Tag: authenticity

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“The Limiting Belief of Comfort Zones”

by DeniseLeave a Comment on “The Limiting Belief of Comfort Zones”
“The Limiting Belief of Comfort Zones”

 

There is a lot of discussion and coaching that centers around the concept of “comfort zones”. We’ve all heard sayings like, “Life begins at the end of your comfort zone,” and “Outside the comfort zone is where the magic happens.” So what is a comfort zone?

A simple google search provides the following definition:

com·fort zone (ˈkəmfərt zōn/) noun

  1. a place or situation where one feels safe or at ease and without stress.

There are countless articles, books, programs, and workshops that offer the “Science behind Comfort Zones”. Some profess how to help us “Identify our Comfort Zones” and others explore “Reasons to step outside our Comfort Zone”. Depending on your eagerness level, you can find advice from the world’s leading experts on how to get out of our comfort zone in as little as ten and as many as fifty-two ways.

We are taught that our limiting beliefs are what keep us stuck in our comfort zones. Beliefs, many of which are formed in our childhood such as, “I’m not worthy”, “I’m not good enough”, “I don’t deserve that dream”, “I’m not capable”, or “that’s not who I am” serve as anchors that keep us within a zone of comfort that we eventually believe we might not be capable of leaving.

But what if a comfort zone is nothing more than a story we tell ourselves? What if the comfort zone itself is the limiting belief? How might we change the story?

For the entirety of my adult life, I have been uncomfortable seeing and hearing myself recorded. I’ve avoided photos, videos, and facetime conversations because the experience is extremely uncomfortable. At times I’ve been forced in front of a camera for work or school and I’ve praised myself for “stepping outside my comfort zone”. I’ve told myself that the more I practice, the easier it will become. Unfortunately, that has not been the case. I practiced and practiced and learned how to look into the camera and read a script better but the process never became something that I enjoyed. However, recently a still small voice inside my head was heard to say, “it would be so much fun to make a video and put it out into the world!” And for the first time, I listened. I listened and I allowed myself to feel the excitement without shutting it down, judging it, or labeling the idea “outside my comfort zone”. Instead, I opened my computer, walked out to my deck, and without a script, said what was on my heart. And in the process of looking into that camera and speaking my truth, I began to relax and enjoy what I was doing.

I realized in that short three-minute timeframe that the idea of a comfort zone was just a story I had made up to keep me from playing big in the world. I had let myself believe that making a video was outside my comfort zone. My comfort zone was limiting how I showed up in life. It had been a convenient excuse for not listening to what my soul’s purpose was trying to express. Today I know that my soul wants me to feel comfortable connecting with people through video, facetime, zoom calls, and whatever other technical tools show up along the way so that I know there is no limit to how big I might be in this life. So, I changed my story.

As a little girl, I loved being in front of the camera. I was called a “camera hog” and over time began to feel that wasn’t an acceptable way to be. But what if the things we loved doing as children were never judged or labeled as good or bad? What if we were never made to feel uncomfortable for expressing the truest versions of ourselves by an insecure world that wasn’t capable of holding space for the enormity of our authentic passion? What might happen? Who might we be? Change the story.

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An Open Letter to the Lucky Ones – the ones who have never been assaulted

by Denise1 Comment on An Open Letter to the Lucky Ones – the ones who have never been assaulted

To all of you who still don’t get it,

You are the lucky ones. Good for you! A small number of you, by the grace of God, have never been subject to assault or known anyone who was assaulted. You are in the minority. Three out of four women have experienced some form of sexual assault in their lives. So unless you are the one out of four, you actually do know someone who wasn’t so lucky. And after reading this, you will know of one more.

The first time I was five. A family friend visiting in an RV. A mini home. I could be the wife, he said. I loved the little kitchen with the icebox just my size. I served him pretend food and brought my baby doll with me.

The wife has to do things, he said. I didn’t want to. In my strongest five year old voice, I said no. He didn’t hear me.

Shame crept in. It crawled up my back and over my face, muffling my still small voice.

