Tag Archives: struggle

He’s Won


More tears.
More anger.
Unending darkness.
Feeling hopeless,
The things that brought me joy
can no longer reach me. I try
but nothing gets done.
Take some pills they say.
They’ll take the edge off they say.
I give up.
He’s won.


I’m thinking of taking a break from this blog after never missing a daily post for the last four and a half years. I can’t see what purpose is being served by my sharing here, as my sharing has heavily centered on grieving the loss of my marriage for over a year now. I want to contribute to the happiness of the people on this planet, not their sadness, but by sharing my sadness, don’t I amplify it? Has it been selfish of me to share publicly in this way and to let you know that I’m suffering? I honestly have been hoping that my writing here would bring me some relief, but I take no joy in it; it’s something I make myself do—and how inspiring can words born of that mindset really be?  If my words don’t inspire, I don’t want to inflict them on anyone.

I feel burdened by life, consumed in a darkness that threatens to blot out all memory of happiness and love and light. A mighty battle is being fought within me, a battle between darkness and light—and I’m not feeling confident of the outcome.  Both of my kids noticed.

My six year old son said, “Do you know what my greatest enemy is?”

“What?” I asked.

“Losing you,” he said.  I cried.  We were in my room looking at a Divine Feminine oracle deck while my daughter was bathing.

After she was out of the bath tub, the three of us piled into my bed to hang out while I brushed my daughter’s hair. After I was done brushing, she got up, looked at me with her eight years of wisdom, and said, “You know people die of sadness?”

“Oh really?” I asked. “Can you tell me more about that?”

“People can get so sad that they…just…die. And I don’t want that to happen to you.” I cried again.

My children nestled their heads against me and I stroked their hair while I cried more.  I felt like a piece of shit for not being able to just buck up and pretend I’m fine…so that they can know they’re safe in the presence of a strong mother who has it together for them—or some bullshit unreasonable thing people keep telling me I should do so that my kids don’t get traumatized by my depression. It’s great to be quite literally dying of sadness and then have a critical voice remind me that I’m selfish and should be a better mother and put my children first instead of wallowing in self-pity.

I’m fortunate in that my girlfriend Lucy is flying me out to CO to get away from this home where I lived with my husband and children for three and a half years. Too many memories.  Too many triggers.  My children will be in Utah with their father and his mistress.  He’s taking her home to meet his parents.  We’re still married, and I’m struggling to find my will to live each day.

I can’t know that this isn’t the best thing for me. So many people have said to me He gave you your freedom.  Someday you’ll see that and be grateful for it. But I’m not sure I’m going to make it to someday. Sometimes I wonder if I’ll make it one more day.

I’m considering taking a break from this blog while I’m in CO from 7/21-7/31.  I’m thinking of taking a complete break from everything I normally do, pack very lightly, and just be really open to what might arise in the space of not planning and not knowing.  What I’ve been doing isn’t working. It’s time for something to change.

Perhaps a change of pace. A change of scenery. A change of faces, and smells, and sounds, nothing familiar to trigger the cascade of sadness that hasn’t stopped flowing for a year. I’m bleeding out emotionally and the situation is dire.  No one can save me but me and I have to choose to want to be saved.  I hope the mountains will return me to my sanity. I’ll keep you posted, let you know what I decide. Thanks for reading.

The Path is Dark and Lonely


I want to trust the process of becoming
but the path is dark and lonely
and I can’t see two feet ahead of me.
I’m floundering through a forest of pain,
shadows everywhere, loud sounds,
danger, chaos…
and it’s all in my head.
I look up and look around.
I’m in a room,
it’s a bright sunny day,
no danger.
But the night is approaching swiftly,
and this is when the painful thoughts
have the most power over me.
I want to trust this process of becoming
but the path is dark and lonely
and I can’t see two feet head of me.

