More often than not, we find scientific “proof” that ancient wisdom passed on through generations—once considered ignorant, hokey-pokey nonsense—turns out to be true. How did they know?
This painting I created is my artistic interpretation of the manifest and unmanifest world. The colors symbolize the manifest world, and the shades of tan, white, black, and gray represent what is on the other side. The colors also represent the chakras.
As humans, we know very little that can be scientifically proven regarding the spiritual world or how conscious life appears and disappears. The energetic body is something that some scientists explore, but again, there is no definitive “proof.”
Eastern philosophies and their ancient texts explain that just as there is a visible physical body, there is also an accompanying invisible energetic body. It is just as complicated and intricate. It has systems, nodes, and channels, as our physical bodies do. Energy can get blocked just as an artery can. Emotions are energetic. They can become stuck and, if not released, go deeper into our being and eventually manifest as physical pain.
Mental health professionals do this type of work and exploration. Yoga is deeply connected to the energetic body and helps energy flow more freely through the practice of physical postures (asana). Hence my interest in the topic. Additionally, my interest in art and color piques my curiosity about how color is combined in various ways.
The chakras are something that has always fascinated me, long before I understood, practiced, or taught yoga. The first time I heard about them, they simply made sense to me—almost as if something deep inside already knew, even though my mind questioned the idea.
For anyone who doesn’t know about the chakras (I was well into my 30s before I ever heard of them!), they are seven main energetic centers in our bodies through which energy flows. They start at the base of the spine, in the tailbone area, and move upward through the body to the crown of the head.
Later, while completing a 500-hour yoga teacher certification, I learned more about the broader energetic system, but the chakras remain the most widely recognized and are depicted in many texts and images throughout history.
The chakras have colors—seven in total—and they coincide with the colors of the rainbow. Their flow is vertical (unlike my art piece). Like the koshas and other systems I’ve learned about through my business education, they remind me very much of Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs. It also reflects a kind of evolution, beginning with basic physical needs and moving toward higher consciousness and self-actualization. In the chakra system, if something is blocked at a lower level, energy cannot flow upward.
The chakras are energetic. Over time, I’ve noticed that when I am in emotional pain, there is often a physical sensation located at a chakra point. It often points me in the direction of where I may be blocked.
I’ve studied and read many spiritual and religious texts. I don’t hold a strict belief in any one system, but I have developed a personal understanding of the physical and non-physical worlds—the tangible and intangible. The part where we are alive and moving through this world, and the part that remains unknown. What happens to our consciousness or spirit when the body dies? What is it before we are born? Is it even real?
My artistic expression of the spiritual life cycle is depicted here. Like the Yin-Yang, part of our existence is in the manifest world and part in the unmanifest.
The colored lines represent the manifest world—the world where white light refracts and we perceive color.
The neutral tones represent the unmanifest world. When all colors are combined, they create what we perceive as brown. Adding white lightens it to tan, while black darkens it. White contains all colors, while black represents their absence. Together they create gray—still without distinct color. At dusk, when we are between day and night, color fades, and only form remains.
Our physical life is surrounded by this unknown. Before birth and after death, there is something beyond our current understanding. Perhaps it is not empty, but instead contains everything in a different form—blended, unseen, or beyond our perception.
At least to our current senses. Perhaps with another sense, we would perceive an entirely different world.
The chakras in this painting represent the physical living world we experience. They move from a lower vibration to a higher one—less conscious to more conscious, more connected to the physical world to less so, much like Maslow’s hierarchy.
1st CHAKRA Color: Red Sanskrit name: Muladhara Known as: Root chakra Location: Base of the spine
Symbolizes: safety, survival, grounding
My interpretation: It is our root. It connects us physically to the earth and to others. It represents the earliest stage of life, where we are fully dependent on others for survival. This foundation shapes our perception of the world.
