Liars Have Bad Breath

From the archives… this was written January, 2017 about two weeks before I lost my pretty little mind.

I curled up on you today

The driest of tears rained down from my eyes

My smile held captive in a tangled web of lies

My arms cradle nothing as I had expected

When chemistry leaves truths continuously rejected

Love unrequited is a poisonous draught

I curled up on you and begged

I pleaded for reason to reign over my guise

I bartered my kisses and opened my thighs

I talked myself in circles, until the beginning grew near

I talked myself in a corner, shame leaves me here

Love is a lie leaving oceans of drought

I curled up on you and sighed

My dunce cap remains, smiling clown will reprise

Shouting silent lamentations, my demise

The flaws and the foibles are never accepted

The dog that you kick is forever dejected

Love is salt water, when I crave a draught

I curled up on you and lied

I love you, I love you, I always will

Until my broken heart is still

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From Fear to Love: How my muses saved my writing

Inspiration comes to me like a flash. If I’m not prepared with something to write, I typically end up dropping everything and typing it on my phone. I’ve lost too many good epiphanies otherwise. The tough ones are when I am getting inspired out the wazoo as I’m trying to go to sleep. My muses don’t seem to have a circadian rhythm.

There are three muses in my life who similarly aren’t big on the concept of letting me sleep: my kids. Their inability to give me quiet time or an extra hour to sleep in notwithstanding, they are my everything. They are the reason I write and have been since I started. It was the mantra “My children will never cry my tears.” that started this journey.

I knew deeply if I did not stop my shit, I would pass it on to them. I remember thinking how they couldn’t know what I was doing when I was purging or starving, but the look of relief on my daughter’s face when I suggested we stop and get some food proved me dead wrong. I know how I speak to them will become their inner monologue. I’m human, I screw up, I get angry, I say dumb shit. I’ve always feared I was ruining their lives, I was screwing them up, etc. etc. Hurt people hurt people, and I was so terrified of hurting them. My pain radiated to my marriage until it imploded, it’s a natural assumption to fear what it could do to them.

All of that fear was the impetus to write, because I knew I could figure it out if I just wrote about it. I could have never expected the journey my writing has taken me on, but the more important reality is how much healing my writing has brought. I am world’s apart from the woman who started writing 2 years ago, and thank God for it.

Now, though, fear has no place in my life. Anything brought from a place of fear can only bring forth more fear, which is what happened when my mind shattered under the weight of my own pressure. This obsession with being well took me far, far down a rabbit hole of my psyche and shadows. It was a wonderful blessing wrapped in a curse. Carl Jung said, “Nothing more profoundly affects the mind of a child than the unlived life of the parent.” What he’s saying is we all project our fears on each other, most especially our kids. I didn’t want to project me not following my dreams on them. But, on my road to recovery, I connected with the reality: my writing will never be what it must be if it’s not born from a place of love. It’s only within the past month I’ve been able to write like I used to. Raw, honest, Me. I feel as though the words fall out of my fingertips and it’s meditation in action.

The shift was so simple, I don’t know why it did not occur to me sooner. Before, I wrote to save the children from my biggest fear: myself. Now, I write to save the children from their biggest challenges: themselves, society, and all the well meaning fools that will tell them now to follow their dreams. Then, as my kids get older, the instructions to chase dreams will be recanted and they’ll be told to get a real job. How many of us had our dreams shattered by a well meaning loved one? How many of us have an artist inside begging to come out while we sit behind a keyboard at a job we wish was anything else and make someone else rich, or make someone else’s dream come true?

My kids don’t listen to me worth a damn. I used to think talking about how they can do anything, etc. was enough, but the simple evidence of asking them to clean their rooms shows how well they listen. The same reality spurring my fear is the reality spurring my love: Kids watch and learn by example. If I am secretly starving myself, my kids are learning to hate their bodies. If I am sitting and writing, promoting, and actively pursuing my dream, my kids are learning to believe in themselves, their gifts, and their dreams.

This, to me, is my sacred duty as a mother. There are too many children trapped inside adults who were told they couldn’t cut it. There are too many of us full of doubt, remorse, regret, and confusion. This is probably going to sound weird, but it’s like killing Santa Claus over and over again. We tell our children there is magic in the world, we tell them Santa can do all of these incredible things. Then, when they’re old enough or when a kid on the playground decides to, we tell them it was a lie. We kill magic. Likewise, we tell the kid who wants to be an astronaut, firefighter, or artist they can do anything they set their minds to. When the chips are down, and it’s time to graduate high school, we encourage practicality and mortgage sized student loan debt.