The second time I was eight. High school boys, my neighbors, like brothers. I trusted them. They touched me. I closed my eyes and left my body behind.

The shame grew heavier.

The third time I was twelve. He was trusted to drive me home but his hands on my barely budding little breasts betrayed that trust.

“stop”   He couldn’t hear me.

The shame was too thick for my tiny voice to escape.

I was raped in high school. Under the pier. In the sand. He was a ‘friend.’

In college. In a car. I was drunk.

In relationships. I was silent.

Why don’t women speak out?

Why don’t they confront?

Why don’t they press charges?

Those who have been there never ask why. Most don’t know. Often it isn’t a single assault but the cumulative toll of a lifetime of smaller events. The effects of shame compounded.

Jokes are made and memes are created. Efforts to verbalize assault are dismissed as over reaction and unwarranted sensitivity. Meanwhile another young woman is groped, grabbed, forced, molested, raped….

Shame is a cloak that muffles the voice. It takes a strong woman to lift the edge and speak out. Her voice only a whisper that alone, often is not heard but when combined with the voices of other brave women, begins to grow louder and eventually those who ask why will hear the answer loud and clear.

Why? What good will it do if no one listens?

Listen.

For the sake of your mothers, your daughters, your sisters, your wives, your friends.

Listen.

Don’t just listen when we are strong and shouting. Listen when we are scared and shaking. Listen because we matter. Listen because this isn’t just bigger than life politicians, wealthy men, and locker room banter. This is our life.

Don’t think because we have been silent that we don’t remember. We never forget.

If you are one of the lucky ones, share your voice with someone who has lost theirs. Speak out and speak up. You were spared the shame of assault for a reason. Use the strength you have to help lift the edge of someone else’s cloak. Don’t add to the weight with your insensitivity.

It’s taken nearly forty-seven years, hundreds of hours in therapy, and the love and understanding of a strong man to develop the muscle to lift my own cloak. Recently, I’ve felt my muscles quiver but with the strength of every woman who finds the courage to speak out, my voice grows louder and for that, I am grateful.

-namaste

 

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Letters from my children

by DeniseLeave a Comment on Letters from my children

Every once in a while life gives us a moment of affirmation. A moment of pause when we are presented with evidence that somewhere along the twisted rocky path we’ve been walking, we were able to stumble in just such a way as to do something very right. For me, that moment of affirmation came in the form of letters written by my children.

LettersSix years ago, my ex and I told our four children we were getting a divorce. The marriage ended long before I had the courage to speak the words. Fear kept me in place. Fear of losing my children, losing the relationships that meant more to me than life, fear that they wouldn’t understand why, and fear that I wouldn’t be able to explain fast enough to keep them close. I worked their entire lives to create a façade in order to protect them from reality and in a matter of seconds I ripped the curtain down, exposing a truth they couldn’t possibly comprehend quickly. I asked them to trust me while I crumbled the foundation their young lives had been standing on. Looking into four sets of eyes, filled with fear and disbelief, I could only beg them to search their hearts and to know how much I loved them.

“You know who I am. I would never do anything that I don’t believe is best for you. I know how much this hurts but I promise, everything is going to be okay.”

I’m not certain I believed my own words back then. It would have been easier to stay silent. I wasn’t sure everything was going to be okay. I only knew that if I didn’t take action to change the course of our lives, my children would grow up to repeat the pattern I had created. The pattern of a life not lived, of walking on eggshells, morphing one’s self, going through the motions, not knowing the power of self love, living in a fog with no pathway through. I only knew that no one else was going to change the way things were, it was up to me. I didn’t know exactly what I was going to do. I only knew what I couldn’t do any longer. Something had flipped inside me and I had no choice but to move forward, blindly walking toward a place of peace, searching for joy. My fear was the cost could be the love of my children. I chose the risk. I loved them too much not to.

