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Category: Reclaim Your Life

  • How Did I Get Here?

    How Did I Get Here?

    It occurred to me that if you are a recent reader of my blog, you might not know how I got to a place where I’m able to be vulnerable about my grief journey.

    Let me take a few minutes to bring you up to date.

    All my life I’ve been a seeker. Even as a child, I always sensed my inner light, even though I was sure I was wrong. A lot of things in my early life led me to believe that I had no value.  Neighborhood kids bullied me, I was sexually abused starting at age 8, and I had a severe stutter, which affected most of my early life. Still, I had glimmers of what came through to me as my true essence. I always thought that was hogwash.

    I did a lot of work to move beyond the abuse of my childhood. By the time I had my own children, I was in touch with a semblance that inner light most of the time, yet I was still a work in progress.

    In November of 2000, my 17-year old daughter Leah died from injuries she sustained in a car accident on her way to school; she was a senior. She hit a tree, the only one in the middle of a cornfield, and had severe brain injuries. After 5 days in the hospital we had to make the impossible decision to remove her from life support. I thought my life was over.

    And it was, my life as I knew it would never be the same again.

    Shortly after she died, I received two messages. They were similar to the message I received as a child about my inner light.

    Losing Leah is too high a price to pay to not live the life you were meant to live.

    Everything you have done up until this point has prepared you for what is coming next.

    I had no idea how I was going to make sense of either of those messages at the time; however, I knew that in order to honor my daughter, I would have to try to excavate the life I was meant to live. I turned to a practice that was already a part of my life at the time, a direct experience practice of present moment awareness called Samyama.

    Samyama helped me to be with the pain of my daughter’s death, without all of the stories that went with it.

    I also already had a trusted Samyama practitioner. In those days I didn’t want to talk about Leah’s death to anyone who didn’t know me well. I was self-isolating, and staying in my pain.  It’s what most of us do in early grief.

    I found Samyama to be a powerful resource to unravel the stories that held me in a place of suffering after Leah died.

    I found that my heart could hold the pain, and teach me how to be with my feelings, which eventually began to shift them.

    I discovered that my heart is an alchemical vessel that can hold anything, no matter how big or painful or uncomfortable.

    I learned how to get better at feeling my feelings.

    Every time I was able to bring my feelings to my heart without the stories, I would receive blessings and grace, every single time. I was beginning to experience the alchemy of grief.

    The alchemy of my grief journey allowed me to go deeper into those old childhood wounds, and heal them more fully. My daughter’s death provided me with the initiation necessary to fully excavate that light that was only a glimmer earlier in my life.

    I found my voice through my grief journey and I learned how to take a stand for myself. I learned that when I speak from my heart I do not stutter. I learned that I can feel joy and pain at the same time; they are not mutually exclusive.  I became an author and a speaker. I uncovered that light that has always burned in my soul.

    I am living the life I was meant to live.

    Living the life I was meant to live means that I continue to be present to where life is calling me in each moment. That is the biggest lesson of my grief journey, and how I continue to honor my daughter.

     

     

  • Through the Gate

    Through the Gate

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    I took this picture on a recent walk.

    I’ve always been fascinated by wrought iron gates.

    Gates are a common image in guided meditations, in dreams, on a walk.

    For me, they represent entrances into a mysterious place, my inner realm.

    Gates have appeared at many important times of my life.

    There was a gate into the yard of office of my Samyama practitioner when I was processing early grief. (And it matched a gate I’ve often seen in a dream)

    I used to love swinging on the gate to my yard as a child. I can still remember the feeling of freedom that I felt as I was doing it.

    This gate is locked, AND it is not attached to anything on either side.

    We easily walked around it.

    Gates can represent entrance into something wonderful, or they can block passage to a place that is forbidden, (at least in some stories or dreams) or a place that we don’t want to enter.

    Maybe, if we look closer, the gates that we think are keeping us safe, that we don’t want to enter aren’t attached either. Maybe upon closer examination, there is a way around.

