Last week, I faced the biggest monster in my closet. I’m going to share that experience, because I believe we all have to face our monsters at one time or another and I believe that process basically is the same for everyone. At the same time, this is an extremely personal experience and I hope that you will treat it that way. You’re standing on holy ground, this is my soul at its barest, please tread gently.

I was watching a comedy drama  film with my husband. Or better said, my husband was watching the comedy, and I the drama. The pain in this film resonated so deeply with me that I couldn’t stop crying. The monster in my closet was roaring. Because my pain was out of proportion to what was actually going on, I recognized it as old, unresolved pain. I was terrified for what was in the closet, but at the same time I could not pretend it wasn’t there anymore. I could sense the presence of my monster and I knew it would come out again and again if I did not face it. So I decided to put the door ajar and simply wait for my monster to come out one last time. The pain already being active, I figured it would just be a matter of time.

Although I had braced myself for impact, I was not ready for the pain that engulfed me when that door opened. The pain and fear were so real, so raw, it felt almost unbearable. I had met my monster of aloneness.  I felt as if I had this hole in my chest, so big that it almost didn’t fit. I could see right through me. Out of it poored the deep knowing that I am alone, all alone. It felt as if I was cut off from everyone, as if there was no one who loves me. I was all by myself, an outcast. The hurt was overwhelming. This monster in the closet represented the pain of my baby self. This pain was born at almost the same time I was born. After I was born, I was put directly in an incubator. For six weeks, I lived in that incubator and my parents were only allowed to view me from behind a window. I did not hear my mother’s voice, I was not rocked, not consoled, not anything except handled functionally and mechanically through the openings of the incubator.

Being aware that this pain was out of context and untrue at this time in my life, helped me remain anchored. Being aware that in my mind it was happening now and that it felt just as real now as it did then, helped me be gentle and patient with myself. I held this pain as I would a crying newborn baby, with nothing than kindness and love. I breathed my way through the pain. With every breath, I would simply explore the pain, feel it without judging, without interpreting. I explored every corner of the hole in my chest. I felt the nausea where it touched my stomach, and the choking sensation near my throat. I felt the sharp and uneven edges, constantly cringing. And in the days and nights that followed, I relived every conscious memory of feeling an outcast, alone and unloved. With every conscious breath, the hole got smaller. And with the help of a therapist, I was able to close it. That was the strangest feeling, because how do you feel the absence of pain? You don’t. Zooming in on it, it actually felt like a severe wound that has just healed, when the reddish pink skin still feels new, not quite part yet of its surroundings and touching it feels at the same time somewhat scary and slightly surreal.

For the past 39 years, this pain has always been a part of me. It was my ‘normal’, I didn’t know any better. Although, I come from a loving family and have gathered a group of wonderful friends around me, I always felt immensely alone, as if I were standing behind a glass wall, not part of what was going on, wanting to play along, but unable to break through the glass. It has impacted my life in every way imaginable, from the simplest things like not even considering asking for help if I could really use some to being depressed for years and getting physically ill two years ago. Having finally been able to see it and feel it for what it was, is a testimony to my growth. I feel deeply blessed to have lived it.

Everyone’s pain is unique, as is its expression. Our bodies are not designed to store pain for long periods of time. Pain will come to the surface when it is activated, when something we live resonates with it. If we learn to deal with it in a conscious way, non-judging and loving, we will be able to face our fears as they come up, without having to accumulate extra pain. And we will be happier and healthier.

If you want to learn more about the monsters in our closet, I suggest you read We scare because we care.

Big changes don’t happen overnight. The old isn’t working anymore and the new has not yet set in. It  took some time to figure that out. I am in-between two stages of spiritual growth. Knowing that helps me embrace this period instead of fighting it. All is well.

So far, I have lived my life through the act of sheer force. I had the focus and stamina of a pittbull. Once I put my teeth into something, I could not let go. It was not like I was having fun or that I didn’t get tired (pun intentended), it was more that, on some unconscious level, I had to do it and the thought of letting go didn’t even occurr to me. This stage of personal evolution, where you show yourself you can make things happen through will power, combined with some strong personality traits and blind spots litterally got me so sick and tired, I was forced to stop. In retrospect, I can see it was my wise self telling me, in the only way I could hear, that what I was doing was not fitting anymore to who I had become along the way.