I believe as parents, it is our responsibility to model an authentic life for our children. Not to model the perfect life as fantasized in the media, but to live our lives from a place of truth and love, warts and all. For me, the truth was that I had never learned to love myself. Childhood experiences served to create a feeling of “not good enough” that molded me into an adult who felt a need to prove herself as “better than” in order to be okay. Insecurity built a fortress around my heart to protect me from the pain of judgment. Attempts to venture beyond the fortress walls proved to be painful and each time I retreated further from my truth. Years and years of hiding exhausted me to the point of hopelessness and it was at that point when the risk of staying the same was greater than the risk of making a change.

Blindly, I walked through the fortress gate into an unknown space. For a while, I suspect my children and others didn’t recognize me. I didn’t recognize myself. I lived moment to moment not able to think consciously of the choices I was making but only to feel each choice step-by-step slowing making my way to the light. Conscious thought had not served me well through the years. My ego voice was strong and if allowed to speak, would drown out my intuition. For a while, survival required me to silence my ego and move purely from my shattered open heart. I’m not certain I was the best mother during that time. If I am honest with myself, I don’t remember a lot of what was happening then in regards to actual events. I remember feelings. I remember missing my children. I remember sobbing myself to sleep after screaming fits of frustration and anger left me exhausted and unable to move from floor to bed. I remember loneliness. I remember fear. I remember knowing I was following the right path for the first time in my life despite the pain. What I didn’t know for certain was if my children would ever know this too.

I came to believe over the years that my children had forgiven me for the upheaval of their lives. Children adapt and mine began to relax and settle into the new “normal” that was our life. We stumbled a few times but slowly we all began to learn a new way of being. Laughter returned and with it a new level of honesty and communication. Recently I received as a wedding gift from my darling husband, a journal filled with letters written by those I hold dearest in my life, letters written with raw honesty, confirming my decision to follow my heart all those years ago.

Words written by my children of gratitude for “courageously fighting for what I believed was best for my heart and for the hearts of my children.” Their letters expressed an understanding that selfishness is not a negative trait. Taking care of one’s Self must come first before we can truly care for others. Unbeknownst to me, they have seen and now understand that until I was brave enough to risk it all, I wasn’t able to love completely. They thanked me for “modeling” exactly what I wanted them to learn. They used words like authenticity, passion, alignment, synchronicity, joy, Divine guidance, and abundance. They thanked me for the example of a loving relationship filled with joy. They wrote of lessons I had taught them and words of wisdom I had shared, most of which I didn’t think they were hearing at the time.

Reading their letters over and over I’m overwhelmed with gratitude for these amazing souls who chose me to be their earthly mother. I’m overwhelmed with gratitude for the knowledge that life is not meant to be a struggle. I’m forever thankful to have been given a second chance to live in this truth and experience the joy life can hold for all of us. Most of all, I’m thankful for the path I have walked, thankful to have been broken open, for it is from this wide open heart that I now live and love.

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I love Holidays. I hate what we do to them.

by DeniseLeave a Comment on I love Holidays. I hate what we do to them.
I love Holidays. I hate what we do to them.

imgresI have a love-hate relationship with holidays. In their purest form, celebrated in a vacuum removed from judgement and commercialism, I love holidays. There is a part of me that wishes to celebrate each and every one, to throw myself into the rituals and customs that make holidays rich.

As I child, I loved dyeing eggs, watching fireworks, eating turkey, hanging stockings, and staying awake to greet the new year. Each holiday carried with it traditions that I embraced and internalized. Easter was hunting eggs in the front yard that my grandmother played in as a girl. Birthdays were white cakes with pink decorations, my name spelled on top and flowers around the bottom. Fourth of July meant homemade ice cream and Dad at the grill flipping burgers. Thanksgiving was a week of baking pies and cakes, roasting turkeys, casseroles, and cornbread dressing, all culminating in a large family gathering with enough food to feed an army. And Christmas was Mom’s breakfast of fresh ham, eggs, grits, and biscuits followed by a day of visiting family, singing carols, and mountains of wrapping paper.

