Tag Archives: Ego

An Ending, A Beginning

I write to you after a much needed break from, well, everything. I can’t say that I took this break willingly. Quite the opposite actually. Something crept in and gave me no choice but to slow down. That ‘something’ is what I’d like to share with you today.

 

I last blogged in May and headed off to a distant island the size of Connecticut – Jamaica! I spent a wonderful week in blissful gratitude for each experience, but I returned in June feeling less than renewed after a week in paradise. I knew that something wasn’t quite right. A friend suggested maybe I was experiencing post-vacation blues, and maybe I was for a while, but a heaviness developed and carried over into July. I wasn’t willing to admit it at the time, but I knew something was terribly off. July faintly blurred into August, September, and eventually October.

 

I do a wonderful job of convincing myself that it isn’t what it really is. It couldn’t be. I’m fine. I just need to work a little harder in school, do a little more at home, go for a long run or spend some extra time with Lucas. Those THINGS will make me feel better. Yes, I’ll feel better. It can’t be what I think it is. No, it absolutely cannot be that. I don’t want it to be that. It would be too embarrassing to admit to those closest to me that indeed, my depression has returned.

 

I can remember experiencing intense episodes of anxiety beginning in the 4th grade. Battles with depression began at age 14. My anxiety has consistently hung around since I was young, but depression is less predictable for me and appears whenever it so pleases. I am always amazed at how quietly it returns the very moment I least expect it. At those times when strangers look at my life and think to themselves, “Wow, what a beautiful life she is living. What could ever make her so incredibly sad?”

 

I rarely talk about this with friends, and most family members don’t know the depth of the suffering, and that is okay. I choose safe environments in which to share my story, and I am infinitely grateful when the heaviness lifts just enough to allow me a clear mind and the ability to share my experience once again.

I recently described to a friend what my struggle looks like, feels like, sounds like. He encouraged me to share this on the blog when I felt ready, so here goes nothing!

 

Depression is quite unique to every individual, so I can only speak on my experience. I’d like to first say that this is truly difficult for me to share but imperative that it be spread for others to hear. As I mentioned, I have seen depression come and go since I was a teenager. It invites itself into my life at any age, during my happiest moments and worst of days. It doesn’t care how far I’ve come or what accomplishments I’ve achieved. It pays no mind to how grateful I am to be alive and healthy. It comes, and it stays, on its own terms.

 

It looks like a dark room inside of my head. Sometimes the door is open, allowing darkness to creep out and into each facet of my life. In the early stages, it covers my world with a haze, and I wonder why everyone else is outside playing in the sun. It tells me to fear the future, to doubt my dreams, and to stay inside – literally, and as the dark builds, I begin to avoid all social interaction unless it is absolutely necessary. Cancelling on friends, avoiding phone calls, slinking through my house so that the neighbors don’t know that I’m home. It makes me anxious to chat with even my closest of friends because I’m too embarrassed to admit that I’m suffocating under something so heavy that I wouldn’t get out of bed were it not for the sole purpose that I need to get Lucas to school. It asks me why I even bother showering when there is no one to see. It tells me that nobody cares enough to look my way anyway. In the darkest hours, I lack any excitement for being outdoors, I feel completely uninspired creatively, and I am unable to read for pleasure. But you’d never know because I continue to smile through the hurt. And honestly, I will deny deny deny that anything is wrong. I’ll push through it. Because I’m fine. It is only when I meet with my best friend for lunch and she comments that I ‘have a sort of melancholy about me’ that I know it’s time to seek help.

 

Depression is such a good liar that after 4 months of barely avoiding a mental breakdown, I am completely convinced that this will not pass, and I need to tell someone that I cannot ride it out alone any longer. So I seek the comfort of a few close friends. Some of us even have code words and phrases. One loved one in particular looks me in the eye and asks, “Is it bad-bad?” and when I answer yes, we drop everything we are doing and talk strategy. We discuss my thoughts and whether they entertain the suicidal dance, and if so, I reinforce that I am okay but absolutely not okay at the same time. I am experiencing too much heaviness, but remarkably at the very same time I hold an area of awareness that knows that this episode will pass. So for the moment I feel stuck. I feel awful. I am tired. It is heavy. Joy and happiness are so distant that I can hardly tell if I still see them or if everything is an illusion. I feel empty. And hollow. I can’t tell you what day it is or who I am, and no one’s laughter brings an ounce of joy. And I am floating in this strange moment where I exist in both the darkness and the light.

