When did we disown our tears?

“The energy that moves life is the force of the Feminine.

She is unstoppable . . .” David Deida

There is something very feminine about tears. We rarely admit it, but there is something very feminine about tantrums. It is equally feminine to stand chin out, defiant, protecting ourself or someone we love. It is feminine to want to sparkle and feminine to fold into ourselves and shy away from the world for a time.

The feminine wants to connect and she pines and yearns for that connection. When the connection is lacking she naturally goes within. She withdraws, ponders, searches. Or she lashes out; resentment, anger, fury, rage, payback. We disown all these reactions, constructive and destructive alike. We play nice, we eat, shop, drink, run… we do whatever we have to. (Another blog for another day the need to ‘do’ when ‘being’ would suffice.)

How much of ourselves do we lose, do you think, every time we resist our nature? How much energy do we waste trying to make the ebb and flow of our selves fit into a PC box?

At what point did we disown our tears? What is it that we have prioritised higher than honouring ourselves? What do we fear our tears, our vulnerability, our wildness will threaten? This is such a revealing question for me. I don’t risk losing love by surrendering to my nature – my friends borderline expect it from me and my husband rises to meet it, as opposed to shying away from it. Rationally I know this. Breathing it in and letting it permeate my cells… such a transformation is, well, fucking scary.

I think for me, my tears and wildness risk losing me the labels ‘nice’ and ‘together’. That my inner chicken shit prefers me to play at half throttle and remain in the box that says ‘strong women don’t cry’, ‘you are responsible for how others feel about you’ and ‘emotions are to be controlled or leveraged in the form of EI‘. I think I am afraid of constantly justifying my desires and explaining my moods. Terrified that my intuition is fearless. Anxious because I am sure my feminine nature is a hard task master that will lead me down unconventional paths. She has in the past.

At some point the fear of vilification mutes the bright colours that streak our world. I want to be living in full colour. Hell fire-engine red is my colour! My inner feminine is ready to be juicy, open, sassy, fearless, exuberant, vivacious, unapologetic, radiant, magnetic, wild and free.

I am claiming my tears, my funk, my tantrums, my seething rage, my desire, my lust, my vulnerability. Lets see what happens when I abandon myself to the flux of the feminine force – I’ll keep you posted

What I need to remember

You are not your roles.

I am not my roles.

I am not what I ‘do’.

I am not who I think I am.

I am not who I wish I was.

I am not the sum total of my deeds.

I am not the sum total of my mistakes.

I am not the net of my good minus my bad.

I am not a success. I am not a failure.

There is no label for me.

There is no combination or array of labels that will ever illustrate even a fraction of what I am.

Nothing in my life defines me.

Nothing in my life limits me.

There is nothing on earth with the capacity to behold me.

I may never truly understand what I am.

The other emotions

Anger I can do. Frustration and I are friends. ‘Meh’ isn’t an emotion, it is more a mode. But you know exactly what I mean when I say that is how I am feeling.

The world is ok with the good emotions (for the most part). We can handle the fiery emotions. But we cannot even name the other negative emotions that plague us. You remember these?

Loneliness, Anxiety, Rejection, Jealousy,

Mourning, Resentment, Regret, Helplessness

We have a collective delusion that these emotions are ‘icky’, that they are shameful, that we have no right to feel them. We subscribe to the notion that someone in a happy relationship should never feel lonely. That a confident person never feels anxious. That it is only acceptable to mourn when a loved one passes. Even then many don’t allow themselves to ‘indulge’ that emotion. Socially regret is frowned upon – if you have regrets then you are obviously not living life to the fullest.

It’s crap. Total bullshit! A life fully lived spans the full gamut of human emotions. Disowning some of our emotions results in us suppressing them, ignoring them, bottling them up, looking for a fix. We never settle into them, accept them, honour them.

Recently I have felt lonely, anxious, rejected, mourning, resentment and helplessness. I am not a sad sack. I enjoy my life. But I am fully human. And I am a more balanced adult when I own all my emotions.

What emotions have you owned or disowned recently?

What is dying to be born?

At first look this question is lightweight. It isn’t the transformative powerhouse that, has effectively had me floundering, meditating, pondering and writing for over a week. Danielle LaPorte is sheer dynamite. At a time where I am floundering to figure out who I am, again, she was the perfect find online; a default, distant, online mentor of sorts. Bless her. (Her answer to this question was so much clearer than mine, for now)

A few weeks ago she addressed the following question on her blog: What is dying to be born? Wow! Fuck! Ummm…. There are so many questions and assumptions inherent in those 6 words.

