People – close friends, not-so-close friends and clients have been suggesting that I blog for some time now. I would say (in my head) “blog? Why would I do that!? Why would I want to have a public diary? Why would anybody want to hear what I have to say?” And, perhaps most importantly, “exactly when am I supposed to sit down and write anyway?” I suppose most of those questions stem from low self-esteem developed during childhood (where most of us get it from). I’m sure most parents want to be great listeners and lively participants in conversations with their children… in theory. But, in practice… uh, I don’t know if we always make the grade. My mother seemed to always be mentally engaged with some other activity when I went off on my tangents about whatever it was that day. She probably had to zone out to keep her sanity and complete her daily mommily tasks, especially with a child who talked SO much. Then there’s my father who never seemed to think I had anything intelligent to say… usually correcting mid-sentence or totally shutting down my insane ideas. Eventually, I only talked to him about the stuff I knew he liked to hear or rehashed concepts he already shared with me, just to get his approving ear and few moments of undivided attention. Needless to say, I tend to think people are ignoring me anyway.
In my adult life, I’ve made a career for myself as a Massage Therapist/ healing extraordinaire. Although, we don’t call it a career, I’ve also been working as a mom for about 9 years as well. It feels like I’m always talking, but apparently now, people are listening. The host of experiences garnered in these environments has, I suppose and according to these “people” I refer to, given me a pretty big pool of information from which to draw. People think I know stuff… and I do actually. I’m constantly being asked about this or that and I’m constantly sharing my thoughts, tricks, remedies with everybody (except my parents who still think I know absolutely nothing). That last comment sounded so resentful didn’t it? I know.
Confession. Ok, yes. I know about herbs, homeopathy, aromatherapy, natural child-birth, using positive affirmations, daily rituals for self empowerment, I’m a Reiki master (ancient Japanese healing art), I paint art for peace and meditation, I follow astrology, numerology, and palmistry. I can cook a mean vegan, gluten-free, nut free breakfast/lunch/dinner. I read crystals and tarot cards, teach people to love and accept themselves unconditionally, and I love the Goddess. But, I’m so flawed. Sometimes, I’m bitter. Sometimes, I’m angry. Sometimes, I’m so sad I can’t get out of bed. I’ve been known to have the temper of a lion (I’m a leo) and my silent treatment is BOSS! From the outside people (well maybe some) tend to think I’ve got it all together. But, I don’t and I probably never will satisfy my own definition of perfection.
I think I have finally taken some of my own advice and forgiven myself for possibly “never having it all together.” And now… now…. I give myself permission to share. It is this vulnerability, the wisdom of a heart-broken many times over, of failures and successes that brings me connection – to myself, to you and to the human spirit. These days, I’m being more gentle with myself, because now I know, I’m no different. I’m not better or worse than anybody else. My voice is just as important as anyone in the world. Maybe my healing can be someone else’s healing. The revolution in our individual and our collective worlds as well, must first begin with a small revolution inside of each of us. Maybe, I can inspire a revolution of love, hope, creativity, oneness and peace by sharing my stories. Maybe… I have more to offer than I thought.
“Hidden within its cocoon the caterpillar becomes a butterfly — who would believe it until the Metamorphosis was complete?” ~James DeKorne~