Rootless

For the first time in my life I no longer have to run away to be able to cope – I can run towards something instead. It is a shift…

For a few days I couldn’t ground myself to write. Rather than punishing myself I try to reflect;

If I am careless with my routines – especially those grounding me and caring for myself – then I am easier swept away by other’s agendas and influence.

In a situation where you restart beyond zero – the vulnerability is genuinely on the outside. The pain from what seems irrelevant small issues goes right through and there is no protection. And feelings are energy. And afterwards it happens I feel like a wet spot on the ground, desperately trying to rise rather than vanishing down, through the earth, into another world down under.

As a child my references for security was places and not people. My mother had a house, which she mismanaged so much I had to live with my grandmother. We kept the house as a summer and weekend house. It was my whole world. Maybe because it was where I could flee from violence and harsh words in to the world of the nature and the animals. I know those forests like my own pocket.

Eventually my mother let someone else sell it. Someone bought it for a bargain price and burned it down…Every time I do a vision board or something similar there is always a house there. A house where people can come and go, but I am always at home there. With my children and my animals.

For the first time in my life I no longer have to run away to be able to cope – I can run towards something instead. It is a shift that I can literally feel through my whole system – not fully established yet, but on its way – I am rootless-ly flying through my own universe like a pulled up plant looking for a place to settle.

Without my parents I suddenly look for my own culture again. The language, the songs, the views and the smells. Is there a home in me I can not deny no matter how far I travelled? Re-connecting.

It is uncomfortable, but I can’t hurry it to be over.

It is uncomfortable, but I can’t go back.

It is uncomfortable, but I can’t stop it.

I am in the air – on my way home…

321 signals to go.

Washing it off

Have you ever felt betrayed, back-stabbed, cheated on, excluded or even bullied?

Have you ever felt betrayed, back-stabbed, cheated on, excluded or even bullied?

Today I think I managed to get my fair share of each – all in one go. Had to just stop the car and sit still and let it just rush through the system and then somehow slowly ebb away a bit.

When I collected myself again and turned the car on again to get out in traffic I silently ask myself in what sort of denial have I been living in? Was so I so desperate for approval? Belonging? Achievements?

It is like I have told myself what to feel rather than feeling it. What was expected of me.

Now I feel it. Like an instant pain you instantly want to withdraw from I just it still.

It is uncomfortable. It is painful. It is relieving in a backwards way.

I take time to feel and I take time to observe to the best I can.

I have found that I am very uncomfortable with other people’s unexpected expectations. They have ideas and plans I am suppose to fit in to, which I either never realized or I never actively took part in from the beginning.

Then they have these big dramatic behaviours and most often I haven’t seen it coming and again and again I am deeply confused or surprised. It has taken a while, but at least now – when I happen to do it myself – I can silently ask for some type of undoing and ask myself what is really going on?

When I manage to hold on and stay in my Observer position I can see that maybe I attracted this person – or his or hers views on something – into my life when I was in a fundamentally different place. As with my intentions, maybe I need to give myself a break here and let certain people ache out to really ensure whatever has to be learned is learned?

Today I didn’t look away. Nor did I dwell. I looked. Looked again. And looked at myself. And back again. There was really betrayal. Real back stabbing. Real bullying. But I didn’t have to let it define me. Or let it put me on an emotional dependency spree. Just let it fall to the ground as I move forward.

Wash it off.

The evening I spend in the ocean waves looking up at the sky. Trust, trust, trust I tell myself as I let them carry my up and down with the streams. I breathe. I float. I am doing it.

A little bit drained, but I go to bed with a cleaned soul tonight.

335 signals to go. Slowly but surely.

Resistance

It talks they say.

I try to listen.

Sometimes I wish to just scream “ I’m just tired ok!”…

It talks they say.

I try to listen.

Sometimes I wish to just scream “ I’m just tired ok!”.

I need to sort out business, my life, prepare rehearsals, finish a book script, do fund raising for one of my projects, build a new network in a new industry, study and do tons of research, sort my mother’s affairs, manage animals and kids, be the taxi driver, take care of myself – did I say that already? – no? – there you go…

I used to think that if it was something I resisted and I did it anyway – despite feeling u-n-c-o-m-f-o-r-t-a-b-l-e – that would be good. And that things I resisted where I plainly avoided them would make me b-a-d.