Yesterday, I was busy doing something I wanted to do, having fun, when all of a sudden, I was immensely tired (again). First, I got scared, thinking ‘oh no! not again!’ and the next second I saw the irrationality of that thought and instantly recognized that I was tired because my body was trying to convey something. So I sat down and did nothing for a few minutes. In these minutes, I could feel my body relax completely, I felt at peace, I felt love and compassion for myself, my energy returned and I felt renewed. My body and mind were gasping for silence, for being still, even if it were just a few minutes, to be able to let go of old thought patterns and to let peace arise.

For someone who has always pushed herself to the extremes doing what she thought she had to do, doing nothing and letting things arise from a space within is an extremely uncomfortable place to be. It is a completely new paradigm. I have written about it in the past, but I never understood it like I do now. I’m not there yet, I have to let it grow at it’s own pace, allowing it, not pushing it. It’s like a seed that has laid barren for a long time, but against all odds has started to grow. It grows at it’s own speed, all I can do is nurture it. I am the scarecrow, the sun, the rain. And the seed. I feel deeply blessed to watch this unfolding of me and am joyously anticipating whatever will arise from this seed, whether it be grass or an oaktree.

photo by Riyas Hamza

When diagnosed with chronic fatique syndrome / ME, the prognosis is not too optimistic and people would tell me that I had a long road ahead of me. When your body is hurting and you’re too tired to even unload the dishwasher, it is soo easy to believe that your road to recovery will be long and tiresome. And I was about to believe that when I heard this still voice ask me: ‘What do YOU believe? Do you believe that just because a lot of people believe something, just because the statistics say something, it is true for you?’ And out of that same stillness came a loud ‘NO!’. No, I don’t. I’d rather be viewed insane but healthy than sane and in the condition I was in. So I chose to believe what is best for me, what feels best to me. Longtime ago, I choose to view my reality differently. In the words of Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, I believe I’m “a spiritual being having a human experience”, not the other way around. This basically means is that I believe that I am first and foremost an energetic being and that my body is the physical vessel that allows me to operate in this physical plane. Now it was time to act on it, because in the realm of the non-physical, things are not linear, nor time-bound, things can change in an instant, in the blinking of an eye. It is what we would call miracles. And yes, I believe in them too.

When I looked at myself, I saw this soaring spirit living in a body that did not in any way match this vibrancy. There was an enormous, visible incongruency. It was a pointer. I believe all physical illnesses are pointers. They create a possibility to let go of what we don’t need anymore in order to become more aligned with who we are. I knew that my fatigue meant that I was leaking precious energy, and I assumed it was through certain deep-seated beliefs. I knew I needed help to uncover them, because in the past decade of inquiry I had not been able to get in touch with them.

It has only been three weeks since I met with my therapist for the first time, but in the three sessions that followed amazing things have happened. With her help, I uncovered this overwhelming sense of powerlessness, and through EMDR she helped me reconnect the dots. Last weekend, I knotted my linden trees on Saturday, had friends over on Sunday, and then on Monday my daughter was able to have a friend over to play and I was still feeling fine. This is almost unbelievable when you imagine that three weeks ago I could not walk normally, because my joints and muscles were simply hurting too much. However amazing, the true miracle is in the power I feel, an almost unearthly sense of groundedness, it is in the absence of the fear I’ve carried with me for almost 39 years, it’s in my relaxed response where I normally would freak out, it’s this new, completely foreign inner voice that is telling me all this weird stuff, like ‘so what!’, ‘just try again’, and my favorite ‘you will be alright’. People have said these things to me for years, and so have I, but however hard I tried to believe them, I never felt their truth. Today, these words come from within and they make sense, perfect sense. The power they carry feels amazing, but I think I can get used to that, as well as this renewed sense of self.

image of the ‘tree pose’, a grounding yoga pose
image by Michael Lorenzo

Almost two weeks ago, while visiting my family doctor because of a debilitating tiredness I’ve had for some time now, she suggested I’d look into chronic fatigue syndrome / ME. I did. I found several different standards and according to all, I fit the profile perfectly.  So yesterday, I called my doctor to make a new appointment to deal with the physical side of what’s going on. That means getting a diagnosis, which will involve tests as it is a diagnosis of exclusion. There is no treatment, but I want to learn ways to go with my body, instead of against it. As I said, that’s the physical side, it is what needs to be done, but as far as I’m concerned that is not the interesting part of what is happening in my life.

