i've had these wings all along

and then suddenly I realize I've had these wings all along

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landslide

oh, mirror in the sky, what is love

can the child within my heart rise above

and can i sail through the changing ocean tides

can i handle the seasons of my life

ooh, oh oh, i don't know

+stevie nicks+

And yes, yes I do know. Sometimes. I know that I can sail. And that I can handle. And that I can breathe through. All of it. It may not look pretty. There are tears. And screams. And snot. But there is also courage. And strength. And joy. There is the drowning and the flying. The certain and the wavering. The fear and the love. I'm leaning into all of it. Feeling all of it. Loving myself through all of it. 

And also dehydrating all.the.things. Because it keeps my mind busy. And my boys fed. Shock can only be felt in small increments. And I thank my higher frequency for knowing just how much to release. And when. Because sometimes I don't know, too. 

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all about legs

I didn't have any big, politically charged, feminist reasons to stop shaving my legs.

I just wanted to get to know them better. 

Let me back up a little.

I spent a great deal of my life not liking my legs. I cursed them. Cried about them. Hid them. Abused them. To be fair, this disgust and abuse was targeted to most of my body, not just my legs, but we're just focusing on legs here. And these legs of mine have taken a lashing from me. 

So much energy... wasted on picking them apart. 

So much time... wasted on hiding and holding back.

Something shifted in me several years ago. Hitting my 30's, perhaps. I looked down for the first time and thought "Oh hell yea, this body ... these legs ... this is me. All me. Strong. Beautiful. These legs have held me up through it all. They never gave up on me, even when I gave up on them. They supported my body growing 3 amazing children. They gave me the ability to walk those babies to sleep on restless nights. The ability to run around with them when they became mobile. The ability to play soccer and ball and tag. The ability to hike and climb and explore. They're amazing. And dammit, they're pretty sexy, too. Not as sleek and tight as they were when I was younger. When I hated them and wished them different. They have some wiggle and dimple to them now. And stretch marks. Oooh they have stretch marks. And I love every last one of them. Telling my story. A story of strength and courage and life and love. 

My new found love for my legs led me to want to get to know them a bit better. 

I've been shaving since... I can't remember. A long time. 12, maybe. 13. My first shave was quite the experience. I gathered my supplies: razor, cream, water, towel, boombox. You need tunes when you're shaving, ya know. My tune of choice ... Skid Row. Yea, me and my legs were going to do it right! I was all set. I laid out the towel on my bedroom floor; the cup of water sitting next to me. I dipped my fingers in the water, and flicked droplets at my left leg. Uncapping the shaving cream, I lathered up. A lot. I used almost a full can when all was said and done. (insert big bulging eyed emoji here). Dipped the razor (the pink disposable kind) in the cup of water, angled the blade near my ankle, placed the slightest amount pressure onto my leg, and slowly pulled the razor upward against my skin. That was so ... easy. And smooth. And pain-free. What the hell was all the fuss about? Cautions of cuts, rashes, burns all seemed like complete bullshit to me. Like a lie perpetuated to keep young girls from shaving. But why? Why lie about something so silly? The cost of razors I concluded. It's always all about the money, after all. I dipped and wriggled the razor around in the cup of water to clean off the mountain of shaving cream atop it, and I proceeded to shave the hell out of my left leg. And you know what ... every last swipe of the razor was just as smooth as the first. I felt triumphant. I was a woman now. No denying it. And I uncovered a massive widespread lie to all girls everywhere while I was at it. Haa. I was singlehandedly going to change the world with this information! But first, I had to finish the task at hand.

I set my sights on my right leg. I dipped my fingers in the now drenched-with-shaving-cream cup of water, and flicked the droplets at my unshaven leg. I had a thought as I cleaned off the razor again... how often are you supposed to change razors? After each leg? I wasn't sure, so I decided to inspect the blade to see if it was ready to be tossed. Wait. Where was the blade? What the hell was this pink plastic thing? I pulled at it, and POP, off it flew, revealing the shiny metal of razor blade underneath. 

Are you fucking kidding me? Seriously? I shaved an entire leg with the razor cap on? And I didn't notice? 

So much for smooth.

So much for triumphant.

So much for uncovering *Code 76* lies.

oooor maybe not ... 

And then my first REAL swipe of a razor against my skin left me with a cut. 

Sonofabitch. 

And so began the long affair with shaving my legs. 

• I've learned over the years that shaving cream is, in fact, not needed (much less a whole damn bottle). Water alone does just fine. 
• I've learned that those pink disposable razors suck. They hurt. They don't last long. And they are bad for the environment.
• I've learned that there is no lie when it comes to cuts, rashes, burns ... even if you haven't nicked yourself in a long long time, you're not invincible to it.  
• I've learned that sometimes it's nice, the rhythm and ritual of shaving. Meditative, even. But most times it's really just a time consuming pain in the ass that is on constant repeat. 

