Peace

 What am I needing? What am I looking for? 

I want peace.  Peace is a state of mind - a way of being. That peace comes from my own thoughts, my own mindset, my own patterns, my own integrity, and my own emotional regulation.  It is not dictated by outside circumstance, situation, setting or those around me.  I am creating peace regardless of who lives where or what they do. I am my own peace. 

I want softness between us. I want things to be able to be processed through without it feeling like bone on bone.

Things that take away my peace: 

When I martyrize and pretend I need to hold the mirror up, dissect, coach, process, or hold him accountable, or get him to show up BEING/DOING what works for our marriage. 

My own victim mindset. Allowing thoughts to create stories that don’t serve me, or us. 

What supports my peace: 

My own daily grounding in intention and being.

My own daily movement and practices that support my physical health. 

My own daily creative expression. 

My own self regulation practices throughout the day. 

My own responsibility, accountability, and clarity. Naming what is happening vs what I think or feel about what is happening.  

Setting down the protections and safety and filtering through betrayal and abandonment wounds - and reaching intentionally for love and softness with myself and with him instead.  Being intentional about what that softness looks like each day, how I’m watering it and how I’m growing it. 

I also want a fundamental shift in our interaction. I want a fundamental shift that feeds that peace and softness, that feeds responsibility, ownership, and everything that has us be in the octagon.   What exactly would that fundamental shift look like?  Well - I can only control what it looks like for me, be what I want to see, and request for what it looks like from him. 

That looks like: 

Commitment driven interaction.  Feelings, fear, and lack of regulation doesn’t hijack what we are committed to, or agreements being honored. 

Self Accountability. This looks like anything outside e step forward and make the repair and cleanup without being prompted. We learn from our mistakes and then SHIFT our being/doing. We make it a point to know where we once would have pretended not to know. We are courageous and bold where in the past we may have avoided.  

Responsibility.We are in ownership, of our thoughts, feelings, results, and impact.  We never pretend the power lies outside of us.  Blame shifting doesn’t happen, and if it does we own it while we practice this, we own it and clean it up immediately.  We don’t live in defensiveness. We process our own unanswered questions and emotional needs. 

Dancing happens. Consistently. Because the work to be close, clean, and clear between us has already been done. Trust is available. And dancing creates joy.  And I get to dance for myself in movement whether he does or not. 

10 Things I Like About Me

 Things I like about me…

Years ago I wrote a blog post, of things I like about me. I don’t know what it says, but I thought it would be fun to write it again, and then maybe compare it. 

1. I like that I love people. I love them even when they don’t love themselves. I like that I see beauty in people where they may not always see it. 

2. I like that I like people. I couldn’t always say this haha. I didn’t always let myself like people. I was too afraid of being hurt, didn’t trust, and didn’t allow myself to engage to see past that all the time. Now, I find people to be cute, funny, even comical, sweet, loving, adorable, and yeah sometimes annoying too lol. But I see people and like them in a way I didn’t always.  I may not want to be friends and besties with everyone, but I like them. They make me smile. 

3. I like that I know my value, my worth, and own it.  I like that I am secure in that, well resourced in it, and able to discriminate between the voices in my head telling me I’m not enough vs who I am. The voices get loud sometimes still… but at the end of the day, I know who I am. And that is a pretty cool place to be. 

4. I like that I am okay in my own skin. Yeah, sometimes I would cut apart the tummy that gets in the way, or life my boobs higher, or cut away some of the neck and chin. I’m not blind… but I also like the way I look. I’m not ashamed of me. I like my curves, my edges, my softness, and my strength. I feel beautiful in my body, just the way it is. 

5.  I like the edges, the sharp way I cut through bullshit, the edges that are still exploring new spaces, pushing the limits of who I be, and where I go.  I like the way that I have a sharpness that works, as well as a softness that lets things land and process in ways I didn’t know how before. 

6.  I like the way I see clearly, that after I let myself process and unpeel the layers, I have clarity, context, and grace for myself and others… and that doesn’t mean I need to put up with anything. 

7. I like the bitch that is me. I love that Gabsy helped me reframe this. I am not too much. I am not not enough, I am the perfect amount of me. I am spicy and spikey sometimes, and that’s okay too. It may not always serve the vision of what I’m up to, and I’m not wrong for when I feel that way either. 