2nd CHAKRA Color: Orange Sanskrit name: Swadhisthana Known as: Emotional chakra Location: Lower abdomen
Symbolizes: emotion, creativity, sexuality
My interpretation: This is where feeling begins. It relates to growth, creativity, and the early development of identity.
3rd CHAKRA Color: Yellow Sanskrit name: Manipura Known as: Solar plexus
Symbolizes: personal power, will, identity
My interpretation: This is where we act in the world—through drive, identity, and personal energy.
4th CHAKRA Color: Green Sanskrit name: Anahata Known as: Heart chakra
Symbolizes: love, compassion
My interpretation: This is the shift from intellect to deeper awareness. It connects us to something beyond ourselves.
5th CHAKRA Color: Blue Sanskrit name: Vishuddha Known as: Throat chakra
Symbolizes: communication, expression
My interpretation: When energy flows freely, we are able to express truth and creativity.
6th CHAKRA Color: Indigo Sanskrit name: Ajna Known as: Third Eye
Symbolizes: intuition, wisdom
My interpretation: This reflects deeper understanding gained through experience.
7th CHAKRA Color: Violet or White Sanskrit name: Sahasrara Known as: Crown chakra
Symbolizes: connection, consciousness
My interpretation: A state of peace and connection beyond material attachment.
The base of the system is wider because it is more grounded in the physical world, where most of us spend our time. As we move upward, fewer people consistently operate in those higher states, and the experience becomes more subtle.
In my artistic expression, these colors exist between the known and unknown. The symbols in the painting represent movement through the chakras toward something beyond—something expansive, light, and difficult to define.
This and six other pieces were inspired by contemporary artist Sean Scully. Two weeks ago, Daren and I visited the Wadsworth in Hartford on the last day of his exhibit. He works primarily in stripes.
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The pear has little to no reputation. It is in a few desserts. It isn’t as popular as the banana. It’s not used in any popular lessons (such as the famous non comparison- apples to oranges). It’s not considered exotic like a papaya or coconut, it’s not a popular “pick your own” fruit, was never “in” like the avocado, or so heavily used in food or drink like the grape that fields and farms are required to keep up with the demand.
It’s just an unassuming pear, which is why I chose to paint it.
The pear is like almost every other living thing amongst us. And like most things we don’t give it a second thought most of the time.
The pear, the apple, the banana, the trees that produce these fruits, the flowers, our pets, sea life and of course humanity all live through a cycle. It’s as natural as nature itself. Humans are the only ones who sometimes fear or fight it. The rest of the planet accepts it as the flow we live in.
The flow and these cycles are shown to us by nature and what governs living. Particularly through the seasons.
The pear painting goes from left to right, top to bottom through it’s very own abridged life cycle.
Winter Winter is when most consider their surrounding closest to death. Life as we know it rests and hibernates. We hunker down and wait out the storm, most of us complaining along the way and wishing away the time until spring.
However, in the midst of the storm, under ground, and right below the surface, Mother Earth is preparing for the next cycle. The frost and subsequent defrost are laying the ground work for what is coming. Perhaps we may even consider it to be where life truly begins.
Like the architect on an empty lot where a new building will one day stand, the architect is surveying the surroundings and mentally creating what will later manifest as a structure using what is available in that time and place to make it so.
In that time where there appears to be nothing, there is a vision of the future bubbling right under the surface- waiting to be put into action once the sketch is complete.
Winter is the sketch. It’s the time to not do, but just be and know that the spring will come, and with it there will be work to do.
Under ground the trees and perennials are preparing the seeds that will come forth in the spring. Compared to sentient creatures such as us humans, it is the time when the mother’s egg prepares to be fertilized.
It’s actually where all the magic is taking place. All that we cannot see or understand in the material world. It’s that beautiful dark little slip of space and time where the spiritual world intersects with the physical one. It may be the most auspicious time of the year.
Spring The thaw. The flow of water and life. The sun is with us longer. Dirt is tilled. Seeds are planted. The egg is fertilized.
