Song Sunday

Music has always been so important to me. I come from a musical lineage. My father was a DJ back in the 60's and played in numerous jazz bands. From an early age he exposed me to all kinds of music and one of his favorite stories to tell was of me as a tiny 4 year old "winning" a twist contest that he was MC'ing. 

There was about four months of this journey where, for some reason, I couldn't listen to any music. Maybe it was too much for my senses and my emotions or I needed more silence but I missed it. (I also didn't read anything except, I'm embarrassed to say, People magazine) Around two months ago music slowly slipped back into my life. It started with just one song as I slowly made my way down to the end of our block a few days after surgery. As I worked my way back up to my longer hike using the mantra, "a little further, a little better, a little stronger everyday" my play list began to grow.

Now a couple months later music empowers me, inspires me and moves me... Literally! 

Every Sunday I'd like to share a song from my healing playlist. For this first "Song Sunday" I'm sharing "I Didn't Know My Own Strength" by Whitney Houston. 

Lost touch with my soul

I had nowhere to turn, I had nowhere to go

Lost sight of my dream

Thought it would be the end of me

I thought I'd never make it through

I had no hope to hold on to

I, I thought I would break

I didn't know my own strength

And I crashed down and I tumbled but I did not crumble

I got through all the pain

I didn't know my own strength

Survived my darkest hour, my faith kept me alive

I picked myself back up, hold my head up high

I was not built to break

I didn't know my own strength

Found hope in my heart

I found the light to life my way out of the dark

Found all that I need here inside of me

I thought I'd never find my way

I thought I'd never lift that weight

I thought I would break

I didn't know my own strength

And I crashed down and I tumbled but I did not crumble

I got through all the pain

I didn't know my own strength

Survived my darkest hour, my faith kept me alive

I picked myself back up, hold my head up high

I was not built to break

I didn't know my own strength

There were so many times I wondered

How I'd get through the night

I thought I took all that I could take

I didn't know my own strength

And I crashed down and I tumbled but I did not crumble

I got through all the pain

I didn't know my own strength

My faith kept me alive

I picked myself back up, I hold my head up high

I was not built to break

I didn't know my own strength

I was not built to break, no, no

I got to know my own strength

The Past Seven Months of My Life

How do I describe the last 7 months of my life? Instantly I hear the little voice in my head, "just start writing." So that's what I'll do.

Seven months ago, within a period of just a few weeks, the business where I worked shut it's doors, I found out the house we were leasing was going to be taken back by the owners and most disturbingly that I had Breast Cancer. I was in shock. I stayed there for a couple months. I would have moments where I would rise to the surface gasping for air but quickly descend again.

Day after day I went to appointments of all kinds: The surgeon, the breast oncologist, the naturopath, the nutritionist, the acupuncturist, the therapist, the shaman, the massage therapist, the PT scan, the CT scan, the MRI, the physical therapist and oh the endless blood work! Of course I meditated and prayed and meticulously swallowed dozens of supplements and exercised and ate very cleanly and practiced mindfulness and saged and bathed and religiously recorded my dreams. Of course the "perfect girl" persona showed up and for awhile she convinced me that if I was perfect enough I would survive this. I soon realized that no amount of perfection would take away the fear.

I trudged through the endless tests and fiercely battled the incredible anxiety waiting for each set of results. My beloved Joe (who will be referred to as my hero man from now on) was by my side through it all. At times I thought I would break the bones in his hand I squeezed so hard! I had my port put in and soon after chemotherapy began. A few weeks into chemo and I finally surrendered and let go of my need for perfection and control.  More on that another time. But it was the best and hardest thing for me to do. My family and all of my wonderful friends gathered around me and held me even when I didn't think I could hold on.

About 5 weeks ago (which at the time was 5 weeks post-op) I described in my journal what the past few months were like:

I've been cocooning these past months wrapped up like a swaddled baby who is inconsolable. At times (most all the time) there has been nothing that will soothe me. Often the best part of my day has been 10:00 pm when I can take my trazodone and my xanax and try to go to sleep. Depression has descended over me like a forgotten nemesis - that dark angel has always been there throughout my life always eager to wrap me up and hold me down. If she is an angel what is her gift? Can darkness hold a gift? Days and days of fear and anxiety force me to retreat to a place deep within myself where nothing exists except darkness. It is not a spiritual experience or at least I don't think so in the moment. There is no energy for self reflection or gratitude or even whispered prayers. Just darkness. Maybe that is a healing place. The seed does not reflect on it's imagined growth in the spring. The roots that have long lost their green brilliance don't anticipate the next summer's flowers. There is just darkness. Something just takes over in that lonely place. Alone. All one. I eat the bland, sweet food that sits before me. I get up and walk from chair to bed and back to chair again. That is my world. I force myself to eat again. I drag myself outside because voices around me tell me fresh air and exercise will help. Maybe it does a little. I feel alone on this journey even when I'm surrounded by compassionate people who love me fiercely even when I'm unreachable. My hero stays - he doesn't run even when I sink deeper. I watch him through the thick, dense clouds and wonder why. I wonder how he can watch me in this place. I know he thinks he has lost me at times. I know he feels helpless at times. He tells me, "please let me help you, please let me take this from you." I have learned how to embrace the former but I would never even imagine the latter. He continues hour after hour, day after day to run into the burning fury of my despair - never flinching, never hesitating, not even for a moment. In this I am able to find deep gratitude. The gift of a man who stays.