8. I love the beauty that is me. The gem that shines through. The sister that loves deeply. The friend that has your back. The one that bends over backwards when I don’t need to. The laughter that says I love my life. The sweetness of my friendship. The walking heart that I am. 

9. I like the mother that I am. I am not perfect. I am definitely not the Pinterest mom. I have messed up, a lot. And… nobody loves bigger than me when it comes to my kids. I like that I am always learning, willing to look, willing to shift, and open to listen. If this were a list of things and people I love in my life, my kids would have been the first thing on the list. Learning to love me as a mother has taken more time. I first had to get past the judgement I had on myself as a mother and look at the judgement I carry on my own mom too.  I am not the mom that looks good all the time, but I am the mom who loves without end. 

10. I like the love I live in. I like that I no longer allow fear to be what dictates who I be. I love that I move from creation and what is working more often than not. I love that I am not stuck in a prison of my own mind, culture, or expectations. I love the freedom that living in love comes with. 

Accept it

 Just accept it. That’s what Arthur said, after he texted me again to remind me, celebrate me, acknowledge me, yet again. I did it. I get to bask in it. I get to let it soak into the crevices that are me. I haven’t let it in, not all the way. It felt surreal. I get to let it in. 

I am not my results, and I am not defined by my results.  And, based on results, I did a fucking amazing job of captaining, leading, and holding the line. I am not my results, and I am responsible for results. Results do not define me, and they do indicate who I’ve been being and what I’ve been doing.  And based on results… there is a lot to be proud of. 

I am. I am proud. I’m proud of my team, my coaching team, and of me. I’m proud of the learning, the elevation for myself. I’m proud of outpromoting the promotiest promoter, and of having Caramia tell me I was being promotier than her. “Transformation is real!” I am proud that I was acknowledged as being empowering, nurturing, loving, big-hearted. I am not proud that I wasn’t seen as joyous and joyful… and… I am okay with it. The way I was being worked. I get to own what worked, and what didn’t. And what worked is that I led a team of leaders. Popcorn leaders as they were, they all had a taste, an opportunity to see themselves in leadership.

Part of my vision in Captaining was to develop leaders. I feel like I did that. I feel like I brought leadership alive. It’s in baby steps. But it’s there. And they see it and feel it.  I see future captains on my team. Definitely the potential for them to be is most definitely there. And whether they choose it or not I get to continue to develop. 

I don’t know where this all lands or will go, but for right now, here is what I know. 

I know my worth. 

I know my value. 

I not only know it but own it. 

I know I can do hard things, and that they don’t have to be hard. 

I know I can do beautiful things, create beautiful things, and have FUN while I do it. 

I know I am loved, that I love, and that people feel my love. 

I know I am a leader others would follow, that others would aspire to be like, and that inspires leadership and ownership in others. 

I know that my tendency to problem solve and manage has a place, and that when I lead with vision, coach with vision, hold vision, and live in vision, it comes alive in others, and they self manage and self problem solve. 

I know that my leadership can be tender, healing, and fierce all at the same time. 

I know that others may be triggered by me. That the leader they are may not always appreciate who I am… and that’s okay. I can still hold them, see them, and hold them high, without needing to hide any part of me. 

I am valued, I matter, and I know it at a new level. I let it sink in at a new level. 

I am still human. I still hurt. I still breathe, and with every breath I still get to be responsible for who I’m being and what I’m creating. Truth is, I’m a powerful creator. 

I can hold love and hold my value. I can be soft and I can be fearless. I am love, and I am powerful. 

I am beyond capable, and I trust what I see and feel. It has merit, value, and worth. It is often accurate and even when it’s not, I am curious and open and I learn. 

I can be passion, joy, love, and light, and I may still have people around me be triggered. I may still have people want me to make them feel better, good, loved, celebrated, or whatever they are looking for. I am responsible for who I am being and what I am creating — and they get to be responsible for how they are feeling and their responses and reactions to it. 

And when I reach for lightness, I first get to let go of the heaviness I carry on my chest, to hold the power of responsibility without hanging onto the heaviness of it, the weight and worry and agony of it. 