It was nearing the end of summer this past year. We were in Seattle. The weather was ... ehhh. The beach was too far away. I hadn't shaved in a couple of weeks. Standing in the shower day after day deciding, nah, maybe tomorrow. Days, turned into weeks. And weeks into months. Pretty soon I was so far into this no shaving thing, without even "trying", that I decided I would continue. Purposely. To see what would happen. You know, get to know my legs a little better. How long would the hair get? What color? How thick? Would it have any curl or texture to it? What would it feel like? 

It's been about 6 months now. 

There are many different colors swirling around down there. 

Pretty fine, as far as thickness goes. 

Not too long. Or curly. Or textured. 

Feels soft. 

And... mostly I don't even notice. 

Except when I'm getting out of the shower. 

Standing there after turning the water off,  my legs feel like a Plinko Board as the droplets of water maneuver themselves down my legs. No longer in just a straight line; the drops zig and zag through my hair. It's quite funny, and funny feeling, cracks me up every time. And then the fact that I am cracking up in the shower, alone, cracks me up even more. My showers have now also turned into a great ab workout! 

Sweet.

Feminism and politics weren't my reason for this experiment, but now that I'm all in, bigger energy does play a role in what I do going forward. It always does ;-) There were a few times that I felt the urge to shave, but I held off because I couldn't be sure of my motives. It's not that I'm now against shaving my legs. Totally not. But I do want to make sure that when/if I do decide to shave again it will be because *I* want to shave, for whatever reason; not because I'm feeling self conscious in a culture that puts way too much pressure on women to change themselves in order to "appear more appealing". Nope... won't be a part of that. Not this girl. Not anymore. 

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searching for my smile

searching for my smile

its here

somewhere

in these waves

their consistent rhythm

the tide so strong

unwavering in it's commitment

even on the darkest of nights

the longest of days

she's churning

creating

sustaining

i'm sure my smile is here

rooted

until i'm ready to feel those roots again, too

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if i could just

lying on the cold grass in the midst of chaos
mind swirling with disconnected thoughts
can't make sense of a single one
hands cupping the sides of my head
hard
putting pressure on my temples
hoping to disrupt the turbulence inside
if i could just slow it
if i could just slow it

looking around for distraction
anything to get out of my own head
helicopters flying high above
truck breaks screeching from behind
plastic bag rattling in the trash can
overwhelm
sensory issues causing sharp pulsing through my body
arms wrapping around tight
if i could just calm it
if i could just calm it

turning my gaze to a towering tree in front of me
searching for grounding
eyes fixated on a single piece of bark
the way it's pulling away from the trunk
veering off of it's projected path
yet still holding strong to it's foundation
connected
what happened to it
did trauma push it away
why is it fighting so hard to stay
if i could just hear it
if i could just hear it

sadness washes over me
a chill claims my spine
tracing the tree up to it's highest branches
many dead leaves still hanging on
vulnerable
will they know when it's time to let go
have the courage to fall into the unknown
do they know that by setting themselves free
rebirth is attainable
if i could just talk with it
if i could just talk with it


feels so incomplete . this writing . left to sit all afternoon . waiting for more words to find their way . some type of closure . sense making . end . nothing more came . incomplete is it's complete. no, there's no irony in that...

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Feeling all the feels with Kurt Cobain

I didn't have plans to write what I'm about to write today. I had a different subject in mind all together. Although, no, that doesn't feel accurate. The subjects are entirely related; cousins maybe? Yes, cousins. 1st cousins. Anyway, I was challenged (it was suggested to me) today to quote Kurt Cobain as we drove out of Aberdeen WA, and it was in his words that I felt the shift in this post stir.

The first words of Kurt's that came flooding back to me when this challenge was issued...
"Thank you for the tragedy. I need it for my art"
And oh how perfect those words were for today.

I have felt (still sometimes feel the ping of) great shame and discouragement feeling my artistic soul come alive during times of tragedy; while times of happiness bring an artistic numbness ... a void. This has always been such a source of confusion for me; I couldn't understand that. Or me. Or what that made me. "I'm creative ... but only if someone is mean to me". "I'm a writer ... but only when I'm sad". "I'm a painter ... but only when I'm mad". I couldn't make sense of that, so it caused me great heartache for much of my life.

Now. I love me. All of me. And this little piece of me ... I really love.
I am an empath. I feel the energy of everything around me. And I feel it big. While this has created a lot of big big hurt in my life, both to me and then FROM me; this gift is not something I would ever want to wish away. It is who I am. I found awareness with that part a long time ago. Just knowing that what I had been experiencing my whole life was actually a "thing" was such a comfort to me. I could feel a warm blanket instantly envelope me, and I wanted to learn everything I could about this "empath thing" (*grin).  With the awareness and the research, I am somewhat better at finding the balance between feeling/understanding the emotions & energies of everything around me, and becoming the emotions & energies of everything around me. I'm not good at that balance thing yet, at all, but at least now I know there IS a balance there that I can stretch to reach.