I thought I had made peace with being tired, but being confronted with a possible ME diagnosis, feeling physically very ill and emotionally drained, I discovered that there were new layers to be uncovered. Although this illness and its symptoms are very real in my daily life, I choose not to see it as a physical problem. Unexplained energy loss has been an issue in my life for the past 20 years and no exercise, diet or multivitamin has had any significant results. I would be stronger and healthier than any person I’d know and still, out of the blue, get immensely tired for weeks, unable to even brush my teeth.

What is interesting is that, as I have been growing spiritually in ways that I almost cannot fathom myself, my tiredness has been growing proportionally. And although this may seem paradoxical, it makes perfect sense. See, before, the image I had of myself and my actual life were the same, there was no discord. But now, my image of self has changed almost  180º, yet my life has not. I’m still moving in the same direction. That’s two bodies moving in opposite direction, creating immense tension.

Have you ever held onto something, because you were afraid to let go, even while you knew that you would be alright, that you would be better for it? That’s where I am now. I’m in this boat and I’m rowing against the stream. I’m so good at rowing and I’ve rowed for so many years that I’ve actually managed to row upstream. The current is so much stronger up here and by now I’m rowing like a maniac not be taken by the current. I’m exhausted, I really want to let go of the oars, yet I’m so scared to be taken downstream that I keep rowing. Did I mention that I’m a control freak? I know I need to let go and allow the stream to take me, to close the gap between me and Me, but I’m afraid of what will happen when I give up this illusion of control. Fortunately, my body is caving in, and it is finally dawning on me that I cannot beat the stream of Life, there is only one way and that is down. It is called gravity.

I can honestly say that I’m excited to be on this journey. What an opportunity! What an amazing opportunity! I can’t wait to see what happens when I will let go and allow this stream of Life to take me. I will use this illness as an excuse to catch up with my Self, to become more self-ish, in the purest sense of the word. Isn’t it perfect irony that it will take ME to become Me? Makes me laugh.

photo by Christa Richter

As you may or may not know by now, I was raised in a rather strict christian environment. And although lots of rules and ideas did not feel right and clashed with what I believed God to be, the essence of faith rang so true with me, that all the other things for a long time became secondary. Until it became apparent that my belief system created so much internal stress that life didn’t seem worth living anymore to the extent that I was contemplating suicide. Not good! I got counseling and got asked the most pivotal question of my life: ‘What do YOU believe?’ After having mulled over that question for two weeks, I still didn’t know and decided to let go of God.

At this point, the story becomes interesting. After another two weeks, I discovered that I may have let go of God, but that God had not let go of me. That which I experienced to be God was still present. Years have passed since and that which I used to call God is still with me. I’ve had quite some time to reflect on this presence and I did. I don’t know what to call it anymore, but this no-name experience is strong in me, always has been, and ever growing. I sometimes mockingly call it ‘The Force’, but that doesn’t cover it completely, or do it justice. I believe it is present in saints and sinners, that in some it is more developped than in others, and that development is a critical component of being happy, of feeling whole.

Everyone knows how it feels. It’s the love parents feel for their children, it’s the sense of heaven during really good sex, of awe when you see the sea for the first time, of connectedness when millions of bright stars are shining down on you. It’s the completely overwhelming presence of a wild and rapidly thundering waterfall, of the deafening silence on a mountain top. It is being moved by a piece of music, a good book, art, being touched by another human being, or by the wagging tail of your dog when she greets you at the door. It’s in the song of a bird and the flight of a bumblebee. It is what makes us feel alive and passionate about life, what gives us meaning and creates peace.

It is litterally all around. You can wait untill it accidentally hits you, or you can look for it. It takes focus, patience and perseverence, like any other training. It will not land you an olympic medal or some other tangible trophee. I say it’s even better, it’s something you’ve always dreamed of, we all have. As far as I’m concerned, it’s is the sexiest thing ever, it’s the one feature no one can resist. Happiness on demand. One simple exercise and it is yours.