I am responsible, I am willing to be responsible for it all, and part of the responsibility can even be responding when others are not happy with what I’ve created. I don’t need to change their experience to respond with shifting myself and who I am being or where I am standing. 

I create results, with passion, commitment, dedication, determination, joy, love, courage, integrity, letting go of my worthiness conversations, my enoughness conversations, and owning courageously and vulberably the power that I am, the love that I am, and the tenacity that I am. 

When I come from love, vision, power, joy, passion, and integrity … anything is possible, everything is possible…. Because I say so. 

I am love. I am me. I am loved. I am me. I am worth. I am me. I am light. I am me. The way I love matters, and I love and am loved deeply. 

This is me. 

LAS4 - 105 hearts enrolled. All but 3 chose life initially on lifeboat. Record breaking individual enrollments with Justin at 34 hearts enrolled. DOUBLE the original record. 

This is just the beginning.  I am a lighthouse. 

This is me. 

The Sea and Me

Written in July 2023

When I stand in the ocean, I am home. The water swirls around me and the waves crash at my feet. The salty sea sprays my face and I am instantly wrapped up in arms of love and understanding, safe to be me. I cannot hold back the tears of heartache, sadness, and fear as they finally mix with the sea holding me. The waves crashing are the voice of a loved one saying, "You are home." It is hope, it is release, it is awareness, it is relief... and it has been too long since I was here. 

My brother told me a little while ago that I am the ocean, and when he said it I have never felt so seen.  Perhaps it is why I feel so held and so accepted in the arms of the sea. We are one, and yet my daily home is in the heat of the desert. It is the perfect picture of how I am not and never could be boxed into just one easily explained picture of who I am. I bring the sea with me to the desert when I come home, and return to refill and refuel when my heart has been drained by heartbreak.

Sometimes I feel like the ocean walking in the desert, never conforming, never fitting in, and yet I am finally at peace being me. Some people find me refreshing,  cooling, calming and loving. Others experience me as never letting them rest, never letting them win, and chaos in the ever changing motion. 

I cannot be controlled or contained and yet I hold an ocean of love that has no end and nourishes life. It wouldn't be the best day at the beach without my waves reaching the sand, and yet I can also swallow your boat whole, turn your world upside down, and have the energy of a typhoon when the storm sets in. The ocean just being the ocean - without any pressure of windstorms, air temperatures, or cold fronts - is still, nearly silent, and smooth as glass, calm and clear.  Sailboats stop and sit in wonder. Dolphins dance and play. Whales breach, laughing as they spray, 

There are people who don't like the ocean. The waves scare them, they are overwhelmed with the vastness of it, and are determined it is filled with sharks and jellyfish and not safe for them venture into. Maybe it is sometimes and definitely in some place those conditions exist. And sometimes, people don't like me either. It's okay.  My waves scare people, the emotions that roll in and out and the ever changing presence is unnerving... sometimes even for me.

Sometimes people look for the waves and the wind that wields them, ride the surf, set their sails and embrace the power. Those people know the energy may be massive, swirling,  unpredictable and never taken for granted, still ebbing and flowing, sending the tide out each morning and returning each night with a rythm and flow that is predictable ease to someone who knows.  There are patterns to look for, times to surf, times to wonder, times to sail, and times to sit and watch and times to dance with the waves. I feel all of it within myself every day and have even had to learn how to work with myself to not be caught off guard with a new wave, the surging tide. I've had to learn that when the waves come in and the result is a strong current pulling me under, I get to move, stay moving, and dance with myself. The undertow only sucks you under when you don't move.

Others are respectful, or even sit in awe, and stay cautious, never trusting the full presence, embrace, or experience. I get it. I have not always been loving. I can even be scary, unrelenting, hurtful,  and for some, they have experienced me as cruel, uncaring,  and unkind. 

I stood in the ocean today with the waves knocking me back, surging and playing, teasing and laughing... and I felt sad for the people who have been knocked on their ass by the unexpected waves of the ocean that is me when they thought they were having a day at the lake. Everyone deserves a day at the lake when that is what they want it to be.

At the end of the day, I just don't who else to be. I am me. 

Why the Red Desert Has My Heart

I wrote this as an assignment for a class I took as I contemplated going back to school. I wasn't really sure how I'd do since I haven't taken an English class since 7th grade, but it didn't turn out too bad. 

