My Site

Category: Transformation

  • 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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  • I Don’t Have a Passion

    I Don’t Have a Passion

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    What is my passion? 

     

    I’ve heard that question a lot lately; actually I’ve heard it all my life and I’ve never been able to answer it.

    As a child there was never one thing that grabbed my attention completely and had me transfixed. Nothing that I was drawn to do with a single mindedness that would not be denied.

    As I continued to grow, that question was always in the back of my mind. I thought that surely, as I gained experience and knowledge, that I would find my passion. Yet I never did. I was sure something was wrong with me. I was sure that I was damaged and that meant that I would never fulfill my reason for being here.

    As an adolescent I would hear the bible story about not wasting my God given talents, and for the life of me I didn’t know what they were. I was sure I was doomed.

    As my life progressed, I would periodically revisit this quest to discover my passion, always without success.

    When Leah died and I began to listen to where I was being called, one of the things I began doing was writing my story. That led to writing my book, which led to telling my story. 

    Each one of these steps progressed in a way that helped me to reclaim a part of myself that I had left behind in my childhood for many reason, some of which I have discussed in detail in previous blogs and writings.

    I’ve also talked about my recently completed yearlong quest. Even though I went into it without any expectations, one of the things I hoped would come out of it was finding my passion. But it didn’t happen; at least not in the way I envisioned it happening.

    This doesn’t mean that there are no pursuits that I find enjoyable. There are a lot of thing that bring me pleasure, and in the past few years I have been seeking out play, and have found new activities to enjoy. I love to paint, make collages, draw, read, dance, write, have meaningful conversations, to name a few but nothing has emerged as what I would consider a true passion.

    I have often said that telling my story is a passion, and it is, because through telling my story I inspire others to live their lives fully. I know this is my life’s calling and it’s an honor to do it. 

    Through it I have healed many of my childhood wounds more fully, allowing me to continue to say yes to where my life is calling me in each moment. I’ve often thought that if I hadn’t had exactly the life I did growing up, I wouldn’t be able to do this work, and while that is true, I still wanted to find that elusive passion.

    I was very frustrated that I didn’t have what other people had, a driving passion that stood above all else in their lives, so last week I made this my inquiry in my daily Samyama practice. 

    I recognized that I can’t stay in grief 100% of the time. I need the self- love practices that fill me up, that give me the energy and capacity to hold space for my grief work. I wanted to know once and for all where my passions lie.

    And then I knew; my passion IS living my life to its fullest. 

    Having fun with Dan while experiencing new and favorite past times such as going to the fair, dancing, listening to live music, laughing at shared memories, making new memories, planning our tiny home together, or sitting quietly in each other’s presence.

    I found there was no limit to the experiences that make up living my life to its fullest. When I received this realization my entire body relaxed. I felt at home in my own skin, I didn’t have to be anyone other than who I was; who I am.

    I never did, and it’s not lost on me that if I hadn’t said yes to my grief journey; if I had stayed in the pain and suffering; if I had chosen to stay in bed and retreat from my life; I never would have reached my fullest potential. I never would have realized that living life fully is more than enough for me.

    Writing these words today, I am in awe of my journey, of the process that has brought me to this moment. I bow in appreciation to the mystery, always.

     
     

     

     

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  • Dancing on the Edge of the Unknown

    Dancing on the Edge of the Unknown

    I’ve been in a time of not doing for a while now, and I’ve struggled against it, wanting to do rather than be. During this time I was a presenter at a business retreat that was planned way before I entered this space, and it came together seamlessly. This was confirmation that,

    when I’m working from my strength and my gifts, flow happens and my to do list gets done.

    After the end of my yearlong quest, when I stated that I was done efforting, my body took this proclamation seriously. I’ve felt most like myself these past few weeks sitting in my heart and waiting for inspiration to arise rather than pushing it to arise. That has led to major triggering on all sides, from everywhere. What came out of that was the awareness of a very young part of myself that needed attention. Until now she hasn’t felt safe enough to let me know her needs. It was in the back and forth of surrendering to what I know I needed, slowing down, and being willing to figure it out so I could move past this (whatever this is or was), that she found the space to emerge. I’ve known about her for a long time and every time I’ve noticed her in the past, she retreated. She’s ready for my undivided attention and I’m ready to give it to her. I’m asking her to help me play. I’m letting her know that as a child she’s not responsible for some of the things she’s been trying to take on, like keeping me safe. There was a time when I needed, and she needed, to be kept safe. Now I know how to keep myself safe so she can play.