It suggests that there is something dormant that simply must become manifest. It suggests urgency – that unless it is born this potential will wither and die. It assumes every act of creation is also an act of destruction. It assumes chaos and balance. It suggests we are all vessels carrying something, all midwives to something unique.

In my experience birthing is natural and blissful with support and a just right environment. What needs to die to create that environment are my fears, my feelings of inadequacy, my playing small. What in me is dying to be  born? ‘My potential’, ‘my inner goddess’ and my ‘higher self’ are all true but too cliché to be meaningful. What is dying to be born of me is my true voice; in my actions, lifestyle, my writing. A voice I wont apologise for.

In the broader sense, what is dying to be born? Reverence for femininity to rival our worship of masculinity. Understanding of the power of sexuality. Respect for the art and science of conception, birthing and nurturing our children, our selves and our dreams. These are dying to born of us collectively and I hope to play midwife in my own small way.

What is dying to be born?

A challenge – ask a friend

This is The Highwire’s 150th post. Woot! I often get very invested in the ‘doing’ (Leo Babauta @ Zen habits would be very proud of me) that I forget to take my own advice and celebrate the little things. In this case – letting it all hang out for the world to see 150 times!!! And perhaps the ways that is has changed me for the better.

In the spirit of living at full throttle, of putting ourselves out there and celebrating ourselves for the simple things we do every day I have a challenge for you. Yup! You heard me right. I challenge you my wonderful, articulate, strong and liberated readers (see I too can employ the subtle art of buttering you up) to take the ask a friend survey. (After the jump)

Have in introduced you to Danielle LaPorte yet? No? Go. Find. Her. Like, seriously, I have read a million self-help & spirituality books, done the courses, (even taught them), been to the circles, led the circles, done the practice and after a while it all begins to sound the same. Until I stumbled upon the White Hot Truth. Her questions (like those she posed in this challenge) pierce through to the heart of the matter.

But I digress. On to the challenge! I challenge you to copy the bullet points below into an email and do what I am about to do – send it to my very best girlfriends. I guarantee those girlfriends are staring daggers at the screen at this moment because, despite being amazing, super intimidatingly intelligent and accomplished, they both hate confrontation and are diplomatic almost to a fault. Pick your best girlfriends because they are people whose opinions you respect and because they make you feel like you can drop the masks and [be loved for being] you. You want feedback – not a roasting.

• What do you think is my greatest strength?
• How would you describe my style?
• What do you think I should let go of?
• When do you feel that I am at my best?
• What do you wish I were less of, for my sake?
• When have you seen me looking my most fabulous?
• What do you think I could give myself more credit for or celebrate more?

The thing about putting your self, your words, your perspective out into the world is that you can’t take it back. Creating anything is a process of breathing life an idea and then releasing it to a journey all of its own. A little piece of you running around outside your body. We often are scared of getting feedback on our creations; our projects, our lives. Ironically, feedback is invariably far less caustic than we imagine. Case in point the post I was most afraid to publish got nothing but personal emails of thanks. People who live balls-out (tits-out?) embrace feedback.

The aim of this challenge is to see yourself as others see you. To balance the inner critic with healthy feedback. To take a moment to celebrate the pretty-fucking-awesome parts of you, that you probably overlook on any given day.

Happy 150th post to me and a pat on the back to us all for having the balls to ask for, and hear, the truth.

I’d love to hear how the survey went for you in the comments – I might just post the responses I get, depending on what they are

*Image credit

Unspoken

There are a number of things that we, as women, were never really told. The list of things we don’t discuss is longer still. Some relatively universal experiences (that could easily be compiled into a handbook if you are looking for a business idea) are thrust upon us without so much as a warning. Worse still is that there is no clear lifeline to help us understand what we experienced or how we feel. Any woman over 15 knows, to some degree, what I am talking about. Every woman struggles with some aspect of her womanly experience until she is about to burst and finally confides in a girlfriend, who opposed to being outraged, relates to her experience with great relief.

This phenomena is all around us for one reason. Nobody is talking about the things that actually affect women on a daily basis.

