Thrive

(4 min read)

I hear that word a lot. In podcasts, books on wellness, health culture, motivational speakers, and by some of my friends. 

The good news for me, is that I just had 3 entire days in a row where I’d say I was physically doing better than surviving. I’m really celebrating that today. 

Let me tell you what it was like to really live: We went out as a family to a nature preserve on Monday (Memorial Day). I felt good (except for my period which had just begun and I was cramping like mad). It was a perfect day. Warm, blue skies, no wind. We walked around, made a fort out of tree branches, swung on porch swings, laughed, and relaxed. 

Feeling so great, I wanted to keep living it up. We got some pizzas for the kids, then Justin and I went to a great restaurant in Minneapolis for a date night. I even had a little bit of his cocktail (I haven’t been able to drink alcohol in a long time). I was glorious. 

In the next few days, I began to show up as a mom in ways I’d been unable to for almost a year. We set up a new structure for our family. We talked about video games, screen time, and why we will be scaling back. How it shapes your brain and how it can begin to take you out of your actual life when we spend too much time in artificial worlds. 

We went for a bike ride to our little gas station to get milkshakes. We went on walks at night before bed time (and our cat Piper even came!). I took my kids to the beach on opening day, and swam with them and did handstands and laughed with them. I cooked good dinners and we ate out on our deck all together. I jumped on the trampoline with my girl, doing flips and tricks and laughing at each other. Me and the kids took turns going down the zipline in our backyard being dare-devils. 

I mowed the lawn. I painted our built-in cabinet in our newly remodeled bathroom. We played The Game of Life. We had conversations about balance. We talked about how the mind, emotions and body are all connected and all need to be considered as a piece to overall health. We talked to Howie about what he may want to do for his first job, and when he’s feeling ready for that. We talked about driving. 

I felt alive; present; fully me. The best version of me. 

We began a chore system. Since my kids are home-schooled for this time, house work is important to give them structure and discipline. Wednesday is floor day (sweep and mop), and Fridays are vacuum days. I’m still thinking about what Monday’s will be…..don’t tell the kids!! 

I’m just really feeling like the best mom and partner and woman I’ve ever been. The one thing that being open and finally seeking the help of a health practitioner has given me is that I’m really living honestly. I’m really paying attention. I’ve been having major health challenges for 12 years now. But instead of pretending I’m fine and privately suffering and lying to people about why I disappear, I’m being honest. 


And this honesty has given me so much strength to really step fully into my power on my “good” days. 

Honesty has forced me to process my experiences. There is no room to ignore things anymore. I have to feel all my feelings, then pick myself back up and show up to my life in whatever way I can that day.

Last night while we were playing The Game of Life, I suddenly became dizzy. I began to lose coordination of my limbs and fingers, and feel very weak. It comes without warning in an instant.

Oddly and infuriatingly, when this particular type of crash or flare occurs, it’s often accompanied by being unable to sleep. I feel weak, cold inside, fatigued to the bone and shaky. AND I CANT FUCKING SLEEP. 

And this usually lasts 4-5 nights till it passes. 

Today, I can only lay down or sit propped up by pillows. Im dizzy, out of breath, weak and so sad about it. I layed for an hour in bed while the kids were playing together, and cried on and off in between stressing about what in the hell I’m going to do. 

Writing is one of the only things I can do in times like this, and even this is difficult, for lack of coordination. 

I could’ve just turned on Netflix. But I am sick of this and sick of being a sick girl zoning out to TV. 

This is me, showing up today in the midst of a terrible flare up with Myalgic Encephalomyelitis/Chronic Fatigue Syndrome made more complicated by Lyme and Walking Pneumonia.

Do I sound pathetic? Sometimes I’m afraid that I do. 

But fuck that, this is my truth. I am a survivor and thriver. I’m trying to live my life each day to the fullest, no matter what I can’t control or plan for. 

And I am sure that no matter what your life is made of, you have challenges just like I do. Not one of us is living an easy life. Life is a burrito made up of so fucking hard and so fucking beautiful. I can’t change my circumstances today. I am still here though, asking myself “what good thing can I do with my day today?” 

And before I sign off, I want to give a special shout-out to my fellow sufferers of ME/CFS. Most people have not heard of this hidden disease. Most have no idea what we go through. There are people in my online ME/CFS support group who cannot and have not gotten out of bed for years. Who can’t shower for weeks, too weak to do even that. I want you to know that I love you, I see you, I care, I get it. You are stronger than most for what you endure. And a moment doesn’t pass when I’m not thinking of you and hoping for a healing path for this disease. 