If we starve our inner artist, or our inner child, look at the suffering we bring into ourselves. Depression and anxiety: how much of this is repressed dreams and gifts? I get so much anxiety if I am not writing, especially if I am having lots of ideas and I’m “too busy” to do anything with them. I write as much as I do just to stay on top of myself. Otherwise, I get overloaded, and I start panicking, and I’ll slump in depression. I mean, Christ, depression and repression sound pretty damn similar no?

Why are so many artists diagnosed ADHD, Bipolar, anxious, or depressed? This is our gift manifesting the wrong way. The sensitivity we have to life is our gift wrapped in a curse. We cannot express the mysteries, beauty, and perfection of art without feeling it immensely. We all know words are a pittance to reality, when we express pain or love, it’s nothing compared to truth. Yet our words come close, because of our gifts. If showing my kids the paths to their dreams, self worth, and self love is my sacred duty as a mother, writing about the beauty of reality is my sacred duty to life. Being completely authentic and truthful me, free of the bonds of people’s opinions, free of the bonds of fear, and free of repressed expression is my sacred duty to myself – my true self.

I can’t and won’t put my kids through a journey of trying to reconnect with something that was once crystal clear. When I was in 8th grade, I promised my teacher I’d dedicate my first book to her. There was not a shred of doubt I’d be a writer then. 21 years later, I’m finally “hey I should do something about that writing thing I liked to do…” I had so many dreams when I was younger. I was going to be POTUS, too. Dreams beget more dreams. I’m living my first dream now: I’m (technically) a stay at home mom raising 3 kids. I always saw that, I just didn’t understand the timing. They didn’t need me as a SAHM when they were babies, they need me now. Divine timing works that way, and it’s necessary to trust that. If you make your dreams known, worlds move to make that dream come true.

The people strong enough to step into their dream are the ones who make their dreams come true. The people who repress their dreams are the ones who have the shadows of regret and remorse. The only way I can be an example to my kids is to step into my dream and be a writer. It doesn’t matter the scale, I trust the universe on that one. They just need to see and hear me being a writer. Today. Not tomorrow, not one day. If I want to be a writer, I am a writer. Every time I press publish anywhere, I am a writer. That’s what they see. When my brain starts telling me I cannot, I picture the three of them, and I say of course I can. I have the best inspiration in the world. I have the best fan base in the world. My children.

How many of us are starving artists inside? I’m not talking financially. I am talking we have a muse, we  have a vision, we have a gift, and we are starved for expression. We take that gift, and shove it in the back of our psyche because it’s not practical.  Thank God for my children, otherwise I never would have started trying. I would have lied to myself to my deathbed and wondered where my life went. I have only truly experienced life to its fullest when I saw my dreams were already coming true, and all I had to do was step into them.  I hope, if you are struggling with your dream or believing in yourself, this inspires you to take the first steps. That’s how every journey begins.

What about you? Are you living your dreams? Who inspires you to live your dreams? If the answer is no, are you going to change it? 

Let’s connect! Follow me all around the web

Daina (OurBeautifulLies):

 

 

Using Your Body to Discipline Your Mind

Yesterday was Summer Solstice. At my yoga studio, Shanteel, we did 108 Sun Salutations to welcome summer. This was my second time – the first was for Spring Equinox. It’s a very challenging practice, taking about 2 hours to complete. It’s also deeply healing and eye opening.

Yoga is not about getting in better shape, although it helps. It’s not even about getting in proper postures, or looking like the Instagram pictures. Yoga teaches using the body to discipline the mind. I think when any of us are doing something repetitive and challenging, our brains love to comment on its difficulty and our inability to do it. If we listen to the chatter, the difficulty grows exponentially. Every ache, muscle, etc becomes screaming resistance.

It becomes a mind over matter situation, and yoga demonstrates this perfectly. As I was thinking how hard this was, I was struggling until I caught myself. I went to child’s pose, rested, and changed my internal monologue to a simple “I can do this”. I whispered it to myself as I was in downward facing dog. Eventually, thoughts ceased and all that remained was the sensation of my body, with my eyes closed, moving through the postures. I became focused solely on alignment and positioning, and allowed myself to just move without commentary. I stopped when needed for water or rest, but I was acutely aware of how many more sun salutations I did, how few rests I took, and how much my practice improved since spring.

I didn’t have to modify by dropping my knee in lunges, I could stay up. I was keeping my elbows hugged in for transition. More importantly, my internal monologue became kind and encouraging as opposed to critical and belittling.

