Writing this post has been on my to-do list for the last ten days, but I haven’t done it. I haven’t been able to connect with my message or with you.
I’ve been watching this inability with some patience, because I know why it’s there. I’m in between.
These last few years have been a long, intense journey of transformation. If you’ve followed me for the ride, you know a bit about it. Leaving the city and the career, a difficult pregnancy, the struggles with chronic pain, insomnia, money challenges, slowly finding my way to a new way of working and being, healing, healing, healing, inside and out.
I’ve shed so much. Stuff I consciously wanted to be rid of, and stuff that was just washed away in the flood. The pushing and striving, the perfectionism, the playing small, the good girl and the invincible woman. The illusion of control.
I’m still letting go, daily, hourly, as the phantom versions of these old patterns show up again and again.
And what is emerging after the letting go? I don’t know yet. I’m still thawing out after this long (lifelong) winter. The old ways are melting and I’m left with … what?
A more naked me. Softer, kinder more truthful. Infinitely more vulnerable. Infinitely more powerful, too? Probably, but I don’t know this yet.
All I know is that I don’t want to pretend anymore. I don’t want to keep up appearances. I don’t want perfect. I don’t want to write from a place of please don’t let them see the mess I truly am behind these polished words.
Authenticity and honesty have always been my guiding lights, you know that, but it’s becoming urgent in a way it hasn’t been before.
Truth, or nothing. All of me, or nothing.
I want no division between who I am privately and who I am in my business. Between what I say to you and how I live my own life. I want wholeness. I want to speak straight from my heart and soul and not edit any of it halfway because I’m afraid to be judged or found unworthy.
The phantom perfectionist shudders. You can’t work out your own muddles publicly, on your blog, it says. You get through it alone, and then you write about the results.
Well, watch me.
Here I am, muddled. Knee deep in muddle, and what if I claim the right to speak from here? Why if I still consider myself worthy, allowed to show up just the way I am – imperfect and truthful?
What if we all did? What would it be like, relating from there, creating from there, doing business from there? If we lowered our guard that much? Let ourselves be seen that clearly?
I want what I share with you to be true. Not just intellectual insight, but true. Straight from the trenches.
My path is through. It always has been. I learn by doing, by getting my hands dirty, by going deep into it and finding my way forward. I make plenty of mistakes. I almost always take the long way around. I’ve got mud stains all over.
And this is what I have to share with you. That journey and everything I learn along the way. From there, I can speak with authority, and it will be my lived and embodied truth.
That’s why I write about the pain in my back. That’s why I write about the scar tissue left from being sexually abused. That’s why I return over and over again to the delicate topic of finding and honouring the divine feminine – in me and in the world. That’s why I share the tender and sometimes heartbreaking mess of living with children.
The pain in my back is my teacher, and what it teaches me I want to pass on to you, in case you also struggle with how to live in a human body.
The scar tissue on my body and in my heart tells stories that I want to share with you, because maybe you have scar tissue too and would be helped by someone speaking truthfully about it.
The truth about the blessings and struggles of our everyday lives matters, because we’re in it together. Because the footsteps of another can show us a way out of the maze, and that alone is worth everything.
So I’m letting go.
No more striving.
No more perfectionism.
I want it simpler now.
No more holding back from fear.
No more trying to be better, wiser, more successful than I am.
Just, let me be enough.
I’m crying as I let go and I’m feeling utterly lost at times, in between what used to be and what has not yet come into being. But I find peace in what I do know. That this moment is always exactly where I need to be. That our stories dissolve in the presence of truth. And that our true nature is giving.
I cannot judge the value of anything I have to give in this life. It’s not my job to judge it.
I’m just giving it, like this. All of it. To you.