I love you all.

Love, Heather

Asking Better Questions

(4 min read)

As I continue to trek down the path of uncovering the chronic health issues and seeking the help and support of my doc, my heart burns with one question over and over again. Will I get better?

Sometimes I break down about it. Because this still feels like it shouldn’t  be me. This still feels impossible. Like it can’t really be happening to me. 

I cry. Sometimes Justin catches me. He walks into a room, and there I am on the floor. Crying into my hands. Because I had just been trying to clean or work on a project or cook, and my body will just stop being able to take it. I collapse. And sometimes I handle that with grace. Deep breaths. Mantras of acceptance and release of control. Because when I tense up and stress about it, the crash gets worse.

Sometimes though, I collapse and cry. I’m unable to stop the sadness from boiling over. 

So Justin will sometimes catch me. And when he does, I sometimes ask him through my tears “will i get better?” 

It’s an impossible question for me to ask of him. He says various things. He tries to comfort me. Something in me so badly wants to know with certainty that I’m going to be well again.

Today, through writing, I heard an answer come to me. It came to me from……source? My highest self? God? I don’t know what you want to call it. All of the above are true. 

“If your question is one of fear, then it is also your answer. For an answer to a question that is birthed from fear is already in motion- creating in the Universe more fear. You cannot really answer that question with Love. Instead, hear the fear in your question, and re-phrase it to a question that is based in Love. A question that is based in Love is also an answer, and will go out into the Universe, creating more Love.” 

(I apologize if that sounds too airy-fairy; its just what came to me.)

And I realized that “will I get better?” was coming from the fear in me. It’s coming from terror that I will not get better. There isn’t a good answer to it. Fear will only actually create more of the same……more pain, sickness, fear, etc. 

And since our thoughts are creative, and have the creative energy to transform, and our words have even more creative power, I am sitting here trying to re-imagine that question into one that is coming from a place in me that is grounded in Love, not fear. (Since Love and Fear are the two operative forms of creation and are always in motion). 

So, I’m thinking that it’s okay to cry when I’m sad and scared. No harm in the honest raw expression of emotions. But then, to carefully create a better thought about my circumstance.

And that maybe my question could instead be 

“what will I do with this today?” 

Or 

“How can I bring love into this challenging situation that I am in right now?” 

“How can I accept myself today, in this moment?”

“How can I show my body love in this moment?”

Or at the very least

“Justin, can you just sit with me for a few minutes?” 

And, as difficult as it is sometimes, to remember that the future self is never coming. I will always only ever be in this moment. In the present. Here. Now. And all I will ever be able to do is accept the present moment as it is, with grace and gentleness. 

Because honestly, wondering about the future me, and if she will still be sick in 1 year, 5 years, 10 years………makes me sick. Makes my body tense. Makes me stressed. My heart races and I get anxious and sometimes even begin to panic. 

And though I do not believe that I have brought this sickness upon myself in any way, I also hold the tension of knowing that I have the creative power to re-create myself in each moment. Our thoughts and our feelings and our words are powerful, always writing and re-writing our experience.

And yeah, maybe I just got wayyyyyyy tooooooo  spiritual, metaphysical, theological cosmology- ish. 

But aside from all of that, I really do only see one way to truly live well: Acceptance. Loving what is. 

This is what I can control: How I feel about it. What I say about it. What I create my life to be about. 

Grace or anxiety.

Peace or fear.

Relaxing or White knuckling.

Flowing with life or Fighting it to the death.

Breathing in acceptance and love, or panicking and wondering. 

Weirdly, one of the reasons I write about my experience is to create for myself (and maybe for a few others who read this and find it comforting in some way) something beautiful from this pain- to ask a better question about the challenge I am in. 

I will, at the very least, have my own words as a living witness to my experience. To go back to and remind myself of how it has hurt, what wisdom I have gained, how it has created my heart to be more open, how much I have grown and become truer. 

With much love y’all, especially those of you who have hidden illnesses and challenges. I’m with you!! 

Riding the Waves of Hope and Hopelessness

*originally written in December 2020

Today, its hopelessness. 

That may sound dramatic, and honestly it may be a little dramatic. But it’s the strip-you-naked truth. 

The last two weeks I had been feeling and experiencing more hope. I think what makes me feel hopeful is when I can take meaningful action to solve a problem. When I’m faced with a problem, I like to come up with a plan of action to solve it.

That’s what makes this so damn hard for me.