We discuss paid maternity leave (which I support by the way) as though it will, upon implementation, magically make motherhood valued in society. We discuss equal pay in the workforce as though a woman in her child bearing years is hired as easily as a fertile man. We discuss the new models of marriage, where the man knows how to turn on the vacuum, as though such changes magically help us deal with the daily grind of partnership. They don’t. They won’t. And for the most part these grand ideals and overarching themes don’t effect us nearly as much as knowing how to have a proper discussion with your partner about money. Or sex.

On the subject of sex, why is it that once taboo sexual practices such as spanking (which rests firmly under the banner of BDSM by the way), are considered appropriate fodder for radio add campaigns, when taboos covering femininity are still firmly in place?

I for one am sick of bitching about it to my partner and friends. I am irreverent, but my heart is true and my skin sufficiently thick enough. Watch this space, because I will be speaking about the unspoken. I don’t mean to offend, I am just tired of my experience being classified as offensive.

Who will speak first?

There is a post sitting in my WordPress drafts folder waiting to be posted. Courage isn’t something I lack. I have never been afraid to speak my mind. But something holds me back. My irreverence.

I firmly believe that our experiences as women may be vastly different, but that there are ineffable webs that connect us. I believe, and this has been bolstered by experience, that our internal experiences of the world are similar. I have learned that, more often than not, if there is an aspect of my womanhood that I find stressful that I am not alone. It frustrates me to no end that I have been forced to learn this the hard way.

My experience is largely an open book. When I experience something significant or difficult my natural instinct is to discuss it in order to understand it. I work hard to let go of (cultural) shame or guilt I feel, especially when I have done no wrong. As a result subjects that are not ‘polite’ to discuss don’t bother me in the least. In fact the double standards of what it is acceptable for men to discuss in comparison to the many natural and normal subjects it is considered unacceptable for women to discuss outages me.

So my question to you is this;

Are we ready to discuss the aspects of our inner lives that have been shushed until now? Or am I simply irreverent?

The more feedback I get the easier it will be to decide whether to publish the post languishing in my drafts.

Hard decisions are rare

Some say that life is full of hard decisions. I disagree. I think there are half a dozen or so choices we make in life that really shape our direction. We put so much emphasis on little choices, fooling ourselves into believing that the outcome will matter in 5 years. I bet you can’t even recall most of the choices you made 5 years ago. I know I can’t.

The simple way to know if the decision you are faced with will matter in 5 years, or shape your life is this;

Can you make another choice if it goes pear-shaped?

Is it permanent?

Will it shatter your view of the world completely and replace it with a radically new one?

If the answer is ‘No’ to these questions, then I hazard a guess that it really isn’t a hard decision. It is probably simply a decision you wish you didn’t have to make. Either get clarity on what you really want, get more information or delay making the decision all together. Oh, and the rest of the stuff that goes to hell without you making a specific decision about it, probably couldn’t have been avoided. So they aren’t hard decisions either.

So next time you are having a hard time choosing, try putting it in perspective. The decision will get a whole lot easier.

Powerful honesty

I have this friend. I have known her a long time. Nearly half my life. She has this thing; she is blatantly honest.

I wonder if you think that is a ‘good’ or a ‘bad’ thing? From experience I think it’s a good thing, if you can take it. The older I get, and the longer we are friends, the more I rely on her honest opinion.

She is prepared to disagree, politely of course, on anything of importance. Openly and tactfully laying her cards on the table when something is awry. More than once I credit this with saving our friendship from crashing into the rocky shore of our opposing political views, divergent lifestyles and different views on life and the world. More than once her honesty has also rescued me from swirling confusion and dominoes of bad decisions.

Although her honesty is a blessing, it is sometimes a difficult pill to swallow. Not because of what she has to say, but because our pride, inadequacies and fears make honesty confronting some times. Herein lies the second layer of blessing; her honesty makes me a better person. A more aware, more compassionate, stronger person.

If only more people were courageous enough to be powerfully honest.

Musings on Grace

I firmly believe that it takes a village to raise a child. In a ‘village’ children grow up at the feet of elders, learning vital lessons. Adults in a ‘village’ mentor and teach adolescents, instructing them in the skills and knowledge that they will need to contribute to the village in adulthood. Sadly I feel that my generation grew up largely without that village. This is not a criticism of our for-mothers; they were focused on creating a society where we (as women) would be valued as equals. It is because of them that we have an opportunity now to instruct the daughters of our new ‘village’ in all the skills of an adult and not just half of them.

