Not putting so much pressure on the what and is it enough or balanced or too much or am I numbing or coping or avoiding or over indulging ..

The critic – The Boxes – they’ve taken enough already

Today I hold a boundary with “should” as I savor and be.

Sold everything in one go. No lamps drawers tables or bed-frame. Mattress on the floor. Nothing (still) on the walls. Looking at all the white around me, communing and listening, believing they’re revealing who the next iteration of me is. — there have been a lot of Darrelle’s, and I accept them all. Some are happier, truer, more peaceful, more passionate than others. All were doing their best. A few I want to give a big hug to “it’s okay girl, you’re going to make it”. I’m more at peace with myself, with my past, with my future, than I’ve ever been. The peace is almost unsettling. So I got rid of all the furniture in the big open living room as well. Empty but the old beat up piano and the free craiglists wood coffee table that Judah walks around, and all her toys in the corner.

Waiting. Not uncomfortable in the echo’y humorous vastness.

The next things reveal themselves I’ve found it is best to see not force.

We both self-create & self-reveal, an intertwined process. Which happens first? I guess that depends if you find your own destiny or if destiny finds you and the jury is HUNG deep in my gut. Not unsettled or frantic, just hung.

And who am I finding the comfort of praying to? And do they intervene or just hold softly and graciously and empathetically and all-knowningly. Even all-powerfully still feels possible. Just the rescue, or the non-rescue part (the parking space, the diagnosis, the meet-cute) (Hung). — So is it even “not-trusting”, or is it just releasing? Is it lonely or is it _____? Do I miss the belief? Or am I relieved?

— I did buy a green couch, not rustic, which I love and will build everything else around. And a bed frame, the one I actually want (because it’s harder than we think to connect to and pick the thing we actually want). Shipping is delayed till November 12th (HA). These 11 weeks are for transition, settle for the next round, enjoy and organize. There’s no place I’d rather be.

—

As the man at the pool asks me if I am a writer .. “to some degree!” .. are you working on a novel .. “yes and no!” .. –> I know it’s in me. Some kind of autobiography / self help / psycho-ed something. So this morning I listed memories, over-all lessons, and content topics, while drinking my tea latte, looking at and listening to the river, finishing my breakfast burrito.

Me: grew up in a (now) 3 million dollar house [someone decorated it, posh, granite, white grand piano], then an old farm house [“temporary” till the new house is built, rustic, 100+ years old], then a series of dorm rooms / tents/hostels, then my dads old house [still decorated (old) by his (old) dead parents], then an already-decorated girls house, then the barn [rustic, already themed cause.. barn], then Eliot house [F’s and us moved at the same time, neither got vision, thus eventual head-butting]. So as I am taking the “style quiz” on the Heavenly project page I realize I have no idea what my style or as the kids say “vibe” is.

(B.A.G.T.C.T.S.I. beforeanyonegetsthechancetosayit- I know these are #firstworldproblems, is what it is, baby!)

I don’t want to keep hanging the same combination of rustic-chic-bohemian if that’s not “what I am” anymore. But, what am I? If my creative bits are on display on various walls in variety of colors and patterns and textures. 20 year old darrelle had a lot of fabrics from around the world and jars of sea glass and 18 year old darrelle loved photo collage walls and quotes and 25 year old darrelle loved raw edge barn wood and mason jars and I just don’t know what 32 year old Darrelle loves. Thus five months of completely bare walls and windows with towels blacking out the nursery.

And the refrain: “praying to a God that I don’t believe in”; my mouth wants to hold a name that feels like it doesn’t have to spit out of inauthenticity forced habit or no longer able to conform to the premise of the name.. “is the spirit here”… “He is!” (noooo, please).

And how about Concepts:  Supposed to – purpose – destiny – kismet – meant to – miracle.

Path? Free will? A god of Rescue? A god of presence?

The (coincidental? non-coincidental) timing of Lost, playing with these deep deep questions in my heart. The book of longings.

I used to have people walk into the barn and see me through the design and paint and collage wall.. “this is so you, Darrelle”. I don’t see myself manifested often anymore (well, I do most minutes of the day in a monkey-crawling pooping giggling almost-one-year-old. So I guess that’s been a lot of my creative process).