I just can’t fix this.

I can’t figure out how to fix this. How to fix my aching, tired, sick body.

I hate how that even sounds. I hate saying it. Chronic Illness. Chronic pain. Chronic Fatigue Syndrome.

I hate those words. They make me feel weak. Sound weak. And God I hate feeling weak. And God I hate not being able to fix myself.

So for years and years I’d been pretending I was well. I deeply believed that if I acted okay, and pretended to keep up with everyone else, that I’d trick my body into being fine again. 

Obviously I am sitting here writing about feeling hopeless about how much my body hurts and how no one has figured out exactly why yet, so ignoring my body’s struggles totally worked. 

I have ups and downs with pain, fatigue and an all-over ill feeling. This last low I hit two weeks ago was after experiencing such enormous pain in my neck and shoulders, that my husband found me in the bathroom sobbing hysterically into a bath towel. This was after we had been watching a family movie, and even the act of laying there watching a movie was excruciating. So much so that i had tears rolling involuntarily down my cheeks. In an attempt to hide the tears from my kids, I causally got up, went to the bathroom, and buried my face in a towel to muffle the sobs that wracked my body. 

This level-10 pain is new, as of 2019. I’ve had these chronic issues since 2009, but things have taken a dramatic turn for the worse for me since 2019. 

So a couple weeks ago I did some research, and called several doctors and a physical therapist. I finally, after over 10 years of ignoring my body and its signs of distress, have decided that I need answers. 

Jumping into action felt good. 

My physical therapist feels that although i have a history of chronic pain and illness, that the severe and worsening pain, dizziness, memory problems, nausea, uncontrollable tremor and vision problems are connected to a concussion and whiplash that occurred in 2019.

My family doc, who has been seeing me for a year now, ordered a repeat brain and cervical spine MRI, as he has believed for a year now that this is MS. (only a neurologist can diagnose this, so he is pushing me to see another neurologist.)

And a rheumatologist I saw last week didn’t really address my chronic issues yet, but thinks the increase in pain and addition of new symptoms are related to the neck injury.

I feel frustrated and anxious today, wondering if any of them can really give me the answers I need. I sense that neither of them are barking up the right tree. I sense that this is something different, something else, something more…….

I suddenly realized a couple weeks ago, that I cannot fully grieve and find acceptance for what i’m going through until I understand what it is. And I can’t seek the kind of help and support I need until I know what’s happening to me. 

Today I feel afraid that no one will figure this out. 

And I just needed to say all that out loud. Because it’s an incredible burden to keep inside me all this suffering; both physical and emotional. 

And I can’t just say this to my husband every day of the week. Or my friends. Or my family. He knows. They know. It feels awful to complain all the time. So I don’t.

This blog is to give myself the space to cry and grieve and feel it. So that I can pick myself back up again and go make dinner and be with my little family. I need to be present and joyful for my kids. They deserve a mom who smiles and laughs with them and enjoys their company. 

I just cannot let this problem I’m having turn me into a ghost. 

Making things happen……or letting things happen?

I’m probably the iconic picture of making shit happen. When I set my mind to something, there isn’t much that will stop me from reaching the goal. I have not been one to stand still while things happen around me…..or never happen at all.  

A month ago, the kids and I were out playing in the 89 billion feet of snow that fell here. They played around for a bit, then began to drone about their boredom. I was like NOPE, what we obviously need to do is make a sledding hill down our deck stairs, and make a snow track that will turn your sleds away from the direction of the fence, so that you still have pretty faces when we’re finished sledding.

And so I went to work shoveling and sculpting. That’s right, I’m a snow sculptor.

And when I sit down in the living room to read, and I look around, I sometimes think to myself, NOPE. This is all wrong. So I move this wardrobe over there, and this couch to that other room. And this table here, and this couch over there. Yep, that’s better. Till next time, anyway.

Sometimes when I go to a neighbors’ house for dinner, and they mention that their water softener hasn’t been working in forever, I say “let’s go fix it, guys!” So my neighbor, Justin, and me; we all take turns breaking up the salt dam, shoveling salt out, and reading the manual. (okay, Justin gets most credit here; that salt dam was like a rock and I was totally useless in trying to break it up.) (BTW, neighbor – is the water softener working???? We didn’t really *finish* that project.)

So, that’s pretty much been my approach to life. I don’t like to see a problem left unsolved or a project left unaccomplished. By me, preferably.