Understanding this piece of me was crucial to understand my artistic muse.
I, as an empath, feel EVERYTHING. Negative emotions & energies are so much more intense for me then positive, so they override. I have often (that sounds like a giant understatement) found myself drowning/sinking/mind spinning madness in a pool of negative energy that was not mine to begin with, but I took it on just the same, from anyone or anything nearby feeling it. This is such an intense feeling. So big. So heavy. My muse pops in during these moments and extends her hand. Together we artistically process ourselves through such darkness. It's my release. It's how I let it all go. It's how I know I will breath again. And once I do, just like that, she gently slips into the distance again... waiting for the next time I am in need of intense support.

That ... is beautiful to me.
And I understand me now.
A clarity so profound that it's hard to understand how I was so confused
This piece of me, as big and blurry as it can feel, makes me all the more beautiful to me.

Oh Kurt, you're still teaching me. Sharing the light. And the dark. Bringing the magic.

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the details are mine

So I've been getting some emails lately wondering if I'm ok. Not because of what I've been sharing on my blog, but rather the concern is derived from what I haven't been sharing.

I'm a chronic over sharer. That's no secret around here, lol. I've gotten a lot of slack and hate mail / comments over the years because of the way in which I blog. Laying it all out there. A messy chronicle of my life. A dumping ground for intense thoughts and feelings that some believe should remain private. It wasn't too terribly long ago that I addressed all of this in my post Holistic Blogging, so I understand the worry and concern. I appreciate it.

I haven't shared the details here of what happened in my marriage almost 9 weeks ago. I haven't shared the details with many people at all. Less then a handful, actually. The who's, the whats, the whys ... I haven't shared them. For no other reason then it just doesn't feel important to share right now. Unless I'm specifically asked, the thought of sharing the details just isn't there. It happened. Whatever "it" is, it happened. I have my version of the events that took place. He, no doubt, has his version. The versions are ours; the end result is the same; the details are irrelevant right now. Maybe one day I'll feel a pull to express them here, to put words to them, to let the experience root out and ground itself in this community for others to take what they will from it ... but right now it's just not important, and I won't force it.

I do still very much believe in everything I said in that Holistic Blogging post. I don't believe in sugar coating; my feelings are all here. Raw and vulnerable. Hurt and open. All here. I'm working through this. Some days are better then others, of course ... and I don't feel shame in my weaker moments. I'm not going to hide them. I'm still me. I'm still a chronic over-sharer, and I have no plan to ever stop :-) But the details are mine right now. And his.

I love you guys for your concern.
Super intense hardcore love for ya ... oh yea ;-)

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Exposed

I love to sing. Love it a lot. Since I was a little girl singing into my hairbrush, so sure I was going to become the next Madonna, or at the very least be part of The Bangles. And either Sebastian Bach ( of skid row) or Steven Tyler (of areosmith) was going to be my husband. We'd make sweet sweet music together! Hubba Hubba

Singing has always been a part of me.

That is until one day in high school. My friends and I were getting ready for a little party we were throwing. The music was on, the food being made, breakables were being moved up, and we were signing. Some fun little muppets beach party cd (it was one of our favorites! yes, in high school!) I was just belting away to sugar shack when one of my friends said to me "you can't carry a tune, and you're way off key". I laughed it off, but inside... it crushed me.

I don't think she meant to be crushing, of course. And I certainly don't think she intended for that one moment to shift my life so completely. But, it did. I stopped singing after that. Not just during our pre-party prep ... I stopped singing completely. Even when by myself.

It took me a while to get comfortable enough to sing alone again. Even when my Mom was gone, our doors were closed and locked, window shades drawn, and I was alone in my room ... it took a while to step out of the fear. I sat there quiet and awkward. Started to write poetry instead; you know ... stay quiet and put it on paper. But eventually I missed singing so much that I slowly walked back toward it. I first started humming, and then mumbling along to lyrics. I was quiet and reserved, but I gradually became more brave. I even started singing in the car again; but the windows stayed UP!

I didn't get the same high from it that I used to, and I was lonely, too. I missed singing with people. Not enough to put myself back out there; not even close. I wouldn't even sing in front of my husband.

Then we started having babies, and Oh Em Gee did I ever love singing to them (when Nick was't around). No matter what I was saying to them, I think I put it to song. Nursing, rocking, playing, cleaning, eating, book reading ... everything was a song. We lived our lives as a musical, lol. When they got older and started singing back with me ... oh holy hell was I in heaven! I made myself believe that was enough for me for a long, long, long time. When Nick wasn't around, the kids and I would crank the music and scream sing our hearts out! When Nick was around, the kids would still scream sing, and I would quietly mouth lyrics under my breath. No, it wasn't great... but it was certainly better then my years of musical celibacy. I told myself that was good enough.

But, good enough never does last, does it? These past couple of years I have really stretched myself. Pushed myself. Questioned myself. I'm not ok settling. If I'm lucky enough to live to the ripe ol' age of 117; I'll still only be on this planet for such short amount of time ... I'm determined to give it every thing I've got. I'm a work in progress with this empowering philosophy, mind you, but it's one I'm working on every.single.day. So, this no singing in front of other people thing eventually started to bother me. A lot.

