Tag Archives: honesty

Ode To My Body

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Dear Body,
I love you.
I’m sorry for taking you for granted.
I know you’ve worked really hard
to keep me alive all these years.
I’m sorry for judging you as inadequate.
I love you.
I am so grateful for all of your sensations
and the wonderful way
all of your systems work together
to maintain radiant health.
I love how elegant you are,
how nimble, how graceful.
I love how you breathe,
how you walk,
how you climb and run and dance.
I love how you rest.
Dear Body,
forgive me for all those times
I didn’t understand
and blamed you for my illness.
I know you are doing the best you can.
You are brave and noble
and I’m glad you’re mine.

I Apologize (But Not Really)

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Dear Everyone,

I apologize for the tone of my last poem.
Actually, I don’t.
I have raging PMS
and the veil between 3D reality
and the spirit world is thinner
and everything I have been suppressing
in my act to be nice and please everyone
is now coming up of its own volition.
So really, I have no control over it.
And so, if you don’t like it,
you know exactly what you can do.

Love,
Lorien

Where We Are

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Now that I’ve been
nurturing hope,
repeating
“I love myself, I love myself,”
as much as possible,
moving toward
self-acceptance
and self-compassionโ€”
I’ve been naturally drawn
to taking better care of my living space.
I’ve been decluttering the house
room by room,
taking trips to the local donation spots,
and each time I release something,
I can hear the house
sighing in relief,
breathing better.
Ahh, space.
If space is really what we need,
why do we spend some much time
accumulating things
to fill it with?
Friends,
may we stop
acquiring things
just long enough
to take a breath,
smile,
look into one another’s eyes,
and remember
where we are.

You Didn’t Know Me

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Sorting through years of being together,
so many memories surfacing,
the sentimentality of it all.
When you left,
you took what you wanted
and left the rest,
an apt metaphor for our life together.
Now I’m left to sort through
the aftermath of our togetherness…alone.
Our children’s artwork, books, clothing, and toys,
bits of this and that,
odds and ends accumulated over the years…
You told me I didn’t want to move
because I have so much sh*t
that I just don’t want to deal
with sorting it and packing it up…
You were only partially correct.
For starters…a lot of this is OUR sh*t, sir,
which is what happens when two people
create two children and live together
for eight years.
A part of me doesn’t want to deal with it,
you are rightโ€”
but that’s just one part.
That’s the part you knew and criticized,
the one that was never good enough for you.
But I have other parts.
There’s one part who has been
only too glad to purge myself of you,
my body, my mind, my heart, my spirit,
my home…free from you.
There’s another part that is so strong
and so resilient, it has been working diligently
to release, release, release the old
in order to welcome the new.
Another part is really glad for the future
without you in it as my tormentor,
and who looks forward
to (one day when I’m ready)
stepping into the embrace
of a real man,
a man who sees me and loves me
for my power and strength,
my creativity and sensuality,
my generosity and compassion,
my ability to clearly articulate my thoughts and feelings,
my humor and my excitement about life.*
Yet another part is deeply calm and peaceful,
and maybe a little amused at this whole process.
Turns out, sir,
you didn’t know me.
You didn’t know me very much at all.

*Yes, if you had seen and appreciated any of these qualities, our story would have been very different. Your loss, buster. But namaste all the same. ๐Ÿ™๐Ÿป๐ŸŒˆโœจ

Busy Christmas Eve

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Early I was awake
mind buzzing.
Sleep was not an option.
So I got up, sat for an hour,
made myself breakfast,
and by 6am I was writing.
By 9:45am I was teaching yoga
to twenty-eight people,
bright souls
willing to do the work.
We laughed, breathed,
moved together.
By 11am I was in a grocery store,
last minute shopping.
By noon I was vacuuming
my kids’ carpets.
At 2 it was time
to drop them off with their dad.
Back home
I took a long, hot bath,
then I wrapped presents.
Then it was dinner,
after which my dad
and I played guitar.
I searched for a Christmasey feeling,
but sang Irish drinking songs instead.
Now it’s time for bed.

๐ŸŽ„๐ŸŽ„๐ŸŽ„๐ŸŽ„๐ŸŽ„๐ŸŽ„๐ŸŽ„๐ŸŽ„๐ŸŽ„๐ŸŽ„๐ŸŽ„๐ŸŽ„๐ŸŽ„๐ŸŽ„
This was my first Christmas Eve without my kids since they were born. I think I did a lot of grief processing beforehand, because I felt much more peaceful and calm about it than I thought I was going to feel. I anticipated drowning my sorrows in some prosecco,
but I didn’t feel called to it, I didn’t want it.

Last year at this time my husband was still living with me and it was painful to witness Christmas Eve as a newly broken family.

This year is different. I don’t feel a need to escape my feelings. I don’t feel surprised or overwhelmed by them.