But, with the big stuff, like trying to find the right location to raise a family, or what job would work well with my parenting goals, or what school (if any) our kids should go to, or how to help Justin into his dream job (roasting coffee)………..making shit happen has totally and completely backfired.

Whether immediately or further down the road, when I’ve tried to make things happen in these larger arenas…….they are unsustainable.

I mean, at first, it all seems like a great idea. And I’m “good” at making those things happen. That’s why my kids have gone to like 43 different schools, lived in 7 homes in their lives, in 5 different cities in two different states. It’s why Justin tried for several years to get his own businesses going. I have good intentions. I want the best for all of us. I’ve read all the memes about knowing what you want and going after it……….

Here are my two observations about grinding and forcing and clawing my way to my dreams:

Number one: I am freakin exhausted. Worn out. Spent. It turns out that I burned a lot of energy and creativity and emotions trying to make things happen. There’s lots of friction on that road.  

Number two: I didn’t enjoy the journey. Not really. It was not peaceful. I mean, there was an element of excitement because of the adrenaline ride that “creating change” can give you. But really, I was always trying to get somewhere else.

I was not present to my life. And without presence, there is no peace or a deep sense of yes. There is just short-lived excitement, and a belief that “once I get there, I will (fill in the blank): be happy, have money, have a happy husband, have happy kids, go on more hikes, be in better shape, have better friends, have family around, enjoy eating kale……..etc.

But see? My contentedness was always over there.                                                           

And so, I stopped.

About a year ago, I quit everything. We were renting a house at that point, and in need of a permanent situation. And it was the last bit of grind I had left in me. We hunted for houses, put our bids in with the 37 others, and finally won a contract. And when we signed those closing papers, Justin and I agreed: No More. We are tired. No more moving. No more school changes. No more career changes. No more striving.

FOR GOD SAKES, NO MORE.

And our poor kids made us promise: we will stay in this house, in this town, in this state, at these schools, until you graduate.

And we became still.

Justin went to work every day. I cared for the kids, taxied them to and fro. I built my website. Paid the bills. Got the groceries. Cooked the food. We lived our daily lives; but in a new way. We stopped asking “what’s next”. Instead, we did only what was in front of us. No more trying to make any shit happen that wasn’t already right here.

A few times, I felt lonely.

That’s a lie.

I felt a loneliness so deep and wide and vast that I felt it might swallow me whole. For months and months and months I wondered if I’d ever feel okay again.

We were, after all, in a new city and state. I wanted friends. I wanted a job that fit our family’s newfound commitment to live presently and more gently. I wanted to be near extended family. I wanted Justin to be a full-time coffee roaster so we could both work from home and be more flexible.

I wanted the things. Again. All those things.

And so each time I felt that ocean of loneliness inviting me to apply for some random job on Craigslist because I was bored and lonely and felt worthless………………I resisted.

Instead, I often did nothing.

In fact, I often do nothing. It feels wrong sometimes, but I am accepting that, too. And I am trying something new.

To BE on the journey. You know? Like, not just be on the journey because the train goes to PerfectJobVille and that’s where I want to be.

No.

To BE on the train, trusting that along the way, those things that I want will be waiting for me at certain points. And that I don’t always know WHEN and WHO and HOW and WHERE. But I trust that they are out there, waiting. And that I will know when we meet, because I’ve been WAITING and STILL and WATCHFUL.

Because I remember the desperation. And I remember that the desperation kept bringing me into desperate situations, attracting desperate people, and leaving me aching evermore for that perfect thing that would be perfect, that was inevitably never perfect.

So, it works, by the way.

To be still and wait and not claw and grasp for the things we think will fulfill us. But the tricky thing is that we have to first let go. Let go of what we think we need. Embrace the piercing loneliness. Accept and maybe even find enjoyment exactly as we are. Say, “It’s okay to be here. I am okay; I want for nothing.”

Then, just keep Being. And being Still.

And then, as you watch, there comes onto the train unexpected passengers.

For me, there have been lots of these passengers, lately. They have come in the form of neighbors becoming friends. And kids in swim lessons. And hours of cooking with Justin, enjoying the actual act of cooking, enjoying a glass of wine, and savoring the meal and the conversation. As slowly as we can.

And experiencing a re-invigoration of my desire to work with children. And realizing that writing is pleasurable for me. And so is raking leaves. And so are each of my children; so funny, energizing and beautiful they are!!

Oh! And just when you least expect anything else, a friend tells you that there is this job opening and you’d be a good fit. And you take the job. And suddenly, you are coaching children’s gymnastics for the local rec program; AND IT’S A GOOD FIT for your family and your personal and parenting goals.