    I’ve been searching for play in my life for a really long time.

    The kind of play when you lose track of all time, blissful play that was never really a part of my life, maybe on a few occasions, but not on a regular basis. Sometimes I think its ironic that I came to where I am today through my grief journey, that the death of my daughter provided the initiation I needed to fully take a stand for myself. To say yes to stepping fully into who I am in each moment, knowing that I dance on the edge of comfort and discomfort each time I take another step into my self, into my truth, into my aligned heart.

    Sometimes I am dismayed that it took so long to get here. I am 65, how can I still have fun? (I’m sure part of this feeling is from the birthday card my dad gave me when I turned 30. The message said, “You are 30. You will never again have fun.”) I know that was my father’s sense of humor and it wasn’t true. I did, however, think of that message whenever I questioned some of my life’s lessons.

    Yes, my physical age can give me a start sometimes, but I’m not going to let limiting thoughts and beliefs shape my life.

    It’s not always easy to be in a place of being instead of doing, until I surrender to the present moment and listen deeply to my heart. I’m reminded why my business is Being with Grief, not doing grief.

    One of the questions I am asked most often is, do I think I will ever stop grieving. My answer is no. My grief may shift and change; no doubt it will continue to change me; it will never end though because Leah is not here. That also doesn’t mean I won’t feel joy.

    I am joyful, I am grateful, and I am sad, I feel sorrow, I feel pain. I’ve discovered I can feel all of it. One of my biggest discoveries is that when I allow myself to feel the sorrow exactly as it show up,

    It leads me to the sacred ground where joy is also possible.

    I don’t know how it works. I’ve tried to figure it out. My head has analyzed it, sliced and diced it a thousand ways, and I still don’t know how it works. I do know that it does, when I come into my heart with all of my feelings I have a greater capacity for joy, for gratitude, for love.

    Do you feel the same way? I’d love to hear from you.

  • My Grief Journey is Like a Compost Pile

    My Grief Journey is Like a Compost Pile

    My yearlong quest is over.

    I spent my birthday in Minneapolis, reflecting, in gratitude, and connecting with beloved family. We talked a lot about grief, and where our journeys have taken each of us.

    We were all grieving the same person, Leah, and we all had profoundly different experiences. Each of our lives were frozen in the moment she left us physically, and each of us chose to look deeply at our lives and decide if we wanted to figure out how to thaw out that moment and see how it had changed us.

    Grief does that; it changes us.

    For me, some of those changes were evident early on. I knew I couldn’t stay stuck in the never ending days of distraction and diversion, even though I wanted to do just that. Something inside me knew, even then, that I was being called to something greater. I knew that staying stuck would not honor Leah, would not be an example for Peter, and would not give me any chance of staying in relationship with Dan.

    In our conversation last week, I said that

    my grief journey has been like a compost pile,

    and everyone laughed, and then we went on to talk about how it has been just that, for all of us. We each took all of our pain, devastation, suffering, and feelings that we didn’t even know existed and mixed them together with prayers, faith, willingness to not know where we were going, and time.

    Along the way we found grace, blessing, and love.

    We found what we needed to dig deep and do the work that grief illuminated in each of us. From that pile of messy feelings newness began to arise. I began to process my grief with Samyama, present moment awareness, I was called to walk with others on their journey, I wrote my book and companion journal, I was able to heal my childhood wounds on a much deeper level. Healing my wounds allows me to show up in my own life in a fuller way, to embrace my own radiance,

    without needing to diminish my true essence.

    Much like table scraps mixed with water, sunlight, mixing, and time turn into fertile soil to grow next year’s garden, my new life today was nourished by the scraps of my old life combined with blessings and grace. This also dispels the myth that time alone can heal; it’s very much the work that is done during that time. My shoulder is a great example of that. If I had ignored my PT exercises, I would have nowhere near the range of motion I now have 4+ months after surgery.

    This is my piece of the compost pile, Dan and Peter have their own, and those are their stories to tell. Our trajectory as a family is changing too.

