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I have two newsletters that you can subscribe to.

1. Inner Compass: I co-write this weekly newsletter with my amazing best friend Sarah Webber. In this newsletter we share personal stories, essays, thoughts and ponderings about our journeys through the “wellness” world. It is a place we explore the complexity and nuance of “self-help.” healing and transformation. We intend for this to be a playful, welcoming, inquisitive space where we can get to know ourselves and each other more deeply. We would love to have you join us!

2. Everything Belongs: This is personal newsletter that I will be launching in the fall of 2024. I will explore a wide range of topics including grief and loss, paradox, ritual, connecting to our ancestors and the natural world and creating a culture of belonging. Please subscribe today and join me on this journey of finding more belonging, community and connection.

What if there was nothing to fix?

I continue to deepen into living amidst paradox and to consider what it means to hold and allow two opposing ideas or experiences to be true.  Paradox has been one of my greatest teachers and has really opened me up to the fullness, complexity and nuance of being a human on this planet.  

A paradox that I have been deepening into lately is the idea of approaching myself, others and the world as if there is nothing to fix.  Bringing the energy of acceptance and allowing things to be as they are while simultaneously holding on to the possibility for change, transformation and growth.  How can our inner lives, relationships or systems change or transform if we allow, accept or choose not to “fix” something?  It seems at face value that these two ideas oppose one another and would not allow for anything to change.  

What would it be like to live and move through your day as if there was nothing to “fix” about yourself or your current moment?  What space opens up when we move from a place of “fixing” to a space of witnessing or holding whatever moment we are in?  This can include our current emotional experience, relational experience, grief or loss, and even systemic issues in our society or community.  At first glance, this might sound like complacency, giving up, or apathy.  Our culture has conditioned us to believe that for every experience or problem there is a fix, usually quick, and that we must act with urgency in most of these situations.  

I know that I certainly see this showing up personally, relationally and professionally in my life.  It can look like my child struggling at school with a friendship conflict and my initial reaction is to “fix” it, to find a solution.  Or I am having a really difficult day, feeling weary, tired, grief-y and weighed down.  My mind begins to spin-why do I feel like this? How long will it last? What can I do to feel “better?”  

This could be explored on even wider levels when we consider system issues like racial injustice, income inequality, patriarchy or other systems of oppression.   When I feel the rage rising with me over how internalized and external misogyny has impacted the experiences of myself and other women, I immediately want to “do” something about it.  This urgency and desire to work for change is necessary, especially given the scale of crises we face currently from climate devastation, to racial inequities, and violence on a global scale. 

However, I notice the reactivity in myself when I move to “fix” something quickly or impulsively.  I have wondered, is there a more skillful way to interact with myself, relationally and systemically? 

When I consider the question of “what if there was nothing to fix?” in these contexts, I notice that the question creates some space for the full experience of myself or someone else to be fully allowed and witnessed.  If there is nothing to “fix” about my rage in the moment, that emotion can move through me, be felt fully and explored with some curiosity rather than resistance, denial or reactivity. 

In that space of “not fixing,” of honoring, leaning towards and exploring gently, the opportunity for a skillful response arises.  

The possibility arises for me to move forward with agency and choice and to fully consider what might need to change, transform or be reimagined.   I can then hold both of these truths, there is nothing to fix about my experience AND it is possible to move towards a choice that feels in alignment with my values and what matters most to me.   

It also allows me the space to listen and receive.  To listen internally to my bodily sensations, emotions, and thoughts.  And to pause and listen externally, looking towards and listening to voices that I might not have considered in my “fix it” mode.  As a white, cis gendered, heterosexual woman, I notice who I have been conditioned to “listen” to most of my life.  Who I consider an “expert” or the source of knowledge, wisdom or information.  In the pause, or space of holding the tension, I can choose to listen to my own inner wisdom and to the voices of those who have been marginalized or silenced, who have important wisdom, perspective and knowledge to be shared.   

“Between stimulus and response there is a space. In that space is our power to choose our response. In our response lies our growth and our freedom.”