Wholly Dazed


Don’t get me wrong,
it’s not that I hate Christmas…
It’s just that it is dead to me now.
The lights, the trees, the carols,
stepping into the home
of my son’s kindergarten friend,
seeing their happy Christmas
taking shape in their happy home,
and inwardly bemoaning
the shapelessness of my Christmas,
now that it’s dead.
A marriage, a holiday, a life,
all falling apart.
Dead things decay;
particles break down
and return to the earth.
New life springs up
and eases the memory of death.
Will this happen for me?
Can I hope for this much?

Trust the Darkness


For so long the darkness
was suppressed;
it was shameful, ugly,
a sign that something was wrong,
a sign that I had failed.
And I kept pushing the darkness down.
I had not seen how hopeless it was
to fight against the night like this,
as if my preference for the light
would lengthen the day,
as if the seasons would bow to my ignorance,
as if I could escape the cold
because I wanted warmth.
But every day the darkness returned,
and every winter I became cold again.
And how I tried to push the darkness down.
How could I have been so blind?
What was I afraid of seeing?
This hopeless struggle broke me one day,
as the darkness came crashing over me,
engulfing me, saying–
I will be denied no longer.
And so I curled up in a little ball,
turned in and faced the darkness.
I began to open to what it has come to teach me.
The dark mother’s arms parted and let me in.
I sat in her embrace and began to find healing.
I see now that the blessed darkness is a gift
to be welcomed, honored, appreciated.
More than a gift,
it is a necessity.
Like plants need rain to quench their thirst,
we need our fertile, mysterious darkness
to flow over us and through us,
nourishing our deepest selves,
providing a balanced, cyclical unfolding.
We need cooling rest,
respite from this crazy world
of fevered desires, bright lights,
non stop action-motion-commotion.
We need the time to go inwards,
to let ideas lie fallow,
to turn away from the noise of the world
and draw from the deep quiet source within.
If you find yourself going through some darkness,
do not push it down, and do not turn away.
Trust the darkness,
open to what it has come to teach you.
Trust the darkness.
The darkness is you.

Life Loves You


Stop struggling.
It doesn’t mean you grow complacent
or apathetic,
on the contrary!
The energy you were investing
in fighting with this moment
now can be directed where it is most needed–
in opening your heart,
your mind,
your eyes
to what is.
To cease the struggle
is to turn and face reality
and to allow answers to emerge
in their own time.
Not forcing or striving or straining
but breathing, relaxing, and opening…
Opening to this moment.
Put your toe in the river of life.
The water is nice.
Now, dive in.
Let the current carry you.
Relax, go with the flow.
Life loves you
more than you could ever know.

Writing 101, Day 1: Unlock the Mind and Loosen Up!


When I began this blog at the turn of the new year, all I knew was that I wanted to write something every day, and I wanted to examine my real life experiences through the lens of yogic philosophy.  I was tired of making every excuse under the sun for not writing–too tired, too busy, too…everything, so I decided the best way to avoid making excuses for not writing was to dive right in and write. A lot. Every day. For a year.  Initially I felt relieved to be finally writing regularly again, but  I quickly discovered that if I didn’t have a direction for this blog, then my inspiration might run out somewhere toward the middle of the year.  In an attempt to give myself some needed direction, I decided to connect my work with uncovering my writing potential–creative recovery–to the Twelve Steps of Alcoholics Anonymous.  I decided that I was going to work through one step a month, on my own (no sponsor, no group meetings) and see where this work could take me.  I did quite well with that plan until April arrived and with it NaPoWriMo.  My work with the Twelve Steps was put on hold as I discovered a whole new world of creative freedom–the free verse poem.  Or perhaps I should say I rediscovered this world of freedom.  I had written many poems in my younger years but for one reason or another I sucked that part of my creativity into a deep dark hole inside myself and kept it locked up until NaPoWriMo 2014; the daily prompts and the community of bloggers who participated really helped me to liberate the inner poet and give her some fresh air, some room to breathe, some time in the sun. And she’s glad. I’ve been writing  a poem a day since then.

The decision to participate in Writing 101 came easily.  NaPoWriMo had worked so well for me, that another daily blogging challenge with a community of participants and a daily prompt seemed like a great idea.  I see Writing 101 as a way to continue building upon my writing by introducing fresh ideas and staying connected with a community of consciously evolving writers.