I see myself on our bedroom porch, sun chair at sunset, writing poetry. ** Update: when I just talked to college on the phone about joining her Friday morning or Wednesday night water color class, I started crying as I gave her my information, so that’s something.. I think.

Anchors

Morning: wake, song, lemon water/ acv/ ginger. meditate/pray. gratefulness – love – silence – listen – short reading – intention – identity statement (if feels connected)

Daytime: Sunshine. Movement. Weights 3x week. Stretching. Supplements. Grounding. Connect to a friend.

Nightly: journal – reading – stretching – kegels – charcoal brush teeth – face night cream – magnesium lotion on feet – breathing exercises

A bit from the compiled statement, looking over the last five years:

[Past

 I did the best I could, I didn’t do it perfectly. The ashes of burned bridges laid in the garden, sprouting new oaks, whose leaves are for healing, salving rested peace, as far as it depends on me.

 I believe nothing is wasted, no love was in vain, and everything can be integrated; fertilizer growing empathy and capacity. Shattered porcelain glued back together again.

 My fingerprints were there, and I surrendered the need for credit.

 I move from survival to sacred.

~

In This Season

 I keep doing the work, I know when to deep dive and I know when to sun bathe.

 I rest in safe, light hearted, free, connected, and kind friendships. Celebrating one another.

 I am a good care-taker of my healthy body, mind, spirit, heart and soul.

 I can allow myself to receive care, help, attention, and physical touch without feeling suffocated or misused.

• My heart is awake, learning the sacred “cherishing”
• I allow that which is coming to come, and going to go. I’m at the source and at peace with myself and the world. ]

It’s crazy when they said “nothing will ever be the same again” — you hear that and it sounds dramatic. But it’s just so very true – absolutely nothing is ever the same again since there will never be a day in the next 18 years where I do something (go to a movie? sleep in? bike up the chatifeld hill?) where we are not first figuring out where baby girl will be.

It is the very best.

The nursery is done. The bassinet is set up next to my side of the bed. We have diapers and a shit ton of wipes (no pun intended) stocked up. Supposedly the shelter in place restrictions will lift over the next few weeks so perhaps we can have visitors at the birth center — if not, it will be okay. My best friend is throwing me a “zoom shower” on Saturday, my sister made me a sweet book of letters and encouragement. It’s actually been nice to get to work from the nursery and wear sweatpants and a nice shirt to comfort my very pregnant body while I see clients over “go-to meeting”. Tomorrow we will finish the birth center bag. I’m making a binder (of course) with all the info, you know, just alllll the potential info. #8sgoto5sinstress

This Is All Happening!

I started this blog in December of 2009. I wonder what role it will continue to play? I don’t think people really blog anymore. But I am going to start my book at some point. This isn’t a bad place to throw some epiphanies around.

I am 31 years old. I am having a baby girl named Judah Claire. I’m taking four months off work to lean into motherhood. I feel good in my body, good in my skin, good in my heart. I am grateful and ready to learn. Being alive is good.

Yesterday we wore tank tops and had chilled white wine (my cup more ice than wine). Today it’s snowing. Easter snow. To me easter means there is nothing I can do to earn intrinsic worthiness and love, and there is nothing I can do to loose worthiness and love. I don’t have to punish myself forever and playback all my failures and zero in on all my faults and desperately secure my own atonement. For me, “it is finished” means the striving and hustle and anxiety and perfectionism and rebellion don’t have to protect me anymore. I can have a deep sense of “I’m Okay-ness”, I can be safe.

Every day is a little bit the same when you don’t leave your house. My office is set up in the nursery. Everything IS going to be okay. I am glad I let myself be sad. There is also much to celebrate, much to hope.

I am becoming someone new. I can feel that. Motherhood is bringing into fruition, cleansing, cutting off, rooting in, shining light, rising up, letting go, dying off, coming-into, beginning again, beginning new, culminating, jumping off, saying goodbye, saying hello.

I am actually excited for labor. To breathe through pressure, to surrender, to trust my body, to overcome.

During my “relaxation” self-hypnosis exercise I am having intrusive thoughts of past people in my life. I have done SO much work letting go releasing ammends-making etc. Is there more?

I’m breathing – I’m breathing.

There is hope, yet.

And : TIKVAH – to put tension on a Cord. Hope / Sorrow.

