Hands meet, palms together, a gesture of my gratitude. My deep expression of thanksgiving pours from my heart as I look into each of their faces. Their eyes hold the whole story. For these wounded women the story has brought them to this place seeking. They seek healing. The seek connection. They seek acceptance.
By their own heart.
By their own hand.
By their own spirit.

I share with them what my heart believes:
I believe that all of the answers to each of their questions are carried within themselves.
I believe that healing comes along the journey to that place deep within.
I believe that spring always follows winter.
I believe that the true treasures are to be found in the darkest and coldest of winter nights.
I believe that we each must travel alone on the path to healing and that there are others holding out a hand to steady when it gets unbearable.
I believe that the strongest grasp is offered by one who has gone before.

I am blessed to have the opportunity to witness the journeys of these courageous women.

Hope Returns

She was lost,
wandering for so long in a desert of denied self.
Prickly cactus thorns bloodied her soft feet
as she moved across the wild terrain.
Her only thought was to get far enough away
so that the pain would be only a faint blur on the horizon.
She would make up in her head
that the speck miles behind
could easily become a forgotten memory.
Her faithless logic convinced her that it was the only way -
straight ahead,
no turning,
no stopping,
no circling.
The destination remained just as far -
even after the thousand wounded steps.
Comfortable illusions cracked open in the light of day
showing her the truth of false convictions
even as they pleaded with her to lose herself in the mirage.
Coins tossed in the well of longing
reminded her of long lost wishes of connection, belonging and purpose.
The ripple moved outward
as the sun rose again in her lifeless spirit.
Palms lifted,
focus set,
will engaged,
soft gaze,
heart open,
feet connected.
The small speck now becomes her truth.
Hope can only return once the tightly held silver discs can be released.
It's not courage nor faith that travel next to hope - they quickly fall to the ground in exhaustion.
It's the surrendered heart that holds her hand on the journey back.

Remembering Who We Are

The pictures of precious babies cover the walls of my office. I ask the women gathered together for the workshop to close their eyes and give them the suggestion to use their breath to bring their awareness into the room.

"Whatever needs to join you at this time invite into this space," I whisper. I watch their faces and their breath and their bodies respond to the suggestion. Softly I say, "Gather to you anything now that needs to join you in the workshop." After a few moments and more gentle prompts I say, "Now, open your eyes just slightly. Soft eyes. Look at each of the pictures."

I observe their expressions as they look at each of the seven images. I remind them that each one of them was born precious and valuable and innocent just as these babies were.

They have forgotten who they were born as. As they look at the pictures the women offer words to me to describe babies and young children. They shout, "Magical, uncensored, honest, inquisitive, needy, sweet smelling, spontaneous, enthusiastic, excited, unmarred and loving." I know as they speak that they don't believe these things about themselves now. They have lost these beliefs. Life's struggles and sorrows have given them other beliefs. Ideas that they aren't good enough, that life is scary, that people will always leave them and that they don't matter.

The masks are firmly in place to keep the world out and the child they were born as retreats further and further within. She pulls the layers over her so no one can hurt her or ridicule her or tell her that her body isn't good enough. The younger women fight from behind their shields of anger, the older ones just close their eyes and press their lips tighter together. Either way the feelings are too much.

I ask them to wake up, to reach in and pull that sweet self into their arms. Some fight harder when they realize that they will have to excavate years of pain to find the treasure. Others just sink deeper into the sleep of denial.

A brave few will heed the call. When I ask them to stand before the pain and touch it they do. They scream, they push, they speak, they weep and they release. They bring the shame up and out of their bodies. The unacknowledged places within are accepted. The darkest secrets are spoken. The wounds tended.

Slowly and gradually the child emerges.

What have you forgotten?
What lies buried deep within you?

A suggestion for deeper work:
Find some pictures of yourself as an innocent young child or baby. If you can't find any pictures go through magazines and tear out pictures that would symbolize who you believe you were as a very young child or baby. Now, in your journal write words that describe this precious little one. When you have your list reflect on ways that you can invite these qualities back into your life. Do some visual journaling around these attributes and commit, if you like, to three things you can do in the following week to bring these characteristics into your day.

The True "Yes"

There has been so much lately written about saying "yes" to life. I love this idea and practice it in my life but I believe first we have to know how to say "no". Saying "no" allows us to say "yes" to what truly feeds our soul and spills out to those around us. As women in our culture we have been brought up to say "yes" to every request. We have been taught that we must nurture and care for everyone. While this is a wonderful gift if it is not first given to ourselves we become dry and brittle and shreds of the woman we can be. Years ago I wrote this poem about coming to the true "yes":

Sometimes a woman has to say "no" a thousand times before she can come to one true yes. 

"No, I can't talk to you right now." 

"No, I won't join one more committee even if it is a vital cause." 

"No, I won't be the neighborhood baby-sitter just because everyone else works out of the home."

