Little girl watching for her Daddy at the window
Waiting for the love she knows he'll bring
Be the one that reaches out
Be the one that lights the dark
Be the one that opens up the hardened heart to see
Be the one that reaches out
Be the one that cares enough
Be the one
Be the one
Be the one you want to see.
There is a part of my heart that wants to stay closed, protect, shield, and hold back. The rest of my heart wants to be free, to roam, to be, to love, to hurt, to cry, to ask, to give, to hold. Most days lately, the free part wins, and the love pours through me. What I am learning to do lately is to let it pour over me freely too.
A friend recently yelled at me… “How long will you choose agony? It hurts to watch you!” It stung. And keeps rattling around in my head, rolling back and forth. It hasn’t been easy to see what they see. I’m not sure I still do.
For the longest time I acted as though my worth, my value, was in fixing things, making things better, doing the right thing, loving everyone around me, making life the best that it could be for them. I wasn’t perfect at it by any means, some of it was driven by the belief that I am a hurtful person, by guilt of who I’d been and what I’ve done, by sorrows and heartache. Whether I was perfect at all of it, emptying myself for others still meant more to me that others around me felt good and were happy and were taken care of and that I gave all I could and more, than having anything for me, including sometimes taking care of my physical needs. To a large degree that is still true. If I think about a choice of giving to someone else, giving hope, love, comfort, opportunities, support, whatever… I would rather give it all away than have it for myself. Right up until I feel threatened or the need to protect. Then, that protection comes up first and is my first go to… especially when I feel I’m protecting others too.
For me lately, I have been in a question. When does giving, hurt? And not just giving… I have also acted as though the way to be good enough is to change me, and the way to change me is by learning and growing, and the best way to learn and grow is to empty myself in pursuit of being the best I can be, and that is sometimes accompanied by choosing to put myself into positions that stretch me, and sometimes the stretch hurts. Is that the agony she meant?
Or is it the agony of putting the fault, the blame and the pain all on me, as though I am the center of the universe and could fix it all if I tried. Do I think myself so important? Is that it? Or is it the opposite, that I think so little of me and value everyone else more, that I’ll sacrifice myself to fix it all if that’s what it takes. Or is it both at different times.
I don’t know, and I keep looking. Is it the agony of being anything and everything except joy unleashed? Do I choose agony in the small moments that make up my day? Fear, hesitation, holding back rather than reaching for joy and passion and creating it in every moment possible? Is that the agony? And if so… what is it that really holds me back? At this point is it fear? Or is it really just that I haven’t exercised that muscle enough through life and it is habit to reach past joy and on to the “learning”?
I am questioning everything. Am I holding onto “what’s possible” to the point of pain, and letting go of my joy along the way? Am I holding onto my need to make sure I am the opposite of everything Ryan claims I am, the selfish whore who puts everyone else last and makes everything about me… to the point of bleeding out before I stop and take care of me?
Is it the need to protect first? Is that protective mode the agony? Do I just think it’s so normal I don’t know what agony is?
And how does it all connect to where I am at in my marriage. If I stay, and hold onto possibility, and work it all through, then every week am I just choosing agony instead of joy and freedom? Or am I creating the work and emotional toll because I haven’t figured out how to be joy and love and everything possible yet and it has nothing to do with me staying and holding onto possibility?
I feel off balance, unsure of my next step, and it’s showing up literally with disruptive vertigo all week.
For many years I’ve been apprehensive to take on any leadership position where other people were involved. For years I’ve been told I steamroll, I am controlling, or been given unhelpful advice from people close to me, like my mom saying “you catch more flies with honey than vinegar” with the insinuation being that is me…. Just vinegar. I responded by conflating it to that’s who I am. Harsh. Controlling. Hurtful. Mean. Eventually I just withdrew from anywhere with a group. I withdrew from talking with people. I arranged my life to not need to be in a management position anywhere. It has been a process shifting the beliefs of who I am.
I just finished up a weekend leading a team for Atlas Project ATX8 weekend. Leadership is seeing masterpiece and bringing it forth. I think this has been a different angle for me, as many times I’ve gauged leadership by getting things done. I can get things done, but alienate people. I can get things done, but the doing doesn’t feel nearly as fulfilling as knowing that while we did it, I also brought the best out in everyone around me. Leadership is bringing alive the leadership in others, shining the light on what is there, bringing alive the beauty they are and the beauty they bring out in the world around them.
I am depleted physically and emotionally right now, and also so fucking proud of myself. My feedback now is “You call, I’m there. Just let me know when!” … and “You’ve changed my life, I’ll love you forever.”… and that I have “structured, loving leadership”. I faced everything head on and shifted who I am, and kept on shifting. When I stopped coming from avoidance and come from vision instead, leadership began changing shape. When I come from seeing the leaders in front of me and enrolling them in vision with me… life changed, I changed.
Not just for this reason, but for many … I love me. I love who I am as a mother, as a daughter, as a leader, as a sister, and me with me.
I am Rachel Wipf. I am a caring, generous, loving leader. I am a resilient, creative badass and a light in the world. My voice matters. I matter. My life matters and I love making sure people around me know they matter too.
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.
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.
My heart is in overflow
It is still sinking in.
I matter. You Matter. We matter.
And we do because I say so.
I am me, and I am joy, passion, courage and love.
I am love multiplied.
And so are you.
LAS4 is complete tomorrow and tonight I am overflowing with love.
❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️
Mom
You are everything
And nothing
And more
And less.
You are love
And loved
And hated and despised.
You are less than perfect
Just like me
And beyond perfection
Just like me.
I love you
I hate you
I am you
And you are me.
Written November 2023
If I am so easily tattered and torn, bruised and beaten, sad and forlorn
Who holds the power, the key to go home?
The victim is raging the storm is within
I can’t fight the battle, there isn’t a win
But in the sweet essence of who I must be
A solar ray begins to lighten on me
The suns gentle rays can begin to warm up
The weather, the storm, the one that I lost
In spite of my folly’s the rain starts to show
That under the clouds there is this gentle flow
Tender red roses beginning to climb
The soft edges silken, so tender the vine
Where is the rainbow of my soul?
The one who clings to hope without letting go?
Each step feels like quicksand, each breath exhaled grief
The rainbow is coming. Hold on and believe.
What is the space between motion
And stopping called?
Beyond suspension
Spinning still
Silent in its embrace
Stealthy threads of deaths despair
Looped round to hold me there
Stillness holds
This moment, next
Beyond the sweet peas dream
Forge onward? Retreat? Recreate?
Persist besieged resist
Perhaps the moon has held you fore
And ever will again
I'll sit in his embrace
Lunar loved I'll be
And leave the fragile reckoning
To him that bereft me
Wrapped in embers of golden shame
Fueled by years of pain
Submerged in murky depths beneath the sorrow and the ache
What has he that held my heart
Gifted with all of me
Set ablaze in one cold breath
Waked of stammering regret
Grasping hold what was
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.
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.”