 

October arrived and my body completely gave up. A quote comes to mind: “The body keeps count and it always wins.” Anxiety and depression had taken their toll. After multiple trips to the doctor, an infection, an ulcer, the flu, and bronchitis in 4 weeks’ time – I began praying for it to end. For the darkness to lift, for my health to return, and for my life back. After antibiotics, rest, and one hell of a support system intervening, I am grateful to say that it has lifted, and the darkness has passed for now. With gratitude, I am able to speak about my experience, and the only conclusion I can make is that there is NO health without mental health, and we need to start talking openly about it. Now.

 

I wanted to share my experience on the blog because I believe it is imperative that we spread mental health awareness and share our stories to as many people as possible. The stigma surrounding anxiety and depression still exists today – and I’d be lying if I said I am completely stigma-free in my thinking. I must admit, even I feel ashamed some days that I struggle. But this is the very reason we must be brave and speak up. We need to talk about our experiences, our good thoughts and our not-so-good thoughts, our highs and our lows, our joys and our sadness. We must share with our friends, parents, spouses, and children. Hell, I’d even like to see mental health discussions as prevalent as sex education and drug-use prevention in our school systems. Mental illness is a national epidemic, and we cannot blame ourselves or feel ashamed any longer. It is OKAY to feel sad, to struggle, to experience anxiety and depression, to feel the good and the not-so-good because all of it is a part of the human experience. No one is to blame. We need not feel ashamed.

 

I am completely saddened when people talk about those suffering with mental illness and make comments like, “Why can’t she just snap out of it?” We would never look at a cancer patient and ask why her body can’t heal itself, so we absolutely cannot look at those suffering with mental illness and wonder the same. Mental illness is a disease and we cannot control the onset.

 

To those of you reading who have struggled in the past, are struggling now, or know someone who struggles – my heart goes out to you. I may not understand your individual struggle, but I hear you and I see you, and I know how difficult this moment seems. Please remember, it is not your fault if depression sneaks up on you and lies to you too. It hurts and it is heavy, but it is possible to live with it and to grow with it. I think for me, accepting that depression is a part of my life is where the healing process begins. I’ve begun to ask myself daily, “Can I accept that depression may be with me for the rest of my life? What does life look like after acceptance? Is this where my life begins? ” Maybe accepting it and not blaming myself is my path to healthy living. Or as a wise teacher suggests, “We can lay out the welcome mat for everything in our lives. To be with it all.”

 

I struggled to write this post because I don’t have any good answers when it comes to living with mental illness. I wanted to lift people up and say, “Here’s how you can live successfully with depression!!” But the honest truth is that I don’t have any answers at all. Sometimes I don’t know what to say when I am struggling or when my loved ones are struggling, and that is such a difficult truth to live with. But that’s okay. It’s okay that we don’t have all the answers. It’s okay that we suffer, and it’s PHENOMENAL when we regain our health and return to the light. No matter how long it takes. 5 months, 5 years, 5 lifetimes. It’s okay. Sometimes we don’t need the answers, we just need to know that we’re not alone in our suffering. And I truly believe that THAT’S enough to ignite the healing process. To know that we are never alone. To be present with it ALL – the good AND the not-so-good. We CAN live healthier, lighter lives. Every experience is teaching us something. Life is here for us now.

 

The end of this 5 month battle has bloomed the most magnificent beginning I’ve felt in years. I’m still here. I live with depression, and that’s okay. I accept it. The welcome mat for everything in my life is here to stay. Not everything is pretty, or light, or easy now. I still have my not-so-good moments, and stressful times are here to stay. Accepting things as they are doesn’t mean that things are always good, it just means that we choose to be with it all, to see and hear and allow whatever is in front of us to be, to run its course, and to end. I know that this period of good will be followed by some not-so-good stuff. And that’s okay. That is the ebb and flow that is life. Thankfully what I know now after years and years of dwelling in my suffering is that as one moment comes to an end, the beginning of another is what keeps our inner being alive, growing ever so quietly toward the light.

 

An ending, a beginning, it is all here for us now.

May you have the strength to be with it all.

 

Light & love,

Ki

Can we be kinder, please?

“Turn down the mean voice. You’re not being nice, Momma.”