Viktor E. Frankl

I have learned the most about how to “be with” vs “fix” as I have navigated grief and loss over the years.  Despite what our culture teaches us, grief is not “fixable.”  There are not five easy steps or stages to follow and then you are “done” grieving.  Grief is part of an ongoing journey and experience that you carry with you, that shifts and changes, but doesn’t necessarily end.  As Megan Devine explores in her book It’s Ok That You’re Not Ok, “Some things cannot be fixed; they can only be carried. Grief like yours, love like yours, can only be carried.” 

Since we are not given many examples in our culture of what it looks like to carry grief with reverence, devotion or awe, I have spent a lot of time trying to fix my grief, and still do if I’m being completely honest.  The self-care/wellness industry teaches us that there are solutions and ways to fix our pain, burnout, depression, insomnia, and grief, just to name a few.  Capitalism and our consumer based culture teaches us that we are one product or service away from solving our current pain, problem or issue.  Just try this essential oil, magical tea, supplement or yoga pose and you will “feel better.”  

And just to be clear, I am part of the wellness industry as a yoga teacher and group facilitator, and I am sure at one point or another I have touted some diet, practice or book as the “cure” for whatever might be the current ailment du jour. Dr.  Pooja Lakshmin describes this paradigm in  her book Real Self-Care.  She says, “Real self-care is an internal solution: it’s about changing your internal reality-or your own consciousness,” rather than seeking validation, solutions or “fixes” outside of yourself.  In my eyes, this “internal solution” begins with NOT fixing ourselves, each other or systems but first allowing, moving towards and deeply listening to what is present within ourselves and others.  

What I have come to appreciate and really be in devotion to is the unfixableness (I made this word up) messiness,  non linearity,  depth and width, and universality of grief.  As I hold my grief, and the grief of others in my Mindful Grieving Program and Grief Circles, we create the space to allow, accept and hold our sorrow.  From this place of gentle holding, tending and nurturing, wisdom always seems to arise within myself and others, nudging us towards what is life affirming and generative. 

As the grief and loss is metabolized, something new emerges, a transformation occurs.  A space for choice and skillful action arises.  Carl Rogers says, “The curious paradox is that when I accept myself as I am, then I can change.”  I think this is true for our grief, in our lives, relationships, jobs and in our collective healing path.  I think of change as the next evolution in our identity, the transformation of relationships and building of new culture.  

This has been and will be an ongoing practice for me.  The spaces that have allowed me to build this skill of “not fixing” have been on my meditation cushion and on my yoga mat.  I am deeply indebted and grateful to the south Asian culture and lineages that the practices of Yoga and Buddhism originated from.  These contemplative and spiritual traditions and practices have taught me to witness my thoughts, feelings, conditioned patterns and habits and meet myself (on a good day) with some level of acceptance.  And then five minutes later I forget and get right back to fixing and controlling.  I forget and remember, many times each day.  

Parenting has taught me so much about not fixing.  Kids provide endless opportunities to practice witnessing, validating and holding space for the myriad tantrums, arguments, conflicts and early morning wake ups they seem to bring.  

In addition, parts work or IFS (Internal Family Systems)  has provided a framework and understanding of myself and others that has created space to meet each part of me with love and compassion.  Really seeking to understand, listen to and nurture each and every part of me-even the judging part, inner critic, shameful part, anxious parts, angry parts and impatient parts.  

And last but not least-my greatest teacher and resource is always the natural world-my plant, animals, water, rock, earth and sky kin.  The natural world is constantly growing, transforming, changing and evolving.  Seeking wholeness through seasons and cycles of death and birth.  I gain deep comfort seeing a tree rooted so deeply to their place, allowing the seasons to change, leaves to fall, buds to form, birds to nest, branches to fall, kids to climb, and even death to eventually come.  

There is nothing to fix in the moments I witness a tree so beautifully embodying their aliveness.  The tree doesn’t wonder, “am I tree-ing good enough?  Should I make more shade?  Should I produce more fruit?  They just are.  They just do.  And in just being, they stay so beautifully and amazingly connected to themselves and to the wider web of plants, fungi and microorganisms in the soil.  

Thank you to the trees and to my other teachers in the natural world for embodying so effortlessly what I seek to become-rooted, present, grounded, connected, ever changing, transforming and growing.  

Following my “Yes”

I listened to a conversation the other day between adrienne maree brown and Dan Harris on the 10% Happier Podcast that centered around her work and book called Pleasure Activism. Her words deeply impacted me and have been sinking into my body-mind-heart the past few days.