And that is a true gift.
ย 

Authenticity, Safety, and Purpose: Some Thoughts on the WHYs of This Blog

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Today I’ve spent a great deal of time in my head mulling over the virtue of being fully disclosed, vulnerable, and authentic as we reveal our humanity to one another, versus the way we’ve been conditioned to hide what we think will make others uncomfortableโ€”so that we can pretend we’re okay, and just sweep things under the rug, and just get on with our lives. This blog has been a space where I’ve purposefully made myself vulnerable, 1)As a space to explore my feelings in what I considered to be relative anonymity, because, honestly, no one in my life has ever really given a crap about this blog, so no one I know personally has ever followed it, and 2)As a way to connect with other humans who are interested in exploring the depths of feeling and being along with me.

Recently, however, multiple people have cautioned me against disclosing too much, and now I’m grappling with the idea that I might have to succumb to this societal proclivity to play nice, whistle a cheerful tune, and lay low until the storms have blown over…or worse, I’ll have to just suck it up, push my difficult feelings down, and be on my own with them until the storms have blown over. In either case, I’ll not be able to express myself authentically as I have been doing, and that feels just plain wrong. I have come to look forward to this time of sharing, reaching out, and connecting with the humans in this space who are brave enough to stand with me in the truth of what it means to be fully, consciously alive.  I have come to value immensely the words of empathy and encouragement from those readers who have taken the time to comment and let me know that I’m not posting in a void, but there are actual, real people, reading my actual, real words, and my words mean something to them, evoke something in them…

Where do I go from here?  In light of the recent trolling, the sense of safety I experienced in the past has been dashed to pieces, and I’m being pushed to make decisions out of fear of legal consequences.  I’m full of questions and the answers aren’t forthcoming.  I was given the argument “But your blog is public,” as a reason for why I should never have felt safe disclosing my personal thoughts and feelings; I was always running the risk of someone I knew reading what I had written, a risk that hardly bothered me at all. I always thought to myself, “If someone I know reads what I’ve written, good then, they’ll know how I really feel.  They’ll know I’m human.”  To have the potential for unpleasant legal consequences thrown in my face in an attempt to deter me from honestly sharing my experience feeds into the belief that we shouldn’t be real with one another, being real is unacceptable, being real is criminal, telling the truth of our experience is undesirable, etc. AUGHH.  Or how about this oneโ€”we can only be real with certain people, safe people, and everyone else gets a persona, a fabrication of a false self that will do the trick of navigating social interactions while hiding the deeper truth that waits in all of us to be expressed.  

No wonder our society is rampant with addiction! We’re being told constantly that only some parts of us are wanted and acceptable. Only some parts are worthy of being shared.  All of the other parts get stuffed down, and while we’re pushing and pushing against them to keep them down, these unwanted, unacceptable, unlovable parts are pushing and pushing back at us to be expressed.  We use any number of addictive behaviors to numb those parts down so that they don’t give us so much grief, but they remain there beneath the surface, clamoring for attention and starting their push to escape once the anesthetic wears off.

I made a conscious choice long ago not to play the addiction game. Decades of journaling and seven years of therapy, over a year of twelve step meetings and lots of sharing on Facebook, Instagram, and here has given me a sense of absolute responsibility to show up as my full self, regardless.  This is my LIFE for God’s sake! Agreeing to back down now feels like a serious integrity breach, especially when, if you back away from the situation and look in, nothing that I’ve written is earth-shattering, nothing will sully anyone’s reputation…I’m just an ordinary woman writing about my ordinary life, and the fact that there are a few people out there who give a damn about it has been a beautiful bonus.  Give that up now, when most other outlets for self-expression have fallen away? NO!

I don’t know what’s next. I’m going to think some more about this and decide if YogaMom should go on an extended hiatus while I figure my shit out…and then I can come back as YogaMom 2.0…and focus more on healthy lifestyle crap instead of my mental/emotional crap. Ugh. Would that serve anyone, though? Would privately working through the ugly dark night of my soul and waiting until I got “better” to post again actually help anyone? I’m inclined to believe that our pain links us to one another and reminds us that in this crazy game of life no one is spared devastation and annihilation…and when Life wants you to transform, it will do it to you, regardless of how ready you are or not. ย Sharing my story was a way for me to reach out and invite others to see that they are not alone in their own personal hell, but in fact, I am right there with them. ย I’ve been operating within the vision that at some point I will get better, and anyone interested can follow along and watch as this happens, and that perhaps my journey will help others who are suffering to see that they can get through their devastation one day at a time, just like me.

Maybe, though, it’s time to just be honest with myself.  My posts may have helped nothing and no one.  They may have just been moments of self-indulgence, clear evidence that I don’t have enough maturity to process these difficult feelings on my own and therefore need to “over share.” I just don’t know. I probably need to back away a least a little bit to gain some clarity over what purpose my posts were truly serving.  If they are not bringing value to the lives of others, then it’s probably time for them to stop…