Lets face it. The Bangles never did call me to join their band, I was certainly not going to become the next Madonna, and I don't know where the hell Sebastian and/or Steven are, because they're not at my house! Truth is, I may LOVE to sing, but I really am not very good at it. And the louder I sing, the more I sound like a dying frog. But so what. I LOVE to do it!

I started singing a little louder then "just under my breath" while around other people. It was/is still pretty quiet and meek, and probably inaudible over a blaring radio. I tell myself that I'm working to get louder and louder over time... and while that's true; I've found I'm not pushing myself the way I want to. This "louder and louder over time" business has given me the great excused loophole of letting it take forever ... as long as I can say "well, I was a smidge louder there in the middle; success", then I'm doing what I set out to do, right?

That's not cutting it for me anymore.

I made a video about 7 months ago. I obviously wasn't as far down this self discovery journey as I am now, so I wasn't belting anything out, but it's me ... singing. I was terrified to do it. To record myself singing. Why? I was all alone. Just me and my computer. No one ever needed to see the video if I didn't want them too. But I was still overcome with fear. Fear is intense, yo. When I was young I would record myself all the time without an ounce of fear, and yet here, all alone, I was terrified. I felt the need to have the song playing super loud; to drown me out some. But when I listened to the play back I could still hear way too much of me. I hated it. I was never going to play it for anyone. I was ashamed and embarrassed and couldn't bare to hear any judgement. But the funny thing is as soon as I berated myself enough to never want to make it public ... I sort of started loving it. I was safe and comforted in the determination that NOONE would EVER see/hear it, so now I was free to enjoy it. I felt happy, and alive, and like ME when I listened to it. I moved it over into a private folder on my computer, and I saved it ... just for me. It's not great. Turns out I can't carry a tune, and I'm always way off key ... haaa. I don't care. I don't care what I sound like ... I friggin LOVE to sing!

I've come a long, long way in these past 7 months. I like me. I'm no longer ashamed or embarrassed or unable to bare judgement regarding this video ... so, here it is! The sound of it may not have people lining up to pay me for gigs, but the fact that I did it is a big pile of awesome in my book. Perhaps it'll inspire me to make another one. A bolder one. A top of my lungs, sounds like a drowning cat one ... or maybe it'll nudge me up onto a karaoke stage when I'm not drunk ;-)


And PS ... this video; holy shit do I ever miss my dreads right now!!!
And also, the seborrheic dermatitis (or whatever the hell it is) on my face doesn't look bad at all in this video. I miss it not looking bad :-/

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Birth of The Soaring Gypsy

As much as I loved Twirling with Dragonflies; I let it go for something a bit more representative of my current life. Soaring Gypsy speaks to my heart, my soul. 

She represents my dreams. 

She represents my life. 

She represents me. 

She IS me. 

The wind at my back; the wonder in my eyes. 

Wild and Free; Soaring high as can be.



ps ... if anyone knows where the awesome graphic above originated please let me know. I found it in a free clipart folder online ... I would love to give credit to the amazing artist!

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Part Three ... Feeling Fear

As I said in part two ...
Trust really is amazing. I'm still in awe over how this journey played out for me when I opened myself up and embraced trust. There was no (*known*) fear that day. But I've been asked what kind of fear plagued me prior. There were quite a few things that stood in my way. Obstacles I needed to work through; trust in. 

The biggest by a long, long, LONG shot; the ever spreading rash (seborrheic dermatitis) on my face would be so much more visible with no hair to use as distraction. So pronounced. So defining. So UGLY. That alone paralyzed me. It was bad (in my eyes) before we moved to this area 7 short months ago. It's 2-3 times as bad now, and I've shed many a tear about it (ok, tear shmear ... they were all full blown hysterical crying fits; lots of them). Something about this place has a huge portion of my face+ flaring up big time. I'm now suspecting it may be the water; so I have a heavy duty filtration system in the mail. But the thing about this rash ... it doesn't ever go away. Atleast in the 16-17 years that I've been dealing with it; it hasn't. Once a new spot/sore/lesion appears; it's here to stay. I have hope that one day I'll find something that will work to "erase" them, but right now I'm still working to find something to stop the progression of them!

Sooo, I have this "thing" all over my face, in my hair line, and now creeping down my neck, too. Serious crippling fear over shedding my hair ... a huge deterrent from the ever expanding splotches ... and opening that whole area up. There would be nothing to hide it behind anymore. They'd be right there. BAM! They'd be all "hey look at me" ... all red, all dry, all flakey, all sickly looking.  