I am not so sure anymore.

Doing something that you really resist, as in breaking new grounds or compounding something, can be next to addictive. Keeping you on a high – for too long.

Things I avoid that makes me feel really bad has taught me at least two things. One is that feeling that bad as I do/did is simply a sign of guilt over something, that I have to ask myself really deeply if I could have controlled? Most of the time that wasn’t the case. Things just are sometimes. Good intentions and all I also have to surrender and maybe this is what it is teaching me?

The other thing is – more importantly – when someone tries to guilt ride me and I go on that trip with them, eventually I risk that it becomes detrimental. So I have to resist. I have to keep distance and not take things to heart. Because my heart really does takes to it.

I wish I could say ”I’m sorry, but if I get involved and personally invested I will have a heart attack”…

I tried twice and both ended in me being accused of even worse. So no point.

Often I am just quiet. I am there and I think that would make whoever feel that I attend their issue, but no. They talk themselves into the most fascinated conclusions taking my lines too.

So I burn. I burn from energy of the fear, the unfairness, the hurt, the guilt I take in from others. So unless I have had the time to protect myself beforehand I now simply don’t interact.

So maybe it isn’t resistance, but self-care. And when I do this I can keep the distance to see if this all comes from other things. Unknowingly I triggered something? But that is ok.

By keeping myself emotionally clean I can see their innocence. Even my own.

Things can be un-done.

So resistance is after all good. It tells me where I am emotionally vulnerable, over engaged or not letting something go when it is passed my mental due date.

344 signals to go.

 

On my own

This is the first day and night I spend on my own since my mother passed away…

This is the first day and night I spend on my own since my mother passed away.

My girls picked up their stuff from the car and returned me the keys and then wandered off to spend a day and a half at a hotel with my ex, swimming in the pool and watching football.

All so that I “could work”.

First I kept busy studying, researching, writing emails – put this blog out there for the first time – trying to understand html coding…

…got myself so worked up I ended up writing a deep and long email about the mental mobilization required to launch an online campaign…to the technical support [do-not-reply-to-this-email] guy whose name is probably something I can’t pronounce, but I call him Henry.

By that time even my conscious brain was registering that this u-n-c-o-m-f-o-r-t-a-b-l-e.

I had no idea what I was doing, but somehow I have to get from A to B.

And I didn’t want to cry sitting alone at a café[people always look horrified when you do –like they would have to do something – when you are two they can somehow pretend it is not up to them and at least try to look sympathetic].

I have cried a lot by myself this last year. Both openly and alone. So now I know and normally I don’t care anymore. If I need to cry I cry. But today everything seemed u-n-c-o-m-f-o-r-t-a-b-l-e.

Since I suspected they were talking about me I eventually decided to leave. Smiling casually as if nothing ever happened.

And went to sit in the car.

I don’t like to drive, but I like to sit in the car. Close all doors, pull the seat back, take my shoes off and read or meditate – often I do a lot of hand writing.

When my mother was still alive and in the house I used to do my morning reading in A course of Miracles in the car. As if the distance between the house and the parking lot would have any relevance.

So I try to chill in the car. It works a little bit. I write something. Feeling a little it more in control.

Eventually I decide to drive home.

After being busy feeding and giving water to everybody and dotting around the house I sit down.

We don’t really talk me and the dogs. I mean not out loud. We do our thing, but the is no conversation.

And in the house there are no teenage slamming of doors, no music constantly on somewhere, no phone calls, no playing with puppies – just silence.

Far away traffic, some birds singing, some dog sighing, another one sneezing.

When I sit down, so do they. Nobody moves.

If I do move, they all attend me, rushing up to see if I possible would drop them anything.

I go out in the kitchen making myself a cup of soup and some bread.

Like a ball thrown too hard in your solar plexus the loneliness hits me. But now I can’t cry.

It is stuck somewhere in between.

I am supposed to be the grown up and I feel like calling them right up, telling them to come home right away.

But I don’t.

I take my work calls and pretend everything is just normal…

I miss them s-o-o-o much.

I go back to the laptop. Distract myself. Write all this.

Pretend there is someone on the other side. Just like me. All alone.

Signing out. 345 signals home.