All you need to do is open your heart and still your mind. And that sounds a hell of a lot more complicated than it really is. All it means is that you find the bright spot in everything you encounter. I said it’s a simple exercise, I didn’t say it would be easy. At first, it will be challenging, but I assure you there is an upside to everything. All you have to do is find it. That’s the exercise: to not give up until you have found what uplifts you and then focus on it for as long as it takes for your muscles to relax. Because that is what happiness is, it is the absence of stress or unvoluntary tension. We cannot feel good and stressed at the same time, they’re incompatible.  With training, your happy muscle will grow. Like your tummy, it requires a lifelong exercise if you don’t want it to sag. If you stop training, it will wither and you will have to start all over again. If on the other hand, you are willing to go beyond the discomfort that is part of any beginning stage and keep practicing, you will see results real soon. And it will get easier. Not only will you find miracles in unexpected places, you will find more and more and each time you do the exercise it will take less effort to focus your mind and body into relaxation until you will feel relief almost instantly. Happiness is yours. Now that’s what I call an awesome deal.

photo by voltphoto.co.uk

Yesterday, my psychological and emotional state resembled the weather in the Netherlands. The weather forecast had predicted unstable weather. The royal meteorological instituted had even had released an extreme weather alert. The forecast revealed to be rather accurate. At the end of the day, we had heavy rain, strong wind gusts and some serious thunder and lightning. Somehow, it felt good the weather agreed with me; it was time to release some tension.

I started my day rather absentmindedly, I somehow was unable to land in the now. At eleven in the morning, I finally had the clarity of mind to stop doing and listen to my body. It felt heavy, like the weather. I felt like crying and sleeping. So I went upstairs to sleep. In the middle of my sleep I was woken by a ringing telephone. I answered. It was my husband. He had two simple requests. My brain short circuited. It seemed I was unable to process requests with more than one variable.  Even one variable would have been challenging. After that I cried. I cried and could not stop. I cried because was stressed, frustrated and I felt guilty. Guilty for not being able to take some load of his shoulders. Guilty for not being able to be the wife I want to be. Guilty for being stressed over nothing, essentially.

I twittered about it. That was not easy, because I know from experience that most people only see a drama queen, having a pity party, fussing over nothing. But yesterday, there also were people who understood what was happening, who could relate to what I was saying. That meant the world to me. There was a sense of recognition, of connection. It was priceless. One lovely lady called it a ‘discharge’. And that landed me in the now. Because that’s exactly what it was. A discharge of tension that had built up for days. My easily stimulated brain was overstimulated and needed to discharge to get equalized again.

As the day progressed, with one drama after another, some small, some really ugly (I sweared like a fishwife at the idiot who through uncareful driving, almost hit my girl and her friend while they crossed the street using a pedestrian crossing), I turned my mind around. I was doing my best. Only today, my best was different than my best on any other given day. And that’s okay. I am not proud that I snapped at my daughter, but I am proud at the moments I did not snap. Proud that on a day with almost zero tolerance for stress, I was capable of caring and compassion. Proud I was able to put my daughter’s safety and emotional needs first (most of the time). Proud I was able to turn my guilt into pride. Proud I twittered about my discharge like other people twittered about the weather.

photo by Ronny Beliën

Last week, on Twitter, I replied that “@ieniemienie *does not believe in chance* #therearenoaccidents.”  Unintentionally, I hit a very tender spot with a mom who lost her son through an accident. In this blog I’ll try to put into words what can not be said in 140 characters.

I don’t believe in accidents. I don’t believe in predestination either. So what do I believe then? Over the years, I’ve come to the conclusion that which makes most sense to me, on all levels, is the concept of ‘concurrence’. In Merriam-Webster’s Learner’s Dictionary, concurrence is described as ‘a situation in which two or more things happen at the same time.’

Have you ever watched ‘Aircrash Investigation’? This TV show, aired on the National Geographic Channel, examines plane crashes and near-crashes. Each episode is a recount of a (near-)crash and how it happened. It is a detailed investigation into what went wrong. Interestingly, it almost never is one thing that went terribly wrong. Usually, the crash is a concurrence of choices, a lot of seemingly small and everyday choices from a lot of different people that come together in a catastrophic plane accident.

We make choices, every day, all day. Most choices are automatic, because they’re habitual. But our choices, however small and insignificant, almost always affect other people. I guess the most famous example is the radius of a smile. My choice to smile is essentially nothing else than the choice to put my lips in a certain position. Yet, the consequences can be far-reaching. By putting my lips in the smile position, I change my physiology. What was but a pose, becomes a feeling. When I smile at other people, they reciprocate, an automated psychological process, and  in turn their physiology changes, making it very likely they will adress the next person they meet in a better mood, maybe even smiling. I believe all of our choices can be as far reaching as that smile. Our choices, however insignificant they may seem at the time can have enormous consequences, good and bad.