Nowadays, it seems difficult to hear ourselves think. I didn’t notice it until I started meditating. I never noticed how critical and mean I was. On the outside, I was so nice to everyone, but on the inside, I was downright mean. This sets you up for terrible projections. If you are constantly criticizing and hating yourself internally, you’ll project those feelings unconsciously on the people you love. Their words and interactions will be perceived with negative intents where none were present. It’s inevitable.

It’s only by bringing awareness to the mental chatter that you can change it. Yoga helps because as much as you may feel good after a practice, it’s rare you want to contort your body in bizarre ways, sweat in places you didn’t know you could, all while trying to breathe and quiet your mind. My mind loves to tell me how hard it all is, yet not once have I lost a limb or died in practice. I generally get sore and relaxed.

This experience carries into day to day, as you become more aware of your monkey brain and realize that your thoughts are messing with your reality. Sure, my house is messy, but in my thoughts, it’s an insurmountable Mount Everest of dishes and laundry, my kids are bound and determined to drive me insane with messes, and I’ll never ever know what it’s like to be done cleaning. In reality, some music and a few hours of focus gets me where I need to be.

I never would have thought I’d be capable of 108 sun salutations. I remember struggling to even commit to 3 as I practiced on YouTube. I was scared of even joining a yoga studio. I thought I was too fat, too this, too that to join a studio. I thought I wouldn’t be able to keep up with the classes. Yet, there I was, in reality, flowing through 108 sun salutations with my community.

If I had listened to my brain, I wouldn’t have a family at Shanteel. I wouldn’t have found my home, where I go to find myself daily. I wouldn’t have found my strength or beauty. I would have just sat around letting my brain kick my ass, as opposed to kicking my ass on the mat to see how much further I can go beyond my thoughts.

Last night was even more special for me. I promised myself I was going. I negotiated if I had to miss regular classes, I’d go. Because this is the week after my period, which means it’s depression week. Awareness of my cycle has helped me plan around my hormones. I know these weeks are tough for me. My energy is low, my mood is typically low, and life is harder than usual. My house is a mess, because I didn’t have the energy to keep up. My kids are home, and I had to let them do screens more than I’d like so I could rest more than usual.

Normally, depression weeks are harder to practice yoga for all these reasons. I’ve promised myself to try to get to 2-3 classes/week versus my normal 5-7. I’ve promised myself to rest without judgement, and listen to my body without criticism. I had to nap most of the day yesterday, but I got to the 108. All day, I was thinking of reasons I couldn’t or shouldn’t. All day, my brain wouldn’t shut up, and all day, I had to ignore it, because I promised myself I was going.

Depression used to be a call for mania, where I would force myself to hide everything away and pretend everything was great. I’d pile on activities and do anything to distract myself and hide it. Depression was 75% of the time for me. As I pushed, intrusive thoughts would begin screaming at me, I’d become suicidal, and driving would be a challenging experience of internally telling myself why driving into a phone pole or oncoming traffic was a terrible idea. Once I stopped that insanity, and allowed myself to feel depression, I became aware of how debilitating it was. I felt sad for all my body has been through as I fought. Once I accepted depression as a state I go through, episodes become shorter and less debilitating.

After about a year of regular yoga practice, almost 2 years of regular meditation, etc etc. I just did 108 sun salutations while I was having a bout of depression. This practice is about releasing what no longer serves you. What no longer serves me is telling myself I can’t be everything I want to be. What no longer serves me is being a slave to my thoughts and endless brain chatter. I am way, way stronger than I think I am. We all are. The only true limits that exist are the stories we tell ourselves.

Lies Are Rarely Intentional

Words are so powerful and paradoxically completely worthless. We give all of the power to the words but fail to see if we give them power, we can take them away. In truth, almost every word we share with ourselves and each other is a lie. I’d like to play a game, shall we?

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About 2 years ago, I climbed a mountain for the first time. There are two important facts you should know: I am terrified, and I mean out of my mind terrified, of heights. I was also wearing heeled boots. I was not expecting to climb a mountain. My boyfriend at the time and his friends decided to climb a mountain, and I tagged along. In my boots with the heels, not fur. I was out of my mind terrified. Visions of sprained/broken ankles danced through my head. I could feel my lungs tightening as a panic attack started creeping on me – both because I was short of breath (I’m a heavy smoker) and because I was going up high (I have literally had a panic attack going up a slip and slide at a carnival. Ask me about the time I climbed the Brigantine Lighthouse!) I focused on my feet with Tetris-like precision. Every rock formation and my foot were precious combinations I was not going to screw up. When I got to the top of the mountain, the scene was breathtaking. The sky was a combination of pink, and blue, and orange. I’ve never seen or felt anything like it. I had never hiked before, either. My enjoyment was only marred by my fear of going back down the mountain and breaking my ankle. I forced myself to sit on the rocks and quietly take in the scene. My purpose in climbing the mountain, if I’m honest, was trying to impress my boyfriend. I remember him looking back at me as we climbed, and saying, “She can do it, she’s a fucking bad ass.” I remember the smile on his face and for the first time in a long time, a rush of feeling like someone believed in me. I think his words had helped me climb higher than my fear. Looking back now, I climbed higher than my fear.