June 29, 2020

English Composition 1

Narrative Essay

Why The Red Desert Has My Heart

   As a child, some of my favorite memories are vacations with my Dad in the red rock country of Moab, Utah. He was a gruff looking man with a full beard and a volatile temper but when we were on vacation, his gentle, mild side showed through. It was almost as if the wild of the desert calmed his soul and gave him the peace he needed to be able to enjoy the moment and the people he was with. I have other good memories in my childhood, but our vacations to the red desert he loved are definitely the best. 

   The six hour car ride to Moab from where we lived in Salt Lake City was always hot and sticky with not enough air conditioning reaching to the back of the van where I inevitably had to sit. As the fifth child, there were plenty of people taking up the seats in front of me and air conditioning in the old van just wasn’t able to keep up in the blistering heat. I didn’t care though, vacations seldom happened and a little heat wouldn’t ruin the chance to go.

  As volatile as Dad’s temper was at home, he seemed to relax on vacation. The one exception to that was that we knew we better be ready to leave for the day’s adventures each morning when he was ready or you might just get left behind. He was happy to take us on vacation but nobody was going to ruin his by dawdling and wasting time at the hotel when there was a desert to see. I think that is partly why I love the red sandstone rocks and desert so much, because I associate it with him being calm, kind, and carefree. 

   One of Dad’s favorite places to go near Moab was the overlook at Dead Horse Point. The road was long and seemed to stretch on forever as it wound up to the top of the mesa. Once we were up there you could count on eating lunch because Dad wouldn’t be ready to leave for hours, and I was okay with that. I remember feeling the breeze on my face and the sun beating down as I looked across the myriad of canyons that stretched out from Dead Horse Point across to the Needles Overlook miles away. Far away from traffic, lights, sounds, sirens, or playground noise, it was just you and the desert with the occasional hawk windsurfing in the distance and lizards basking in the glorious sunshine. 

   Being alone at the edge of a desert canyon drop off is where you might begin to understand the phrase “the sound of silence.” It is one of my favorite places to be. Dad, true to his reclusive character, would be off on his own looking out over the canyon, becoming one with the stillness. He was home. I often wondered what he might be thinking as he stood there looking across the expanse for what seemed like forever, and one of my regrets is that I never asked. 

   Once when I was fifteen, my two uncles, Richard and Allan, brought some of their family with us on one Moab trip. My older brother Jason brought his new 4x4 truck and they all decided to go offroading on the slickrock trails. I remember they tackled Elephant Hill, or at least tried to. Dad wasn’t driving or tackling the offroading trails but I think he enjoyed watching his son and brothers playing in the desert he loved. Within just a couple years after that trip, Dad was gone. 

   When I had kids of my own, I took them to Moab to see the desert I had grown to love. Off to the right, just as you come into town, there is a big red hill of soft fine sand that is perfect for jumping in. I held the baby and watched as my older kids climbed to the top and then laughed as they jumped down into the warm sand, falling and rolling down the hill just as I remember doing as a child.  

   We went to Delicate Arch and stood there in awe of the beautiful asymmetry carved and worn through winds of time. I was grateful that I could share my happy place with my kids. Warm tears filled my eyes, and yet a lump formed in my throat. I missed my Dad. I often wonder what the winds of time would have carved with his weary soul given the chance, but I’ll be forever grateful for the time I had with him in the red deserts of Utah.

B. Think About Your Writing

Below your completed narrative, include answers to all of the following reflection questions:

1. Which narrative techniques did you use to bring your story to life? 

The six hour car ride to Moab from where we lived in Salt Lake City was always hot and sticky with not enough air conditioning reaching to the back of the van where I inevitably had to sit.

Far away from traffic, lights, sounds, sirens, or playground noise, it was just you and the desert with the occasional hawk windsurfing in the distance and lizards basking in the glorious sunshine. 

I held the baby and watched as my older kids climbed to the top and then laughed as they jumped down into the warm sand, falling and rolling down the hill just as I remember doing as a child.  

2. How did your purpose and audience shape the way in which you wrote your narrative? The narrative was written with a hypothetical audience of my kids and anyone interested in my life while still being interesting to a random reader. Considering the audience to be people connected to both myself and my Dad, I provided more details about my Dad’s personality as part of the narrative. I feel the interaction of my love for the desert and my Dad’s personality are intertwined. 

