I have been experiencing a lot of grief lately, and I know so many of those around me have as well.  For me it started about two weeks ago when our 14.5 year old dog died.  I have written before about how I have trouble crying, and I'm pretty sure I've mentioned that for a big part of my life I didn't process my feelings at all and instead stuffed them deep down where they wouldn't be a bother.  Well, it seems that I have processed and released and learned enough that this time I was able to cry freely and move into grief.  And that opening to this grief seemed to create an invitation to process all of the other grief that I'd avoided and buried and told to wait because I really, really didn't have time for it at that moment.  It swept me up and we experienced life together for awhile.  I have set the intention in the last year that when a powerful emotion grabs ahold of me I make sure to let it out visually in some way- a drawing or painting or whatever else may come to mind.  I do this to both help myself process my emotions- and it has been immensely supportive of the process- and to give me the ability to use the image to communicate the feeling to others.  I started the art, and just about the time that it was finished I saw reasons for grief popping up all over my news feed.  And I was so grateful that I had the art to help me because the wave grabbed me even more powerfully, in a way that felt helpless because whereas my dog dying is my own grief, the grief prompted by events in the news is collective and incomplete.  Incomplete because I do not know the people who died personally so I have no personal narrative to aid in my processing,  and also because the endless arguing and finger pointing and bashing of one group or another and name calling and flinging of pain back and forth as if hurling it away will make it disappear. . . they make it hard to get down to the business of grief.  And so having a focal point in the form of artwork was helpful.

When i sat down to start my art, this time I saw the drawing first.  I saw myself sitting, seemingly still, alone in a boat while my heart and I wept.  And so I put pencil to paper and I started.  At first it felt that the boat and I were floating on a deep, dark well.  As I was drawing I could feel that my little boat and I were actually in my body, under my heart, sitting on the immobile void of my belly that seemed simultaneously to have the gravity of a shaft running deep into the earth and the near weightlessness of space. When the boat and I were on the paper and my heart was wet on the page another sensation started- one of unraveling.  Like the person in the boat was the reflection and I was actually under the water, slowly being lifted up and out of my experience and pulled down to the bottom of the well, but not all in one piece.  Like a slinky or a handful of string or cords.  Little pieces of me were pulling off and floating away but still staying connected.  I was becoming undone.  And I could see how this was a necessary part of grief.  There are a bunch of different definitions of grief, but grief seems to generally occur after the loss of someone or something, or a big change.  So an unraveling of life as we knew it, of our families or support systems or way of life, of our experience of the world, or of the vision we had held for ourselves, a loved one, a country.  An unraveling of a future that will never come to be.  An unraveling of what was so what is now can come to pass.  A falling apart so we can come back together.  The unraveling feeling alternated with pain and nausea when everything would clench back up, trying to shove all the pieces back together before they were ready.  Like trying to grab fireworks and stuff them back in the rocket as they were exploding.  Like a giant invisible hand was grabbing all of me as I fell out of the boat and trying desperately to mash me back together, shove me in the boat, and set it upright again.  But it couldn't happen.  And that invisible hand would realize the futility of its actions and let me fall again.  Until it could handle to feeling of coming apart no longer and it would try to fix it all again, and then let go.  Over and over.  Until there was no more to fall apart, until I had been stretched as far as I needed to go.  And then, somehow, things started coming together again and at some point I realized that I was whole, sitting under my heart once more.  Calmer but still raw, empty but with the beginning of solidity.  Supported by a solid-ish something, and knowing I was okay.

This process occurred multiple times, and I don't believe there is any limit to the number of times or the amount of time that it takes.  I am in no way saying this is how it feels and works for everyone, just that it is how it felt and worked for me this time when I was paying attention to it.  This first time that I have experienced grief in a long, long time.  As I was feeling and watching and drawing I could see how my unwillingness or inability to grieve in the past had held me at that place of starting to unravel but never moving beyond the pain that happens when everything is coming apart.  Stuck in pain.  Since I was unable to move through the pain, the only way I was able to express my grief was through tossing the pain out, hoping it would go away.  But it didn't.  I can see now how it is a process that cannot be cut short.  And it is not a process that can be done FOR anyone else in an attempt to stop their pain.  From the outside probably the only thing that can be done is to surround a person who is grieving with love, even if they can't really feel it.  And to provide for their daily needs while they are engrossed in the process of coming unraveled and coming together again over and over.

