From deep blame to blessing

All self-help-talk in the world, life does happen – all by itself – sometimes.

Bad things.Seemingly bad things.Things that shape us.

It causes pain, turmoil and an instant feeling of unfairness…

All self-help-talk in the world, life does happen – all by itself – sometimes.

Bad things.Seemingly bad things.Things that shape us.

It causes pain, turmoil and an instant feeling of unfairness.

Why me? Why not her? Why does it have to be me all the time?

Well, obviously me is the only person who I know to the extent I could even say that. Or feel that.

And then there is that story. The story about what happened. How we portray it, how we paint it, how we summarize it, how we identify with it – and how we keep telling it again and again, so even if it wasn’t true to begin with – by now it is, because by now it is the only version we memorized, so we know it by heart.

We justify this story with the r-e-a-l facts. Those that can’t be questioned. We are not that type of person are we – we don’t lie, tweak or leave out anything – these are facts!

So we tell ourselves and everybody else anyway.

Now this story, however, has become like a chain we tied ourselves to and we don’t seem to be able to move on or release ourselves from it.

Painfully I am discovering and looking closer at these family stories.

My mother used to complain no one was around really during her growing up. Sure she got an expensive education, but no one never really taught her anything, or at least she considered it, that she didn’t knew anything really properly, having no professional diploma of any kind.

I think no one never taught her how to handle emotions and life – hence numbing it all off with alcohol and pills seemed quite logical.

Obviously I can list hundreds of “facts”, that will justify my pity song of growing up with one single parent who was addicted – however – would her “view”of life really supported me if I took it on? Her way of living catapulted me to over-drive, but it also gave me an incredible creative freedom (no one ever bothered me…) and an undisturbed reliance and trust in myself. Yes, again and again I surround myself with people who wish to take me down – but – deep down that is still my core believe – I can do anything. If she hadn’t been in her comas that wouldn’t have been the case.

It is a blessing.

I was free – and now – I can choose.

Choose to empower and not victimize.

Going home. 303 signals to go.

Image courtesy to Maciej Secowski at







When my soul is black and blue

You throw your issues at me.

Like a gazillion sharp arrows they hit me.

Nails me to your cause…

You throw your issues at me.

Like a gazillion sharp arrows they hit me.

Nails me to your cause.

Stuck you keep me there; it is all your issues, your life, everyone ever done something bad towards you, ignored you or neglected you.

You curse, you swear, you pant and are at me again.

I can barely breath. Your hatred hits me in the stomach and I am out of breathe.

Getting up I try to not disturb you. I draw in the sand.

This is the line, I point at the drawing, that separates you from me.

You do not walkover that line – ever – again.

Walk away it sings in my head as I walk away.

What is it you want I ask myself. If you can’t get what you want, then what is it?

My life? My sanity? What is it that you want from me that you think will heal whatever is broken in you?

I turn and look at the line on a distance. Is it yours or mine?

Did I let myself be pulled over into a territory that was not mine?

I tremble.

I stumble.

I fall.

For f*** sake just leave me alone…I mumble to myself.

I try to get up, but it is hard.

Every arrow has left me a bruise. Black and blue I am.

I don’t cry, but I have no strength anymore.

I look, I prepare, I aim.

I hit you just beside your heart. You look surprised. Didn’t thought I had it in me did you?

We both know I will let you live, but we both also know – this is real.

The pretense is over.

My soul is soar.

My soul is black and blue.

I am going home.

304 signals to go.

Image courtesy to Dariusz Sas at


40 years in the desert

I can’t help of wondering if Moses never had any doubts?..

I think that was what Moses did? Wandering around I assume until he found his promised land.

I can’t help of wondering if he never had any doubts? No one was ever upset with him? Wondering what he was doing? How did he handle that?

And the women what were they doing? Or thinking?

The persistence and the size of faith, that all must have required… so what are my comparably small little problems compared to all that?

Can I find the same strength as his to lead myself out of the suffering? This self-made prison our generation seem to have created around us.

Can I re-fine that set point in myself when I would wake up and get out of bed just for the fun of the day ahead of me? Re-connect with that joy and creativity?

Finding inner sparkle without sugar, caffeine, tobacco or whatever?

This is for me my real question – to trust in myself – in my faith in myself.

Like a small small light far away I can at least see it. No bonfire. But something small that is bright and shines. I know now my path is leading that way. That I eventually will emerge in it.

I can start healing by accepting myself. I don’t need to know anymore. I don’t need to control or protect or differentiate. Or maybe a little bit. The mother in me still wants to protect.

Maybe acceptance is protection? Having somebody’s back when they go out on the arena of life? Shielding anyone would be hindering them even going out there in the first place wouldn’t it?

OK, white flag to myself – both protection and tolerance includes some type separation between good and bad and puts myself in the middle being the ruler…undo.

Long day, but still here – 319 signals to go.

Image courtesy to Stoonn at


MZ news

Hey – for more personal stuff – that I don’t post in publicplease feel free to join the email list – this also gives you pre-access to all my news, reports, productions and happy surprise gifts!

The Talk

No, this is not about sex…

No, this is not about sex…

Sometimes I get like cramps or sticking feeling over the chest and today was one of those days. This can come and go and be away for a while and then something happens and it is there again.

Yes – this is real and it is serious, so today I had to have The Talk with my youngest daughter – and it was not easy. I could see she was trying to keep her tears back and was stressed about what she had to remember – everything from what she would have to say to person answering when calling 112 to all sort of facts to remember and how to be able to explain a specific location if something ever happened and we wouldn’t be at home.

I grew up with my grandma and not anyone of my parents and when she died none of her children (3) were there. A few days before we had The Talk. She predicted her kids would fight over the cash – quietly she gave me her weddings rings despite the plain band and put them in my hand – “incase you ever come in trouble and they won’t help you”.

I don’t have any wedding rings. So what do I tell her? In case we only have a few hours left?

This is what I told her – after we gone over how to call for emergency help and what to do in the meantime – “you know that little voice that speaks to you, when you play or are all by yourself, if I am not here that is the one you should listen to – noone else. Always trust what your gut is telling you and if you’re unsure, go somewhere quiet and just be still and wait – it will speak to you sooner or later”.

And then a quick ten minutes crash course in how to be financially independent and what to expect of a trader and a banker and what reinvesting means in reality and how it works.

“But mummy – I know you’re strong and you wouldn’t want to die now”.

“I know, sweetie, but just in case ok”.

“OK, can we still do the bank thing in the meantime?”.

It is now 3 hours later and after 5 separate cramps it hasn’t come back – so yes – we can do “the bank thing” in the meantime.

326 signals to come home.