Re-reading this journal entry I can see the small glimmer of hope that appears even in the most challenging of times.

I re-read the words I have just written and I think... is this too personal to share? I feel raw and vulnerable as I have for the past seven months. There is nothing to hide behind anymore nor do I want to. I want to be honest and reach out to others and more than anything to love deeply.

On Friday a door closed. Finally. The place where I have worked and cried and sat in awe and witnessed healing and experienced extreme dysfunction for 6 years is gone. In that moment of closing I felt gratitude and release and felt a new door opening.

When The Blue Door closed 10 years ago I thought, "OK, it's time to put the dreams away and get a real job now."

Now as this door has closed I'm thinking, "OK, it's time to find my dreams again."

I will take this next month to heal, nourish and discover. I will surrender. I will allow the guidance. I will trust where I am being led. If I'm tired I will rest. If I'm inspired I will create. When the feelings arise I will allow them to flow through me. I will receive. I will receive what the universe places before me. I open my hands to receive it all.

Awakening

One pair of eyes awakening
does not judge another.

Long asleep,
suddenly aware,
the colors almost too intense.

In the opening the truth is revealed
about dishonesty,
about hiding,
about fear.

The hidden parts are illuminated.
Light washes over the unseen
floating the denied selves to the surface.

Gaze is turned inward,
lids half closed,
mouth soft,
hands open,
heart reaching.

My Dear Seeker,

Oh your mind is always full of questions isn't it? With so many questions there isn't room for answers Dear One. Allow the questions to float on by like clouds and surrender to the moment. In this acceptance is true clarity.

Remember, there are times when no matter what you do or say, a person will make the choice to stay in their discomfort, dis-ease and disconnection. It has nothing to do with you. The "successes" and the "failures" are not yours. If you let that define your work you will crumble. Practice non-attachment to the outcome. Show up, ask for guidance, stay clear and do your best. Ultimately that's all you can do... that's everything. And there are times, like this past week, when you will have the opportunity to remember that the journey is very individual. The seeker may not be ready yet. Our hope may be that someday she will be... and when she is the tiny seeds you've planted together will germinate, push through the surface, take root and grow into the healthy dream of who she imagines she can become.

You are a gardener my beloved. Tend the plants with care but remember each plant reaches for the sun in their own time.

I am forever yours along the path.

Dearest Teacher,

Well... today was intense. I started to feel some stress in my work and that is a yellow flag for me to take special care of myself. You know you've told me so many times before that I have to be diligent in taking care not to burn out. So, when the first little needles of dis-ease poked at me I remembered your guidance - time to be extra careful. Of course the first thing I always go to is nature. I know that I will be guided to the "next right thing" when I'm out there. I felt a bit of chaos in my head so I definitely needed the clear air and mountains to untangle. I went to a huge granite mountain wilderness area that I enjoy hiking in and decided on the hardest trail - the one that goes right up to the summit. I don't take this trail very often because it is intense but I thought that I really needed to pound it out today. I started out slow and it felt so good. It seemed like with each step I was releasing. With each step I felt clearer. I imagined that I was leaving all the shit along the trail. I really do believe that the natural world can take our grief, or depression, or anger, or stress and transform it. That's why I love the idea of screaming into the earth or from the summit - the feelings are released and made clean again. Kind of like the ultimate recycling! As I was hiking I found clarity.

But still I am distracted by the voices that sometimes creep back into my consciousness and say, "Your work could be more effective." "Why do my clients sometimes push back in defense?" "If you really tried harder you could be better."

Will I ever be free of this critical voice? How can my work be more powerful? Please guide me as you always do.

Forever your Devoted Student.

My Work/My Journey

I'm not sure when it happened, but somewhere along the journey I learned how to trust myself in the work. There certainly wasn't a course in graduate school entitled "How to Know What to Do Next." My mentors didn't recommend reading on "taking risks in the therapeutic process." My supervisors didn't suggest techniques to "turn up the volume of the inner voice."

I moved slowly toward trust. I asked self doubt to stand outside the office. I showed up everyday no matter how terrified I was and allowed the work to inform me. The work taught me. It showed me who I was even when the self before me was different than I imagined. One day I woke up in the work and realized that I trusted myself. I had learned to be comfortable in the silence and wait for the guidance. It's always there waiting for me.

Your Work/Your Journey

Just for today, or this weekend, ask self doubt to step aside - outside the door is even better. I tell my clients (and myself) that they can always let it in again. It will be waiting there for them (and me) if or when they want it back. Take a small risk in your work (or life) and let trust be your guide.