Of all the planted seeds (the seed of man and animal as well in the form of sperm), only a small percent actually sprout forth into life. The lucky seeds that mesh perfectly with the womb of mother/Mother Earth, the ones that happen to have the prime conditions that nurture it’s growth, are so very lucky. We take it for granted, but we are fortunate to be alive and to experience life. The spring is the time of rapid growth where what makes it lives through its early days to survive through to maturity.
If we are looking at spring through a seasonal lens, it’s the time we lay the seeds, nurture what is planted and help it along until its strong enough to be on it’s own for whatever reason it is here to be.
Ayurveda calls this time “Kapha”. It’s cool, wet and dense, just like the earth in the spring. It is strongly rooted to its source; very grounded. It grows quickly, and puts on weight easily.
In the chakra system it’s close to the roots. It’s red in color like the root chakra. All life needs a strong root to connect to the earth and then hold it strongly enough to keep it safe but light enough to allow it to grow.
Through the lens of a human, it’s the time of fertilization and early growth until young adulthood. Baby fat, rapid physical maturation, rosy cheeks, dense, learning-growing, needing a bit more nurture and support from the source as the child matures. For the mother who housed the egg and was in rest during the “winter” of the relationship with her own child, the work arrives in the form of carrying the child and then helping it arrive safely in young adulthood.
The pear… it isn’t quite ripe. If it is off the tree, it will be light in color; tinged by that red root that held it close to the branch. If eaten it’s a bit bitter, not quite ready. It has yet to mature. It’s a child. It’s in the spring or Kapha cycle.
Summer Sun. Teaming life. Hot. Moving for purpose. Lighter, a bit dryer & quick to inflammation.
The earth and it’s fruits are mostly in full bloom. Growth slows but it’s at the peak of maturity. The seeds no longer need help- they have the ability to live on their own, fighting off bugs and weeds without much outside help. The result of those spring planted seeds are here doing and being precisely what they are meant to do and be.
In Ayurveda this is “Pita”. Hot, quick to fire. Sustaining of life as we know it. Chakra-wise it’s lighter, and yellow like the sun. It is the chakra of digestion. It gives and supports life by helping everything keep moving as it should. Like digestion it’s lit by “Agni” or that internal moving fire.
Humans are now young adults to middle aged. In their prime. Taking care of both the young and old. They have an inner fire to make things happen, to sustain life, get things done, and keep the world going. They are the largest source of income generation. They have the energy and drive to keep it all going. They are like the full summer blooms, doing what they were meant to do.
At this time the pear is ripe. Mission accomplished. It’s the time to eat it or bake with it. Despite its color, it’s tinged with yellow undertones.
Autumn The change. Colors deepen. The temperature starts to cool and the air is lighter and drier. The days begin to darken. It feels like a welcome relief. The trees start to relax and succumb to nature. The leaves allow themselves to deepen, change, and finally let themselves go. Before the leaves do let go, that tree never seemed so beautiful.
Ayurvedically speaking this part of the cycle is “Vata”. Whether you are a half empty or half full glass type of person, it can be seen as the time of death or the agent of change. The necessary change that needs to take place so the next cycle of planning and development can take place. Chakra-wise we move up the body to the color blue or the throat chakra. The throat representing voice. With a mature and wise mind, humans have less energy but are able to speak their truth and guide the next generation.
Humans at this part of life also begin to slow down and let go. They often feel colder and have a more deep and philosophical understanding of this cycle and their own part it in. They are closer to spirit and that magic time of “winter” so to speak. Generally they have more trouble keeping on weight and become drier. The skin is tinged with blue and darker undertones. They are like the fall.
The pear, if uneaten, becomes darker too. Blue & brown undertones. Overripe. More age spots. Soft to the touch. But the sweetest and juiciest it will ever be if you can handle the mess! Another proverbial day or two in its own cycle and it just becomes a pile of mush. Mush to turn the seeds inside to something new perhaps? The opportunity to begin the cycle again as we head back into winter.
