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On Birthdays + Grief

tomorrow i turn 37. birthdays are a big deal to me. i like being celebrated and feeling loved… special. but this year’s birthday hangs in a cloud of grief that i know cannot be shaken loose. i know it will shift with time. and despite my trying to rush beyond the pain, it is still here. 

i’ve been feeling extremely lonely lately. being single tends to do that for me. i’ve learned to place romantic relationships on a pedestal and without one, i feel *so* alone. 

now, i have wonderful friends and community. and the wise part of my brain recognizes that. and i feel so fortunate to be loved by several lovely humans. 

yet the weight of my singleness aches in my bones this year. 

yearning, still, months later, for a man who doesn’t want to be with me. 

sitting with the grief of last year’s ending of my marriage to my best friend. 

shame for this self-induced loneliness due to cutting ties with my family. 

and years of utilizing self-isolation as a (not always healthy) coping mechanism. 

i find myself feeling like i often do around the holidays. like i’m meant to be excited, joy-filled, happy. 

yet those states have been harder and harder for me to reach lately. 

some friends recently asked how i wanted to spend my birthday. and we, somewhat jokingly, landed on howling at the moon in the middle of the woods. and maybe that’s what would be serve me this year. 

i’m finding that birthdays and aging are less about a big party with people who barely know me… the real me. but instead choosing to surround myself with friends and (chosen) family who can support and love me, no matter my emotional state. and lord, there are so many!

if you’ve made it this far, thank you for reading. thank you for being here. thank you for seeing me.  thank you, thank you, thank you. 

here’s to 37. and learning to love myself, partnered or not. lonely or not. happy or not. grieving or not. 

100% More than Last Year

I am 100% more grounded than I was a year ago. And I still have days where I can’t quite settle.

I am 100% more in touch with my grief than I was a year ago. Yet I still find ways to ignore and numb my pain.

I am 100% more loving - to others and myself - than I was a year ago. But some part of me still chooses subtle abuse as a means of motivation. 

Healing is not linear. 

I know you’ve heard that before. But can you let it really sink in? 

Healing, like life, ebbs and flows. Sometimes it feels like you take two steps forward and one step back. In the really challenging times, maybe it’s even one step forward and two steps back.

But, sweet sensitive soul — 

The goal of healing is not to achieve perfection. 

The goal of healing is not to avoid ever being activated again.

The goal of healing is to learn... and unlearn. 

The goal of healing is to fall back into old patterns. Then recognize those reactions sooner to their origin, not years, months, or weeks later. 

The goal of healing is to show an immense capacity of love for your younger parts that have been trying to protect you all these years. 

The goal of healing is to live again. To know that you will be triggered by someone you love or a stranger on the street. And now, you know that you have richer resourcing and compassion to keep showing up for your life. 

Would you please take some time to journal, think, or create art about the ways in which you are 100% more [blank] than last year?

More confident. More calm. More angry. More uncertain. More connected. More artistic. More overwhelmed. Embrace it all.

I know it may not always feel like progress is being made, sweet soul… but, I promise it is.

You are 100% more healed than you were a year ago. And that is worth celebrating!

Self Screensaver

Is it weird that I set my laptop’s wallpaper to this photograph of myself?

I don’t worry about that when I’m home alone, but when I sit down to work at a coffee shop, I am unexplainably aware of how weird it must be that I have a photograph of MYSELF stretched across a 13-inch computer screen.

“How fucking narcissistic is she?” is what I presume most people would think if they noticed.

But what they don’t know is the years it’s taken to heal my relationship with my body, my movement, even how I feel about dance itself. 

So yes, I proudly display this gorgeous photograph by Hannah Sharriee as my own wallpaper. Because it makes me feel seen, cherished, and deeply cared for by my own self for once. 

And if that ain’t healin’ babes, I don’t know what is!

What Does it Mean to be Trauma-Informed and Why is it Important Along Your Healing Journey? 

Whether you consider yourself a survivor of trauma or not, I can guarantee you’ve experienced some level of it before. Maybe it was only something as small as getting cut off in traffic and being unable to dislodge that feeling of anger in a timely or appropriate manner. Or maybe you’re all too familiar with the pain of trauma, as you’ve been closely linked with it time and time again — through death, assault, natural disaster, or oppression (to name a few).

Your trauma may be what we refer to as “little t trauma” — aka “not that significant” to the masses, but to YOU it may still feel big or important. 

Perhaps your trauma is closer to what we call “big T trauma” — the horribly unfair things that come to mind when one hears the word “trauma”. There is hope for you, I promise. Your trauma does not have to define you and it does not have to continue shaping every decision of your life.

The *severity* of your trauma does not matter.

Read that again.

The severity of your trauma 

does 

NOT 

matter. 

And I share this as a means of liberation for people on both sides of the trauma spectrum. 

What may feel incredibly difficult and challenging to me may have no effect on you at all. That’s the tricky and magnificent part of trauma —  it does not affect us all in the same manner. 

But it does affect us. 

No matter the “size” of your trauma, we have all lived through some amount of hardship. The way you feel about your pain or your past is valid.

So, why is healing from trauma so vital for our well-being? And what does it mean to be trauma-informed?

Living with trauma keeps us stuck in survival mode. Every thing is a threat. Life feels - and often is - unexplainably difficult. You may be stuck in fight or flight — constantly on edge and guarded or always go, go, go. Or you may be stuck in a freeze response — unable to move forward with ease and trust for others or yourself. 

Learning your patterns and triggers and how to more effectively cope with stress leads to a softer, safer, and more balanced life. Who wouldn’t want that?