WOW!

So, when things feel like they are filled with friction and desperation: Stop. Be still. Let go. Wait. The train that you are on is ever moving you through your life; enjoy the moment, BE in the moment, and watch for the things. They come when they are supposed to.

In the words of Eckhart Tolle: “Whatever the present moment contains, accept it as if you had chosen it. Always work with it, not against it.”

Pretty: A Six Letter Lie

I have been a sufferer of chronic pain, illness, shame, and maybe depression (though I hate to name it) for much of my adult life.

Here’s the kicker though: that person, described above, is unrecognizable from the young girl I once was. Ask my parents and sisters; they will tell you.

As a young girl, I was a force of energy and reckless abandon. I was a tomboy; constantly on the go, creating worlds of fun for myself. Riding my “air tire wagon” down my street, riding my beloved bike, rollerblading off of jumps I made, swimming endlessly in lakes, sledding, and being as silly and weird as I delighted in.

My sisters were my constant companions in these shenanigans.

If the sun was shining, and if the sun wasn’t shining, I was outside and moving.

Now obviously, there is so much about life that shapes each of us.

But I’ve recently become aware of a significant point in my life when I turned away from my truest self; my soul. When I traded my fun-loving, light-hearted energy in for something else.

I was in the high school locker room. I was 15 years old; a freshman.

I had just put on the required weight lifting uniform: long navy blue shorts and a grey shirt, and entered the high school weight room.

I had chosen weight lifting because I needed to fulfill my Physical Ed requirement, and I loathed organized sports, or competition of any kind.

After a short demonstration by the weight lifting coach about safety, we began learning how to do weighted squats, bench press, chest fly, lateral raise, biceps curl, triceps extension, leg curls, etc. We learned to use free weights and various weight machines.

I. LOVED. IT.

Mastering the techniques and doing the required repetitions came easily to me. I guess my lifestyle up to then really served me in this regard. I was strong, well-coordinated, and fearless.

There were two other females in my weight lifting class. The rest of the class was about 20 males.

The other girls were seniors; cheerleaders.

For the first several months in weightlifting, I was independent. I earned the respect of a few of the guys in the class, I suppose. They would do rotations with me and spot me. I could bench press and squat more weight than any girl in any other weight lifting class.

I was strong, capable, and I was enjoying these qualities in myself. They had been constant companions of mine.

After a while, I started to notice the two other girls watching me and whispering while I was in class.

I noticed a few of the guys, who enjoyed making these girls giggle. And after a while, they were joining in their across-the-room sneers and whispers and laughs as I bench pressed one day.

Was I just perceiving all of this? Maybe. I may never know.

The next morning, I changed into my uniform in the locker room, preparing for another weight class.

As I worked at my reps, I was aware of the cheerleader girls; remembering their disapproving looks from yesterday.

For perhaps the first time in my life, I consciously pondered the thought, “I am a girl; they are girls. They seem so different from me, though. We are not alike.”

I finished my reps and sat up on the bench. I was aware, suddenly, of their slender bodies. Small waists. Long, slender legs. They both had beautiful, long blonde hair. They giggled with the other boys. They sucked at lifting weights. They weren’t trying, really. They did not care about lifting weights.

But they were beautiful.

It just kept overwhelming my awareness.

I hadn’t really noticed this before. I hadn’t taken the time to notice. I was too busy doing me; being me; lifting weights and enjoying the methodical nature of working out each day.

Until I did notice.

And then, it’s like I couldn’t unsee it.

They both had long hair. One of them had curled hers so it looked really pretty. And it was pulled into a bouncy pony tail.

They both had on mascara. And….eyeshadow? (I wasn’t even certain of what it was called). And had bronzed cheekbones and pretty earrings.

They had each rolled the elastic waist of their shorts several times, making their school-issued shorts climb higher up their legs.

They had rolled and tucked their longish short sleeves up under the straps of their sports bras, showing off their slender shoulders and colorful bra straps.

And, I also noticed the “different” sort of attention they got from the boys.

After class that day, we went back to the girls’ locker room to change back into our regular clothing.

I caught my own reflection in the full length mirror of the locker room. A mirror I had never thought to stand in front of before.

I looked at me. And I consciously reflected, “I am not pretty. Like them.”

My arms were meaty and thick. My legs were thick and strong and not slender. I had pulled my socks up high towards my calves like I always had. My hair had been pulled into a quick low pony tail that showed off my big ears sticking out. My forehead looked huge. My eyes looked too small. My waist was not narrow. I looked huge and clunky and awkward.