    We are planning to build a tiny home in Peter’s backyard

    so we can spend more time with him. As we were discussing all of this I felt a deconstruction of old templates falling away as we made plans for a more connected future together. I’m not sure it would have been possible if we all didn’t say yes to our doing the work necessary to claw our way through the brambles of our journeys. I am grateful beyond measure that we did say yes.

    What I know now is that the unfolding of my heart could not have happened in the way it has without the journey I’ve been through, and continue to go through without Leah’s physical presence.

    The exquisite divine arrangement of what that means is so heartbreaking.

    It is the true essence of the cost of losing Leah.

  • Lessons From My Shoulder Surgery

    Lessons From My Shoulder Surgery

    What did I learn from my down time, while I was recovering from
    shoulder surgery?

    As I reflect on this time, it is clear to me that my surgery and the time
    after was not down time at all. Let me explain.

    Since the beginning of this year I’ve been aware of clarity of language, more precisely, how I use language and how my words influence me.

    The time spent preparing, during, and recovering from my surgery were anything but down time. Yes, I was not participating in the activities that were a part of my daily life before surgery, however, there was plenty going on. Some of this was doing and some of this was not doing.

    In the days and weeks immediately following surgery, I was not doing
    much. I was resting, sleeping, resting, and sleeping. It was my body that was doing the healing, even though I couldn’t see what was going on.
    There were anesthesia drugs to be flushed, bones and skin to be knitted, and muscle to be healed. There were times when I was certain that I
    could hear them all knitting and purling in there.

    There wasn’t much that I could do for myself. I needed help with just about everything. I had an opportunity to re-examine my relationship with giving and receiving and asking for what I needed. I learned more about gratitude, humility, and about my own natural rhythm.
    As I emerged more and more each week, it felt like I wasn’t put together the same way as I was before, that I was cellularly changed. Yes, I now have a bionic shoulder, and
    there are parts of me that are no longer with me, but this felt deeper, like I was more in alignment with my Truth.

    My recovery time was a time of slowing down; I had an opportunity to be with the feelings that surfaced during this time. I’m grateful for the gift of extra time to explore my internal life more deeply. This prescribed time of slowing down was timed nicely during the yearlong quest that I began on my 64th birthday. I wrote these words last year as I made the intention to enter this quest;

    I acknowledge that when I am fully aware and awake in my life that everything that I encounter is in service to my yearlong intention; every experience, every encounter, every insight, everything. Enough time and space will be required to integrate these experiences. I commit fully to this quest. June 13, 2018.

    When I wrote those words, I had no idea that a shoulder replacement would be one of the necessary experiences of this year. Here is some of what I know now, 3+ months after my surgery and 3+ weeks before the end of my yearlong quest on my 65th birthday.

    I long for the luxury of unstructured time, not to wile away the hours with distraction, rather to allow curiosity to lead me to my next adventure or initiation.

    I desire to listen deeply to my innermost heart. It is here that I connect
    with my soul, my intuition, and my inner rhythm.

    I am done with efforting; trying to do something. I now know that efforting isn’t necessary when I’m dancing to my soul’s rhythm and purpose.

    When I listen to my soul’s purpose, it always leads to right action,
    whether in my work, creating sacred space in my home or body, learning, reflecting, or playing.

    These are some of the questions that began arising as I became curious;

    What deeply nourishes me, body, mind, and soul? What brings me
    pleasure and fun? How do I play?

    How can I bring a sense of ease and flow to my work? What do I need
    each day to nurture all parts of me?

    I’m sure there will be more insights in the next three weeks, or maybe
    not. Maybe the next three weeks will be for integrating what has already happened, even those things I know nothing about yet. I do know that
    I feel so much gratitude for this path I am on; for the capacity to live my life unapologetically as me.

    Where is life calling you in this moment?
  • Tales from My Journey

    Tales from My Journey

    When I first started my year-long quest on my 64th birthday I thought I went into it with no expectations. I certainly didn’t expect to discover I needed shoulder replacement surgery. And yet, as I prepared for it, I found out that I held emotional baggage in my shoulder.