Sounds great, right? I write well, I think.

Let’s try this:

I climbed a mountain in heeled boots. I thought I was going to break my ankle, and I could not believe how stupid and irresponsible I was. The entire time I climbed, all I could see was 2 dudes carrying me down a mountain with a broken ankle. Visions of all the other times I’ve sprained my ankle by the sheer act of walking were flashing through my head. Strangely, all I could see was Samuel L. Jackson as Mr. Glass with my face on his body. My boyfriend was being a dickhead that day. He had been giving me attitude all day, and even after we climbed, he bought all of his friends a banana but me. I don’t know why that bothered me, its’ a 33 cent banana, but it really kind of hurt me. He had told me before I met his friends not to “be weird” so that told me to just “be quiet”. He finally acknowledged that a) I existed and b) I was climbing not too shabbily for a woman wearing heeled boots. When I got up to the top of the mountain, my brain went silent because it was so beautiful. I was still scared to climb down especially because I knew the sun was setting, and darkness with heeled boots felt more like suicide in fancy footwear. As I went down the mountain, I felt confused. I couldn’t understand why my boyfriend was the way he was, why I put up with how he was, and so on. Fortunately, I was so terrified of breaking my ankles, I forced myself to focus on my footing, and in doing that, I experienced quiet mind for the first time.

Or this:

I am equally an idiot and a jackass who climbed a mountain in heeled boots. Looking back, it was one of the craziest and coolest things I ever did. It started a love for hiking that I never had, and it was too beautiful to describe.

We put so much weight into the noise of words and emotion, but the reality & truth is this:

All of these stories are lies of omission because I cannot give you the full story. My memories and words are being placed to align (intentionally or unintentionally) with the emotion. This is how we all communicate. None of my words adequately convey how beautiful it was up there. None of my words even adequately convey how I felt. If I close my eyes, I can see it and feel it as clearly as if I was there.

If we live purely in the realm of our thoughts and words, we omit reality. I don’t think anything can be more harmful than missing our reality. It does not mean coming up with better words to describe a situation. It means being fully present to experience it. Your focus (awareness/consciousness) dictates your reality. When we experience the world, we do not need words for it. Anything that is put into words is inherently a lie of omission.

Try this for yourself. If you think back on something you did that was hard/challenging/sucked, depending on how you speak to yourself or others about it, will determine your emotions on it. From paragraph to paragraph, the same experience changes with the emotion we express. If you focus on any positive in a memory, the memory will have a pleasant association, just like a word. Look at how different my ex-boyfriend and I seem? Yet both are equally true, only what I shared and how I shared it changed.

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Definitions, connotations, and context will always change depending on who is hearing it. Context and connotation mean something different to every person, regardless of what Websters tells us. People who are “literally dying” are a great example. We don’t even use words according to their definitions anymore.

download (2)My favorite definition of a metaphor is “a beautiful lie” (hmm…feels like I used that somewhere) Literally every word you use is a metaphor for your existence. You are using metaphors with every syllable. The key to being happiness is not to confuse metaphors with the point.

In either way, a metaphor and words are grammatical and literary devices. We confuse our reality with grammatical and literary devices, making ourselves hapless victims of an unseen author instead of being our own authors.

Actions and experience are all we have in this life. By choosing our words and memories, we can turn any experience into a lesson or an opportunity for growth. By seeing how powerless words and memories are, we can see nothing in this life is actually bad. That is an illusion of our thoughts.

It doesn’t matter how I describe it because climbing a mountain in heels made me see I can climb mountains on my couch with a laptop. I can climb anything anywhere, but in the future, I will be more mindful of my footwear. I hope this game shows you a deeper understanding of the game of life and the games we play with ourselves. Don’t confuse reality with metaphors, and just climb.

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Related:

11:11: Synchronicity or Inflated Ego?