I believe every choice has an underlying intention or motivation which eventually determines the outcome. Our intentions can be rooted in fear or in love. Fear (the ultimate fear being ‘not being good enough’) creates painful experiences, while love creates constructively. In an episode of  Air Crash Investigation, there usually is a mechanic, somewhere down the line, who, because of lack of time, chose to do a small checkup when he actually needed to do a full checkup and not told anyone, thus missing a potentially catastrophic problem, or a mechanic who did a full checkup found a small problem, chose not to repair it at the time and forgot to mention it in the checkup plan, leaving the next mechanics who according to schedule only needed to do a small checkup unaware of the growing problem. I’m not pointing my finger at those mechanics. Their mistakes, however catastrophic, were human. I could have made them. Yet, I’m sure their intentions were rooted in fear. Fear of not being ready in time, fear of not being good enough, fear of losing a job, fear of – you name it. I know for sure that a healthy sense of self, a love for repairing planes, a genuine love for people, and the sense of meaning that comes from this combination would have led to different choices, creating a different outcome.

I don’t believe in accidents. I do believe in a concurrence of choices. And I believe the dominant intention of our choices determines the outcome. As a consequence, I believe life is about clarifying our intentions, and learning to make choices that are rooted in love. I believe that if we do just that, tomorrow will be a better day.

People say social media are shallow, that online friends are not real friends. I say social media are as shallow or deep as its users, social media are nothing more than a mirror of what we are willing to give and receive. Social media have added to my life; I have met people that I would not have met otherwise. People on the other side of the world, but also people closer to home. People that enrich my life in ways I could not have imagined. Sweet and caring people, authentic people who are willing to show their true faces, their real lives. I am blessed to have met them.

One of these people is the beautiful Ragna. Although I have never met her in real life, she is as real to me as real can be. She’s a feisty lady with cutting edge humour, she’s compassionate and caring, she is sweet and an overall good person. And I love her. It feels strange to say that about someone I have known only for a few months, someone I have never met in real life, but what else could be this feeling that has invaded my heart, the warmth I feel when I see her picture, the joy when we exchange information, the pride for her accomplisments, the tears when she’s hurting, the need to comfort her and hug her, the anticipation to meet her again the next day, this nauseating feeling when I think of the possibility that that could very well not be the case.

Ragna and I intend to meet in real life. Sometime, soon. I can’t wait. I close my eyes and imagine giving her a warm hug. Feels so good, more real than I could have ever imagined.  We just talk, we laugh and we cry, like we do online, only more intense. I hope I get the chance to meet her, I really do. Just once would be great. Meeting her more than once would be a dream come true. It would mean all went well. The neurologist repaired the blood coil that posed a risk to her health, he was amazed at how smooth the surgeries went, and he is confident her recovery will amaze us all. Tomorrow, he’ll operate on her for the first time to see what the situation is. After that, when everything goes all right, he’ll operate again to repair whatever needs to be repaired.

It will not be easy, but I intend not to worry. Instead, I’m going to imagine Ragna and I walking past rows and rows of blooming peonies at the nursery nearby. Laughing, making fun and choosing our mutual number one, trying not to spend too much money on peonies we have no clue where to plant and not too eat too much of the delicious pie the lady of the nursery bakes herself. It may be a dream, but I’d rather dream a gorgeous dream than worry the day away. Will you please join me and let the wonderful energy of your dreams be the wind in the sails of this lovely captain who is courageously steering her ship by starlight.

Want to know more about Ragna? Look at her Ted x Maastricht video This is your captain speaking and be amazed by her spirit.

When things are bothering us, big things, small things, people often advice us to let go. But we usually have no clue how to do that. And mostly, we feel that it is impossible to let go or even that we don’t want to let go. I’m no buddhist monk, but in 10 years of actively letting go, I have learned one or two things about this proces that I really would like to share with you.  So, ‘letting go’ what does that mean?

We all have pains, big pains, small pains. And we all suffer. Yet pain and suffering are not the same. Pain is a physical experience, suffering is a story we tell ourselves about our pain. Letting go primarily is a proces in which we work on acknowledging that our story is a story we tell ourselves, and that our view only is a small part of a greater picture. Letting go is a proces in which we softly allow ourselves to see that greater picture, a proces in which we soften our resistance to the whole picture. It is about accepting that things may be different than we believe them to be, that there are many things we cannot know for sure and then choosing the story that does justice to all we are and / or to all involved. Letting go is like a building a bridge. A bridge between the story we tell ourselves that is hurting us and the story that may be equally true, but would give us peace instead.