    Grief can feel like this sometimes.

    It feels like a locked gate, and we avoid it at all costs because we don’t want to go to a place that is unfamiliar. Grief can feel like uncharted territory.

    What if we find that when we go through the gate, we are greeted by a guide who will show us how to meet our grief with grace? That’s what happened for me when I when through that gate early in my grief journey.

    What will you find when you go through the gated you come across in your journey?

    You need only to be willing to enter.

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  • Reclaiming My Voice Through My Grief Journey

    Reclaiming My Voice Through My Grief Journey

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    One of the biggest changes I’ve experienced as I traveled along my grief journey is speaking up; I’ve reclaimed my voice.

    As I prepared to bring my book into the world I needed to cultivate the capacity to tell my story in the way I was being called to tell it.

    This was very daunting for me. I grew up with a severe stutter. I avoided speaking (not just speaking to an audience) at all costs. I felt shame, and was sure something was deeply wrong with me. Yet, by this time, I recognized my inner guidance. I knew what it felt like in my body, and I was being called to tell my story.

    I prepared for this calling in several ways.

    I worked with an Embodied Movement coach to cultivate the space in my body to hold my story. I found that even after all the inner work I had done through my life, my body was still holding on to remnants of old stuff that needed to be released. I was able to free up space in my body so that I could embody my story. This work was so powerful that when my coach offered her work to other professionals to learn how to incorporate it into their own work with clients, I took it, and now am able to use Embodied Movement Practices with my own clients to help them to move old feelings through, and make space for where life is calling them now.

    I joined Toastmasters, Video Mojo Toastmasters, specifically. Here I was able to not only learn how to speak in from of an audience, I learned how to create good quality videos, as well as how to create a You Tube Channel.

    I also worked with a voice and messaging coach. She helped me to speak with emotion in my voice without breaking down. Up until that time, I could tell my story, yet there was no emotion in my voice or face. It was one of the ways I protected myself from completely losing my composure. Learning how to tell my story with emotion, with vulnerability helps me to connect with my audiences.

    One of the myths of grief is that time heals all wounds.

    It’s a myth because it’s not just the time that heals; it’s what you do with that time.  Similarly, finding my voice, there were things I needed to do to use it effectively.  I learned how to embody my story, so I could tell it with vulnerability, confidence, and grace.

    Finding my voice not only assisted my to tell my story, it also helps me in my everyday life. I now speak up when I am compelled to speak. I’ve discovered that when I speak from my heart, I do not stutter.

    I’ve dismantled the shame.

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  • The Rhythm of Time

    The Rhythm of Time

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    One of the things that I often talk about is recognizing the impact that the rhythm of time has had on my grief journey.

    All throughout my life, I’ve always been fascinated by how time can feel different, depending on what is going on.  Maybe that’s why I was so aware of the surreal quality time took on as I traveled my grief journey.

    In the very early days of my grief journey, I was aware a different rhythm to the weeks and weekends.  The weeks were spent trying to get back to normal, even though it was a new normal. The weekends had more space to feelings to arise, and I was so weary from trying to go back to a semblance of normal, that all I could do is sleep. And then Monday would come again, and I the pattern would repeat, over and over until I began to slowly do the work to change this particular rhythm.

    Another time that I noticed a different rhythm was around holidays and milestone days.

    Sometimes it was because a particular holiday held special memories for my family. Other times it is because a holiday changes the normal rhythm of our lives anyway.

    What do you notice as a holiday or milestone day approaches? Do you feel anxiety arising, and not know why?  It could be because of associative memories, or it could be the shift in the way time feels around these times.

    This year, I noticed a shift at Memorial Day because of memories of last year, as we were beginning to quarantine. What I’ve discovered is that each year brings different feelings depending on what has gone on the year before. That’s why it’s important to ask yourself each year as a holiday, or milestone day approaches, what you need this year. Each year may be different.