Synchronicity is a term used by Jung fans and New Age Spiritualists. For Jung and spirituality, self-awareness transcends the ego to find your true self (all roads point to love) which leads to co-creating with the universe.  Synchronicity is an example of the connection of true self and God. In transcending the illusion of ego, you see that there is no separation between you and everything around you – including God.

Alternatively, your ego inflates. Inflation is another term Jung wrote about, though it’s far less spoken about then repeating numbers. Inflation is when you serve your ego as your God. Or really, you create your God in the image/projection of you.

Carl-Jung-Synchronicity-

Synchronicity is a connection to something/someone greater than you

Jung’s divine, AA’s Higher Power, Christian’s God, Hindu’s Gods, Addict’s Heroin, iPhones/Androids…

Who or what do you defer to?

Your time, money, and attention = God.

Synchronicity is: the universe works with you when you work with it. Free of ego, the truth shines: the universe works with you whether or not you go along with it.

Spirituality frees you to be present and be love. When you are present, you are free of the ties that bind – guilt from the past, worry about the future, wanting for the have not’s, guilty for the haves, and on and on. You are here now.

Jung proposed as you embraced your Dark Side/Shadow/inner Vader, you will be able to become whole (holy), and you will then work with the force as opposed to against the force (Universe/God/Higher Power). (He did not throw Star Wars references in) He used the term synchronicity to help explain coincidence is not coincidence.

“God does not play dice” – Einstein

Look at the natural patterns in nature – repeating within and without each of us. Where one can observe chaos, at another level, it is perfect order. We lack the God’s eye view of our existence. We have no way of knowing if something good is actually good, or if something bad is truly bad.

Duality (good vs. bad, light vs. dark) is more lies of ego. Our ego is conscious attention: our problem solver and scanning device. Its whole purpose is to organize our lives between the chaos of the Id and the seeming order of the Superego. It’s not an enemy; it’s a lower state of consciousness. Spirituality expands your consciousness to see the world without the filter of ego.

As your ego becomes quieter, you begin to notice the harmony of life. In becoming more aware, you begin to see patterns in your own life naturally repeating.

Synchronicity is described as being in the right place at the right time.

It’s seeing karma in action – you see a cause and an effect that means something to you and you alone, and it’s appreciated.  Without the illusion of duality, there is never a good or bad. There is a process to life and no fate.

If there is a butterfly effect, it exists as one thought flaps its wings in your mind leading to a tsunami of thoughts within your mind. As you understand yourself, your shadows, and your cycles, you begin to see reality versus the illusion of the ego. You understand your mind creates your life.

Synchronicity doesn’t happen with awakening, or ascribing to any spiritual or religious path. It does not happen as a karmic reward or lesson. The Universe and God are not bookkeepers. They don’t dish out punishment. They’re not bizarre sado-masochistic all seeing eyes of fairy dust and ball gags.

We are the judge and jury. We are the ones who create the pain or pleasure. Our thoughts lead to words and actions. Duality lies and gives labels, but truth (not repeating numbers on a digital clock) says you are always on your path.

Awareness of Synchronicity is a measure of awareness.

It’s from a level our egos do not like to exist – can’t exist really. The notion of a higher power than I? More confusingly, the power is in me and not in me? In reality, there is no me, only an idea of me?

There is too much writing about “fighting” the ego, “killing” the ego. If you go to war with yourself, you go to war. Spirituality shows you the ego does not exist, inflation shows you the ego can change. It depends on who or what that God is.

Synchronicity can help guide you back home to yourself. Here and now – you are perfect. You are always on the right path, because you are alive.

Are you checking in or checking the time?

So many articles have been written on the repeating numbers – do you see 11:11? 1:11? 2:22? I don’t mean to stick my tongue out and wag my ass, but this is a shrewd, limited, fragment of the reality of synchronicity, yet it is touted AS synchronicity.

Carl Jung died 7 years before a digital clock was invented. At the time of his death, you couldn’t look at a clock and see 11:11. 

This is not synchronicity. This is not anything but a fabrication of confirmation bias. If you put a positive association with seeing 11:11, you will see 11:11 more.

Confirmation bias, also called confirmatory bias or myside bias, is the tendency to search for, interpret, favor, and recall information in a way that confirms one’s beliefs or hypotheses, while giving disproportionately less consideration to alternative possibilities. It is a type of cognitive bias and a systematic error of inductive reasoning.

New Age spirituality can easily turn into a higher form of ego

Seeing repeating numbers on a digital clock is not significant. Taking a screen shot of these numbers and posting them on social media disconnects you from the here and now – the very purpose of connecting with self and freeing yourself of ego.