Circle of Life It’s a beautiful cycle. It is nature. Each part has its very own purpose and feeds right into the next. There is no real beginning and no real end.
We should keep in mind that there is truly nothing to fight. Try… but we will not win. It’s easier to just understand nature and accept and open up to where we are are in it.
Nature is bigger than us. She will carry us through each awesome, perpetual, ongoing, self sustaining cycle so we can play our own special part.
Like the seed that created the unassuming pear, we are each a seed lucky enough to have made it.
I painted two versions of this. One with the raw primary colors and the other with a softer tint of each.
Below I used photography and light alteration to show the same concept.
The original pear this blog was written about is the one to the bottom left of the first photo.
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This first day of 2019, I sit in my dining room after a long run with a warm cup of tea in the sunshine, not far from our dog, who has also found comfort and post-holiday solace in a beam of sun.
Across the room are two potted plants I purchased this past spring. They are geraniums mixed with a few other plantings. They very happily lived on the front porch for the spring, summer, and early fall. As they began to die off when the weather cooled, I just happened to be reading a book where a woman in England talked about having her geranium plant for 13 years. She would bring it indoors each fall and back outside each spring. Instead of emptying the containers in the woods behind our home, as I normally would have done with these plants, I decided to try my hand at keeping these two lovelies alive through the winter.
This morning, when I opened the blinds to the new day and new year, I happened to see a little red bud on one of the plants. While I don’t believe the plant should be blooming, I was excited to see that my efforts are taking effect.
However, this afternoon while sitting in the same room I noticed the rose bush just on the other side of the window. It’s dead/hibernating in every way. There is also a little red bud on it that stopped growing mid-bloom during the first frost, and will never open to what would have been its full potential as a rose flower.
However, this afternoon, while sitting in the same room, I noticed the rose bush just on the other side of the window. It’s dead—hibernating in every way. There is also a little red bud on it that stopped growing mid-bloom during the first frost and will never open to what would have been its full potential as a rose flower.
The difference is the warmth, care, and attention I’m giving the geraniums. They get monthly plant food. They are shielded from the cold, just on the other side of the window. They have a fighting chance at survival. How is this not different from the way we treat others in the world?
Folks on the other side of the tracks. The homeless on the other side of the window from our homes, jobs, and businesses we frequent. The children who do not have the same opportunities to thrive to their fullest potential as many of their classmates, due to their home environment and lack of warmth and nurturing.
Last Thursday I drove down to Branford during rush hour. There was an accident on I-95 North at the ramp, and the signs on the highway suggested finding an alternate route. I followed my GPS, and a few turns later I didn’t recognize where I was or fathom how just a few turns away things were so different.
Suddenly there were really busted-up houses, apartments, and abandoned buildings. Check-cashing stores, pawn shops, rough-looking package stores, and one too many convenience merchants advertising the sins of the world. Folks were walking around hunched over with old clothes and hardly any outerwear. Drunken people around my age just wandering the streets alone or with another counterpart, barely aware enough to pay attention to oncoming traffic.
Just on the other side of town… as the rose bush is just on the other side of the window.
If the rose bush were also potted and brought in, the flowers would continue to thrive through the winter, just as they bloom nonstop in the warmer months.
I am fully aware that I’m not comparing apples to apples. The rose bush outside is a perennial and will resume its cycle in the spring. The geranium would not be alive next year if it were left out all winter.
But people are not flowers. We are born the same, not with such different gene sets like these two flowering plants. However, our circumstances often decide if we thrive or not. It’s the warmth and caring of our environment, town, parents, and community that determine if we bloom to our fullest potential or spend our lives just trying to stay alive.
It’s not fair.
Just on the other side of the window, the ones who are safe and warm have a duty to do something—simply because they have the power, energy, and stamina to do so. Because they can, I humbly believe that they should.