Over the years I’ve been exposed to holidays outside my Christian upbringing and embraced them with enthusiasm, all the while wishing to remove the labels that serve to separate. I love the peacefulness of Shabbat dinner with warm Challah bread and candles, the introspection of Rosh Hashanah, the lighting of menorah candles, the discipline of Passover, and though I’ve never built a Sukkot, I think I would like sleeping under the stars on an autumn night. I love the joyful message of Diwali with a wish for peace and harmony and the seven principles that Kwanzaa is centered around. I love the idea of the Lohri bonfire festival when the weather is cold and the kite festival, Uttarayn, to celebrate the beginning of Spring.

With labels removed, I find the essence of each holiday to be the same, love. Holidays are times to gather family and friends, to reflect and appreciate, to celebrate life and to share laughter. Perhaps this is why I have always felt strongest about Thanksgiving and have been drawn to this holiday that no one religion has claimed and commercial retailers aren’t interested in. For this reason, Thanksgiving remains pure. We all gather together to celebrate the blessings of this life, expressing our gratitude in as many different ways are there are people among us.

When my children were small I began making a big deal of Thanksgiving. Traditions were important. I wanted them to have solid memories that they would pass down for generations. The same menu each year, many of the items from my childhood: cornbread dressing, sweet potato casserole, brown-n-serve rolls, collards, pears with cream cheese, deviled eggs, sweet tea, and pecan pies. We added items from their father’s family: corn casserole, stuffing, and mashed potatoes. Turkey roasting was our own creation complete with a brining tradition and a “gooble-gooble BAM!” seasoning ritual.

Some of my happiest memories are bare legs on the countertop, covered in flour, helping me cook. With four children, for many years, at least one would help with Thanksgiving preparation. As they grew older, sometimes the only help would come in the form of a licked beater or occasionally being available to reach something from a high shelf but I knew in my heart the tradition still mattered and they noticed. They noticed the apron I wore and the hours I spent in the kitchen for days leading up to Thursday’s dinner. They noticed the holiday music and that their favorite foods were prepared. They counted on the tradition and for many years, relied on it as proof that their world was okay.

It was for this reason that I promised them nothing would change about Thanksgiving when their Dad and I divorced. Looking into the scared eyes of my four children,with the best of intentions, I made a promise that I should not have made. For all the same reasons we are no longer married, it was not a realistic idea. Of course things would change because Thanksgiving is not just a day. It’s not just the food and the football. Thanksgiving is a feeling. It’s about gratitude and love. Thanksgiving is coming together with those you hold dear, reflecting on the past and looking forward to the future. Thanksgiving is a time of celebration and tradition. For me, it’s a time of blessing my family with nourishing food, joyful music, laughter, and love.

This year for the first time in 26 years, I won’t be with my children on Thanksgiving Day.  This is a choice I have made after several years of fulfilling an unrealistic promise. I don’t know what it will feel like to wake up that thursday morning and not spend the day in the kitchen. Honestly, I’m a little scared and for that reason, I’m going away for a change of scenery. I worry about how they will feel that day and I hope for understanding. This is a huge step for me. By giving up the day, I am taking back my Thanksgiving.  I’m going to embrace the spirit of the holiday in its pure form without pressure to make it about one particular day. I will bake all day saturday, filling our home with holiday music and the aroma of roasting turkey. On Sunday our home will be filled with family, our bellies filled with food, and our hearts filled with love.

And maybe, if I’m lucky, I can get someone to help put up the tree before they leave.

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Acceptance is messy

by DeniseLeave a Comment on Acceptance is messy

Focus on what you have. Stop wishing for what you don’t. Be grateful for friends to laugh with, children to be proud of, and a partner to love. Accentuate the positive. Breathe in gratitude. Breathe out compassion.

IMG_0192Accept what IS. Release all expectations.

But today is grey. Today is heavy. Today is a wool sock, and sweatpants wrapped in an old quilt kind of day.

Today is sixty-four degrees and cloudy. Today I don’t have the energy to be a happy person, grateful and optimistic. Today my glass feels half empty and the trees are obscuring my view of the forest.