Screen shots and social media disconnect from the here and now and cling to something as impermanent as minutes on the clock. Time itself is a creation of our egos to organize our lives.

With confirmation bias, you naturally check a clock more often to see repeating numbers, reaffirming an illusion you are trying to break free of. Your ego has moved up a level. Is that bad? I don’t believe in bad, especially since the flip side is: hey you moved up. In a video game, the villains always grow harder.

In life, the villain and protagonist are the same verb: You. You’re either -ing up, -ing down, or -ing in place.

Jung’s concept of synchronicity has been placed on something as common as a clock. There are 24 opportunities in a day to see repeating numbers on a clock. That’s not significant. In checking phones and taking screen shots, illusion remains as does disconnection. In the minute of 11:11, a glance at the sky could have shown an animal that inspired you, a smile that changed your day, or an answer you had been overlooking.

A synchronicity is an every day miracle. It’s the little things you come to appreciate when you finally see how grand life is in a moment by moment basis. I find, if I’m using technology, the first post on my YouTube, the first thing I see on Social Media, etc. are far more serendipitous and productive than seeing numbers on a clock 7 years after the man who invented the term died.

Is your God above, within, or a rectangle in your palm? 

Thank you for reading, and I appreciate your likes, comments, and shares. I am on FacebookTwitter, and Instagram

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Genuine Fake

Who are you? Who am I?

Your name was given to you by someone else. Your gender, your birthplace, and your race were all given to you. Your job is transient at best.

Inevitably, when anyone starts sitting in silence with their eyes closed in meditation, Who Am I? is a question that will arise. If I’m honest, though, it has always been a question for me. It’s one of the questions that made me wonder if I was crazy. Paradoxically, in philosophy and psychology, it’s the very question that keeps you sane.

I am a mother of 3 amazing and frustrating kids, I was working full time, I have a handful of friends, [insert standardized blurbs here]. To each category, I had a different set of filters and personality. People always tell me how much they love how real and genuine I am. At the same time, in the corridors of my mind, the real me peers out while bound and gagged. Has anyone else felt this way? I’ve changed a lot in the last year, but looking back, I only revealed a meager portion of my truth. How I actually felt in situations, or what I actually wanted. I think how many times I would say OK! to things I did not want to do? Or say, “I’m fine.” when the actual emotion would be more accurately described as “Die in a fire so hot Satan will feel sad.”

Carl Jung has called what we repress, what we do not like about ourselves, etc. to be our shadow self.  It’s also been called your demons, dark side, and so on. The Buddha calls it suffering. Most religions call it sin. It might feel like a stretch to bring sin in this, but to me, it’s all different words for the same concept. I think most of our lives our mistaken concepts – another definition of a lie. A lack of understanding of the words, because we use the words too much.

Part of the problem, I think, is a lack of time for everyone. We’re all constantly reading – texts, blogs, social media, etc. so words are commonplace now. We don’t linger on words for context and alternative meanings, and abbreviations are becoming more common. This is creating a lot of challenges in communication. If I write over 600 words, the likelihood of this blog being read drops considerably. Over 2,000, it’s almost certain. Yet, how can someone explain psychology, philosophy, or any other detailed topic in short sequences? I don’t know, but it sounds like a fantastic challenge, and that’s why I am starting this blog. If people don’t read it, that doesn’t matter, because I’m explaining it to myself, and I need to understand it, because this is how I’m helping myself. The self I am still getting to know.

Who Am I?

My world shifted when I heard Alan Watts explain in a seminar that a persona, the root in Latin, referenced the mask the actors wore on stage. Jung used persona to explain the mask you wear in society/interactions with others. Therefore, my filters and all were completely normal – expected, standard, what everyone else does. The strain of this, however, made me behave crazily – aggressive, angry, confused, panicking, and depressed. I had so many personalities – same root – actor’s mask. Our personalities, all things to do with our person-hood, anything you can associate with your person, will all come to the root of the mask.

When people tell me I am a genuine person, they tell me I am being a genuine fake. Watt’s made me realize that, and I started laughing hysterically. That’s exactly how I’ve always felt. I wanted to be a diamond, but I was rocking a cubic zirconia. (Pink Floyd’s Shine On You Crazy Diamond just randomly came on YouTube as I typed this…)

If anything, most of my personalities contained a possessive. I identified purely in externals. ___’s Mom, ___’s analyst, ____’s wife, ____’s friend. I wasn’t my anything. I could not say writer, philosopher, Buddhist, anything, really. I don’t even know that those are genuine answers, but at least they don’t contain forms of grammar in them?