Peace ☮️
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Tonight is the longest night of the year in the Northern Hemisphere (so hopefully you have someone to snuggle up against to share it with!). Today officially starts winter. It sort of feels like we have been experiencing winter already. That means from this day on, the days get longer. One would think warmer times are ahead… right? But no—the coldest days are yet to come.
Similarly, around June 21st when summer begins, it feels like the solstice is nothing more than a formality—the summer has been around for a few weeks. But the truth is that it’s all only a perception. While we have had some cold days and even one snow (in Connecticut anyway), the truth of it all is that it hasn’t overall been that cold. Today my car showed it was in the 60s just to make this point.
My 19-year-old daughter’s birthday is in June. Most years, when planning her party, I had this crazy misconception that it would be warm during the planning phase of her parties. While some years it was, much to my dismay most of the time it was rather cold and rainy—and almost always too cold at night to keep any shorts or short sleeves on that one may or may not have worn during the day.
The lesson here is that even though things may look like something is happening (days getting longer from here, for example), there is a lag from the change and perception to when things really shake down, begin to happen, and take form.
The winter has only begun, but the days are actually getting longer [yay]. The heat from the longer sun will not be apparent until spring—and it won’t be felt at its maximum potential until after the summer solstice in SIX months from now, when the days will be technically getting shorter. What was a habit for longer will linger.
When we start new habits for a desired change such as losing weight, eating differently, or beginning a new routine, the effects will not take place until a long time after.
Does that mean we should quit and give up??? NO, No & no.
Like the sun providing longer days as of today, the toughest part is truly yet to come before reaping the benefits. Nature shows us this through seasonal changes.
This picture shows it well. The bigger arrow (perhaps depicting will for change) is fighting against all the old that is established. It’s a long, hard road to get past that fight. The only way this larger arrow can lose against all those smaller little ones is to give up and join them in the direction the will does not want to go.
Expecting to see a difference in the climate tomorrow or even next month is as unrealistic as eating well for a few days and expecting to fit into those old skinny jeans. One way to guarantee that you will never shimmy into those jeans is to defy natural laws—give up, order a pizza, and enjoy a six-pack just a week after starting. It just doesn’t work that way.
Change takes time. A lot of time. While the earth is tilting back toward the sun tomorrow, it will actually be colder and tougher for a while, weather-wise, before the benefits of that tilt take effect.
So enjoy the process… believe and trust in it. It’s really the ONLY way. Results are never immediate. Don’t give up. Keep your own light shining. And do what you need to do over and over to get the results you want. It’s the only way to reach your goals.
One day I will follow this advice too! Lol 😊
Happy 2018 Winter Solstice!
Namaste
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There are some experiences in life that seem almost magical or otherworldly as they happen. Sometimes it is when you meet someone and you get a sense of déjà vu or a flash of unexplained feelings. Or when you hear or read something that just seems to strike some sort of chord within you about its unexplainable truth.
One of the dozen or so times this happened to me is when I had first read that the soul is the connection to the divine (God, nature, or whatever you choose to call all that is). I was so moved by this simple statement. The truth of it was so obvious to me in that moment that it sparked one of those otherworldly flash feelings. The article discussed how the soul doesn’t dish out advice like our loud, animal, thinking brains do. But if you quiet the monkey mind and ask your soul for guidance, the right answer is always there waiting to be heard.
Wow. Yes.
I knew that somewhere but didn’t realize it until then. A few hours later, after mulling it over, I posted something on Facebook about it—a short quote I made up as my own interpretation of this. It had very few “likes.” Guess my Facebook tribe didn’t get it.
Not long after, I heard a podcast about the moral compass. The speaker explained how we experience negative emotions (depression, hopelessness, anxiety, etc.) when we aren’t living according to our moral compass.
Right—that makes sense too. And in my own interpretation, I understood that moral compass connection to be through the soul, which is connected to all that is. When we can’t hear or follow that sound advice and live against it, we feel unhappy.
Then, not long after, I started to better understand the deeper meaning of the yoga I was attracted to. The focused attention of breath and movement quieted the monkey mind. Meditation and quieting the mind became a way to really hear that inner guidance—something that, without question, always knows the right and loving way to be in this world.