    When we give ourselves the space to be present to what we need now, we are able to find it.

    In the early days of my grief journey, often I found myself wishing a certain day would not come so I wouldn’t have extra time to feel those painful feelings, or I would use diversion or distraction to numb the feelings. I found that was not helpful. It did not make the feelings go away. It make them louder and more intense, and they eventually have to be felt anyway.

    When you are facing a difficult milestone, or holiday, take some time to ask yourself what you need this year, now, today. Not what worked last year or even last month.

    The more I sit in presence, the more I receive exactly what I need in each moment.

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  • Back to Basics

    Back to Basics

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    Sometimes it’s good to go back to the basics.

    I’ve been talking about grief for a long time.  I sometimes forget that not everyone is as comfortable talking about it as I am.  Let’s talk for a moment about what grief is.

    Grief is the normal response to any loss. We experience a lot of loss during our lifetime, and we don’t always recognize it as grief.

    I used to think that I experienced grief for the first time when a loved one died.  I faced the loss of my grandparents, and my mother before Leah died.  Even though I did, it did not prepare me for the death of my daughter.

    As I traveled the course of my grief journey after my daughter died, I came to realize that grief is a lifelong journey. We are challenged with many life transitions and losses of differing degrees, over the course of our lives.  We aren’t taught how to handle the feelings that arise when these losses occur.

    Here are a few of my own encounters with grief.

    In school I was always picked last for team games, and I didn’t make the cheer leading squad. Parents or teachers may down play what they consider a minor disappointment. To me these things did not feel minor. Maybe you’ve had a similar experience.

    I was sexually abused, beginning at age 8, and I felt like I was worthless for a long time after that.

    Dan and I were in a car accident while I was pregnant with Peter, and it resulted in a C-section.  We lost the ability to have the kind of birth we wanted, and Dan was not present at his son’s birth.

    While I may not have recognized that grief entered into my life at these times; they had a huge impact nonetheless.  What impact does unrecognized grief have on your life? How can you fully know the answer to that question?

    Looking back from my current vantage point I can see that all of these experiences helped to shape me, and I was able to go back and grieve for these losses once I had the skills and resources available to me, most of which I cultivated after Leah died.

    What if I would have had some of these skills available when these events occurred during my life?

    What if I had known that it was ok to feel sad about not becoming a cheerleader, instead of lying about going to tryouts so I didn’t have to face my disappointment in front of my family?

    What if you were taught how to meet your “minor” disappointments when they happened? We’re often taught to get over it, or move on to the next thing before we fully honor what has gone before.  I would have been so much better prepared for the death of a loved one if I knew that my sad and painful feelings were ok to have, and if I was taught the skills to feel them without the intense overwhelm that often accompanies these feelings.

    We think, I thought, that if I pushed them away, or used some kind of diversion, they will eventually go away and I wouldn’t have to feel them.  (Have you ever felt that way?)

    For me, the opposite was true. The more I pushed them away, the more intense they became.  I knew I would have to find a way to allow myself to feel the feelings or I would not be able to honor Leah in the way I was being called to honor her.

    I learned how to meet my feelings, one at a time, in my heart so that they could shift, so that I could eventually know that it was possible to reclaim myself again; so that I was able to live a meaningful and purposeful life. So that I was able to feel joy again,

    And that is how I honor Leah.  I help others to find meaning and purpose in their lives again.

    Moving through grief, healing your heart does not mean that you will forget your loved one.

    Love won’t let that happen.

    I feel more connected to Leah now than I ever did, and I feel her presence often.

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  • 20 Years is a Long Time

    20 Years is a Long Time

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    We marked the 20-year anniversary of Leah’s death earlier this month.

    20 years.

    That fact is enough to stop me in my tracks.  20 years is a long time.

    That’s what I thought when I first began to mark 20-year milestones; 20 years since I graduated grade school and high school, my 20-year wedding anniversary, 20-years since my mom died, and my dad, and so many more. Those milestones now have many more years added to the time that has past.