I did three pieces of art expressing the grief I was feeling.  The painting at the top of the page, the drawing in the middle, and the painting above.  I left the drawing black and white on purpose, so it could be colored in during other times of grief to assist with the process once again.  I have found that creating art is so therapeutic and supportive in times of intense emotions. Many times I resist just to give in later and wonder WHY was I resisting before?  It is that powerful.

If you are also grieving, if you know you need to grieve but are having trouble accessing the feelings, or if you just like to color, the drawing can be downloaded below for you to color in as many times as you want or need.  I hope that coloring it is a safe, supportive experience and that it helps you in your process.  Lots of gentle, loving hugs from me to you. 

This weekend is the Columbus Arts Festival.  My parents always used to take my siblings and I when we were kids, and I just kind of associated the Arts Festival with the beginning of summer.  I loved it, the atmosphere, the people, the food, the art, everything.  I think I probably sensed that I was with my people, even though I couldn't articulate it at the time.  I liked to do art but had no visions of doing art professionally.  I just didn't feel like it was an acceptable or viable option in my family.  But that one weekend was all about art and my parents took us and that felt like validation for art in general.  I did have a secret dream that maybe one day I could have a booth there too, but it was a distant, extremely unlikely, and unspoken dream.

This year was special for a couple reasons, but one of the big ones is that this year I got to go all by myself.  No one whined at me about how hot it was (which is good because it was in the 90s), no one complained that it was too far to walk, no one said they were soooooo tired and do we have to look at more art and please mama, stop talking to people!!!  It was glorious!  I walked slowly, looked deliberately, talked to artists about their art, was inspired, and really soaked in the feeling.  I love that feeling.  I also collected a lot of business cards!

It was also special because my friend Adrianne has a booth this year!  I didn't think to take a picture of her in her booth, but you can check her out right by COSI if you happen to go tomorrow, or visit her at her website- http://www.adriannegeorge.com/ .   That definitely created a crack in the "extremely unlikely" bubble around that aforementioned dream!  It was fun visiting her beautiful booth full of amazing pottery and chatting even in the sweltering heat.  I'm so excited for her and hope this weekend goes really well!

And lastly it was special because my focus in 2016 has been about really claiming the word artist as my own.  Not keeping it hidden except for very rare moments when I might apologetically slide it out but be ready to snatch it back quickly if the other person doesn't approve or agree.  Not blowing around me like a kite that I'm trying to ignore.  Not getting muddy and wet and worn in a puddle in front of me while I wait for someone else to pick it up and hand it to me and say, "Here, this is yours". 

This year I am working towards stepping into it fully, without a care as to if other people think I deserve it or not.  To walk around and live my life with it in my bones.  To let it pour out of my pores in rainbow hues and become my clothing and presence in the world, and then let it color my environment around me and leave a record of my steps without me worrying that it's impetuous of me and how dare I and who do I think I am anyway?

I have been noticing where I have been limiting myself, where I have been held back by beliefs that told me that being an artist was selfish, lazy, a surefire way to be poor, something I can never be without going to art school first, crazy, irresponsible, etc, etc, etc.  I have been consciously working through them and creating new beliefs about how it IS possible, okay, and good to be an artist.  It is possible, okay, and good to be exactly who I have always been but have tried to run away and hide from. 

Wandering around the Arts Festival today felt like immersing myself in the positive energy of those new beliefs.  It felt like I was more allowing and a part of that community that I have ever been.  It felt like magic.  And I am so grateful!

I have not blogged in soooooooooo long.  A year and a half of stepping back and learning how to care for myself.  I have lots and lots of things to share, but today it is the story of the painting below.  This painting that lived in my drawer for two years before it asked me to gift it to someone, and now it has been seen thousands of times.  (Crazy, right?!?!?  That too is a story to be told another day.)  Today I need to tell you the story of how this image, and then this painting, came to exist.

As far back as I can remember I felt like there was something wrong with me.  That I was defective, a burden on others, too much of so many things.  I craved perfection.  If only I could be perfect then bad things wouldn't happen.  People wouldn't be upset at me, I wouldn't feel horrid, and life could be happy.  If only I could be perfect then the whole world would be right!