Today’s prompt was to just write:

To get started, let’s loosen up. Let’s unlock the mind. Today, take twenty minutes to free write. And don’t think about what you’ll write. Just write.

I was checking out the prompt from my phone and felt pretty excited about it. Yeah!  Free write! I can do this!  I opened up the laptop, brought up a new post window, and then promptly felt blocked.  So I turned to my old buddy, the journal.  Here’s what I wrote:

Dear Journal,

Have you missed me?  I have missed you.  I have missed you too, Mr. Jean-Pierre Lepine fountain pen.  What made me turn to you both after nearly two weeks away, you might be asking.  Well, I decided to participate in Writing 101 this month, and today is the first day, and the first assignment was to loosen up and just write for twenty minutes.  I thought, “Sure, no problem, yeah, I can do stream of consciousness for twenty minutes,” but when I opened up the new post window, I felt positively blocked.  I have been posting daily to my Yoga Mom blog since January 1, so it isn’t really that I feel intimidated or anything…no, it’s more that I’ve gotten into the habit of thinking about my audience when I write, trying to get in their heads, and I think a whole lot as I’m writing, and I edit and re-edit (and re-edit and re-edit) as I go, so it’s almost like I don’t know how to free write when I’m writing as Yoga Mom.  But YOU, dear journal, and YOU, dear fountain pen–no sooner do I bring you two together then I feel liberated, free to let out whatever wants to get out, and I don’t think, I just write, because no one else has to see this besides the three of us.  No audience, no pressure.  No pressure to perform, no pressure to be exactly just so clear, no agonizing over digging that ONE PERFECT WORD out of my vocabulary memory banks.   When I write in my journal, my writing brain gets a luxurious massage at a beautiful spa out in the country, with a view of majestic mountains and crystal clear blue skies.

When I’m writing in my blog, my writing brain is jumping through hoops, it’s climbing up those mountains it was staring at during the massage–it’s running uphill, it’s out of breath, it’s tired.  But still it ventures on…it climbs up to the glacier, puts on crampons, grabs the ice axes and freakin’ digs in…each step lots of kicking to find stable footing, each swing of the ice axe asking for ease but being met with challenge.  Air is thinner, lungs are gasping for breath, and still this brain keeps trying, trying to climb higher despite the amount of struggle involved…kicking and swinging and trying trying trying, hoping that up there on the peak there is someone who will tell me I’m as great as I think I should be…or maybe at the top there’s some kind of treasure, some reward for all of this effort…but there are no guarantees.  At any point I may lose my footing.  The ice might break around my axe, I’m not wearing a harness because I’m climbing solo, there is no partner keeping me on belay to catch me if I fall.  The scariest part though isn’t the potential for falling–it’s the fear that I’ll finally make it up to the top after so much work, after digging into my deepest reserves of will, after summoning stamina and courage I never knew I had–

and I’ll discover that there’s nothing here, except a nice view of that spa where I could have a hot bath and nice massage, but now there are many miles between me and that comfort.  I’m tired, cold, lonely, and now I have to climb back down.

And there you have it. I free wrote for twenty minutes and it felt good.  Now it’s time for my daily poem, and then my evening meditation practice.  Hopefully I’ll have the resolve to sit up straight and stay awake for longer than five minutes.  Maybe tonight is the night I will awaken to my true nature.


Climb the mountain and then blow it down–
there is nothing to prove.
The mountain is an illusion,
and what you are seeking across hill and dale
across ocean and desert
in the forests, in the cities,
in the sun and the moon,
in every face,
in every place through all time–
It is right here, exactly where you are, always.
You need look no further than your heart.
For every question,
for every dream,
for every hope, fear, neurosis,
for every thought,
for every sorrow,
for every joy,
for every challenge,
there is one perfect response:

A full breath in and a complete breath out.

So breathe, child, and let it be.
There is no path to your destiny.
Your destiny is right here, now,
exactly where you are, always.