I turned away from my reflection quickly, shame washing through me.

I wasn’t pretty.

The thought overwhelmed me.

I went straight to my room after school that day and stood in front of my bedroom mirror, in a way I never had up to that day. It was like seeing myself for the first time. I was nothing like those pretty cheerleader girls in my class.

And from that day forward, I had one goal: Be pretty.

And that thought slowly chipped away at the person I was before.

I no longer rode my bike. Instead I tried out new makeup techniques and hairstyles.

My time was spent studying pretty girls, loathing my differences, and trying to physically change myself.

The pursuit of beauty consumed my thoughts and therefore, my energy and presence.

And the saddest part: I was never pretty enough. I never looked in the mirror again approvingly. At least, not for many many many years.

It’s honestly astounding how much this one “little” experience I had in freshman weightlifting changed me.

Do I really think that this seemingly minor experience truly had the power to cause depression, chronic pain and illness for me?

Well, yes.

In part.

There are a few other aspects of my life that caused me to live in relatively permanent state of stress.

Whenever we are living out a mental story of shame or fear, we are putting our bodies into a perpetual state of stress.

The effects of this stress on our bodies has the power to cause any range of illness, mental and psychological struggle, and relational disturbances.

In what ways have you changed yourself in order to be good enough?

Is it someone else’s measuring stick you’re holding up to yourself? Or your own?

In what ways has your culture defined for you what you should look like, care about, or live like?

What happens when we look up and out too much? What happens when we are looking around us for the rules, instead of looking within?

I’ll share more of my journey through the Lie of Being Pretty, and how it shaped me, and why I had to throw it out…………next week.

What are we supposed to do with pain?

Pain seems to be a visitor we are all, whether willing or not, visited by. And not just once. Frequent. Random. Annoyingly persistent.

Is it just me? I have wondered that…….

I doubt it.

So in the last year of my life, there is an ache in my chest; that, when given an ounce of my attention, causes tears to stream out of my eyes instantly.

Is it grief? I suppose. I have lost a great deal this year.

And don’t get me wrong; I have also found a great deal. But interestingly and surprisingly, the finding doesn’t cancel out the loss. Instead, it’s Both. Its And.

Both grief And joy. Both lost And found.

Am I willing for that to be true? Yes. But honestly, that’s mostly because I’m beginning to realize that healing can be painful AF.

If I want to truly and deeply heal, I have to be willing for it to hurt, sometimes.  

Now, about pain.

The very interesting realization I’ve had about the pain that I feel persistently aching away in my chest, is that it makes me feel like a failure.

I feel like a failure because I keep being told that happiness is a choice. AND IT IS. I believe and experience that. I live by that mantra. I drill it into my children’s daily awareness, as well as my own.

AND. And I’m also aching from all the change and loss and upheaval and crisis from my last year; well, last many years if I’m being honest.

So does having pain and grief in my heart and mind make me a failure?

Nah.  

Pain, it’s okay. Especially when I’m in a state of conscious compassion and love for myself.

But I really suffer when I subconsciously begin to believe that because I am in pain, I must somehow be doing something wrong.

I’m beginning to let that subconscious message that pain=failure, come into my conscious awareness. (That’s another important point about healing: we have to become conscious of the suffering. Or it will remain hidden and active.)

There’s a list I go through frequently in my head: Am I not being positive enough? Am I weak? Am I not doing enough in my life? Am I broken somehow; unfixable? Did I just make too many mistakes and screw everything up and now I will suffer in pain because of it? Am I lazy? Am I unworthy? Am I not working hard enough? Do I just deserve pain?

My higher self; my soul; which are an expression of Divine love; they say no. No to all of those things.

Compassion means that my pain is allowed. And right now, it’s even necessary.  

And discipline means that I must stay aware of all of the deeply held subconscious beliefs that are still active.

Awareness. Compassion. Discipline.

These three things I know.

Check back with the Thought Refuge to read more about my journey into Awareness, Compassion, and Discipline. I will begin to share my personal life stories that have lead me into these three sacred practices.

And I encourage you to comment, share, and interact with my stories.

The Thought Refuge is a place where our raw honesty, pain, joy, openness and safe sharing are encouraged. Let’s all keep it Aware, Compassionate, and Disciplined.

ALL ARE WELCOME HERE, regardless of religious affiliation, skin color, sexual preference, gender identity, nationality or any other designation.