One of the ways I tried to be perfect was to see what was expected, exalted even, of folks who were considered to be "good people" by others.  And I tried my best to do that.  Get good grades, be active at church, don't mess with drugs or sex, etc.  It was like a checklist.  I was trying to act a part so others would place me on the "good" side of the human rankings.  But inside I was miserable.  I was sure that if people saw the real me they'd kick me out of the human race.  I was positive that I was a horrible, despicable person.  I was depressed and anxious and angry and knew things I shouldn't and felt things too deeply and was honestly one icky mess of a person stuck together with honor roll ribbons, Christian t-shirts, swim caps and goggles, Girl Scout badges, and medication.  Oh, and books.  Lots and lots and lots of books.

At church I learned the right things to say and I said them.  I definitely felt God at work in my life in a huge way but I tried to keep a good arm's width away for good measure.  I guess part of me thought I might even be able to fool God.  Because inside I was sure that I was not what God wanted.  I remember reading verses in the Bible that condemned certain types of people, I remember hearing sermons and Sunday school lessons that condemned people and I kept seeing myself, the real me that I kept hidden away, standing with the condemned.  Or huddled in a ball, really.  Wishing I didn't exist.  Or that I could be someone different.  I remember people at churches or who I knew were Christian, older people who I was sure knew exactly what God did and didn't want, who God did and didn't love, people who I thought were spokespeople for God, say things like, "God made you exactly how you are."  And then later they would say that God wanted us as Christians to be a certain way, or even say that I needed to be more of something or less of something else and it didn't make sense to me.  Because all I kept hearing with my child's understanding was, "You are wrong and need to change" and "God made you that way."

To be clear, not all adult Christians were condemning or made me feel like I was wrong, but enough did that it made an impact.  And since I had the idea that all adults agreed on everything, especially if it came from God, I just assumed that they all felt the same way.  In time those child's thoughts and understandings got buried  and became a foundation with which I understood the world.  They became subconscious beliefs and snuck around causing mischief.

In my late 20s I took a break from church.  I developed my own relationship with God without anyone telling me what it should look like.  I no longer saw God as an old man sitting on a cloud keeping track of wrongdoings.  But still I kept a distance. 

A few years later I was listening to a guided meditation.  During the call the host led us into our "sacred space" where we were supposed to be able to most easily connect with the Divine. I was sitting there in this round golden room saying, "No, I don't want to. I'm afraid." I started to feel the presence of God even though I was fighting it hard. The host was saying how it was helping us connect with our deepest and truest selves, and I said, "I hate myself." And I heard, very loving and tender, "I know." And then I said, "And I hate you for making me this way." And again, before I could run away at the shock of what had just come out of me, I heard another very loving and tender, "I know." And I blubbered on (because at this point I was crying, which was huge for me because it's very difficult for me to cry), "I hate that you made me this way, in a way that isn't acceptable to you, so you made me so you could condemn me. . ." and I heard a very loud, "NO. Those people at church who said you were not acceptable did not understand me. You are here to help them see. When you allow my light to shine through you, you help them see the real me without the condemning. You are just as you need to be."  And there was a relaxation and melting that flooded through my body.

After the experience I told a handful of people.  I had a blog at that time but it was much too tender for me to write out at just yet.  So I held the experience close.  A few years later I felt the urge to paint what happened.  So I could share with people who maybe have felt the same way.  And so, while listening to Daring Greatly, I let out the image of what I had experienced, and I put it on paper.  The act of painting it allowed me to revisit the experience and to process and grow and understand on an even deeper level than I had when it happened.  Unfortunately, I used this really cool iridescent paint that didn't really dry, it stayed gummy and sticky.  So once it was as dry as I thought it was going to get I put a piece of plastic wrap on top and put it in my drawer of paintings.  Normally I would have scanned it first but because of the stickiness I didn't want to do that.  I wasn't really sure what to do with it.  Looking back I can see how the painting wasn't ready to be shared and neither was I, but it was the right time for me to dive back into the experience. 