As a coach and movement specialist, being trauma-informed means that I approach healing holistically. Say what? That means that I take into account that a person coming to me for services has likely experienced trauma and needs to be treated as a whole person, rather than focusing in on only one issue. 

Here’s an example: If you’re coming to me for hip pain, I’m not only going to look at your hip and the physical pain that exists there. Together, we’ll be curious about other areas of the body plus the emotional ties attached to your physical body and its pain.

For me, trauma-informed care encompasses: 

- movement modalities like somatic practices, dance, or trauma-informed yoga

- mindfulness practices like meditation, journaling, and creativity

- emotional / psychological support through coaching, energy work, and therapy*

(*not with me)

So why is trauma-informed care important for us ALL?

We’ve all experienced some level and degree of trauma. Period.

We cannot examine our trauma in tiny, compartmentalized aspects of our life, either.

Plus, we live in a world where we are, at almost all times, witnessing trauma on a global scale.

For Highly Sensitive People (HSPs), we are especially attuned to and sensitive of the world’s pain, trauma, violence, and subtleties that non-HSPs do not experience. So for you, sweet HSP, trauma-informed care is not a luxury, but a necessity.

Trauma-informed care guides you into harmony between your body, mind, heart, and spirit again. 

To learn more about the services I offer, click here.

Grieving a Body in Pain

i’ve had widespread chronic pain since 2009. 

it ebbs + flows. there are seasons where i almost forget its existence. but it inevitably returns. 

i shame myself for doing the “wrong” things or not doing enough of the “right” ones. 

there’s a part of me that’s convinced that if i just try harder, do more - the pain will go away. 

or if i could just heal all my emotional pains, the physical pains would dissipate too. 

i carry a heavy burden of shame because i’m trauma informed + have so many somatic tools. and therefore, i “should” be able to fix myself. i “should” know better. 

but what if this isn’t something to fix? what if i don’t need to hold the blame for this pain?

how would it feel to grieve the seemingly impossible dream of having a fully abled, pain-free body? 

i share this not for your pity or sympathy. but i hope my story helps others in pain. 

it’s easy to believe that your pain is your fault. and if you could just try one more thing or show up fuller, the pain will die. 

but this is your - and my - permission slip to just be. be angry with your body that has failed you. be deeply upset by the setbacks + limitations. allow yourself to grieve being in *this* body. without the spiritual bypassing of having to see the silver lining or be grateful for your body’s wisdom. 

today, move + feel. simply be with what is.

Take Me to Church

If one year ago, you would have told me I’d be waking up early on a Sunday morning to go to church, I would have laughed - maybe even spat - in your face.

“Church” is a triggering word with so much weight to it. 

I grew up under the hypocrisy of the Catholic Church, which was a true mind fuck as a young teen. “Love everybody” (but really we only mean straight, white, affluent folks).

I lost my connection with the church in high school and for a long time following, refused to admit the existence of God. I’d eventually find my way back to believing in a God - not the one I was raised on though. But my journey to my relationship with spirituality via yoga and other Eastern practices is a story for another time.

So, how did I get back to church?

Well, this is a special kind of church. There are no pews or kneeling, shame or confessions to be made. 

Earth Church is a beautiful gathering of like-minded folks under the trees of McCallum Park. 

We play music.
We love on and receive from Mother Earth.
We learn about environmental topics and social injustices. 
We acknowledge the land. 
We dance, we sing, we play. 
We connect with our inner child.

If you’re craving community and unsure where to find your people, I want to invite you to church.

And it’s ok if “church” still makes you cringe a little. Please come sit and sing and play and then see you how feel.

Earth Church takes place on the second Sunday of each month at 10am at McCallum Park. Jasper Wolfe and Shannon Andrews Skipper are the two incredible humans in charge. But they’ll tell you that Earth Church is led by all of us. Open to all genders, races, religions. This is truly a place to come 100% as you.

Find more info here at the Earth Church Facebook.

Grief + Divorce

There’s a certain brand of loneliness that arrives after a divorce. A special kind of grief in having to allow yourself the time and space to mourn an entire life you had dreamt of. Though I guess that’s true of grief and losing someone to death as well…

I’ve been fortunate enough to have few people “close” to me die. So, grief is foreign to me. The way it ebbs and flows, nipping at my heels only on certain days… Your birthday. While I’m at a music festival. On a random Tuesday afternoon.

Grief invites a certain kind of sadness I had not yet experienced. Or had never given myself permission to fully feel for fear of it swallowing me whole.

Divorce - even when it’s completely your choice - conjures up memories of all the ways in which you both failed. How you both gave up trying and eventually the desire to make it work simply vanishes. 

Anger and resentment returns when you see all the ways your partner has changed for someone else, something else. The things you craved and needed suddenly do become important when the gravity of losing you hits them. 

Or maybe your worst fear is true after all. That they simply did not want to put in the effort for YOU. That it is, in fact, personal. 

Tender heartache emerges when you choose to confront your own shortcomings and the pain you caused. When you have to open your eyes to the ways in which you fell short.

Transitions are wildly challenging and I know I’m not alone. I hope my story touches someone who’s in the midst of divorce or maybe you’re in a season of grief for another reason.

There’s little resolution or advice here. Just a simple sharing of my own current experience. 

I do know that grief will shift and move and I must flow with it. So, I encourage you to do the same. 

Create a support system for the days where grief feels like too much. 

Know and trust that you can allow yourself to fully sit with any emotions that arise during your transition out of this relationship. 

And hey, I’m so incredibly proud of you for following your heart, dear one.