3. Provide a concrete example from your narrative that shows how you have written specifically for this audience and purpose.

A concrete example of how I wrote specifically for the audience of my kids and people connected to both myself and my Dad, providing a bit about his personality as well as my love for the desert is shown in the following paragraph. 

“Being alone at the edge of a desert canyon drop off is where you might begin to understand the phrase “the sound of silence.” It is one of my favorite places to be. Dad, true to his reclusive character, would be off on his own looking out over the canyon, becoming one with the stillness. He was home. I often wondered what he might be thinking as he stood there looking across the expanse for what seemed like forever, and one of my regrets is that I never asked.”

The One Beautiful Thing...

From Jan 2013

I remember crying and crying, and asking, "Why?"  Why did I have to go through PPD again? Why?  I had done everything right. I had taken every precaution I could, desperately hoping and praying to not have to go through it again.

Why?

I was angry, so very, very angry.  I had begged God to not make me go through it again, and it hit me worse than ever before. Worse than I ever imagined it could.

The only thing Ryan could do for me was hold me and hold me, and hold me some more. I remember him saying "Maybe because you're going through this, you'll be able to help others as they go through it."

And I remember saying that it wasn't a good enough reason. That it wasn't worth it. And that's really how I felt. I was so miserable and I couldn't see any good reason why all my efforts to stay healthy and strong had been rewarded with the monster of depression and anxiety that had taken over my life yet again.

Three years later... it is the only beautiful thing I can see from the whole experience, that I am able to help other mothers -- and hopefully their husbands and families too, who are experiencing the pains and strains of postpartum depression on their lives and marriages. Because lets be clear -- it does affect the marriage, the husband, and the whole family.

Maybe as time wears on and I am able to let go of more of the hurt I will see more beauty. But for now, I focus on the good that I can.  And so, I write what I do now.

Over the past few months especially, I have been so grateful for the women who have given me the  opportunity to give insight, advice, support, and love. Thank you. Thank you for reaching out for help. Thank you for taking the help that is available. Thank you for not suffering more than you already have to.

The rest of this blog gives more detail than I've written to date on what my experience with postpartum depression has been.  It does not go into what to do about it.

With the first baby, PPD was mild. So mild, that I would never have recognized it for what it was, if I hadn't stopped many years later and went "Aha!  Now I understand why I felt the way I did." It came out more in a mild detachment from my daughter, and fear. But again, it was mild, passed, and life went on.

With baby #2, the depression was definitely more succinct.... but I chalked it up to the turmoil my marriage was in already, and the stress and strain of trying to hold our family together.... and to me just being an awful mother, wife, and person. I remember bawling and bawling on the floor of the closet, begging God to give me a new heart, because mine was no good. I could see no good in me, especially as a mother. This remained my view of myself for many, many years... because I still viewed myself through those depressive eyes.  More than deep sadness or typically what you would think of as depression, there was an underlying irritability and inability handle stress or strain to any degree, and yet that is what my life consisted of at the time.  The result was I became enraged easily, and quickly, and the poor children around me had the unfortunate opportunity to see me turn to an ugly green monster all too often. I snapped at them, yelled at them, and all the while was trying to grab hold of the monster and stuff it back down in a corner somewhere within me.  It didn't work.  I think I cried more during the year after I had Taliesin than any other in my life until I had baby #7. Still, I didn't call it depression, and neither did anyone around me. I didn't ask for help, and I didn't get any help for it. Eventually, it went away, and I became more able to handle the stress life was throwing at me.