 

It was a Sunday. Lucas and I were enjoying a sunny afternoon lunch.

In a moment of incurable human frustration, I made a negative remark about a friend.

Lucas’ eyes narrowed, and with tiny fingers he made a twisting motion as if to hold the nob of a radio and adjust the volume accordingly.

“That was rude! Turn down the mean voice.” He giggled and again motioned to soften the volume.

I was stunned, embarrassed, humbled. I wanted to say, “Hey! That’s no way to speak to your mother.”

But he was right. I was being rude. I made an impulsive, mean comment. But I was frustrated.

My view was clouded.

 

Lucas searched my face for a reaction, as children do, and I smiled.

“Thank you, Lucas. You’re right, that was a mean thing to say about my friend. I’ll turn that mean voice down now. Thank you for reminding me to be kind.”

He went about eating his sandwich and hummed a silly song to himself.

The image of his tiny fingers quieting my meanness remained.

——-

I wonder, how many other people have allowed their mean voices to speak louder than the innate kindness that runs its course through us all?

How many times have we become frustrated and sent a nasty text message to a loved one in a fit of sadness and hurt feelings? Or rolled our eyes at the bank teller because he miscounted our money for the second time? Or yelled at the customer service representative because our impatience flooded a sense of understanding that we are just one of millions waiting to be helped? Or how about cursing the driver in front of us who cut us off in an unpleasant manner?

When did frustration and headaches replace patience and kindness?

 

The words of my favorite author and poet come to mind:

Mark Nepo says, “Underneath every headache is a heartache.”

 

There is so much value in this simple, yet deeply profound sentence. Underneath every headache we have, underneath every impulsive, mean comment or gesture that we make, underneath our impatience and misunderstanding, the innocence of our aching heart remains.

This explains why I am frustrated with my friend. She hurt me, and in the confusion of how best to express my hurt feelings, I become angry and speak ill of her.

This is an isolated incident, but this small hurt can turn into years of misunderstanding and estrangement – that is, if I choose not to properly express what is going on inside of me.

My suggestion to you, my wonderful readers, is to pay attention to how you outwardly express what is happening inside of you.

Why do you send the nasty text message?

Why do you roll your eyes at the bank teller?

Why do you yell at the customer service rep?

Why do you allow yourself to become upset with other drivers?

Only when you become aware of these ineffective, damaging habits, can you begin to address what is going on inside of you.

 

Truthfully, when I am hurting, when I feel as though no one hears what I am saying, when I feel like I’ve been wronged in some way, I become defensive, reactive, and I shut down. My hurt becomes anger, my anger becomes tears. My tears become confusion, distortion of words and phrases, a mess of emotions and fear, a chaotic swirl of truth that so desperately wants to be heard. It has taken years for me to observe these outward reactions and address the inward truths that drive my behaviors. I’m not saying this has been easy. Every day is a practice. Living continues to be a process, a challenge, a mighty work of art in the making for me.

 

To my lovely little lights, underneath our behaviors are the untouched hurts within us.

I challenge you to silence that mean voice and let the real you begin to speak.

Let’s be kinder to others — and to ourselves.

The change always begins with you.

 

Light and love,

Ki & Lucas

black and white

Are you with me?

Today is the day I go back to college.

 

I’m not sure how I feel in this moment. Oddly, I don’t feel much at all. The sun has yet to rise as I type this. The house creaks, but everyone’s asleep. I’m sitting comfortably in my office, a cup of strong coffee sitting next to me. I read over the syllabus for my class today. It’s intense, to say the least.

Am I ready?

 

I think I’m a little numb today, body and mind tired from crying most of the afternoon yesterday. I’m not sure why I cried so much. I visited campus, met my sweet advisor, and signed up for classes — nothing to cry about right?! But let’s be honest, you guys know by now that the ‘simple’ task of meeting with my advisor was a big step for me. So as you can imagine, registering for classes, one of which starts TODAY, rushing to buy books, and preparing myself mentally for this huge step was maybe too much for one afternoon. But hey, I come by it honestly that I am impulsive and tend to make huge life decisions when perhaps I should breathe and remain patient. But we live with our choices, and we face our truths, and here I sit on the first day of classes blogging about fear when I should be skimming the first two chapters of required reading :)

Am I really ready for this?