I felt so inspired to write this morning because when I opened my email, something caught my eye strongly enough for me to open it. It spoke about the idea that love is not something we earn, but something that exists as our foundation—and that it is from that place that real change happens.
The message brought the idea of the soul and moral compass home for me. It reflected on the idea that we are created in the likeness of the divine (or nature, or whatever we connect to spiritually), and that likeness is love.
The takeaway, as I understood it, is that when we are not living from a place of love, we are out of alignment with who we truly are. And when we are living with love, we are acting in accordance with our deepest truth.
Love… Love it. To me that says it all.
Maybe, just maybe… the allegory of the apple and the suffering that followed was about losing trust in that love. Not listening to the soul. Not having faith in what is.
The soul knows. Perhaps we should listen a bit closer. It’s always there—the quiet, steady voice. Not the loud one demanding attention, but the softer one that doesn’t need to shout to be true.
Maybe listening to it really is a step away from fear and suffering.
Hey… it’s worth a try!
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Today I woke up feeling good. On 7/11/18, 2 months and 2 days ago, I had just one of the worst evenings of my life. The following few days were even more difficult. These last 2 months have been a journey that I realize is life-long and I’m in no rush to finish. I’m enjoying and embracing every step forward and every obstacle that prohibits steps forward, or that even sets me a few back. Obstacles and setbacks are really necessary learning experiences.
Today I’m in gratitude. I might not be in an hour, but for now I am and I’m incredibly grateful.
I could write for hours about how I got here (I promise I won’t). The biggest contributor was my childhood and the mal-adaptive strategies (albeit very normal) I developed early on to deal with life while my brain was forming. One of my newly favorite psychology writers Van Der Kolk calls it Developmental Traumatic Disorder (DTD). This diagnostic explanation is fairly new in the world of psychology. It didn’t quite make it to the DSM-5, which is the latest edition of the manual by which mental health clinicians diagnose and bill for disorders. For now, the closest diagnosis is PTSD, which DTD is a branch of. Particularly for me, for now it’s Delayed Onset, Complex PTSD. It turns out I’m just another statistic, and if someone were watching closely, everything that happened to me could have been predicted.
I’ve been through a gamut of emotions the past few months. Many before 7/11, but even more, and much more intensely since. Crazily, but also not surprisingly, this episode took place just 2 days and exactly 25 years after what was one of the most transformational days of my life at the time when I was 17. I’d written about it before in My Mom. It’s one of my trigger dates, something I don’t think I fully believed in until this summer. I didn’t consciously recognize the significance of how the date triggered me, but my body did. The Body Keeps the Score. It really does.
What I realized most profoundly this summer is that I have PTSD. I really do. Two and a half years ago I had my first panic attack. I was immediately diagnosed with Anxiety and Panic Disorder. Last summer the PTSD diagnosis was added. While I remember telling people about it, somehow I didn’t realize how important it was to my mental recovery to embrace and work on it. In fact, when the true awareness hit me like a ton of bricks just less than a week after 7/11 this year, I was surprised to realize that I’d been sharing and telling people about it prior to then. A few days ago I re-read something I added to my blog page in May, “About Me,” and it was there too! Why wasn’t I working on it?
I wasn’t working on my trauma and PTSD for many reasons. Because it wasn’t urgent and didn’t seem important. Because no one tells you that it’s important. In fact, no one can; it’s something you have to discover on your own when your body is ready. Also because I didn’t have the time or the lifestyle until now. That is why I’m in gratitude this morning. I’m moving in the slow lane and I love it.
From a young age I moved fast. I always had excessive energy. I never understood how anyone could sit at a meeting or in a class and not fidget. I was just always bursting out of my skin. Driving… I had to be in the fast lane. I was constantly assessing for traffic, changing lanes with the flow. Heart always racing. Breath always erratic. I was always, always, always looking for more efficient ways to do things. From driving to folding laundry to cleaning… to redesigning whole work groups and even departments at my job. I was good at it. It was a great outlet for my energy. I was efficient and I helped others to be as well. A good use of my talents. Or so I thought.