My story is a story I tell myself. That’s a hard one to swallow. It means that my life could be different if I told myself a different story. It has taken me a long time to embrace to this truth. There were a lot of ‘yeah, but’s on my way there. My story is a story I tell myself essentially means I’m responsible for my life. Me. No one else. What helped was learning that different people who live the same event, react differently to it and live different lives as a consequence. Those who see it as a tragedy, usually live tragic lives. Those who find some kind of meaning in the event or in (what is left of ) their lives will most likely live meaningful lives. It’s not what happens to us that makes the difference, it’s what happens in our minds as a result of the event that does. I don’t mean to imply that we just have to change our story and everything will be alright. That would be a classic example of sticking our head in the sand, playing make belief. I do mean to imply we have a choice about how we live our lives. I have learned that no matter how insignicant my pain may seem in comparison to someone else’s pain, it is real. It is not only real, it is my pain and if I’m suffering from this pain, I need to deal with it.

Building a bridge starts by examening the terrain. To change our story, we need to become aware of the story we’re telling ourselves. Who are we in our stories? What’s our role? What’s our script? Which thoughts are creating our suffering? And what is holding us back to believe a different story than the one we’re telling now?

My view only is a small part of a greater picture. I have learned there are more sides to this story than the one we’re seeing. Most of us have established a rather solid view of the world and life at the age of 25. It’s a story we tell ourselves. This story accurately sums up our very personal life experience up to that point. It is our story, our truth.  Yet, we have come to believe this is true, not only for us, but for all. Life will prove us wrong time and time again.  And the tension that builds between what happens in our lives and the stories we tell ourselves causes suffering. In case of severe suffering, most people either cling to their story fanatically or throw it out of the window completely and cling to the opposite story in the same measure.

The same goes for people. We usually think we understand people or even know them. That too is a story we tell ourselves. We see other people as we see ourselves, and when they appear to be very different, we either glorify or demonize them. But no one’s behavior is perfect and  no one’s behavior is completely flawed, we’re all human.

It is helpful to explore the concept of not-knowing, to examine our ‘evidence’. Can we be 100% sure? Really? We often think we know, we want to, because it gives us an often, much needed sense of security. Yet, we simply cannot know anything for sure, life is too complex for us to wrap our minds around. Maybe there is more to our story than we’re currently seeing. Allow yourself to adjust to a new reality. Open your mind to the possibility that your story is not the whole story.

Building bridges means acknowledging there are more sides to this story than the one we’re standing on. For me, building bridges means trying to look at the world with fresh eyes. Not just the eyes in my head, but with all the eyes I’ve been given. My physical eyes show me contrast and allow me to focus on what I choose to see. The eyes of my imagination help me create new stories by exploring different possibilities. My heart eyes are filled with Love and show me a larger perspective than the physical one I currently have, they inspire awe and compassion. And the eyes of my gut are old and wise, they know what is best for me and help me choose which story feels best, fits ME best.

Letting go means freeing yourself of obsolete stories and trying on new stories, stories that allow you to live your best life. And then let them be stories, no more, no less. Letting go maybe even means freeing yourself of stories all together and living a life in which you are the bridge and the water which flows underneath.

photo by Roger Waleson

Yesterday, it hit me: I’ve been here before. I’m not talking about reincarnation. I mean I have been at this exact stage of learning this same lesson. Last time I was here, I do remember me saying that now that I got it I would finally live my life the way I was meant to. Yesterday, I was about to say the same. But I didn’t. It suddenly occurred to me that although it may not have been the way I had had in mind, interestingly enough I had. 

Where some time ago I would have felt immense frustration for seemingly not moving forward, I now see that I have moved forward immensely. Maybe not on the outside, but very much on the inside. My image of myself and of the world has changed enormously, and therefore I have changed.  It is a 180˚ change. It may be what people call transformation. I have no doubt that this change will manifest in my life. As Abraham Hicks states: “That which is like unto itself is drawn.” All I have to do is keep moving in the direction of my dreams, inside and out, even if I seem to be moving at turtle speed.

image by Federico Stevanin