    20 years since I last saw Leah’s precious face in person, and felt her hugs; that’s a lot for my head to grasp.

    The week leading up to this anniversary was intense. We were in negotiations with both the selling of our home in Raleigh, and the purchase of our new home in St. Paul, MN.  We’re packing and doing all the things necessary to ensure an organized move.

    Dan retired after a 41-year career.

    It was election week.

    Mercury was going direct.

    With all of these activities swirling around in my world, I turned to presence like never before. The only thing that kept me grounded was to breathe deeply, come into my heart, listen deeply to the guidance I always receive there, and act (or not act) from a place of Divine Wisdom. I was guided more often than not to just be. That seemed counter intuitive to me in light of everything clamoring to get done, and yet it was exactly the right guidance.

    Each time I tried to write about what was happening, nothing came. I chided myself for not following through on my commitment to share my experience of going through this time. And each time the message was clear, not now.

    On Sunday, November 8th, we had a Celebration of Lives to mark this anniversary, via Zoom. Leah requested a party this year; she let me know that she missed all us as much as we miss her. The celebration was exactly what we needed this year.
    Many of our family and friends joined to remember Leah, as well as their loved ones. I’ve been sitting with and basking in the energy of that gathering as I’ve been continuing to sort, and purge, and pack.  I’m aware that I am also grieving this move, and I’ve not wanted to give in to it because I want to get more done first. And that reminded me that “waiting until” is something I’ve done all my life, and it’s at the root of all perfectionism.  See if any of these statements ring true for you.

    If I wait until I am the perfect weight, then I can wear cool clothes, or …..(this has changed throughout the years depending on the circumstance)

    When I retire, then I’ll have time to dance or paint, or write poetry.

    When I get my life in order, then I’ll be able to be a better partner, or mother, or friend.

    When I have more time, then I’ll tend to my grief.

    When I first started to dismantle perfectionism in my own life, I had to take a long hard look at these statements.  Why couldn’t I wear cool clothes before I reached a perceived number on a scale that may or may not be realistic?
    Why can’t I dance, or make art, or write poetry now?
    And grief, what if I make time to be with my feelings of grief as they arise?  That is what I teach, and I’m beginning to allow myself to grieve my move. I’m not just leaving a home that we love. I am also saying goodbye to friends, and to professional relationships I have cultivated.  I’m saying goodbye to warmer weather, and to my identity here in Raleigh, among many other things.
    Even after all this time, my first reaction is to push the grief away to “get things done.”  What I know is that allowing my feelings in, and to let them be here until they move through will allow me to be more productive in the long run.
    Grief has taught me to slow down and to listen deeply. When I do that, I can get curious about my first reaction, and see what is underneath. Usually it’s what really needs attention, it’s what I’ve been avoiding with the excuse that I’m too busy to tend to that now.
    Presence is my practice, and it’s here that I connect with my heart.  My head may not be able to grasp 20 years, my heart doesn’t have to grasp it, it can hold all the feelings that arise now and as I continue to move through this time.

    Grieving is an active pursuit. Even allowing my feelings to be here as they are is an active choice.

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  • Finding Joy, Even in Grief

    Finding Joy, Even in Grief

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    Is it possible to find small moments of joy when we are grieving, or when we are living through a pandemic?

    Each year when I enter into the portal of Leah’s death, it always takes me back to November of 2000.
    I remember how I felt when the police came into my office to escort me to the hospital.
    I remember how I felt on the drive to the hospital, and when I found out what happened.
    I remember seeing her for the first time, and my uncontrollable shaking.
    I remember how I would grasp on to each gossamer thin thread of hope that she would return to us.
    I remember leaving the hospital for the last time.
    I remember every detail of that time. I think that is why I am reluctant to enter this time each year; I know I will be taken back to events that I wish were not a part of my memory.
    They don’t come in linear progression. They come in flashes throughout the days and weeks leading up to November 8th.
    This year they are tempered with a new understanding of my life and with a new relationship with Leah.
    Each year when I review these occurrences; I receive new insights. Each year I am able to unravel more and more of the pain and anguish that still lives somewhere in my body.