Behind my smile, busy work week, constant cleaning, activities for my family, well-cooked meals, etc. was an unending narration of every shortcoming, every misspoken word, every misstep, every un-asked question, every fear, and everything I have ever wanted to do but never did. It was varying streams of consciousness that eventually would become roaring tsunamis of psychosis almost a year ago. The human mind can only be pushed so far.

The nice thing about psychosis (I’ll add that to the list of my eventual book, “Things I thought I’d never say”) is it definitively gave me the answer to “what is crazy?”I know what it is like to be a few sandwiches short of a picnic. I said to a friend the other day, “It gets really easy to stay humble and have no shame in my game when I know I ran into my house screaming I’ve killed us all!” is that fucked up to say? Yeah, probably. What else can I do? Cry about it? It happened almost a year ago. I didn’t die. I’d rather get to the point where I can laugh about terrible things in my life.

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I think I’ve naturally tried to do what Jung has said to do all along. Embrace your shadows. Love your demons. Forgive your sins. Say yes to that dress.

Isn’t it weird how much easier it is to do the externals, yet realistically, you are all you have, and you are probably the meanest to yourself? When I started meditating, I started noticing and hearing my thoughts. I was a real dickhead. When I realized how genuine my mask was, how much more I liked the outside me… I decided I needed to fix that. I wanted to be authentic. To do that, I had to start liking myself at least. All of me. Not just the one I painted on for the stage.

When I began to see everything associated with the very idea of me was fake, I began to lose all the fear I had about opinions, or whatever it was. I’m not really sure what put the notion in my mind that I had to wear so many masks. In truth, it stopped being about people anyway, I just want to know who I am.

I am okay being an onion like Shrek said. As long as I understand my layers, as long as I love and accept my layers. I don’t care if anyone else thinks I stink.  I don’t want to be a mask, an actor on a stage.

Yet…isn’t it also fascinating that another definition for person is: the modes of being God in the Trinity? You are either an actor on stage or you are God? Not much wiggle room there!

((Just over 1200 words, curious to see how this does, it’s optimal word count. If you enjoyed, kindly reblog & share on your social media, and I will return the favor in kind if I enjoy your work! I am on Facebook & Twitter as well, just getting started everywhere))

Earlier Posts:

Who are you? Who am I? 

Raise or Raze?

When I became a mom, like most moms, I thought my job was to raise my kids. I became obsessed with being a great Mom. In truth, I became obsessed with making sure everyone saw me as a great mom – including my kids and my husband. Internally, I saw myself as a fuck up, failure, and fraud. I attempted to be a perfect mom, to hide my Imposter Syndrome.

Being-okay-with-imposter

In raising my children, I razed myself.