With baby #3, the depression was pronounced, and obvious to anyone who knew to call it that. But nobody did.  I had trouble recovering from the birth. I stayed in bed for weeks. Physically there was little reason my body couldn't get up and out of bed, but I couldn't. I was empty inside, had no energy  constant headaches, and just couldn't feel good again. I battled to get the baby to nurse, and decided if he wasn't nursing without a fight within a month, I'd give up. Every hour was spent with him screaming, me bawling, and little progress. Finally, with days to spare before my one month deadline, he finally calmed down enough to latch on and nurse without a constant fight. Months later, although I had gotten out of bed, was back to work, and things were good in my marriage for the first time in a long time, I still didn't feel good. Not only was I emotionally depressed and still battling with the irritability and agitation, but it also was affecting my physical health in other ways as well. Pain in my stomach, racing in my heart, complete anxiety attacks (although I didn't recognize them for what they were), and fluctations in my blood sugar that couldn't be attributed to any particular cause.  I would simply "jellyfish" as my husband called it, and he would end up carrying me out of the store or restaurant, or wherever we were. I would be in tears, he would be embarrased, and eventually I would sleep it off until I felt good enough to get up and function again.  Finally, when the baby was around 4 months old, I went in to see a family doctor. He spent fifteen minutes with me, told me I was clinically depressed, and to get on medication.  I said, "No way", fumed about it, told very few people what he had said because I was completely embarrased, and sent him a three page letter telling him why that was a bad diagnosis and horrible advice. I was in complete denial. Eventually, I got feeling better, worked my way out of it, and said "See!  He was wrong. I'm fine."

He probably got the letter, shook his head, and said "that just proves my diagnosis was correct."


With baby #4, we had moved into a new house, new neighborhood.  I was farther away from my family and friends, and still not willing call my depression by it's name.  My midwife took one look at me at the two week checkup and ordered me to get a vitamin B shot in the butt.  I remember looking at her and breaking down in tears saying "You mean it's not normal for me to cry over every single thing?"  I came back later for another shot, and they really did help... but I was still presenting very real physical symptoms because of the PPD, and still trying to blame it on some unnamed illness.  The anxiety attacks were to the extreme.  I didn't have health insurance at the time, and wasn't willing to add to the family financial stress by going to any doctor or hospital.  I remember having such high anxiety that my heart was hurting and I really thought I was having a heart attack. My thinking was so messed up that I thought, "Oh well, if I have a heart attack and die then I guess I do.  If this is not a heart attack, then I'm just being a baby anyway and letting stress get to me. "  I don't even think I told my husband about it.  For months after the baby came, there would be days I would just get so overwhelmed with stress and anxiety and have so little wherewithal to do anything about it that I would end up in tears on the floor wherever I happened to be at the time, unable to move, unable to care.  I would just cry until I fell asleep and slept it off. Then get up later, feeling groggy and even worse about myself. My blood sugars were testing within a normal range, but I felt like a diabetic whose blood sugars were sky high and then crashing, and it was like that all the time.  It took years before we finally connected the dots with these episodes to stress and depression.  Meanwhile, my kids learned how to get their own peanut butter sandwiches and turn on a movie while I slept. Most of the time, I don't think most of my family members knew how bad off I was.  My friend Tiffanie saved me by getting me out of the house and planning activities with her family and mine. But meanwhile, the depression and anxiety was affecting me mentally too.  I remember one day trying to drive to her house, where I'd been many times before, and I suddenly couldn't remember how to get there.  I was so confused as to where I was, where I was supposed to turn, which street was hers... it took me an extra 45 minutes before I finally found her house.  I was in tears, laughing and crying at the same time, and she was looking at me completely bewildered as to how it was possible I could get lost driving to her house.   This time, I was finally calling it postpartum depression -- but I still wasn't reaching out for the help I needed.  I started taking more B vitamins, and getting myself to the gym to workout. Between the two, they did help a lot, and slowly, I pulled out of my spiral and eventually back to sanity.

When Baby #5 was born, I was back to square one. It felt like the same thing over again - only this time Ryan was gone working. He left when the baby was six weeks old, and I spiraled down hard. We moved soon afterward to what felt like the middle of nowhere, he was working 18 hour days, and I sank lower than I'd ever been before.  This time I was reaching out, but still not to anyone in the medical profession, and my family and friends were all three hours away. I was taking B vitamins, multi vitamins, iron supplements for more energy, coupled with vitamin C drink mixes for better absorption. I was taking Omega 3's, exercising daily, and homeopathic "Dragon Lady" tablets to help as well.  The result?  Rage, anger, a deep, deep depression, and intense hell on our marriage, coupled with sever social anxiety. Just more of the same that I'd already experienced before. The supplements and nutritional support did help, so much that Ryan could see the difference in me when I took them or not, but it wasn't enough. It still took me months to recover. I had barely begun to feel normal again, and along came baby #6.