Now I’m living in the slow lane. I still have the habit of moving fast, but I catch myself at least 80% or so of the time when I realize that for no good reason my heart is in a lurch or my breath isn’t steady. I stop it and slow down. I manage my breath. I smell the roses. I ground myself in the present and it’s SO much better. I think about that quote about how nothing or everything is a miracle, and see things as beautiful. Even ugly things. I wish we could teach our children this from a young age. Instead we are programmed to “succeed,” to do more and faster, to have it all, to do it all. We are programmed to think we are a failure if we don’t meet this criteria. On paper, by this methodology, I was a huge success.
Take two driven people like my husband and myself, put them together, and what do you have? It’s debatable. 7 years ago I would have thought a match made in heaven. In fact, at our wedding we incorporated the Japanese term of kaizen (continuous improvement) into our vows. Ugh… how I cringe now.
I do believe in continuous improvement, but not in the way it was taught to me (faster, better, do more, etc.). I believe in the slow movement. That less is more. That slowing down and even stillness is where the magic of life lies. Take a look at the pets in our lives. They are content with doing less, watching the world outside the window for hours just as it is. Accepting us for who we are. Not caring about how we are dressed or what fancy letters come after our name. They are, in a sense, more human from a place of connection than we are. I have four pets. I didn’t even have time to pet them before. I would shoo them away when they came to climb on me when I collapsed on the couch after 16 hours of non-stop movement. We had to have our dog in daycare just to get exercise and go out because no one was home long enough to play with him or take him out. Picking him up and dropping him off was another burdened activity on the checklist. Why have pets, kids, a house (2 in our case), a garden, etc., when there was no time to put any love or life into any of it? It’s been a slow realization for me that none of this makes sense. That I was living by a clock and not a compass. It took even longer to do anything meaningful about it. I’m still on that journey and in no rush to any finish line. The unfolding is a beautiful experience that I’m embracing wildly.
I wrote a few paragraphs back that I could write for hours about how I got here. Everyone has their own journey, their own stories, their own level of awareness, and their own (hopefully) point in their life—more often than not in the second half of it—in which they proverbially “wake up.”
My own story started on March 1, 2012. At work I enrolled in a Franklin Covey industry-based class for The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People. It was a 2-day seminar that set the path of a new life for me. At the time I was recently remarried and my husband and I were just finishing up the renovations we worked on non-stop for 2 months in our new home. I felt SO alive during those renovations. I loved working on the house. We often stayed up until 1 or 2am in the morning on work nights and didn’t feel the least bit exhausted in the morning.
Once the renovations were finishing up, I started to feel trapped, bored, and useless—something I wasn’t accustomed to feeling. Since my husband and I moved in together with our kids the year before, I felt like I was mentally unraveling. The renovations were a pleasant distraction. I began going to a Bible study at the hospital where I work, which one of my vanpool mates hosted. I hung onto many of the teachings and words, learning new language to explain what I was feeling. The Covey class used similar language but explained it in a different way that opened me up in a special fashion. Three things I really connected with were the concept of a paradigm that we see the world through, that I make my own independent choices constantly, and that to feel in line with who you are, we should be living by a compass and not a clock. Wow. This was mind-blowing and life-changing for me.
Shortly after, I explored the Bible much more. Then I ran into a Bishop Spong book quite by accident (I honestly cannot remember which one). I was never religious, but grew up Catholic and felt like it was a sin to question anything that didn’t make sense. As soon as my mind took me to those questioning places, guilt kicked in and I pushed it away. The John Shelby Spong book provided the freedom to question what made no sense and shift the focus to something that did in a more mystical, metaphysical way where it all made sense. From there I found podcasts on the Centers for Spiritual Living to help time pass while having to drive to Bedford, MA quite often for work—2½ hours each direction. Those podcasts prompted me to read the ghastly large book by Ernest Holmes called The Science of Mind. The world was opening and unfolding in ways I could have never dreamed. From there, for some unknown reason, I started taking yoga classes, which spoke the same type of language. Then I would listen to Alan Watts during my lunch walks and long commutes. All different words, but the same beautiful, timeless messages that make sense.