I’ve made my share of lemonade from life’s lemons and I mastered turning my frowns upside down at an early age. I was taught to dry my eyes, fix my make-up and show up with a smile.

I know how to look past stiff hugs, cold shoulders, dismissive comments, criticism disguised as humor, and long periods of silence. I can make excuses for others and believe the best even when their worst smacks me square in the face.

But I don’t know how to do hopeless. Hopeless is the toughest place to be for an optimist. I don’t do ‘give up’ very well.

For me, hopeless is Hell, a spiritual realm of suffering, allowing someone else’s action or lack of action to affect your wellbeing and peace. This is wanting desperately for someone to love you the way you want to be loved but knowing they never will. This is realizing that family is not synonymous with unconditional love, but loving them anyway. This is facing the fact that some people are okay without you in their lives and nothing you do or say will change that but showing up anyway. It’s finally learning that you can’t love enough for both sides no matter how hard you try but trying anyway. This is someone misunderstanding your heart but opening it wider anyway. It’s realizing that this has nothing to do with you and everything to do with them.

Resisting the feeling of hopelessness gives power to the feeling. What you resist will persist. Sometimes sinking into it, allowing the heart to grieve, the Soul to cry, and the body to curl up for a day is necessary to move through the Hell to the other side.

Perhaps peace comes not only from accepting the situation as it IS, but from also acknowledging that acceptance doesn’t always feel good. Sometimes acceptance hurts. Forgiveness can be lonely and peace can feel empty.

Acceptance is walking through the Hell authentically and it can look unshowered, unshaven, and messy. Acceptance isn’t always pretty and strong, but you are God’s highest form of creation and you are okay.

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You are what you hide

by DeniseLeave a Comment on You are what you hide

“Man is not what he thinks he is, he is what he hides.” -Andre’ Malraux

This quote on facebook struck a cord with me this morning and I asked myself, “What do I hide from people?”

For a long time I hid my fear and insecurity, then I found a friend who provided a safe place for me to show this part of my Self.  Lately, I find that I’m living without fear and doing things I never would have done before.

For most of my life, I showed the world a face of confidence.  I was outspoken and opinionated, often too much so.  At times I alienated people who disagreed with me, costing friendships and weakening relationships with family.  The insecurity I held inside prevented me from opening my mind and hearing anything different than what I believed was true.  I was on such shaky footing emotionally that I didn’t have the capacity to consider another point of view.  After years of impersonating confidence, I was exhausted.

Thankfully, the Universe provides exactly what we need at all times.  At that time, what I needed was a safe place.  I found that place in the eyes of a friend who knew where I was coming from.  Her open vulnerability and raw emotion were a mirror for me and I began to see my true Self in her.  Removing the mask of confidence was the most liberating thing I have ever experienced.  Learning to trust someone to be there, to support me, to love me, even with my ugliest parts showing, gave me strength and I embraced this new feeling with gusto.  From that first moment of living in truth, I have never looked back.

Today I find myself speaking from the heart without first analyzing the reactions of others.  I see myself doing things that before would not have been possible for me.  Instead of saying, “No way,”  I’m saying, “Why not?”

Most recently, I found myself standing in front of a camera being interviewed for a promotional video that would be used by a $200mil company.  Now for some people, this would not be such a huge ordeal, but for me, I was standing so far out of my comfort zone that I might as well have been on another planet.  While I was being mic’ed up, I waited for my palms to start sweating, for my knees to get shaky, for my chest to blush red.  Amazingly enough, none of these things happened.  I remained calm and as the interview began, I was extremely happy to be standing there.  I spoke from the heart and genuinely enjoyed myself.

Now to say that I no longer hide a part of my Self from the world would not be true.  But more and more I’m finding that the part of me that I hold back is a feeling of joy and confidence.  I temper the expression of these feelings for fear of overwhelming people.  Sometimes I hear myself talking and think, “Whoa sister, back off!  They’re gonna think you’re crazy.  Nobody is this happy.”

But I am.  And for that, I am so grateful. ❤