Since shaving; I've had good and bad days with this issue. I'm working through it. I haven't yet let it stop me from putting myself out there; though I've thought about it. The intensity of the flare ups have been pretty bad; very red, very itchy, very much ALL OVER; I'm pushing past it. I've spent so much of my life ashamed of it. Letting it dictate who I was; what I was. There was a time in my early 20's when I didn't leave my house for months because of it. Months! And when I look back at that time I only had a handful of lesions. Nothing, NOTHING compared to what it is now. When starting this post I felt strong and capable. Right now I'm feeling a little scared and weak again. It's ok. I trust I'll pull myself through this. It's a process. I haven't, not even for one second, regretted my decision to buzz it all off. Too busy beaming with excitement I suppose ;-).  I'm so deeply thankful for it. There's no more hiding. No more "putting it off". I'm sure there will be a lot more tears shed, but I'm standing at the plate ready to swing as many times as it takes.

That asterisk up there about having no fear on the day I shaved ... I learned that wasn't entirely true. While I didn't feel a sense of fear during the process; reflection afterward showed that there was some. Thoughts of letting myself down/not really finishing what I started began to flutter around in my mind. Nagging at me. I used a size 2 clipper sleeve instead of just buzzing away sleeve free; and it proved bothersome for me. I came SO far; and I felt like I "wimped" out in a sense. Fear, again. Fear to really get down to it; to fully expose it; scalp and all. What if I had more lesions on my scalp then I realized? Did I really want to expose them? (turns out there are more up there then I realized, btw!). I remedied it. Bare sleeved clippers be mine. Hair gone. Swing! Score!

Again, for me, exposing my face was by far the biggest fear that stood in my way. But I had others:

• I was fearful of judgement. I want to travel! The idea traveling AND shaving my head just seemed too scary. It's one thing to be stationary. Eventually you'll run out of people in your town to shock, right? Eventually. But on the road, new places; new people at every turn ... the possibility of a never ending line of judgement. That fear definitely stopped me.
• I was fearful of losing myself. My dreads had become so self-defining, as I said in part one ... who would I be without them? I was fearful of being lost. 
• The pure vulnerability of stripping down to "bare bones" was super scary. 
• I feared what my head shape would look like. Perhaps I'd have bumps and points all over, lol. 
• I feared I wouldn't feel like a woman anymore. Stripped of my beauty; bare and ugly.

While I haven't regretted by decision to "buzz up"... my reflection has caught me off guard a few times. I've had to do several double takes in the last couple of days. Which is not a bad thing ... new reflection; new me!  Though on more then one occasion I have seen a similarity between myself and Freddy Krueger... which is really kind of freaking me out! lol! I've also noticed that it seems to be more difficult then it once was to get dressed. I feel I may be trying to over compensate in the "girly clothes/accessories" department. But then when I really think about it; I've always had more difficulty getting dressed in colder weather. I don't like cold weather clothes. I don't like to feel bundled up. Loose and free is what I'm after. So I may just be uninspired by my winter attire here in WI, and it's causing me to rip through all of my clothes each time I want to leave; rather then a real sense of "girly overcompensation". We'll see. I'm leaning into all of these feelings. Letting each one teach me a little more about myself. 

I do believe I'll dread up again one day (for those who have asked) ... but right now the freedom is unmatched. I mean, c'mon, I can shower and be out the door in 5 minutes flat! I can wash my head at night and not shiver until the next morning. I can roll around in the sand with carefree abandon. I can enjoy a scalp massage by my husband. I can wear hats again! And when we leave here in a month (yes, we're leaving) ... I will run to the ocean and feel alive as the waves crash over my free noggin! 

I am every bit a woman. 

I am beautiful. 

Vulnerability itself is beautiful. 

My dreads never did define me.

I define me. 

My choices.

My character.

My strength.

My truth.

My life defines me. 

And it's a beautiful life indeed! Maybe messy, but beautiful!

If that's not beautifully perfect enough ... it snowed that night!
Cleansing
Purifying
SNOW

Whatta way to start a brand new year!

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Part Two ... TRUST

reflection

Trust really is amazing. I'm still in awe over how this journey played out for me when I opened myself up and embraced trust.

I knew I wanted to wait until the kids went to bed before I got to cutting, so the rest of the evening was spent in a state of euphoria. A pleasant mixture of both enjoying my dreads for the last few hours; as well as immense excitement for the freedom to come. I talked to the kids about it before they went to sleep. I didn't want to just throw my bald head on them the next morning. I envisioned screams of an intruder! lol. They deserved to have some time to sort through their feelings, ask questions about it, and find comfortability without being forced to deal with it. We spent about an hour talking before I tucked them in, kissed them goodnight, and then sat in front of the fire and meditated for a while. Soaking in the feeling.

fire meditation

saying goodbye to my dreads.

I spent some time honoring my dreads. Thinking about everything I had been through since putting them in; good and bad. All the life changes that seemed to stem from the strength, patience, and love I took from them. But also all of the chains I felt tied to because of the fear I felt about "losing myself" without them. I've learned a lot about myself and life through this experience. I am forever changed because of them; because of who I became with them.

one last embrace

My dreads symbolized the past.

I envisioned breaking free from the past and stepping into the future. 

