Friday, November 9, 2018

{golden notebook} - mama. writer. photographer. yogi. seeker. austin, tx

Life isn't always black and white. in my experience, I've witnessed a lot of greys. That place in between, where every question has two or more answers and my gut can't decide between fear of the known pain or unknown future.

When I decided to begin writing my memoir I had no idea how challenging it would be to recall the past and put it into words. As I've endeavored to embark on this writing journey, I halt daily. What is relevant and what needs to be shared? For a very private person who wants to be completely open, this is quite a challenge. Every night when I tell myself to sleep I am filled with the words of my story, but when I sit down to write them in my book, they evade me. I began my memoir in a journal, it is gold and simple. When my girls learned about this book, they would ask to be read stories from the golden notebook. Like me, they long to know their mother at an earlier stage in life. For them, I am trying hard to continue the writing. I struggle.
My voice.
My outline.
My time.

I recently had the privilege to meet my absolute favorite band of all time, The National. I received advice from a band member that has haunted me for weeks. He said, "you must finish this book."

I must finish.

I must keep going if I am ever going to finish.

If you're reading this now, feel free to hassle me, ask me how much I've written. Hold me accountable. Because my girls deserve as much as I can muster.


Wednesday, September 12, 2018

{ f(re)emale } - writer. yogi. mama. photographer. lover. austin, tx

You can't shame me with your insecurity, I've grown too happy to be torn down.
When I begin to question, I come back to my mat, to my body, to my breath, to my light.
Finally, when I look at myself, I don't see your shadows on my skin.
Absence now feels like space, let me twirl, cartwheel, and fling myself into possibility.

Loving feels so good.
I have untrammelled energy for the many people I encounter.
The pain and self-doubt that once weighed me down was so clearly my bruised ego having a fit.
Now I can say "take a seat" to the voices and stories in my head when they start to pipe up.
A river of breath and love continue to wash the murkiness of my past.
My soul shine is evolving.

I don't care what you think of me, I care about what you feel.
Compassion I wear like an immaculate dress, even as I stand naked in front of the mirror.
Life is a spectacular revelation.
Each day new, with the potential to throw open the windows and demolish the masonry I so carefully constructed around my heart.

Freedom, today, feels like being a woman.

rugged love


Tuesday, September 4, 2018

{ slip slip } - writer. lover. mama. yogi. photographer. austin, tx

You went quietly into a place I couldn't reach. I saw it without my eyes and felt it without my hands.
Still, your body stayed and you spoke, but it wasn't you anymore.
Were you stolen or was it by choice?
Either way, the sunshine was gone and you were unrecognizable.

Were you hoping I could help you come back or did it feel good to be gone?
My days felt heavy, confusing, and like the ground was tilting underneath me.
I wasn't ready, I didn't see it coming and I had no plan of escape.

My shoulders wanted the end-of-a-long-day embrace I could count on.
My head wanted the firm flesh scented pillow of your bicep.
My mouth wanted the sweetness of your lips and saltiness of your skin.
I gave you my secrets, told you my scars, and you scratched them open and left me to bleed.
I asked for tenderness and it turned out to be too much to request.

Once I dated someone who believed "time heals every wound."
I don't know everything, but I don't believe that time is the healer.
Passing days, months, years even, have not eased certain aches from my heart.
Love is the mother, the father, the divine.
I can sit in this place is discord and nothing makes sense, except for love.

over it

Love the hard places until they become soft.
Love the ugliness until it shines beautifully.
Love the broken heart in your chest and knots in your belly until you can take a breath, and then another.
Love the days you have here and draw them out for a long, long time.


Tuesday, February 27, 2018

{ that punctuating pause } - yogi. mama. writer. austin, tx

I struggle with this need to write.
Words swarm around inside me and for years I have slowly let them out.
I hold back, completely mute when I'm in the greatest pain.

When I've been dark and broody, all the words are still there.
But I cannot find the strength to share them.
My fears override everything and I lean on distraction to keep me from this place.

I read through my past in these posts and feel each pause like the depression that is was.
Always light and connection as I emerge.
My sharing has unfolded recently as a responsibility.
Who benefits from words unspoken, unwritten?

Evelyn asked me when I'd begin writing my book and I promised her "Tuesday."
Today is that Tuesday, that day I press my fingers to the keys and spill the past, curate the future, and probably make a big ole mess for some editor to clean up.

Multiple times a day I catch myself making judgments and being caught up in my own head.
Separating myself from others and falling short of my highest self.
Life happens, deadlines, things to learn, to-do lists, etc. and it pulls me.
I run from something I desire, a pattern that I work on as often as mindfulness.
I want to know you, I want to slow down and understand you.

Though I'll undoubtedly continue to self-criticize and question why anyone would care to read what I'm writing, I will write.
I'll give you the marred and ashen, the bright and exuberant, and pray that it lands where it is needed.