COVID. BLM. Election 2020. Zoom Shower. Growing new life. JOY. Hurt. Isolation. Quarantine. Masks. COMMUNITY! Our Rich Happiness. Suicide Rates Rising.

The world feels sad heavy overwhelming. How do we think about the men who sell peanuts outside the march madness stadiums or the women at yankee candle in the mall or my hairstylist or all the baristas not to mention those getting triaged because there are only so many ventilators not to mention those who have died. All of our grandparents and parents (so weird that our parents are old now), all of our immune compromised loved ones. Those in countries without the preventative or communicative measures. It’s just too much.

So I feel pretty guilty for how disheartened and sad I am that my baby showers are cancelled (I mean come ON, darrelle, at least you are having a baby! At least you’re healthy! Some people have to cancel their weddings or their parents funerals or not get to   finish their senior year of high school or take their honeymoon or they were about to retire and now their retirement is gone.. this is nothing, you are FINE!) . It’s not missing getting the things at the shower. I mean, we need the things. And since my clients are cancelling because they have lost their jobs and they have to decide between paying rent and paying for therapy and therapy although it feels it should be essential it’s unfortunately not… so we do do actually need the things. But what I wanted was the hippy birthing book’s “mama blessing” with the bead that represents the blessing that we put on a string and I get to hold it during labor (LABOR, undoubtedly the biggest THING I’ve had coming down the pipeline marathon 14ers etc included). I wanted to be able to look at the circle of my most trusted women, many who have done this thing already, and make eye contact and have them tell me I have it in me. That it will be okay. That it’s a sacred transition and I was made for it. I want the women tribe around me like this was two hundred years ago in south america in the cave (I see it in a cave). Holding my hand and rubbing my back and burning sage and whatever other mythical idyllic connective ceremonial-ness. I need the collective spirit of “you can do it-ness”.

I would tell a client that you hold the weight of the world in one hand, having the perspective necessary. And in the other hand you hold your losses your griefs your little deaths, knowing they are real. Lamenting. Grieving. Feeling sad and angry and mad and confused. I would tell a client that. But it’s hard to believe it myself. And I don’t anticipate falling into self-pity. But I really am sad. I am sad. That this season got hijacked.

I’m taking the classes and reading the books and saying the affirmations and believing the best. And, it’s scary. It’s scary anyways, to become a mom. What am I letting go of? What am I embracing? I know things won’t be the same. I am so excited so glad so thankful so grateful. And, it was scary anyways.. before I had to worry about the virus and who can hold her and who can’t because who has been on a plane or been around someone who has been on a plane and the parks are closed and I thought May was going to be this beautiful perfect time to have a baby. How do I protect her from this? What if it gets worse? I thought we would be sitting at Pinehurst with all the women in our family having a margarita. That we would be hiking and camping and exploring with Judah Claire all summer. But now, isolation? Fear? Worry? I’ve never even been a reasonable worrier much less an anxious over-worrier. I am not a future-hypothetical’s potential turmoil debater, but this IS just a little scary. I am a little scared.

I would tell a client to do a personal inventory because you can’t release until you know what you are releasing and how it’s impacted you (and I’ll hold myself back from saying “even though this really doesn’t matter in the big scheme of things” to each point, because the point is that it does matter to me, and your things can matter to you, and none of our things have to take away from each others things or the world’s things):