    This year I’ve been noticing the similarities of living in 2020 and my grief journey, and grief in general.

    I’ve noticed that the stages of grief, denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance, are some of the same feelings we’ve been feeling throughout the past 7 months.
    These stages aren’t linear; we don’t finish with one before we move on to the next one. (I used to think that was true before I traveled my own journey.)
    You may find yourself spiraling back around to these feelings time and time again. What I found for myself is that when I allow the feelings to be here and allow myself to feel them, they shift; they are not the same each time they come back around. That’s what I mean when I say that each year my experience of this time of the year is different.
    We can look at the grief we are feeling this year the same way. Look at all of the stages of grief, and at where and when you’ve experienced them this year.
    Back in March, we were in denial, surely this wasn’t serious, and it would blow over in a few weeks. And then the whole world closed up, and our lives completely changed in an instant in ways we could never imagine.
    That’s what happened to me when Leah died, that’s what happened to you when you experience a death, whether it is the death of a loved one, or another kind of loss, like the loss of a job, a relationship, a way of life, your identity, or the ability to have coffee with a friend.

    Think of how you cycled through these emotions since March, how you are still cycling through them.

    What have you learned about yourself?
    Where have you grown?
    What have you discovered no longer serves you?

    The difficult times of our lives provide doorways into some of our greatest transformations. Each time you experience one of these stages, and all of the emotions that come with them, how have you changed?

    What are you still holding on to?
    What do you wish was the same as it was before?
    These are all questions that I encountered as I traveled my grief journey. When we know that we are experiencing grief, we know that there are ways to meet it, and we can find a way to move through it in our own unique way. Everyone grieves in their own way, there is no one right way to grieve, and there is no one right way to process 2020.
    David Kessler, a renowned grief expert has just written a book called Finding Meaning, The 6th Stage of Grief. It is possible to find meaning, purpose, and even joy again after loss. Sometimes we find the breadcrumbs of meaning, and it’s enough to give us the faith to continue to cycle through our feelings yet again.
    It’s been almost 20 years since Leah died. This is the 20th time I have cycled through my own experiences. I still am brought to my knees at times. I will never get over the death of my daughter.
    I will continue to honor her and myself by saying yes to where life is calling me in each moment. Even in a pandemic we are being called. Even in a pandemic we can find meaning. Even as we grieve we can unearth the jewels that are the blessings and grace that give us the courage to continue.

    To find the blessings and grace that lead to Joy.

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  • My Grand Adventure

    My Grand Adventure

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    On July 24, 2020, I became a grandmother for the first time!

    I’ve known this was going to happen for a while, yet I wasn’t fully prepared for the flood of emotion that arrived upon the sight of my granddaughter’s face at 3 AM on a Saturday morning. It rocked my world like few other things have; the birth of my own children, come to mind.

    The death of my daughter rocked my world in a different way.

    In these first few days of my granddaughter’s life I remembered back to the early days of Peter and Leah’s life. And I can never think of Leah’s birth without thinking of her death. As always when I think of her, there is a mixture of sadness and joy. Right now my heart is so full of joy and love.

    On August 15th, we packed up our rented RV and set off to meet our granddaughter, Arya Soleil Loeffler for the first time. Because of the times in which we are living, we all came to the decision that this was a safe way to travel and minimize the risks that we have all been living with since March.

    We had an amazing trip!

    Camping in our RV for the first time, staying in friends and relative’s driveways when logistics allowed, and enjoying each other’s company on the long 3 day drives each way.  Even Kali, our cat came along, and eventually calmed down and found a place to chill.