As I continue to be grief-stricken and broken hearted about the horrific violence and destruction in Gaza and the sorrows of the world, I sometimes wonder, “what can I do?” and “how do I show up?” How do I hold and witness the deep pain and suffering that is happening in the world without becoming paralyzed and frozen? How does this breaking of my heart call me to action? What can my grief and sorrow teach in this moment? I can feel the strong NO rising up within me, signaling to me that this atrocity if wrong, oppressive and dehumanizing.  Yet, I can become stuck in the despair, powerlessness and scale of what is happening in Gaza and around the world.  

So how does this connect to following my “yes” and adrienne’s work?

What struck me so deeply about this podcast conversation and adrienne maree brown’s work in general is her ability to center pleasure and joy while also working towards collective liberation and healing. She acknowledges and holds the desperate need for change and transformation of our individual selves and collective systems while also centering our heart’s longing, what brings us joy and a sense of goodness or contentment in how we show up in the world.  One of her phrases she uses as a guidepost in her work of pleasure activism is…

“Yes is the way.”

In this article adrienne maree brown writes,

“What makes you say “yes”? What yes do you feel in your marrow? Can you imagine how the species would feel if our life paths were defined by the things that made us feel awe, excitement, satisfaction, and love? 

I know in my bones that these words are true and there is a part of me that was conditioned to mistrust my “yes,” to fear my deepest desire, to disconnect from my body-the innate source of intelligence pointing me towards my “yes.” My conditioning as a white woman in the dominant culture in the US taught me that pleasure was “sinful” or “indulgent.” That the body was not to be trusted, that my power and sense of direction came from an external source, always outside of me. That source was varied and could have been God, cultural norms, religious rules, experts, and leaders.

I did not understand that my deeper knowing and true “yes” could guide me in a way that not only served me but also our greater collective well-being. I believe that when we dive deeper into our “yes” and true desire, below the surface level pleasures we have been taught to seek in our consumer culture, we find a truth and direction that leads us towards greater contentment, satisfaction and enoughness. This is not selfish or indulgent, it is life-giving and full of vitality and love.

“Living inside of these principles is an ongoing practice. I find it works best for me to start from within and work my way out to the whole, the collective, the large scale.

I practice daily listening to what my body needs—what I need for mental and emotional health—then what my relationships need, and then what my communities need.

In this deep listening and attending to the various scales of my life, I can contribute to my own health and the health of the collective body. ”

— adrienne maree brown

Even within our pain, sorrow and grief lies a “yes.” I recently heard Karine Bell quote an unnamed spiritual teacher saying, “Follow your pain like a candle in the night to a place where desire is born.” Our pain or grief can be a guide or a light during times that feel dark, leading us towards our deepest desires, our soul’s longing, our true “yes.”

So right now, in this time when my heart feels broken open and grief struck with the devastation and genocide the Palestinian people face, I will turn towards my “Yes.” I will turn towards the deepest desire within me that calls for justice, liberation, and transformation of this world. I will honor my path that continues to call me towards creating space for community, connection, grief tending and witnessing of what it means to be human in these times.

I will honor my “Yes” that also desires rest, play and moments of joy. I will create space for my “Yes” that wants to write and put my words and thoughts onto paper. I will honor the “no” that allows me to set boundaries, set limits and develop a sense of agency within my life.

Thank you to adrienne maree brown for this beautiful map and compass to orient ourselves towards a more loving, liberated and whole experience of being human individually and collectively.

Can you orient towards your “yes” in small ways each day?

What do you have to say “no” to in order to make space for your “yes?”

What “yes” is living inside of you, waiting to be honored and listened to?

What does “yes” feel like in your body? What does a “no” feel like in your body?

Shedding skin

Our pet snake shed her skin this week.  We have a lovely ball python, named Autumn who has lived with us since October. She is the newest member of our family and she really is a great addition. I wasn’t totally sure if I would enjoy having a pet snake but of all the beings that I take care of (my three kids and two cats), she is by far the easiest and most low maintenance.