• That worry about bringing my baby girl into the unknown potentially dangerous world where I don’t know the rules to keep her safe.
• Random: The surgery I had on my finger was unsuccessful, it looks bad. Like my knuckle is a giant tumor. And I have a 500$ bill for it. Is it even worth fighting? Am I even allowed to go into the dermatology office to fight this fight?
• Can’t seem to figure out maternity photos. Something I was so excited about. Schedules aren’t working. Feels like “of course this isn’t working either”.
• Showers cancelled. I had such lovely visions and heart-anticipations of these times.
• Gyms closed. Especially after the first 22 weeks being so brutal and not fitting into my “plan”, these last ten weeks I have worked SO hard to get back into shape. Had this plan and was feeling strong and already feeling it waste away. The hydro massage, barre classes (and the support they gave me specifically for pregnancy). Team Training orange theory classes (and the encouragement there). I am trying to do this birth without interventions thing, and in order to do that I need to be in good physical condition. These were my structures, giving me stability.
• Massage therapy gone. Worked so hard to keep my back strong and muscles aligned. Considered “non-essential”.
• Scared Chiro and Accupuncture will be next to be gone, the other self-care and body maintenance structures.
• There are limits of who gets to be there during the birth. What about our Doula, the birth photographer, my husband, how does this all work?
• I’ve never taken three months of work off, I know that maternity leave wasn’t just going to be a vacation (re: new infant to keep alive), and, was hoping for celebration, BBQ’s, adventure, the pool, and instead it will be isolation (?).
• Don’t get to have the sacred ending and rock-giving to my group DV clients I have worked so hard with the last year. Random anti climactic goodbye, no standing ovation. No thank you’s face to face. No giving my business cards. This week half of them were there and it was an odd “okay, well, see you next week on zoom (?)”.
• Ending on such a weird note (me carrying out the binders hoping she didn’t see me) with someone I worked with and for and believed in with so much family history the last year. Now having to decide if I need to follow up to protect clients.. What is honoring her, what is honoring the clients, what is “right” or ethical or moral or important and what do you let go? How does it play in our family history and connections. What she might say about me. The story she might make up and/or perpetuate?
• Digesting the idea of school extending longer for Scott. Schedules, finances, support, etc.
• Clients cancelling because they lost their jobs. If they are deciding between their mortgage and therapy they are obviously choosing their mortgage. I am planned and scheduled and prepared to stop working the first week of may, not the third week of March.

It’s so cliche that it’s so existential and meta: “release control”; nothing is permanent–  the whole world is one giant fucking mandala. The mirage of control. I preach that and roll my eyes at “over controllers” but I subtly have all of my system’s-ago. And I can’t control any of this. I just, we just, have no idea what is going to happen. And I can’t change it. I have to list it, name the impacts, grieve and mourn it, let it go, and make meaning out of it. That is my only option, that is our only option.

What do you do when you’re a therapist trying to help other people feel better but you can’t stop weeping?

Here is me! About 18 weeks pregnant. Almost half way there. Baby isn’t hiding anymore.

Here is an example of the grace I am having for myself having endured 14 weeks of what has felt like the stomach flu all day every day. It’s amazing how we are stronger and capable of more than we think we are. I had no idea how difficult this would be. I have developed empathy for people living with chronic pain (I have an end-date and this discomfort is for a beautiful purpose, I cannot imagine enduring without such knowledge).

I’ve never been a worried person. I don’t know how I’ve avoided it but while I have seen many dark and twisty seasons, I know the feeling of sadness and depression, anxiety has not been familiar to me. There are now endless invitations for anxiety. What about that ride at Orlando that was supposed to be gentle but it was more jerky than we thought? Did I stay a little bit too long in that hot tub even though it was the right temperature? What if I am not getting enough folic acid and it develops that bone condition like in the Jodi Piccoult novel? How many of these books do I need to read on sleep training? What if I’m not strong enough for birth without interventions and something goes wrong and I was a fool for following this plan? Could things just be okay? Is my story going to be a hard one where I am supposed to learn things to be able to relate?

___________________________________________________

Two other conversations happened this month, both ten (plus or minus) years in the making. Don’t forget: holding tea sitting in my living room finally releasing, crying, letting go. And an LA birthday party getting to say: “yeah, life is crazy, but you know, things worked out the way they were supposed to.”

What does it mean to move into a new decade? More on that later. Happy New Years Eve, friends.

We are a mix of too hard on our selves while simultaneously thinking too highly of ourselves. We swing from deprecation to grandiosity. — I get this. [Because in the deepest truth, rightly named, we “are but sinners” and also royalty (all I have is yours).]

There are really hard parts of me. Unpleasant and difficult and roughed edged. There are frustrating parts of you, annoying and embarrassing and too much or too little. Instead of morning mantras of “I AM PERFECT JUST AS I AM” what if it was “today I will try to be courageous and I will likely fail and I am still okay”. I can see those parts in you and not try to change you and have empathy for you and tell you what hurts me. You can see those parts in me and call me out without me being offended and appreciate me and love me throughout. We don’t have to be so scared of each other and our dark sides and each others dark sides and if anyone finds out our dark sides.

Learning to be okay with our hard parts is the only way we will feel safe and be able to live our purpose. And then we can stop having to think about ourselves so much. We can get over ourselves, so we can actually start living our lives, we actually actually can, be free.