    I first thought that releasing the emotions would magically release my shoulder. What I’ve come to realize is that by releasing old emotions that were stuck in my shoulder, I’m giving my new shoulder joint a better chance of working properly.

    As I approach my 65th birthday, sometimes I’m perplexed about being that age.

    It took me some time to get used to having a 6 at the beginning of my age. Leading up to the year-long quest I began a journey to get healthier, not because I was dreading the 6-5 birthday, but because it was time for me to take care of my health in a big way.

    I began working with a functional medicine doctor. There were some major issues going on. Nothing that was critical at the time, but things that could become critical if I didn’t change. One of the things that showed up was adrenal fatigue, and I know now that the adrenal fatigue began in the early days of my grief journey. I tended to a lot of things on my grief journey, but not my health, not in the way I needed to, and my body was feeling the effects. Grief manifests physically, how can it not?

    It took me a year of diligent work, and investigation to begin to finally heal from the physical effects of grief.

    I’m still working on it, but we’ve found the right formula for my body.

    One of the biggest struggles has been consistent sleep, a common symptom of adrenal fatigue. It has taken scrupulous attention to my evening routine, eliminating foods that do not support my body, taking supplements that do, along with meditation, movement, and more. As my sleep improved, my energy returned, and my adrenals began to get stronger. I know that this is a way of life for me, because it is life giving for me. In all of this I’m finding my natural rhythm, and it’s not what I thought it would be, or what I wanted it to be. Again, it is what is right for me, and I’m embracing what is right for me, however it shows up these days.

    I keep receiving reminders about my upcoming birthday, mostly from folks wanting to help me make the best decision about Medicare packages. When I think about turning 65, sometimes it feels surreal; sometimes I wonder how it arrived so soon. What I don’t feel is old. I still feel like the same me I always did; in fact, in a lot of ways, I feel more like me than ever. I still have a way to go on my year-long quest, and I know that I will shed more things that no longer serve me as well as receive insights along the way. So how do I really feel about turning 65? I don’t really like it, I want things to be different, and they aren’t.

    Can I complain about it, and rail about fleeting youth?

    Sure I can, and I’ll still celebrate my 65th birthday in a few months. That’s why being with what is, is sooooo much better than trying to go back to the way things were. From this place I can be the best me I am now, and truth be told, I have more energy now, and feel better that I did 5, 10, or more years ago. I choose to live my life fully now because lamenting about what would have or could have been keeps me from my full potential. I don’t want to wake up at 75 or 85 and feel like I didn’t live my life all along the way.

  • Getting Ready for Surgery

    Here is a picture of my new chair.

    There was a time when I would have told you that I would never own a recliner. I don’t like them and I never have. So why do I now have one in my bedroom? Next week I am going to have shoulder replacement surgery. When I first found out about the need for surgery I was in denial, mostly because I had no idea that it was even possible to replace a shoulder joint.

    I left that appointment in a daze.

    At that point, I had been working on regaining full mobility in my shoulder for over two years. In addition to physical therapy I’ve tried massage, acupuncture, chiropractic, an anti-inflammatory diet, supplements, strength training, exercise, yoga, emotional release, and probably a few more. Sometime during the summer I reached a plateau, I was no longer making progress.

    My PT wanted to get an x-ray to determine if I had a bone spur that was inhibiting movement. The x-ray showed that I did have a bone spur, and I made an appointment with an orthopedic surgeon. In anticipation of this appointment I was preparing for the removal of a bone spur. All of the research I had done told me that it was fairly easy as far as surgery is concerned with a relatively short recovery period. Instead, the surgeon walked into the room and told me I needed a shoulder replacement.

    The day before that appointment my arm was in a lot of pain, and I asked to be shown what would be the right answer for me to restore my range of motion and alleviate the pain. Shoulder replacement was NOT the answer I wanted.

    I’ve learned though that the answer to our prayers is not always the answer we want.

    After that initial appointment I did a lot more research. I had an MRI. I had a second consult. I got a second opinion. This time I asked more questions.

    How about stem cell or cortisone?

    Can you just take off the bone spur?

    Is there ANYTHING else I can do to avoid surgery?

    The answers were again not what I wanted to hear. I have no more cartilage in my shoulder joint. Any of those fixes might alleviate pain for a time, but my cartilage would still be gone. I know that shoulder replacement surgery is the right thing for me. I know this mostly because of the timing of the answer to my prayer. There was a part of me that knew this even then, in spite of the denial.