My daughter Brynn had been checking on her lately and noticing she was getting ready to shed.  You could tell she was ready to leave behind her current iteration of her skin, there were subtle visible signs she was changing.  Her color looked a little different, almost translucent with a blue like shimmering sheen.  Her underbelly was a vibrant pink-orange color.  She was spending more time resting and in stillness.  Although let’s be real, she spends most of her time curled up in a ball under her rock.  You couldn’t necessarily tell that something was shifting until you got close, you held her, you noticed and really paid attention; she was transforming before our eyes. 

My daughter Brynn holding Autumn

Then one day Brynn comes out of her room in the morning excitedly calling, (because yes, of course the snake lives in my 10 year old daughter's room), “she shed, she shed, she shed.”  Brynn found the snake skin shed underneath Autumn’s log.  This amazing intricate web of her previous skin, just left there, right on the floor of her enclosure.  It was so beautiful, so detailed, like a piece of her but not her.  She no longer inhabited this skin, she had outgrown it and left it behind.  I wonder what becomes of a snake shed in the natural world?  Here in our domesticated life we look at it in wonder and awe. as we appreciate this miracle of endings, beginnings and transformations. 

Maybe you're thinking, “Weird, you got all of that from a snake skin?” Yes, I did.  This is how my brain and body works.  Always creating pathways, connections and webs of kinship between myself, other humans and the beings that are part of the wider world.  The plants, animals, rocks, and elements.  I learn most of my Very Important Lessons from the natural world.  They teach me so much and with such grace and ease.  I can muscle my way through a book, thinking, trying, wrestling with a topic to “figure it out.”  Then one day, I’ll finally just sit, be and look out my window and right before me is a bird.  Singing a beautiful birdsong, gathering food, flying around with her bird friends, creating a nest, a home.  And I will remember….oohhh that is what I am here for.  To be. To live. To play.  To rest.  I am not saying we should not read and rationalize and think logically and critically about topics.  We need both ways of understanding and learning. I just find that it is so easy for me to hone and depend on the intelligence of my brain forgetting about the intelligence that lives in my heart and in my gut.  The wisdom of the body, of emotion, of the animal nature that is part of each of us.  

So back to the snake skin.  Naturally, I did some google research to learn more about snakes shedding their skin.  I learned that snakes shed their skin up to once a month or as few as a couple times a year, usually more when they are younger and growing.  Snakes shed their skin because as they grow, they don’t fit inside their skin any longer.  They outgrow a part of themselves and shed the outer layer.  This process continues throughout their life.  Growing, shedding, transforming, again and again and again.  I also read that right before they shed, their eyes turn cloudy.  They can’t see very well, everything becomes a bit blurry and disorienting, so they use this time to hide, curl up and be still.  Their new skin will also cover their eyes, everything about how they see the world and themselves will be shed, then renewed and grown again.

Of course, our animal kin has a process that is ongoing and normal and natural for growth and transformation.  What can we learn from our snake friends?  And to be clear, I am still somewhat wary of our 4 foot long ball python.  I want to want to hold her, but I am still a little uneasy.  She is so sweet, and gentle and my kids LOVE holding her.  It is an edge I am still playing with :) 

The one time I reluctantly and nervously held Autumn

The snakes can teach us that growing and changing is a normal, natural part of being alive.  We can learn that as we grow, something that used to work for us might no longer fit.  As we expand, there are certain ways of being, conditioning, patterns, cultural models, systems, roles, relationships, beliefs and thoughts we might have to shed.  Before we can shed, there is a period of disorientation where everything might feel a bit off, shaky, cloudy, unclear.  That does not mean you are doing it wrong, that means you are on your path. As I have learned from the Rooted Global Village and Karine Bell the first step in new culture formation or change of any kind is disorientation.  It is a time of not knowing, AND also seeing clearly the way you have been in your life and in the world is no longer working for you. 

““For a seed to achieve its greatest expression, it must come completely undone. The shell cracks, its insides come out and everything changes. To someone who doesn’t understand growth, it would look like complete destruction.””

— Cynthia Occelli

After the disorientation phase comes, stillness, slowing down, being with the “in between” space. The no longer that, but not yet this, the liminal space of possibility and potential.  The becoming.  The slow and somewhat painful unraveling of leaving something behind.  The grief of shedding a layer of your being that you held so close that it fit you like skin.  The pain and sense of loss in transforming is NORMAL.  Even if you are shedding something that will lead to a more expansive, truer, wholehearted version of yourself. there is still grief.  That skin that held you so close and tight served a purpose, was adaptive, made sense for a reason.  AND it’s time for that to end.  It’s time to step into something new, a rebirth; the next version of you, that is still you but also different. I am thankful for Autumn and all of the snakes for teaching me about growing, shedding, and transforming. If you are afraid of snakes-sorry, I hope the metaphor still makes sense and is helpful :)

What are you currently outgrowing?