    We returned from our adventure on Labor Day weekend.  I’m still integrating the blessings and grace of that visit. Holding Arya, and imprinting the feel of her in my arms so I can remember her now, spending more time with Peter and Christine, and getting to know our gift granddaughter, Marlowe better. We even got to celebrate Marlowe’s 8th birthday while we were there, and learned about mermaids and dragons from her.

    The biggest gift I received is the realization that if I had not met my grief the way I did when Leah died,  I would not have been able to meet my granddaughter with an open heart. I would have had too may layers of protection around it to allow the fullness of my joy to be felt.

    What a huge surprise that was!

    As I’ve  continued to integrate all that has happened in the last few weeks, stepping fully into my new role as a grandmother, and an elder, I’ve had several conversations about my realization that learning how to be with my painful and difficult feelings, especially on my grief journey have allowed me to fully experience the joy of my granddaughter.
    In one conversation, my friend reflected back to me what I told him, and gave me some additional insight. When I said yes to my grief journey, I had no idea what the impact 20 years down the road would be like. I didn’t do it for any implied payback. I did it to honor Leah and the message I received that losing her is too high a price to pay to not live the life I was meant to live.
    I didn’t know that almost 20 years later my granddaughter would benefit from a decision I made back then.
    I didn’t know that the life I was meant to live included welcoming a precious granddaughter into my heart.
    I responded with faith back then. Faith means we trust without seeing results, without even knowing that there will be results.

    So many new insights are available to us when we meet what is here in each moment. Each moment plants seeds for future moments.

    Our world is rocked alright!  We are looking long and hard at our future and making some decisions.  For now, I start each day gazing at Arya’s sweet face and feeling the love in my heart explode, and allowing the smile to return to my face.

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  • Changes

    Changes

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    Here we are in the middle of a year that was supposed to be big.  At the end of 2019 and at the beginning of this year, we all read things like this:

    This is going to be the year that……. (fill in our own blank)

    It is a year of change to be sure, maybe not the change we were planning on or hoping for, and, maybe it is the change we need.  

    There are different kinds of change.


    We change a light bulb.

    We change our clothes, or our hairstyle.

    Those changes are easy. They are done out of necessity as in the light bulb, or a sense of boredom in the case of our hair.

    We may change the way we eat, or our address, or our job.  Now we are entering areas that may need a little more incentive, improvement of our health, or our way of life.

    Change is often looked at with the how easy it is to make, or maybe its how convenient it is for our lives.

    We don’t like to be inconvenienced, and inconvenient change is often pushed aside for another day.

    Up until this year, when we contemplated a change that impacted the world, we, or at least I decided it wasn’t a convenient time. A lot of us have reached a place where convenience or comfort does not enter into our decision to act.

    When we think about change, real change and what that means to us, we are not likely to take the necessary steps to sustain that change unless there are extenuating circumstances.  Like a pandemic, or unanswered killing of black humans. We have been given all that and more this year.

    Grief is like that.

    Grief changes us; it is inconvenient, and painful.

    We don’t like it, and it’s not going away.

    A common response to grief is; “I just want things to be the way they were.”  I’ve heard the same sentiment about the current situation too. In both cases, we are being called to a new normal, to a change in the way we live, the way we respond, the way we love.

    It’s ok to not like it. It’s ok to want to be comfortable. It’s ok to feel all of our feelings, to let them be expressed, and then allow them to help us make the changes that are sustainable, the changes that will change the world, the changes that will call us into the fullness of our being, and give meaning and purpose to our lives and the lives of our neighbors, family and friends, and yes of the world. We may think we are not powerful enough to change the world.

    It’s our world, if we aren’t powerful enough, who is?

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  • Sitting in the Mystery

    Sitting in the Mystery

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    Today I’ve been thinking a lot about my journey, not only my grief journey but the entirety of my journey here on earth.

    While Leah’s death and my subsequent journey to find meaning and purpose in my life again is the single most profound event in my life, what I recognize is that the way I do one thing is the way I do everything else.