Baby # 6 came, and the kid never slept. He was clingy and attached and from the time he was 3 months old, he did not take naps. He woke up early and went to bed late and never stopped for a few minutes of peace in between. We called him our "rooster". Meanwhile, #5 did nothing but scream. She never talked, not even to say Mom or Dad or anything... all she did was scream. We had moved again by now, even farther away from family and friends, and I was completely overwhelmed as a mother. I was struggling emotionally and used my business as my escape. When I would leave to go to an appointment or presentation, I had 30 minutes in the van alone. No kids needing me, no potty stops to make, nobody asking for anything. It was the one thing keeping me sane. Ryan supported me in taking the time I needed because he could see I needed the break away from the kids, away from my daily routine, and I came back a more refreshed person.  Meanwhile, we maintained a regimen of supplements that seemed to help and support. I still struggled emotionally, and the PPD was real and prominent.  The doctor I'd had help me through the pregnancy and afterward recognized it and encouraged me to get on some medication. I didn't want to and he didn't push it. The anxiety this time didn't seem as bad as before, and in some respects my life had settled into more of a routine. My stress level seemed lower because of the breaks I was getting, and some of the physical symptoms didn't seem as bad. The inability to smile and laugh though, or to do anything but feel overwhelmed and irritated never went away, and the social anxiety was still very real and vivid.  When the baby was about 6 months old, my teenage brother came to live with us. With him came new stresses, new situations, and new problems. After he had been there about 4 months, and before my baby was even 1 year old... there were several things that happened to add tremendous stress on our family. And just then, I very unexpectedly became pregnant with Baby #7.

Throughout the pregnancy, although I worked to do everything I could to avoid the PPD... the truth was I never had gotten past it after Baby #6. Looking back now, I can see I was doomed from the start. Besides never moving past the previous bout of PPD, the stressors I experienced over the first 6 months of the pregnancy were enormous, threatening, and more intense than I could process... my brother included.  My body went into a protective mode for the baby's sake and my mind could not process through anything I was dealing with, though I couldn't see that at the time. Looking back I can see my anxiety started early on in the pregnancy and never left. I remember the look on my doctor's face as I came in for my first prenatal appointment, and now I can see the concern on his face as he recognized he was dealing with a very anxietous pregnant woman.  I remember him carefully answering my questions and concerns and then saying repeatedly, "but we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. Right now, you're okay and the baby is okay."

Why can't we see anxiety for what it is when we are in the midst of it?

After Jonnie was born, there were problems with nursing, problems with infections, problems with him being able to keep his food down. It seems like the problems didn't end. After bawling for six weeks straight, finally some of the problems were resolved and he was at least getting enough nutrition. I hoped the bawling would stop and that would be as bad as it got. Instead -- it was the beginning of hell.  Once the baby was finally safe and my body was beginning to heal... the emotional dam that had been built up for the past year broke loose. With my chemical and hormonal levels completely out of whack, there are no words to describe what I went through next. I really don't know how to explain it.

A couple weeks after the baby was born, I remember being a t my brother's house for Christmas and although I can't remember what triggered it, I remember bawling. And bawling. And sobbing, deep gut-wrenching sobs that turned my heart inside out.  I was crying uncontrollably and with no particular reason other than I was a complete and total wreck. It hurt to cry. It hurt to feel so much emotion. It was physical pain casued by a heart and life wracked with an unfathomable ache.

Creating Excellence

It is striking me today how much we perceive.... and how much we don't.   How much is going on in someone else's world, and how much the only part we usually see is the part of our life that touches theirs. 

There could literally be a waging battle going on in someone's heart or life, and we may not even know... someone battling cancer, someone grieving their best friend, someone worried about their daughter or son.... and because our lives only brush each other at church, at work, passing in and out of view each day.... we really would hardly know.

Someone said to me today "You have been really nice. I mean really, really nice. What's going on? Did something happen? Do you have some cute guy paying you attention?  You're usually so direct, and lately you've just been really, really nice."

I looked up, with a half smile, and said thank you... with a mixture of sorrow and gladness at her words. I'm glad I've been nice, and yet it saddens me to think this is an anomoly for her.