 

I know what I know, and I like what I like. I love reading, but to read assigned material — do I really want to do this again? Do I want to learn APA formatting? Do I want to subject myself to criticism and a strict grading scale again? Is it in me to try this one more time?

It’s been five years since I was in a classroom (aside from my brief stint in Jewish education classes).

Am I ready?

 

———

 

Do you ever find yourself in moments of serious doubt when up until this point, you were 100% confident in your path? You know, like getting cold feet right before the wedding? Or that moment in the delivery room when your first born is on his way and you question if you’re fit to be a parent? Like packing your entire life into one suitcase the night before moving to a new country and feeling your heart sink into your stomach. It’s too late to go back now, and you wonder:

Am I ready?

 

I’m learning that we all have these moments. We all wonder about the next big changes in our lives. We all question those defining moments that could propel us onto greater paths, if only we’d lean into the fear. I think maybe that’s the key. Maybe we need to befriend what feels uncomfortable, to cozy up with what we don’t know for sure.

 

There’s a lot I don’t know about this next step I take today.

I don’t know if college is the right decision for me, but my gut screams to go back. I don’t know how great of a student I’ll be, but I value education and know that I want this degree no matter what anyone around me says about it. I don’t know how well I can maintain my anxiety, but I will practice ways to bring me back to that silent part of myself. I don’t know if I’ll graduate this time around, but I’m willing to try.

I don’t know about you, but I’m willing to admit that I don’t know what’s in store for tomorrow. I don’t know if the decisions I’m making today will benefit me in the future. I don’t know these things. I can’t know. I think that’s the difference this time around; I’m not 18 anymore. I’m not a freshman. I’m not that little girl who is certain she will graduate from Hanover, ease into grad school, and become a psychologist. Yikes, if only I could talk to that girl today and tell her that life isn’t so ‘certain’…

 

No, I’m not that girl anymore. I’m 7 years older. I’m an adult now (although it doesn’t feel like that most days). I’m okay with saying that I don’t know what I want to be when I grow up, but I’ll start taking classes to find out (with the help of my advisor and the Career Center — remember, it’s okay to ask for help guys!! We can’t do all things on our own). I’m okay with saying that I don’t have my entire life mapped out, but I’m willing to take the first step. I must take that first step. One foot in front of the other. And you should too. Friends, no matter what new beginnings you’re facing, no matter what unknowns, you must take that step. To remain stagnant will leave you fearful and paralyzed. Movement is the only way.

 

I’m willing to step into the fear of the unknown.

One moment at a time. One breath at a time.

I’ll take that chance today.

Will you?

 

Let’s do this together. Let’s look fear in the face and continue pursuing our dreams. I am ready. I am ready. I am ready.

Are you with me?

 

Light and love,

Ki

lights in the wood

 

“Just because” — a story of gratitude

A little boy wakes with his father before dawn. He sits sleepily on his haunches on the bathroom floor while his father readies himself for the day. The two remain quiet in the hushed space between them, catching glimpses of the other in the mirror.

His father lays him next to his mother before departing at dawn.

“I love you,” they say together, and the boy returns to sleep.

A patient morning light wakes the boy and his mother to stir. He runs to the window to find fresh snow this sixth day of January.

“This is my lucky day, Mom!”

“Why sweetie?”

“Just because.”

 

I greet today with that little boy in my heart. His eagerness to spend precious moments with his father, his willingness to remain quiet when others are not yet ready to speak, his ability to completely surrender to sleep – and most admirable, his unattached appreciation for living, for simply being here, rising again, today. What a magical way to live.

There are days like today when I am so overcome with gratitude for that wonderful little creature I call my son. There are days like today when my questions are answered in a mysterious and magical way, and I am again reminded to keep going.

The past few weeks have been an emotional and blissful ride. I found an editor who knows my heart and shares my soul. Friends and family continue to cheer me on as I fight myself on the road toward realizing my dreams. Dubious thoughts creep in often, pushing me to question the purpose of these wild and untamed dreams of mine. Last night I cried, I told myself I don’t know how to do ‘this,’ I shared my fears with a loved one, and I left my office in disarray for the night.

I woke up this morning to the story of the little boy — his simple yet profound way of living lifting a weight from my heavy head. His diligence in waking with his father every morning reminds me to return again to my office this morning. His open ears and patient way of listening teach me to remain open in the silence of now even at the most exhausting hour of our existence. His ability to surrender to sleep and then wake with curious and grateful eyes shows me how to truly live. Yes, I believe the Universe is speaking to me now.