One last deep breath... SNIP!

off with the dreads

exposed

My hands were calm. My heartbeat rhythmic. No fear as I carefully snipped away each and every dread; exposing myself. Opening myself. FREEING myself. The sense of calm I felt still amazes me. It was unbelievable. And then when the clippers took that first buzz down my head ... oooh the happiness I felt. The giddy excitement that burst out of me. The smile that was permanently fixed on my mouth. LOVE! 

freedom

I chose to burn my dreads in our New Years fire. One by one I threw them into the flames. Watched as they sizzled and bubbled; turned to smoke and drifted away. I watched my past release me from their chains. I saw my future bright and open. And it all started with trust.

TRUST will be my power word for the new year.

Hello 2012 ... you look mighty sexy to me!

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Pass me the scissors and set me free!

freshly shaved head ... marinating in the weightless freedom

I sat on a blanket on the ground; watching the fire dance as the smoke was pulled up the chimney. My face soaking up the heat; my breathing slow and deliberate. Feeling such a deep sense of peace and calm; enjoying the moment so immensely. No thoughts; just wide open enjoyment and appreciationfor life. For my life. Two little words washed over me so strongly ... "I'm ready". 

Right here, tonight, I'm ready. 

I've wanted to shave my head for a few years, but I wasn't yet ready. Fear and Intimidation stood in my way. When I dreaded up, I knew that shedding my dreads would only come when I had enough trust in my inner strength to take that leap.

Earlier this year I made a comment to a blogger friend. Her daughter had just gotten a cute little pixie hair cut, and I replied that I may soon be sporting a similar cut. The comment came so quickly, so naturally, that I didn't really have time to process it before I sent it. It was just matter of fact. As soon as I read it back, my heart pounded. And for a couple of days after that I struggled. I struggled because I was rushing my journey. Putting undo stress and pressure on myself to "just do it already". After a couple of days, I dropped all expectations and stopped focusing on "to shave or not to shave". I stopped thinking about it ... until a couple of months later (this summer). 

I don't know what shifted in me this summer; I can't pinpoint it ... I don't think there IS anything to pinpoint, actually. I felt myself opening up. I felt myself deeply appreciating who I am as a person. And I felt myself starting to trust me. I wasn't going to rush the journey. I still felt a lot of fear and intimidation, and I was't going to rush it. I trusted my ability to work through it. No need to rush. 

An inspirational blogger friend (one I would have been able to meet in person when we toured Lambeau earlier this summer had either one of realized who the other was. Standing literally inches from each other, ha!) Tara, The Organic Sister,  released her dreads in December. Her words, her photos, her radiance ... so completely inspiring. I felt this instantaneous urge to again "just do it". I sat with that feeling for a few moments, and then thought "New Years... that sounds like a great day to take the leap". And 2 seconds later my body was so tense, my knuckles white from my clenched fists, my breathing labored. I wasn't ready. I was afraid. New Years was just a week or two away. No way. I need more time. I can't let go of my dreads. I'm not ready to shave my head. My dreads are part of me. Who will I be without them?

I took a hot, hot, hot bath and mediated. Slowed down. Calmed my brain. I loved my dreads, and I wanted to enjoy them for however long they would remain with me. So, New Years is too soon. That's ok. If I wanted to commemorate the experience with a special date; there will be plenty more opportunities. Spring! My favorite season. I feel so deeply connected to it. It's indescribable. A time of rebirth could provide a wonderful backdrop to my own personal release and rebirth. I loved that idea. And if I wasn't yet ready when spring rolled around, that would be ok, too. Because there would be summer, or the date marking our jump to full time travelers, or my birthday, or NEXT New Years. Or any day in between. I wasn't going to rush this journey before I was ready. I felt at peace. I felt great. And I stopped thinking about it, completely. Trusting that I would know when I was ready. 

We're not a religious family, so christmas doesn't carry any christian meaning to us. We do like to exchange gifts of love and appreciation during this time of year, though. It's a tradition that we've tweaked a little to fit into our beliefs, but one we still want our kids (our family) to experience. We celebrated christmas day with extended family this year; which was great! It's been so nice living near family again. But because of that, we decided to push our intimate family tradition to New Years Eve so we wouldn't feel rushed through it (having to do it before we left for Grammas, or squeezing it in after we came home). And we didn't want to do it the day before or the day after; we like to be able to savor the experience for many days after. So we waited a week. Let the excitement of the holidays with extended family settle into our hearts before we celebrated on our own. And can I just say we LOVED it. I do think we'll exchange our annual gifts on new years eve every year! It felt right to us. So special! 

Anyway, so Nick and I were up all night setting up the basement (an area we never use) because that's where the fireplace is. We carried down a couch and chair, threw blankets and pillows all over. Brought down our little ornament tree, and placed all the gifts under it. Decorated with twinkle lights and paper snowflakes. And hung the stocking on the mantel. It was magical down there. So sweet. Small and cozy. It felt like tiny little cabin isolated in the woods! 