raze
rāz/ verb
1. completely destroy
There are many relationships that can be described in those 7 words. The problem is, the wrong raise is used in the second half of the sentence. One of the biggest lies we tell ourselves is we can make another person happy. Our spouse, children, random person on the street, and so forth. We cannot make anyone but ourselves happy. As a parent, you care for and provide for your children, but we cannot make them happy any more than we can make them breathe.
I have proved this to myself every Christmas morning, or even every time I’ve devoted any amount of time cooking. For one, if I place an expectation, I’ve immediately placed a disappointment. No reality will ever align with what I’ve created in my mind. Since it doesn’t match, I will be disappointed as opposed to surprised. For another, my child (spouse, etc.) will choose what they do with my gift/meal/expression/words.
Happiness is a choice we each make for ourselves.
As every mom knows, your child’s likelihood of eating is inversely proportional to the amount of time you spent cooking. Chicken nuggets are the nectar of the gods versus your home cooked roasted chicken is “This again?”
That understanding did not exist years ago. The world itself rested on my shoulder. I had to make everyone happy (except myself, of course). I looked to everyone else to make me happy. No one was making me happy. There were happy moments and happy times, but it felt fleeting. I realize now they were moods and moments.
True happiness is a state of being.
It is a perspective and a constant choice.
In my desperate attempts to make everyone else happy, I ran myself ragged. I worked 50-80 hour weeks because I wanted to make enough money to buy a bigger house. When I wasn’t working, I was assuaging my working mom guilt by doing fun and exciting activities for the kids since I barely saw them. I don’t want to go into the play by play, but at the height (or bottom, I suppose), I was going to the gym for 1-2 hours, while actively bingeing and purging almost everything I ate. After my marriage disintegrated, when the kids were with their dad, much of the same commenced, except I’d add liquor/beer/sex to the fire. I was on a mission to destroy myself.
Then, one fateful day, I vomited at a bar when I was out to dinner with a friend. My hair had been falling out for a few weeks, but I was blaming it on everything but the truth. I saw blood in my vomit. I realized I was actively killing myself. For all the suicidality/intrusive thoughts/etc. that come with depression and the alphabet soup of my mind, there it was: I was killing myself. I couldn’t deny it any longer. The clock was ticking. I was going to leave my children motherless if I did not get my act together. Or, really, if I did not drop the act.
I was a fraud. I wasn’t happy. I was miserable. Not even my kids could make me happy. If anything, I was parenting them in fear of them becoming me. Talk about do as I say, not as I do. “Children, you can be and do anything you like, just for the love of god, don’t be me!” is what I would say without saying. Children learn by example, not words. Children are wise sponges. The day after I saw blood in my vomit, I offhandedly told my daughter we were going to grab food because I was hungry, and I saw relief on her face. Imposter Syndrome, indeed.
I projected my need and desire for happiness onto everyone because projection is what everyone does. All parents project their un-reconciled crap onto their kids. We can either raise or raze our kids, as well. If you are not a parent, don’t space out, because you can think of your inner child. You do not even have to have trauma: you could have the best childhood in history. We all have unreconciled crap projected on us. Life is the sum of happiness and trauma when you think about it. One second, you are happily chilling in the amniotic sac in your mother’s womb. The next, you are cold, screaming, and getting smacked by a doctor. Our minds conduct janitorial services and clean away memories of trauma, we forget, we repress, and we project.
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Our parents had things they wanted to do and be, they had fears, etc. and all of that was projected on us as kids. You can see that nowadays in helicopter parents. Those parents are so afraid for their children, they don’t let their children be children. Inside all of us as adults, our inner children wait to be parented. My life as an imposter was really an inner child throwing one raging tantrum of repressed emotion, fear, and pain.
As children, we were much wiser in many ways then we are as adults. The world makes us forget simplicity. A kid is happy playing with a box, as many frustrated parents can laugh at the discarded flashy toy off to the side. A kid greets each day as a new adventure, forgetful of yesterday and tomorrow. A kid eagerly learns and takes in the world with curiosity and minimal fear. Adults teach the kids the fears and anxiety by example and projection.
None of this is typically intentional. If anything, most parents have the best of intentions! The exceptions would be childhood abuse, paedophilia, and horrible things like this which create traumas that no child should endure which create adults with pain that is indescribable. If the adult child has children, they tend to repeat the cycles of abuse, and this is a viciously complex issue. At the same time, in these cases, as with any psychological condition: you are often taught to re-parent your inner child. Other terms: Core wounds and core beliefs, Mother/Father Wound, Fixation…You begin to see patterns in relationship types: co-dependency, enabling, narcissistic, toxic, and so forth.
Unhappiness is the result of happiness sought outside of self.
Parents can have co-dependent and toxic relationships with their children. I have seen many mothers who have lost their identity to their children. They are only ___’s mom now. They have no interests outside their children. Their happiness is dependent on their child’s happiness and they believe they are the purveyors of that happiness. Unfortunately, when their children begin developing their own identity and independence, these possessed nouns are lost, because who are they? What do they do with their time?
As a possessed noun, I could not contend with my guilt over my co-dependent, toxic marriage ending, my guilt in turning my kids into “statistical broken home kids” and feeling like a complete and utter failure. Naturally, I drank away my sorrows and did everything I could to escape them. Then I saw I was dying, and I realized I better start living. I started writing, I started learning who I was. I started doing the things I loved doing when I was a kid – writing, collecting crystals, meditating, reading, listening to music, etc. I began finding a life outside of my children, and I saw the reality that my children were perfectly happy whether or not I was around. The sun still rose and set without me. It was magical.
I am all that I am. There is no more imposter because I look in the mirror and I love the woman who stares back at me. I peer out in this world no longer afraid of exposition.  Fortunately, I razed myself and destroyed a life that was destroying me.
Occam’s razor (Razor, same root as Raze) keeps all of this rather tidy: the simplest solution is usually best. Why spend all this time hiding lies, when you can be authentic? Why spend all this time trying to make everyone else happy, when I can choose happiness? I can smile my real smile, and let my example teach my children. They can choose for themselves from there; same for anyone else who crosses my path.
Which raise do you use with yourself and others?
Thank you for reading, sharing, comments, likes, and follows!!! I’m having so much fun putting these concepts together, and I generally hope this is thought provoking 🙂 I’m on Facebook & Twitter – Social Media Links on my page…Still getting everything set up!!