I wonder how I am perceived. I know the perception of a few, of the ones who finally find their voice of frustration and hurt after harboring hurt feelings for a too long, with lack of understanding... and I usually think that while their may be some validity, their perception is skewed by feelings of inadequacy that I aggravate somehow. 

I know the perception of a few who have expressed their love, their admiration of strength, courage, and capability... and I am appreciative and always moved by their expression... and I usually think that while their may be some validity, their perception is skewed by seeing only the strong exterior I put up around the beating heart.

The easy thing to do would be to fall prey to feeling what I felt for so long... that I wasn't enough. That I wasn't good enough. That the pain I felt was bigger than me, and the hurt I carried would never heal.

The truth is, I am me. Perfectly flawed, perfectly whole, perfectly me. I wish that meant perfect, and we all know it doesn't, it means simply that I am me. Whole, authentically, me.

For the longest time I have struggled finding the good in me to see.... and for the longest time I have not been able to genuinely see it at all.  In recent months I have found more strength, more belief, more being.... and I am so very glad. It really has been life changing for me to really see myself as possibly being perfect, whole, and complete.  Going to the Landmark Forum in November really helped, as did Cody Gibson in the BOLD classes in Vegas. He helped me see for the first time that all the good things I wanted to do and be, were already within me.  That truly was life changing.

And even after all of that, I could not get myself to look myself in the mirror and say these things out loud. While I had begun to feel it in my heart, it was too difficult to say. Until now. Until this past month, well, really, these past two weeks.

This is the note I wrote to myself in December as I attended the Landmark seminar, and when I came home from Christmas Break, I pulled it out of the mail and put it on the dashboard of my van where it has sat ever since.   Slowly, (and only after much prompting), I have worked up the courage to say the words out loud, to myself, every day.  Here is what it says...


Dear Rachel,

You are perfect, whole, & complete, just as you are.  That is your way of being. That is you. Every good thing you want do and be is already within you. It is already you.

You are a leader, you do serve, you come from contribution every day.  You are committed to others success and well being and always have been.  You touch, move, and inpsire others every day.  You are cause in the matter, and the possibilities are endless.  Be. Believe.  Be. Do. HAVE!

I love you!


It is amazing to me how much easier this really has become for me to say, and the more I say it, the more I really feel it.

And so tonight... I'm adding something. Creating something.

I am creating excellence, for me.

The possibility I am creating for myself and my life, and the reality I will bring into existence through my language each day... is this...

I am me. And my way of being is one of joy. Peace. Love, and Joy. My interaction with others brings warmth and light to their life, and lightens their burdens with a smile.

That is me. I am me. And that is my way of being.

Believe.

Be Cause

be cause I am hurting
be cause I'm in pain
be cause I can't change
the things that I've seen

be cause I am thriving
survive and beyond
be cause I am open
to change and become

be cause I am worth it
be cause I am me
be cause I can only
be all i can be

be cause I can stand
in the place of I am
be cause I am nothing
in all that I am

be cause
be cause

I am me

I Am Me

Its been a rough couple days/weeks.  I have really struggled with feeling like I am once again just hurting people by being alive, by being me, causing pain in their lives by because I am independent, strong, and direct. Because I have ideas, opinions, and will usually say them. And if I see something that can be helpful, improved, or a better way of doing something.... I will usually do something about it, say something about it, and involve myself enough to make a difference.

It hurts me. I hate feeling like I'm hurting someone else.... especially just for being me.   The last thing I want to do is cause someone else pain. The last thing I want to do is hurt someone.

I start to withdraw, to put up more defensive and protective walls around me, fortify my position, and pull away from the people around me, particularly from the people I feel like I'm hurting.

What I see right now is that I because I have withdrawn, and stopped sharing me... I have only made things worse. My silence speaks words of its own.

And what I have really done, is pull away 'because'.... rather than 'be cause'. It is a distinction I am still learning. A difference I am learning to be.


I have stopped sharing my commitment. Stopped living in action on that commitment. Pulled back from what is possible, what I know is there, and what I can do.  For a couple days... I've stopped being me.

Because it hurt. And I withdrew.

Today is a new day, and today I have renewed commitment. I am me. And I am okay being me. I will not live being a ghost of who I am... I will only live being me.

Not perfect in my actions, not perfect in what I do. Not above anyone else...

Just perfectly, authentically me.