We are only human. We tire, we doubt, we fall to our knees and ask for answers when it seems there are none to be had. I believe that when we ask enough questions and allow patience to fill the space between frustration and understanding, we are again called to keep walking our unique paths. We are again called to look outside in awe of what is happening right now… if for no other reason than “just because…”

Just because living is the greatest question, the greatest answer, the greatest privilege of being a human on this earth.

 

I hope you have the strength of diligence, the capacity for empathy, the eagerness to greet today as if it were your first chance at life.

I wonder what life would be like if we all marveled at the world today just because…

With love and light,

Ki

me and my guy

 

Be

I believe there are times when life moves through me with such speed that I forget why I get up each day. Yes, there are days when I rise as scheduled and sleepwalk from moment to moment. In the next two weeks, I will attend two weddings, one birthday celebration, three soccer games, and one funeral. In a 14-day span, I will laugh, I will undoubtedly cry, I will cheer at the top of my lungs, I will be angry, and I will experience such blissful joy that I am again, moved to tears. My soul will be joyous, my heart will ache under a black dress, and my head will again come to know that life moves through us all, it’s fluidity an undeniable gift.

I do not know if I am prepared for this lesson, to appreciate the precious gift we have each day. It seems a bit difficult to appreciate life when mourning a man whose own life ended far too soon. I am feeling many emotions this week. A bride-to-be excitedly glows as we chat in anticipation of her big day. Hours later, grief glazes Danny’s eyes as his uncle’s final days flitter in the space between us. I seem to wear everyone’s emotions lately. I simply cannot avoid it. It is who I am. It is in my nature of being.

Perhaps it is a gift that I can find a piece of myself in others’ feelings and experiences. We all – sooner or later – try on these different hats of emotion as we experience life. Each one of us feels the same feelings eventually. Joy, sadness, grief, nervous anticipation… the list goes on. As new beginnings and abrupt endings course their way through us, we live every emotion, each day, every one of us.

As few of you know, I began a journey back in the spring that has led me to creating a story for my son to read one day, when he is ready. In this story, I relive experiences in my young adult life that perhaps he will relate to, maybe even find relief in knowing. I explain to him that all emotions are okay. The ups and the downs are good and healthy and human. Bliss and grief and happiness alike – in our own way, we feel it all in time. I write to him,

“Your sadness, I have felt – though perhaps not today.

Over lifetimes, trust me

We all feel the same way.

Be present with it all.

That is the lesson.

That is the gift.

Be with each moment.

Now is your time.”

 

For whatever you are celebrating, or grieving, this moment offers you a chance to feel the experience of being alive. Whether you are high, or have fallen so low, those around you are here now to guide you through. As you wake each day, step with risk – and land with trust. You were created to feel it all.

It is time to be who you are.

You are loved.

-Ki

blog tree ki stuffs

Thanks to Mark Nepo for guiding me daily.

And to a lovely friend who says I think too much and should just be… you’re right. Thank you for being honest with me always.

 

I’m getting better at it

My son is a little Buddha — a tiny guy with a big belly and an even bigger heart. I first started the ‘little Buddha’ joke when I noticed skin playing peekaboo from underneath his t-shirt. All parents go through this with their children. Growth spurts ignite the dreaded ‘in between sizes’ phase. One day the shirt fits, the next… sheesh! All you see is belly! We laugh together as I tickle the exposed part of his belly, and that was it for a time.

Suddenly, I find that my once lighthearted reference is now quite a fact: my son is a little Buddha, wise with untainted knowledge and insight, a being capable of unmatched love and compassion. Over a cup of hot chocolate one chilly morning, Lucas eyed me and sternly voiced his concerns.

“Mom… if you give me too many pieces of your heart, you won’t be alive.” He smiled, wiggled in his chair, and continued sipping hot chocolate with marshmallows.

(Cue shivers up the spine) — I mean good god!! What?? How did our conversation shift from Tuesday morning cartoons to the challenges of parenting?? I smiled in silence and stared at the Crayola craft table that separated me and the enlightened being who cheerfully scanned my face for a reaction. I was baffled. Mute and dumbfounded. And as any other over-thinking parent would do, I fell into the depths of introspection.