What beliefs, conditioning, thoughts, relationships, cultural models, systems or patterns would you like to shed?

What needs to be grieved or honored as you transform and grow?

What new version or new way of being wants to be birthed or brought forward?

What desire, longing or intention is growing inside of you?

Joy

Joy. This word and what it means has been rolling around in my head and heart for several years now. Joy has felt elusive, out of reach and not totally clear to me what it is or how to describe it. Yet, joy kept beckoning me, calling me to explore this emotion and state of being more deeply. As I have set my intentions for this next year, this word has continued to return to me. So here I am, writing about joy, thinking, analyzing and trying to “figure it out.”

On a recent three-day silent meditation retreat at Holy Wisdom Monastery, I was surprised by the joy and lightness I experienced. The poem “Joy For No Reason” by Danna Faulds, replaying in my mind, as I sat quietly and walked around the monastery grounds. It was if, when I stepped back and created space in my life for true presence and attention, joy rose up from within, wanting to be noticed.

Joy is ordinary. Joy is extraordinary. Joy is connection. Joy is presence. Joy is noticing the bright red cardinal out on the bird feeder, vibrant amidst the dull gray of winter. Joy is my 3 year old holding my head in his hands and saying, “I love you Mom.” Joy is the first sip of coffee in the morning. Joy is watching my husband belt out a Taylor Swift song. Joy is a simple walk with a friend. Joy is curling up with a cozy blanket and a book.

I love how Ross Gay described joy on the We Can Do Hard Things Podcast. He said, “Joy is connection. Joy is actively practicing entanglement. The feeling we have when we are entangled with one another. Joy is the evidence of practicing connection.”

Joy is a practice. Joy is how we pay attention with intention. Joy is always present but so easily missed. Joy is connection.

In the work that I do with folks who are experiencing grief and loss I regularly tell them that as we open to grief and sorrow, we also build our capacity to open to joy and connection. I most definitely believe this AND I haven’t been practicing this in a way that feels true. I almost find it easier to open to the grief, loss and pain than to joy. Joy feels so utterly vulnerable, yet so deeply connected to living a wholehearted life.

I endeavor to practice joy each day. To pay attention to the ordinary and extraordinary. To stay open to connection and entanglement with myself, others and our wider world.

What does a practice of joy look like for you?

What ordinary moments bring you joy?

What stories, beliefs or thoughts limit your ability to experience joy?

Everything Belongs

Everything belongs. This phrase has developed immense meaning to me over the past few years. A mantra that has guided me on my healing journey and serves as a guidepost for how I approach my work, family, and relationships.

“Everything belongs” has allowed me to see that all parts of me are integral and worthy of love and belonging. “"Everything belongs” has allowed my imperfections, grief, messiness, shame and uncertainty to be held right alongside my “shinier” parts and pieces. For a long time I believed that only certain parts of me belonged. My understanding of what belonged was determined by cultural messages, religious dogma, expectations from my family of origin and the impact of living in a system of white supremacy and patriarchy.

This has been a long and slow journey of befriending my inner and outer experience. Of building my capacity to hold the tension between seemingly opposing ideas, thoughts, emotions, memories and ideologies.

As I have learned to belong to myself more deeply, I have discovered that I have more space to belong more deeply to the wider world that I am entangled with. Finding space in my heart to experience the mutuality of being alive on this planet. Albert Einstein is quoted saying, “Our task must be to free ourselves from this prison by widening our circles of compassion to embrace all living creatures and the whole of nature in its beauty.” Widening my circle of compassion, first to include myself, then gradually moving out in all directions endlessly.

This blog will become a space to share my experiences, stories, thoughts and musings around this theme that continues to inspire, mystify, frustrate and intrigue me. I invite you to join me on this journey of being human together. Stepping into the complexities, nuance, paradox, beauty, despair, grief and joy of our shared experience.