    So what does the chair have to do with any of this? In my research I found a lot of advice, lots of it conflicting. The only consistent piece of advice was the need for a recliner to sleep in for the first few months; again; not what I wanted to hear, so I tried to debunk that one too. But that didn’t work, so I have my chair on the advice of many trusted friends and sources. I still don’t like it, just like I don’t like the fact that I’m having surgery. I can know that something is the right thing for me and not like it at the same

    time. Think about that. How does that change the way you show up for what you know is the right choice for you?

     

  • My Yearlong Quest Took A Detour

    I returned home from four days in Vegas last week, or maybe it was last year, or yesterday. It was one of those experiences that was timeless and that cellularly changed me once again. The event was called The Stage, and I took the stage to tell my story. What I came to realize is that there are many parts of my story that I have not yet told; some because they are too painful, some because they are too new. What I discovered, yet again, is the power in speaking my story, all of it. It is time for me to begin to share one of the new parts of my story.

    On June 13, 2018, I began a yearlong quest.

    The day was my 64th birthday. My intention for the quest was to release all that no longer served me in preparation to receive what is mine to carry into the world. Now, as then, as I write those words, I gets shivers in my whole body, the kind that tell me that I am on the right path. In addition, I want to emerge on my 65th birthday in vibrant health, and standing fully in my Queen energy.


    These are some of my insights and messages from the first days of my quest. I acknowledged that when I am fully aware and awake in my life that everything that I encounter is in service to my yearlong intention; every experience, every encounter, every insight, everything. Enough time and space will be required to integrate these experiences. I have committed fully to this quest.


    As I sat alone with the Divine on my birthday, in a vision a door opened for me; when I went through, everything looked the same as my world now, but there was more clarity. It was as if I was looking through a sharper lens. The message I received was that everything is clearer when experienced in the present moment. I also got the feeling, more than ever, that everything is connected; that the lessons I learn on this quest were seeded in the past, in my childhood, and in all of the experiences I’ve had up until now.


    It’s now been almost six months since I began this quest. I am approaching the mid-point. My health is continuing to improve, and I‘ll be embarking on another quest inside this one. One of the health issues I’ve been working on, for longer than this year, is shoulder mobility. What started out as a frozen shoulder, is now full-fledged osteoarthritis. I need shoulder replacement surgery.

    This is not a part of the story that I wanted to claim.

    I didn’t want to have surgery. I wanted to deny that I needed it and I wanted a miracle. One day a couple of months ago I said this prayer, “I’m ready for my shoulder to be healed and to be pain free, what is the next step?” The very next day I found out I needed surgery. Even remembering that I was told that everything I encounter along this path is a part of this yearlong quest, I wanted to deny it; I wanted to find another answer. This is a big one for me. I don’t like doctors. I look to holistic measures for my health care. And I especially don’t like surgery. The last surgery I had was an emergency C–section almost 38 years ago. Even my subsequent pregnancy was not a C-section. I sat with this situation for a long time. I did research, got an MRI, went back for another consult, and even got a second opinion. I found out that doing all that was not going to grow more cartilage back between the bones of my shoulder joint, no, not even stem cell treatment. I had to go back and remember how quickly my answer came when I said my prayer. And that’s when I got my full body yes. Believe me I wanted it to be a no, but it definitely was a yes. I called and began the scheduling process. Immediately I felt like I was moving forward in my quest. I still don’t like the idea, and when I think too long about my humerus being cut, I start to go down a rabbit hole.

    There is a part of me that is being fully awakened, the part of me who knows my Truth, and she is not going away.


    During this time my business has been evolving in a big way. It is taking on the texture of my own grief journey. I am learning new ways to tell my story and bring my work into the world. Dan and I are being inspired in new exciting ways to bring our own journey into our work. One of the things I’ve discovered it that the life I am meant to live is not stagnant. I will not reach a certain point and stay there for the rest of my days. The life I am meant to live continues to evolve as I say yes to where life is calling me.

    So stay tuned, I’ll be sharing the story of my shoulder surgery, as well as my yearlong quest as I continue to move through it.