Am I giving too much of myself? Do I love him too much? Can he sense my anxiety? Does he know I’m exhausted? How does he KNOW these things? Does he know I’m a people pleaser? Can he read the worries on my face? Can a three-year-old know and comprehend the idea that pleasing everyone first leaves little time and energy for oneself?

Well, he’s figured out the secret to life.

He is right. Every word is the truth: If you give too many pieces of your heart, you won’t be alive. His words scared the hell out of me and ignited tears, so I politely excused myself from our hot chocolate date. Perhaps they were tears of relief. Perhaps they were tears of joy. I’m not sure. Perhaps I cried for all of the moms and dads who undoubtedly face this issue: when we give too much of ourselves, we (and those closest to us) suffer the most.

To say I struggle with this issue is an understatement. I am consumed with balancing my well-being and that of my family, friends, and blog readers. I am plagued with a hunger to tend to everyone else first. I’m convinced it is engrained in my DNA. I want to ease pain, fix everyone and every tough situation that arises. I smile and tend to others before giving a thought about me and my needs. Motherly instincts remind me that every waking moment with my son is an opportunity to teach, play, learn, and explore. Embarrassing as it is to admit, I sit at the computer replying to emails from friends and new readers of mine across the globe — advising, listening to, and easing others before I’ve showered, eaten, even used the restroom! I am obsessed with helping others; it consumes me; and I think Lucas sees that. I know he does.

I know he suffers because of it. I know he hurts inside when Mommy is stressed and on edge. I know he vibes off of that, and in knowing this, I have a choice. I can keep going, keep doing, keep helping, keep tending to everyone and everything and risk becoming worn down by life and living and caring. I could walk on this winding road for years. I could. I know this road quite well. It’s beautifully paved with exhaustion, sleepless months, and anxiety. But it’s familiar.

Or I could slow down. I could put a pause on all of it. I could prioritize my health, my family, and my goals. I could tell my readers that I need some time to respond. I could take a moment to realize how absurd it truly is to worry about everyone else first before myself! I could toss the selfish feelings aside and go to the gym. I could turn off my phone and reply to emails in the morning. I could go for a walk with my son, and leave everything else in the back of my mind for an hour. Yes, I could do that.

And I am. I am spending much less time blogging, connecting, Skyping, pleasing, helping, etc. and more time focusing on my health and well-being. It feels strange when I choose an afternoon at the gym, but my body thanks me afterward. It feels selfish to spend an hour juicing veggies when I could be practicing counting to 100 with my son, but my spirit thanks me afterward. Sometimes it feels like a waste of time to lay in bed with that book I’ve been itching to read when I could be cleaning and washing dishes. But my mind thanks me afterward.

I wonder if other people are like this? I wonder if people-pleasing is a disease? I wonder if others suffer from it as I do? I wonder a lot about these things. I wonder if it’s curable? I wonder if it’s a plague or a gift? I wonder if it’s possible to live in the Now if I’m constantly caring for others? I wonder what it will take to truly put myself and my needs first? I wonder if hearing my son’s insight is the moment that I need to wake up?

I wonder, what is your moment? When will you wake up and take care of yourself first? I’ll be (less) anxiously awaiting to hear from you guys 😉

Take care, be well, do something for yourself today. Slow down — the world will be here when you get back.

 

xo,

Ki

 

Photo: @redxluckyxcharms

Processed with VSCOcam with f2 preset

 

 

 

 

 

Who are you?

My name is Kiley. I was born on December 6. I am a left-handed Sagittarius. I write poetry. I love coffee. I cry during previews at the movie theater. I laugh by myself often. I have an obsession with touching trees as I pass them. Talking to strangers is my greatest fear…. And biggest source of intrigue. I love the idea of traveling, but familiarity soothes my soul. When I say I enjoy ‘being alone’ what I really mean is that I want others to be around me, just quietly. All of these qualities describe me… and yet, they don’t.

These things are not who I am. None of the ‘things’ you say define you, either. We are very good at convincing ourselves of who we are. These qualities are, in fact, just thoughts, just tools used to label ourselves, to separate ‘us’ from ‘them.’ So who are we? Who, or what, is underneath every thought that we have? Does anyone really know for sure?

What if we came to accept that none of us knows anything about who we truly are? What if we dropped all labels that we use to separate ourselves from others … and we simply existed, together? What would the world be like then?