 In all of these "no's" we can finally come to know who we really are. 

We are not the volunteer who always works so hard that she becomes physically sick after the big event. We are not the friend who always answers the phone no matter what. 

We are not the mother whose door is always open. 

All of these "yes'" come at a price. 

The headaches. 

Breast cancer.

Fallen families.

 Lives unlived. 

Love lost. 

After the first hundred "no's" it gets a little easier. 

"No, I won't remain silent while an angry father slaps his two year old at the grocery store." 

"No, I can't share myself with 'friends' who are unkind and ungiving." 

"No, I won't accept something as truth without first asking my heart." 

At the end of that long road of "no's" we finally meet who we really are.

The "Right" Path

Recently, I've uncovered old writings that have been incubating for many years. I find it amazing that my voice from the past can remind me that I already know the answer to the questions that have been swimming in my mind again lately. This particular writing came to me in a time in my life when the question of being on the "right" path was very strong. I woke up one morning and heard very clearly, as if someone next to me was speaking to me, "there is no right or wrong path... whatever path you choose is the path you need to experience at this time in your life." This statement was so freeing for me. I could, all of a sudden, release the need for perfection and keep walking. This is the message from the past that I wrote over 15 years ago:


When a woman finally catches up with the woman she has spent a lifetime chasing she is shocked when this woman turns to face her and she realizes that she is eye to eye with the woman she has always been.

What is my destiny? What is my soul's purpose in this life? What have I come here to give? What is my heart's desire? These questions spin endlessly in a woman's mind like an enchanted top that never stops. The answers come at different points in each individual's life triggered usually by those shattering events that make you stop mid-stride and look around with compassionate eyes.

The question never seemed to leave her side. Like a faithful dog. Whenever she looked over there it was looking up at her with those pleading eyes. Is this the correct path? Am I fulfilling my true calling? Is this where I should be?

From the time she was a very young girl she knew she was destined to lead a special life. She was so loved and told often that she had an important destiny to fulfill. Unfortunately no one ever told her exactly what this specific mission was and so started her search for the meaning of her life.

During college her days were spent with exciting people and ideas. She knew that she felt most at home in the psychology courses and yet she heard a tiny  voice always asking for what greater purpose did she pursue this. After college she traveled from one job to the next learning many new things and the voice continued to grow louder. Her journeys to new places took her from her familiar rain forest to the dry desert and the questions burned hotter. 

Bead after bead she strung, each an inquiry into her fate. She looked into the eyes of birthing women and with the first cries of their babies she heard, "Is this my true path?" With each loaf of bread she kneaded all of her requests for clarity were created. Every poem she wrote asked the same question, "What is my spirit's aspiration?"

Finally, after many years of hearing this small inquiring voice she suddenly stopped and turned around and there behind her she saw herself, so tiny and unsure yet as persistent as the bothersome mosquito in the middle of the night. It was then that she realized that she had always been the woman who seemed so far ahead. She had been on the right and true path all along because in fact there was never one right route. Each tract she had chosen was in fact the correct course. She had been fulfilling her spirit's calling all along. And at that moment she felt her shoes on her feet and her feet on the path and knew exactly where that trail was leading.

Cravings

Craving - an intense, urgent or abnormal desire or longing.

What is it that we long for?

So often food became the misplaced object that I thought would satisfy my desire. For many years I had forgotten how much I needed joy and laughter and sweetness in my life. My days had morphed into a daily grind of serious, hard work for my survival. Most everyday I turned to food for comfort. I craved sweet, rich foods that I thought would soothe my ragged soul. Day after day I would find myself cradling bowls of creamy sweetness almost like praying before an altar of misguided devotion. There was never enough of course. I would feel comfort and satiation for maybe several minutes but the "dead" eyes would stare back at me from the mirror again quickly.

No amount of smooth, rich ice cream or soft, chewy cookies or pudding or cake or pie or pancakes would fill my overwhelming need for love.

The cravings were so strong that my heart was muted. The cycle of false fulfillment continued day after day, year after year and eventually I couldn't even remember a time when my heart spoke to me let alone sang a joyous song. What a silly idea anyway, I thought... that the heart has a voice!

Years of turning away, plugging my ears and soldiering through left me crispy dry and cracked. Still the need is deep and archetypal and will rise in the most disturbing ways. Some of us will break to pieces and fall to the ground before we listen again. But some of us will listen as I did.

What is it you long for?

Take some time thinking about what kinds of food you crave. Rich? Sweet? Salty? Sour? Dense? Light? Find some food magazines and cut out pictures of the foods you crave - this can be very illuminating of what is needed and missing in your life. Glue the images onto a large sheet of paper or poster board. This will be the beginning of a map back to your self.

Simple

Sometimes the simplest things make me happy. Creamy oatmeal with strawberries, bananas and walnuts eaten while looking out to the mountains in the distance. This is life really... simple, exactly what we want with endless horizons.