folks.  I can dream of travelling.  I can be playfully envious of Anthony Bourdain and his job.  I can get wrapped up in a good television story.  I can grieve.  I don't have to feel guilty about it, or lazy.  I don't even have to accuse myself of being stagnant.  I can be productive on my terms.  I can be still and content right now as I am.  Is this what contentment feels like, or is this the stillness of grief?