Tell me – who are you? Who is that being beneath all labels, beneath all thoughts? Can you answer? Ideas come and they go, but what is waiting there between each thought? The mind is a powerful tool. It tells you that you are a parent, you are Caucasian, you are a college graduate, you are an employee, a nurse, a brother, that you are happy, you are worried, you are anxious, you are sad, you are a baker, you are a politician, you can’t afford that trip, you are incapable of writing that book, you are unworthy. It tells you who you are and how to be that person. And most of us listen. We obey. We succumb. Why do we assume that these labels define who we truly are? Why are we at the whim of what our minds tell us? Do you realize that your mind has been conditioned since the moment you were born? From your first breathe, you were told who you are and given a name with which you identify. And what if, today, you quieted your mind…

What if your mind was silent and didn’t tell you who you are today? What is left? Who is there reminding you to breathe?

It is quite a mystery to me. Maybe I am the mystery. Maybe you are a mystery. The truth is that there is something magical that lives in each of us that is indescribable with human language. It lives and grows us each day. Whatever it is, it is strong, resilient, magical. Whatever it is, it lives in us all. Don’t forget that the next time you are quick to judge another person, or hurt another person. What is in him is in you too.

Keep asking the tough questions. Let’s be puzzled by what seems obvious. Never stop searching for the answers.

With compassion, we grow.

xo,

Ki

photo

 

 

Thoughts on ‘being a writer’

Some mornings

I spend hours in my head

Writing poems

Dancing with singed hearts

And kissing strangers.

 

Some afternoons

I sip lukewarm coffee and eat

Sour candy,

Talking to myself,

Spewing thoughts onto penned paper,

Daydreaming of editors

Fancying my plight

To be a writer.

 

Oddest occupation —

Fictionally, speaking.

No wonder

I crave touch

So desperately

The only true affirmation

Of my life’s work.

I hear you, they say.

I know.

 

Silent speaker of the world

I am

Sickly mind squashing

Courage

Hungry to try again, sometimes,

Provided inspiration.

 

Lazy, perhaps

Weird, perhaps

Maybe definitely special

They say.

Maybe.

 

I am a writer

Head inside a dream

Come true,

Or is it?

Thaw

I trace every face

In search of your love.

I wonder if you do the same…

Like a lost child in search of her mother,

I am.

The weight of that simile

Suffocates me.

Be love, and I’ll show myself to you.

Resilience, live me

Until then.

 

My body is cold from this horrendous winter. I was told to wait patiently and sure enough, spring will show herself again. So ‘they’ said.

I waited, and here she is. Her warmth now mending the aching bones I carry. Like my body, my heart grows cold from relationships strained, and I build walls around it for protection. Yet just as seasons change and frozen lakes thaw, my heart grows warm as I lower these walls and open myself, once again, to those I love most.

I encourage you to do the same.

Cycles, seasons, all things impermanent. Be love, and forgive. Resilience is a beautiful color on you.

 

With love and light,

Ki

sun

 

Need

It feels so lonely, growing up. I feel so alone, as a grown up. I thought I wanted this, but I don’t. Shed me of these layered skins I’ve tried on. They don’t look so pretty after all. I don’t know what I want to be, as a grown up. When will I grow up? I just want to ask questions. I don’t want to have all the answers anymore. I just want to take a hot bath in a pool of unknowns where I drown in naked surrender of the things that scare me…. Like open water. I don’t want anyone to save me. I want to choke the waters that chase my fears deep into my belly until regurgitated truths surface and my breath meets yours in embrace. Relief will hug us as I cry out my fears of growing these roots deep into yours. Breathe in me, you. If I tell you that I’m scared, is that enough to interrupt the pace at which we’ve rushed this life? You’ll always be mine…. Won’t you please let me weather this blow? Changing seasons from a young girl to a grown up. I still need time.

need post

Be patient with yourself…. It’s not the worst thing in the world to wake up and realize that you’re in need.

We all are.

I challenge you to speak up about what you truly need from life, from the Universe, from others, from yourself.

You will be heard, I promise.

 

 

This post is for Sally. Your struggle is my struggle. Your happiness is my happiness. I’ve seen the good, the bad, the beautiful, the ugly — as you have seen all of mine. We may not be living the lives we had planned, but isn’t it beautiful to laugh at our naïve ways as we grow to become the strongest women we always hoped we would be? I love you, and I created this with you in mind.