As a result of growing up without the village microcosm we are drastically short of role models we can aspire to emulate, again not because our mothers are not ‘role models’ but because our paths are likely to be very different to theirs. Young women are in search of mentors and are coming up short. The ‘self help’ genre is growing exponentially as women reach out for help, desperately craving guidance and support.

I am fortunate in that I have had the loving guidance of mentors throughout my journey thus far. There is no substitute for experience; lessons only become permanent when one has lived them and been transformed by the experience. But the transformation isn’t automatic, the generation of women who repeatedly turn to inappropriate relationships, emotional eating and ‘retail therapy’ are a testament to that. The disconnect is that the skills necessary to courageously face life, walk towards our dreams and learn from adversity were the ones we never learnt at the feet of our elders.

We identify women of grace that we wish to grow like, but lack the vocabulary to identify what it is about their person that we value. The closest words we have to describe what it is we want are; beauty, respect, success and charisma. So we blindly stumble in search of what we think will bring us these; physical ‘perfection’, celebrity and the adoration of men. But we have the cart before the horse. Celebrity (lasting celebrity and not infamy) and adoration are the by-products of a life lived gracefully with purpose.

The deceptive nature of grace is that it ‘appears’ effortless. It seems as though it is a gift bestowed at birth when it is an attitude and a set of skills. Grace is a carriage, a way of being, that has nothing to do with external beauty. Though a graceful woman does possess a ‘glow’ that is often mistaken for, or perceived as beauty. There are guidelines, tools and secrets that graceful women live by and demonstrate, that when applied to our lives, transform them as though they have been bewitched by a fairy godmother’s wand.

This year I am working on embodying grace a little more… what about you?

Shopping and zen

For a long time I have said that our local shopping centre was built on a portal to hell. Nothing good ever happened there. It simply sucked the life, cheer, money and joy from you. It is a place I avoid as much as possible.

Despite my best intentions and planning, it was necessary to visit this dreaded place on christmas eve. Yes, we ventured out to the stores on Christmas Eve. Oh the Insanity! There was traffic on the roads, few parking spaces and people everywhere. I had a concise list to work through that meant I would be visiting around half a dozen stores.

People were throwing insults at each other, running trolleys into unsuspecting ankles, exchanging hollow Christmas wishes, cutting people off in the queues at the register and absent-mindedly blocking walkways. My partner was so grumpy (in response to the less than cheerful environment) I had resorted to calling him “Bah! Humbug!”, and he was answering to it.

The interesting thing, and the point of the post, is that I didn’t notice any of this. Well, I guess I noticed it because I can recall it, but it had no effect on me. No effect at all. I happily went about my business, gathering all the missing pieces for my Christmas Day celebrations without a thought or judgement about what was happening around me. I had no agenda or expectation, simply a task to complete.

The result -  I was home in an hour and a half from when I left my driveway. I was cheerful all morning. I got a parking straight away. Everybody was nice to me. The experience was possibly one of my most relaxed at the mall… ever!

I was in a zen like state! A walking meditation through the mall. Totally untouched by stress ad angst around me. Now if only I can live my whole life that way...

A decade ago today…

Your whole world can change in a minute. A second, even. A single decision can shape your life. Or at least I used to think so. Now days before the ‘noughties’ comes to a close I’m not so sure.

A decade ago, today, I was faced with the biggest challenge of my life. No I am not talking about a regular rite of passage either. It was traumatic. I knew right then that my life had changed forever. But it took days, months and even years for the fallout to settle and for all of the consequences to manifest. I spent years putting my life back together. I was certain, absolutely certain, that some of the changes were irrevocable. I was sure, and told many times, that this one event would define and dominate my life forever. That a decision (made by someone else no less) had changed me.

We were wrong. The tragedy has been totally erased from my life. All that remains are faint physical scars. Yes I have been changed by the experience. I am stronger and wiser than I would have been otherwise. But the essence of who I am, and indeed, who I was always going to be never changed. The things that define me now, the corner stones of my life, are the things I was told as a result of the tragedy I would never achieve.

Like a bubbling stream we move around the boulders in our path, ever flowing towards the ocean. The path of least resistance, our natural desire, delivers us time and time again to where we were always going to go. No boulder can harm the stream or define it, and in time the water will wear it down until that boulder is indistinguishable from the rest of the pebbles.

A decade ago, today, I was faced with the biggest challenge of my life. Looking back it was no different to every other challenge – it just took longer to overcome.