Too Dark, Too Deep... Too Real.

I think best in the shower. I swear at some point in my life I will give in and get a waterproof voice recorder to keep in there with me. So you may have noticed I haven't posted in a while. This seems to be a reoccurring theme, and I hate it. (Maude loves it.)

Do you want to know why I stop blogging time and time again? (...Or do you maybe already know from experience???) It's not that I fear what you think, what you'll say; I encourage and embrace that wholeheartedly.

It's what they think. What they'll say. You know, the people who just don't get why someone would ever be so open, so honest with any of this... stuff. Them. And while I hate to create a divide, I can't deny coming across this continuously in my life. And while it's never so black-and-white, I'll digress from explaining myself more. (Humor me here.) I also gently encourage the thems to explore anyway, for fun, and really go there every now and again for a hot minute to see what treasures they may find.

Truth: The apple seems to have fallen from an orange tree in this case. 

'It's too dark, it's too deep, it's too real.' My super-sensor-social-media-aware-watch-your-back critic tells me.

'Okay.' And simple as that, I shy away.

But every time, I return.

I always kept a journal as a kid and teen... and well, I still have one. But as time went on, I'd berate myself over and over again so much that the writing, the opening up, came to me with less and less ease. Why? 'Because you always say the same damn thing' Maude tells me. 'No one wants to hear about your crap, what's going on "insiiide" you and it's just plain depressing.'

She's so harsh. So glad I can smile at her these most days and turn away. She's not talking to me. She's talking to anyone who will listen. Frankly I've had enough of her.

This is where I belong. I want you to hear my voice. I want you to feel my words resonate, to hear my words and say, 'Yes, I've felt that,' and know it's okay to think and feel the way you do. It's part of the human condition. Why can't we collectively embrace that? It is my hope to give you a safe place to relate. It is my hope to nurture that part within you and me, for I have so longed for that place to belong. I sense maybe some of you can relate.

And now that I've found it (for the millionth time), I'm claiming it. It is mine. I don't want to let it get away again.

Today I claimed, 'I am a writer, and an artist.' This is me.

Synchronicity. Truth: Part 11.

Believe. 

Walk.  Put one foot in front of the other. 
Don't think ahead.  Don't plan ahead. 

Just do what is necessary now.
It sounds so simple, but, trust me,
I know it is not. 

It can be a lost way that takes years to find again...
but once you do, prepare for amazing things to happen,
because they will, and they do. 

They have.  Amazing. 

I'm in awe at what has transpired in the last 3 weeks of my life:
The progress.  The healing.  The ease of mind. 
The slightest sense of peace. 


I don't think much needs to be said, nor do I have the words for it. 
You can see it in my eyes, hear it in my voice. 

Change is coming here. 

Resistance. Truth: Part 10.

Image by koeb via FlickrHave you ever searched for something far and wide, and then once you found it... you froze... unable to take that final step?  You can call it anxiety, fear, laziness, or resistance.  You can blame it on being weak or a perfectionist.

Whatever it is you want, you are the only one standing in your way, but you can't move: you're paralyzed by this inundating resistance.  You can't figure out how to get out of your thoughts and just PUT. ONE (damn) FOOT. IN FRONT. OF. THE OTHER.  Thinking about the task as a whole seems enormous, too much, or maybe even pointless by now... whatever your mind is telling you.  You've created an unsatisfying end (or thirty) to the story without even engaging beyond page three.  You put the book down and are ready to walk away.  

'I already know what's going to happen,' you tell yourself.  But you don't.  But you sure know what's going to happen if you stick to that thinking: nothing.  Nothing will happen.  Nothing will change.  Nothing will come to you if you don't go get it.  Or even just ask for it... though asking isn't easy when you know someone has the power to say 'no'.

Isn't just letting it go easier to deal with than finding out what you want is no longer for sale, not in your size, or just slightly out of your reach?  'Sorry,' your little heart tells you, and it feels so real, before you've even tried seeking the (actual) truth.

I play this game.  The more important the thing that I want, the more frozen I become.  This started in college as I was nearing the end of my studio classes; a resistance kicked in that I'd never known existed within me before.  I feared everything.  I couldn't put pen to paper, or finger to keyboard.  I slept hoping to wake up without this heaviness existing upon me.   I punished myself and denied myself playtime.  But it never went away.  The heaviness stuck, time kept ticking, and deadlines were looming.  I became a zombie.  I knew the motions, and I tried to just Do the Work to distract myself.  This worked for a little while, until I'd become overwhelmed again and have to try a different approach. Then I'd start this process all over again.

I feared failure more than anything I've feared in my entire life.  I feared going all this way and not getting that degree, or that stupid little B that I needed.  I was so terrified of failing that I almost made sure I failed just so I could know if I would survive it.  What is it that makes us do this to ourselves?

Today I had something important to do.  Actually, this week I had something important to do.  I wanted to get it done Tuesday.  It didn't happen.  Wednesday passed... Thursday... 'okay, okay.'  And then the external resistance kicked in.

'Just how strong are you Sera?  How much can you handle?  How much do you want this?'  THAT... that is when my perseverance kicks in... the inner athlete in me sees a challenge.  'Oh, so you think I'm going to let this beat me down?'  I had to get something printed... and of course I'm out of ink at my house.  The first place I go, the only place I thought I'd have to go, can't print something double sided and make it line up.  'Are you kidding me?'  Maude is now having a field day.  Here we go... nothing can be that easy.  

I start calling print stores, and no one's answering.  By this time, it's after 6pm... and they're probably closed.  But I've got the determination NOW; I need to do this NOW.  I need it printed in color on card-stock.  Still, no one's answering.  The library prints for free on regular paper, and black and white.  'Something is better than nothing, Sera.'  Okay.  To the library I go.  I print.  I print a few extra copies just in case.  I check out the book I reserved from another library.  I walk out to my car and realize... I did it, and yet, nothing is going to change in the next 12 or even 24 hours.  I want color and card-stock.  I don't want to settle.  I want to do this right.

Friday morning.  Body is sore.  Supposed to do this, need to do that.  I can't do one thing because I'll be distracted by the other: I can't go on my scheduled weekly 'artist's date' because I will be beating myself up for not doing what I need to do.  One foot in front of the other.  Get dressed.  Put your contacts in.  Make yourself presentable so you can face the day without confidence as yet another distraction.  Bring all your supplies, your zip-drive and your card to pay.  Just do one step at a time.

Drive to the print store.
And then print.
Pay.
Cut.
(Breathe.)
Paste.  
Drive.
(Breathe some more.)
Deliver.

And now... it's DONE.  And while one step at a time was manageable, I was nearly in tears by then end of this process.  But I did it.  And now there will be no regrets, no lost opportunities, no blame to throw around.  Take THAT, Maude. 

I'm doing the best that I can. (And yes I have to keep telling myself this.)

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. 

_______________
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.