With wrapping paper and gift bags everywhere. A warm fire blazing. Lego pieces covering the floor. Laughter filling the space. I sat in front of the fire soaking it all in. 

And right then I felt it. 

My dreads, my journey, the furthest thing from my mind ... 

Seemingly out of no where it washed over me. 

I was ready. 

No fear. No doubt. No apprehension. 

Just stillness and peace. 

A huge smiled spread across my face.

Because I slowed down and took the pressure off. Because I wasn't rushed. Because I trusted my ability to venture through this journey and know when I was ready. It happened so naturally. So organically. 

Pass me the scissors and set me free!

Part Two coming soon... with lots of photos!

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Holistic Blogging

lake michigan

Some people ask me why I don't keep blog posts like that of 3 days ago private. If I need an outlet for such intense feelings (which I guess is socially acceptable *shrug), why wouldn't I choose to instead write them in a journal, or some other secretive place; just for me (anything else is socially unacceptable I guess *double shrug). Or at the very least ... why don't I just delete the psychotic post once I'm feeling better.

The simple answer is probably because I'm lazy. It's easier to keep everything in one place, right? Less confusion for me. And actually, even if that were the only reason; that would be good enough for me! *Cheers! I'm out!

But... that's not the only reason. *'Nother round, boys.

Some believe I'm just mean spirited and lashing out to hurt others in my time of despair and / or it must be my *unhealthy way of asking for help. I'll call bullshit on both of those blanket judgements. Reality is, sure, sometimes I'm lashing out, and sometimes I may be crying for help. Not in a high school "I'm going to go on my blog and verbally bash him; that'll show him, and THE WORLD, how much he hurt me ... maybe then they'll feel bad enough to actually care and help" kind of way. Please! I don't blog with the intention of lashing out OR crying for help; but in the depths of my frustration, both can come out while writing (or talking, or looking, or... we all do it). All times, though, I am being 100% me. The good and the bad. The happy and the sad. I'm on a journey, and I have chosen to document and share that journey through writing and photography ... authentically. The raw reality of my journey; without censorship. I don't share all of everything, but I do share a little bit of everything; The whole spectrum. It's colorful up in this bitch - you have to give me that!

I can't come on here and share only feelings of happy sunshine and roses; to do so wouldn't be honest, or responsible, or in line with my purpose. And anyway, it would bore me to the point of sticking forks in my eye sockets just for sport. Not cool.

I wouldn't want a woman in despair herself, looking for a connection or understanding, to stumble upon my blog and assume the false impression that I have it all together. That sure, I have xyz going on in my life, but I'm able to maintain a clean home, am raising well adjusted kids who don't have a problem in the world, and have a calm demeanor at all times. I have no desire to portray the picture of strength and class in moments of pure hell. It's not me. It's not my reality. I don't have it all together. Not even close! My life gets messy. Really, really messy. I have intense reactions to intense situations sometimes most of the time. And that intensity can absolutely get explicit. Fuck! It would be dishonest, and even irresponsible of me to pretend otherwise.

I've visited blogs that share stories but not journeys. Example ... A woman who may also be dealing with her husband walking out on her. Oh, a kindred spirit, I'll think ... and I'll immediately feel close to her. Wanting to get to know her. Wanting to cling to a connection, an understanding, a likeness. I'm all vulnerable and sinking, and here's this gift (sick and twisted to call another woman's husband ditching her a gift, I know, but stay with me). This precious gift from the universe of another soul walking this path with me. I'm not alone. I already feel comforted, so I start to read. She writes calm, well written, zen like post after post about her enlightenment and optimism. No mess. No anger. No sadness. No confusion. No worry. No pity. Pure class, 100% of the time. WHAT?! When I'm already feeling so vulnerable and broken and looking for understanding from others who are on the same roller coaster; and those are the only types of blogs I find ... I walk away feeling even worse about myself. A weak failure. I'm struggling to even change my socks on a weekly basis; and here's Miss Zen Poppins (the lesser known of the Poppin sisters) over here all meditated and blissed out. Home is sparkly clean. Kids are not affected by the loss because of her tireless devotion and attention to the little darlings. She doesn't have dark circles or puffy eyes. And there is no way she sleeps in his old t-shirts! What kind of pathetic frumpy loser I must be!

Yea yea yea ... you can't compare yourself to others, blah blah blah. I'll call bullshit on that, too. Because when you're vulnerable and lost and looking for a connection - it's hard to not be affected by a blissed out Poppins, am I right? I mean, sure, it's something we should all strive for; not comparing ourselves to others. The thing is... that can be trying in the best of circumstances; when we're filled with exuberant amounts of confidence bursting out of our ears, and our sense of self is top notch. But in bad moments, really really bad vulnerable sinking into ourselves moments; it's an uphill battle that you wont always win. Try for it, sure, but you wont always make it. So, yes, Miss Zen Poppins on her yoga mat while simultaneously whipping up a batch of "made from scratch" waffles for little johnny while also putting little becky's hair up into a perfect little french twist is, well, fucked up!