    My life before Leah died prepared me to meet it the way I did, and continue to do so. I used to think that my life was meaningless, that there was not any one thing that I was so good at that I could call it my passion and find unabashed joy in it.

    I used to think that I was flawed, that I needed to find out what was wrong with me before I could live a worthy life.

    The message that I received shortly after Leah died, the one that gave me my lifeline to continue to try to live, held all of the dashed hopes and dreams of my past life and provided me with exactly what I needed to find the life I was meant to live. The message is this;

    Losing Leah is too high a price to pay to not live the life I was meant to live.

    Whew, it still brings tears to my eyes more than 19 years after I heard it. I often describe finding this life as an excavation because I had to dig deep. I had to dig through years of doubts, fears, and limiting stories.

    It was the death of my daughter, the most devastating experience of my life, that provided an opportunity to allow me to begin to reconnect, to reclaim the life I was meant to live.

    I found that the essence of that self has always been present. When I would see a glimmer of her as a child, I would suppress her because I felt she was not welcome. I didn’t think I was smart, I was too much for some, not enough for others, and too quiet for everyone. I wasn’t popular, my hair didn’t do what I wanted it to do, and I didn’t feel like I fit in anywhere. I thought that the person I was supposed to be “should” provide all of these things to me. I walked around miserable most of the time.

    The death of my daughter cracked me open in a way I had never experienced before.

    Before Leah died, I grieved the death of my grandparents and my mother. I grieved the loss of innocence when I was sexually abused. I grieved the loss of the kind of birth experience I wanted when my first pregnancy resulted in a cesarean after a car accident, however the death of my daughter shredded the fabric of my life. My heart was broken open. My life was shattered in a million little pieces and I had no clue of how to put it back together, or if I even wanted to put it back together.

    The day I received my message, I remember asking myself how that would even be possible. I knew though that I would not let my daughter die in vain. I knew that I received an important message, and that Leah’s legacy depended on my response.

    I began the long, painful, arduous, messy, chaotic, confusing, raw, tender, intense, and overwhelming journey back to myself. I have talked a lot about that process. Today I want to say that without my own unique grief journey, I would not have reclaimed my soul, the essence of myself that was there all along; the part of myself that makes me exactly who I am. Today I embrace her in every moment. I remember the lessons of my past and take a stand for that little girl who felt less than or not enough.

    My grief journey is the Heroine’s Journey.

    Through it I reclaimed all the parts of myself that I thought were flaws. Today I stand in my power with so much appreciation for my path, yes, even the messy and painful parts.

    Do I want to turn to Leah sitting in my office and give her a big hug and kiss and tell her I love her? You bet I do.

    And that is not my life. I can hold both because I trust the life I’ve been given. When I spend time trying to figure that out in my head, I can return to the days of pain and regret. My soul knows better. My soul knows that when I stand in alignment that I receive all the blessings and grace that I need to continue on this path: my path. And that is the only path I can be on.

    Your path is the only one you can be on. My heart hurts so much when I hear perspective clients ask me how they can feel better without feeling the pain of their loss. Or how I can help them get back to where they were before. I wish I could do that. What I can do is help you find your own unique path through your grief, one that is valid for you. One that takes into account your past history and makes sense out of it; your own Heroine or Hero’s Journey.

    My message is one of transformation and reclaiming. I do not promise to help you get over your loss or find closure. In my experience that is not possible. I will help you get better at feeling all of your feelings, even, and especially, your painful and uncomfortable ones. All of our feelings want to be met as they are, when they are here. Locking up, pushing down, and using distractions may make us feel better for a little while, however that will keep us stuck in a place that doesn’t serve us, or serve the life we are meant to live. I will teach you resources to turn to when you find yourself on the edge of that well of grief so you know what to do for yourself.

    I will show you how self-love, gratitude and appreciation, feeling all of your feelings, and creativity, to name a few, can show you a path through the depths of your grief in a way that nothing else has been able to do so up until now.

    I can walk with you on what may be the most difficult journey of your life and help you find yourself again.

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