Fast forward to last week when the painting told me it was ready to come out of my drawer and live with someone it knew would understand it.  I can see how it was ready, and how I was ready.  I can see how I understand more fully the message, and how I needed to share the painting to understand even more deeply.  I promise I will tell the story of the giving and what happened afterwards soon. 

For right now, though, know that my experience is your experience if you will open yourself up for it.  I know so deeply now that none of us are defective, none of us are "wrong."  Just because the people around us may say so, just because the people who claim to speak for God may say so, it does not mean that it is truth.  We were all made to come to this Earth to do important things.  In order to do those things we have to come in different ways.  None of us were created to be condemned.  All of us were created to BE LOVE in our own unique ways and to SPREAD LOVE in a myriad of manners.  Just because the way you do it doesn't look the same as the way someone else does it it does not mean that either of you are wrong.  Just perfectly and uniquely made.  Just because it hurts and you don't feel like you fit doesn't mean you're not meant to be here.  You are meant to be here.  SO MUCH.

Also, know that in your darkest of days, when you feel the most disgusting and inadequate and vile you are STILL being loved.  There is no level of ick you can become that makes you unlovable.  No matter how repulsive you feel you are, God will never drop you.  Those hands can hold a million times the darkness that you can feel or create or let out.  God does not only love us when we are happy and sunshine and roses and rainbows.  Even if you tell God, "I HATE YOU" the love is still there.  Tender and deep and always, always there.  Always. 

Life has been really intense lately.  (Not just with me, I’ve been hearing it from lots of other people as well.)  All this stuff has been coming up that I SWEAR I’ve worked through before.  It wasn’t a problem anymore.  And now suddenly it is again.  And I don’t know what to do with it.

I had gone down the criticizing and bashing myself path.  It’s so well worn and familiar, sometimes I don’t even realize that’s where I am until I stop and take my bearings.  It never helps to be there.  Never. 

So this is a reminder I need right now.  Maybe you do too?

It’s helpful to think of this when dealing with other people, definitely.  It’s even more helpful when I remember this when focusing on myself.  It doesn’t matter HOW many books I’ve read or tools I have collected or breakthroughs I’ve had, some days the best I can do is so far below my level of okay that I almost get repulsed by myself.  Those are the days I need my own gentleness and care the most.  They often happen because, once again, I have deprived myself of self-care and all those things I know help me but I feel guilty for doing or like I shouldn’t need them.  I really, really need my own gentleness those days. 

Where do you need your own gentleness right now?  Can you give it to yourself?  Even just a little bit.  Every little bit counts.

Sending gentle love to all of us, especially those places where we need it the most. <3

In my part of the world there is a very wind-intense storm blowing through right now.  Often when there is strong wind I can feel energy being kicked up just like debris when a storm front moves in.  Right now it feels like an energetic dust storm, where you can’t see anything but darkness and are continually pelted with sharp painful jabs trying to exfoliate your tender skin. 

I bought into the feelings yesterday.  Assumed they were my own.  Assumed they meant we had big problems surfacing and things were on the verge of breaking.  The amount of arguments and unpleasantness thrown back and forth was much more intense than we have experienced at our house in quite awhile.  The feelings of helplessness, hopelessness, anxiety, frustration, and apathy kept popping up over and over and over.  We’d think we had smoothed things out and then they would rear their ugly heads again and it would feel like we were starting all over.  Crashing.  I was starting to wonder if it was even worth trying at all.  Trying ANYTHING.  It all just seems to fall apart and never works out.  Why even bother?

I felt like just curling up in a miserable ball this morning and not doing anything.  Especially not taking care of myself.  And then I expanded my feelers a little.  Was this an isolated incident just here at my house, or is this feeling much bigger than us?  Oh, it is MUCH bigger than us!  It’s the difference between the water main breaking at one house and flooding everything inside, and a tidal wave rushing in and submerging an entire area.  We’re definitely being swept up in a tidal wave right now. 

So why does this matter?  If it’s an isolated incident between two people or a group of people, what is generally most helpful is acting to work through the problem, come up with solutions, and develop a plan for moving forward.  However, when it is an energetic tidal wave the most helpful things involve acknowledging what is coming up and letting it go, finding your center, trusting that it will move through in its own time and just focusing on riding the wave without drowning.  And especially, especially not taking it personally.