That's not me. Obviously. And I wont pretend it is. Not for me. Not for my children. Not for my readers. I am much more drawn to the 100% authentic, raw, gritty, organic blogs that aren't afraid to show their less then perfect sides ... like mine. I'm so thankful I have this space to turn to when the intense darkness starts setting in. It's great therapeutic help. And then to come back to this space and share when I've worked through my despair, and can again see the light. It's the whole; and anything less is not acceptable for me.

I'm calling it holistic blogging. Go forth and spread the word...

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Meli Gets Pierced

Decided to close out Summerfest with a new piercing. I've wanted my eyebrow done since I was 17, so I figured it was about time! lol. I was a little nervous ... I've had my tongue done; didn't hurt at all ... and my nose done; surprisingly had some sting to it! Wasn't sure what to expect, but it really didn't hurt. The only thing I felt was a tiny bit of tugging when he twisted on the top ball on the barbell. 

The position is a little off from where I wanted it; I'm not yet sure how I feel about that. 

I'm usually a love or hate kind of person ... not really lukewarm on anything, so who knows. 

Time will tell, right? ;-)

Woot for new holes! 

*video at the end

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Sunday's Songbird ... Sick of You

The Moon is shining red tonight; if you catch my drift.

This is the second song I've chosen to highlight based on my cycle. Starting my own "Period Mix" (courtesy of No Strings Attached), lol! Although, instead of my songs being about bleeding, or flowing, or strings; they'll cater more to the "you fucking bastard" mood-swings that seem to be chucked around willy nilly while in the thick of flowing through my moon cycle (pun definitely intended).

Yea, thanks bitch!

On my way down from the swing, I can smile and rejoice in the joy of being a woman. I honestly don't mind the ol' gal. My period is in sync with the moon in a very natural and beautiful way (full moon = she's baaaaack); it gives me a very balanced/zen like feeling. It's only 3 days, and if I'm eating a pretty healthy and clean diet, I have virtually no cramps to deal with. But those mood swings ... oh, the mood swings! They swoop down and choke the zen-ful rejoicing right outta the moment. Again, I say bitch! The thieving bitch!

More then you cared to know about my "inner" workings? lol

Without further adieu ...



Sick of You ~CAKE
I'm so sick of you
So sick of me
I don't want to be with you

I'm so sick of you
So sick of me
I don't want to be with you

I want to fly away
I want to fly away

I'm so sick of work
So sick of play
I don't need another day

I'm so sick of work
So sick of play
I don't need another day

I need a hide-a-way
I need a hide-a-way

Every shiny toy
That at first brings you joy
Will always start to croy and annoy
Every camera every phone
All the music that you own
Won't change the fact you're all alone
(All alone!)

Every piece of land
Every city that you plan
Will crumble into tiny grains of sand
Every thing you find
That at first gives you shine
Always turns into the same old crime
(Same old crime!)

I want to fly away
I want to fly away
I need to fly away
I need to fly away

I'm so sick of you
So sick of me
I don't want to be with you

I'm so sick of you
So sick of me
I don't want to be with you

Every little dance
Every hidden back romance
All alone
(All alone!)
All alone

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Identity Crisis

Almost 13 years after saying "I Do" ... I finally *legally changed my name.
And actually, I don't know how I feel about it.

My military ID card came furnished with the last name Paul (lady typed up the form without even asking for verification, and I went along with it; whatever) ... Changed the name on my Drivers License almost immediately after getting married to coincide with that military ID (the only thing the dmv required back then was to show them a copy of our marriage certificate). Having the same last name as my sponsor (husband) seemed the easiest most hassle free way to deal with military crap. And since Nick wasn't around AT ALL for that 1st year, leaving me to thrust myself head first into the military world by myself, easy and hassle free were my favorites! So, really, in every day life I've been a "Paul" for years. But legally speaking (tax purposes, mainly) I'm still known by my birth name.

It's important to me that mine and the kids' last names match. Had I been thinking more clearly back then, I would have hyphenated the kids' last name. I didn't. I haven't wanted to legally change mine, nor have I wanted to go through the legalities of changing their name in order to attach a piece of my history to them. I haven't wanted to do anything. I've been stubborn, and resentful, and decided to just put it off until (... someday ... )

Well, "someday" is now fast approaching! With retirement just around the corner; my active duty military id card is soon going to expire. As soon as that expires, my drivers license will only be valid for 90 days before I''ll have to renew. After calling to see about the renewal policy for my expired ID (expired in 06!); we found out that in order for me to renew I will need to either have my license display my legal (maiden) name OR have proof of legally changing it for it to continue saying "Paul" (thereby matching every other every day card/document I have).

Kind of had to get over my stubbornness and resent real quick like, and decide which was most important ... holding onto my name or matching my kids' (they both seem so trite when typed out ... but I assure you they're valid! :-P)

You can see which I chose, but like I said, I'm not necessarily happy about it. Not necessarily unhappy either. I don't know how I feel yet ...

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