Maude and the Divided Self. Truth: Part 7.

Image via WikipediaFirst, let me make this clear: I do NOT have a Split Personality disorder. 

I do though, have a habit of beating myself up, ferociously.

I hear that Inner Critic, that Censor, as Julia Cameron calls it in The Artist's Way.  I have to make it known, mostly to myself, that THAT voice isn't my Truth.  She is instead my demon, my serpent, my daily dose of self-inflicted torture.  She is crude,  a smart-ass, and a know-it-all.  She is pessimistic beyond comprehension.

She hates change; she balks the instant she senses an opportunity to talk down to me, and barks self-loathing accusations repeatedly until they are heard.   She makes me feel like a burden, exposed, ashamed, a maudlin: undeniably unworthy of anything I desire.  She is my FEAR, embodied.

I felt it appropriate to give her a name.  Her name is Maude. This name seemed fitting enough, simply to remind me how deep (and quick) her lies soak into the cloth of my being.

A little history on the term 'maudlin':
 

1607, "tearful," from M.E. proper name Maudelen  (c.1320), from Magdalene  

(O.Fr. Madelaine ), woman's name, originally surname of Mary,  

the repentant sinner forgiven by Jesus in Luke vii.37 (see Magdalene). 

In paintings, she was often shown weeping as a sign of repentance. Meaning "

characterized by  tearful sentimentality" is recorded from c.1631.

Ahh, it makes so much sense now.  I do not feel I have empowered this presence by naming her.  I feel now I can reason that she IS NOT speak my Truth, and I can now tell her, by name, to SHUT UP. 

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I also have another voice that I hear or rather, sense.  This voice is quiet, like a child, maybe she is a child, my inner child.  I've been seeking a name for her.  She speaks my Truth.  She is serene... Serena... no, that name is close but not quite right.  Something soft, silent, strong, just as she is.  I'm a fool for alliteration and the 'S' was sticking with me.  It's been nearly 2 weeks in seeking.

I hadn't found it, until tonight.  As the stars align, leading me from one Renegade Conversation to another, I find myself reading a new blog (new to me) called Sophia Leadership.  I am quickly drawn in, I soak up post after post.  I find myself seeking the meaning of this name, Sophia Leadership, though the connection has not yet been made.

In the top right corner of the blog I find my answer:  

"What is this about? 

Sophia: Greek word for wisdom. A word that is feminine, 

spiritual, intuitive, creative, visionary, and compassionate. 

Leader: Anyone who steps forward with courage to influence people toward action."

 She is my Sophia.  That voice: that gentle, sophisticated, trusting, honest, strong yet soothing voice, is my Sophia.  It feels so lovely to be able to acknowledge her for everything that she is.  She speaks from all of these things: my femininity, my spirituality, my intuition.  She speaks (and craves) my creative freedom, and my true vision.  I can feel her gentle persistence when I ignore her, but she is patient and kind with me.  And most importantly, her essence of compassion embodies my Truth. 

I can work with this.

Nurturing. Part 1.

Today is a rainy day.  Dreary, overcast, and colder than not.  A day you'd want to spend wrapped up in a blanket, soaking in the tub, or baking in the kitchen.  I plan on doing all three.  Today is a silent day in my heart, a peaceful day.

Yesterday was Friday.  A busy day.  I worked all day and I babysat all evening.  When I finally made it home, or probably even before then, I was spent.  It's been a long week in so many ways.  I just needed to sleep.  I came home, left the lights off, turned off the TV,  and opened the back door to the porch.  I then cuddled deep into the couch, completely consumed by my favorite corduroy comforter.

Comforter.  That was all that I needed at that moment: to be comforted.  I need that a lot lately.  I eventually made my way to the shower to wash off the day, the week.  I fell asleep quickly once I allowed myself to settle. 

Today I slept in an hour later than I am able to during the week.  I felt rested.  I wanted coffee.  I was ready to start my day (this doesn't always happen).  Z was heading to work, so I made coffee in time to send some with him (nurturer that I am).  I wrote my Morning Pages: today was Day Seven.  I also had my first unplanned interruption.  I quickly got back to my writing while the repair man installed our new microwave.  I had no idea he was coming, or I would have planned differently.  Either way, I completed my first week without fail.  I remember hearing this somewhere: it takes seven days to start a new habit.  Regardless of the science behind that, I'm going to make it my Truth.  I officially have a new habit nurturing my spirit.

Repair man gone, Morning Pages complete.  I returned my brother's call from last night, which turned out to be just a pocket dial.  An appreciated call nonetheless.  We talked about our mom; I'll save that subject for another post.  Then I asked him about these little pods that have developed on my spider plant and told him I'd send him a photo. Apparently that put me in an immediate inquisitive and playful mood.

Now, this is just a baby hanging off of the Momma plant, and you can see three of the little pods I was talking about.  (See those paintbrushes in the background too?  We will get to those in this journey, I promise.)  Momma's sprouted about 8 babies in the last few months, maybe more.  I decided despite the cold, I was going to go onto my back porch and replant Momma, as I've been wanting to for a while now.

So this is how we started: Momma and two of her older babies that I've grown in separate pots and a barren hanging pot.

 

And this is how we finished... with Momma planted in with her two babies for fullness, and 3 more babies being nurtured until they can grow on their own.  Momma already looks happier, though I can't actually hang her because I need her to block the passage for my kitty to get off the porch....

Then there was another problem.  I completely over-saturated my aloe plant without realizing it because the pot it was in was too small and I could barely get to the soil to see how moist it actually was.  (Have I told you about my olive thumb yet?) So she was replanted, too.  I put her in a larger pot (actually the one Momma Spider was in) along with some new soil.  I surrounded her with some other plants and objects to help support her heavy limbs.

 

Once this still-life was set up, I couldn't help but notice the words in my head, "I get by with a little help from my friends..." (So if you're now craving a Beatles flashback click here.)

On a semi-related note:

This little bugger just makes me smile.  Originally what I purchased my bamboo plant in, my mom, aunt and I did some planting and re-potting while they were visiting over Easter weekend.  I was sad when we re-potted the bamboo and I had nothing to fill this amazing little elephant-pot.  So my mom bought me this cactus when they visited the Botanical Garden the day I had to work.  My mom has always been amazingly thoughtful like that.

So there we go.  This post is a little more Slow Love Life than my usual.  I needed it.  I played a little today.  I feel nurtured.  I think this counts toward my Artist's Date, don't you think?

I have to bake a cake for a graduation party this afternoon.  I don't think I'll mind playing some more at all.