Years later, in January 2016, I loved yoga and this way of thinking so much that I started yoga teacher training. My regular life with work, the kids, pets, blended family, commute, and constant rush was becoming unsustainable. Why was I adding a full weekend a month commitment to this training? I don’t know, but I just felt compelled.
For some reason I thought in yoga teacher training I would learn more about the poses, teaching, and the actual class. Instead, like the Franklin Covey class years before, it became a personal journey. I quickly decided that it was a necessity to meditate regularly. Once I started quieting my mind and relaxing regularly, I realized that is how a body should feel, and how I lived for the previous 40 years was anything but calm. It started to become unbearable to not feel calm. Combine that with what I now realize is a few PTSD triggers from work at the time, it’s absolutely no surprise that I had my first panic attack exactly when I did, and they escalated from there—completely out of control. My body was releasing 40 years’ worth of emotion that was bubbling just under the surface. The same energy that kept me moving, grooving, and successful was the same energy that was keeping me stressed and mentally unaware that I was damaging myself by not dealing with the trauma that has plagued my mind, body, and spirit.
The past two and a half years since have been transformational. A lot of bad and negative things arose, but more positive learning experiences than anything bad. You have to go through it to move through it. It sounds simple, but it’s much harder than it sounds. It wasn’t until now that I’ve given myself the time and opportunity to heal. But you have to make the time. Your life has to allow it. You have to slow down.
This past summer was rough. I spent hours upon hours writing and allowing myself to remember and experience the anguish of old memories. Many were the same memories that came up during what I now know as PTSD episodes, but I’d felt too ashamed, embarrassed, or dramatic to explore. In writing, crying, thinking, gardening, exercising, waking up in the middle of the night, reading, etc., I started to explore my triggers and where they came from. It made sense. I learned more about how the brain is wired and why I seemed to lose control at times. I logged and shared trigger dates with my family. I allowed myself to feel all that I’ve always pushed away and thought I moved past years ago. It was always there waiting for me to deal with it. I just didn’t slow down enough to hear it.
Today I feel good. Over coffee this morning I saw my husband petting one of the cats who was purring where he shouldn’t be (on a counter). When my husband moved his hand away to finish getting ready for work, our cat Gilmore bipped him on the hand—asking for more petting, which Daren provided. We are in a place where we have time to pet our cats. I am thankful I am in a job where if I woke up in the middle of the night and didn’t sleep for hours, the pressure of getting dressed and driving to the office with a smile is not there because I can telework and I’m part-time. I’m thankful for the mental health breakdown this summer. I spent so much time on the days I wasn’t working living like my pets. I napped in the middle of the day if I needed to. I only ate when I was hungry. If I felt like the sun was calling me, I read and wrote outside. If I felt the urge to move, I went for a walk, run, or bike ride. Listening to my body helped me to attune to what it’s telling me in other ways too. Our bodies are a walking, living, physical communication device. It’s a compass of that path we should be on.
This summer I also listened to The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People CDs that I was provided with from that class back in March of 2012. Listening to the late Stephen Covey’s voice felt like listening to an old friend with sound, sage, timeless advice. I also spent quite a bit of time doing those old exercises again. I created a mission statement, thought about my values and principles, my “rocks,” how I communicate with people, how I think, and how I live. I thought about the life that I want to program. My own talents. Not the talents the world has barked at me—like designing things bigger, better, and faster—but what I wanted to be when I was a kid with no restrictions and what that meant. The imprint I want to leave on the world.
These aren’t overnight answers. If I thought for a New York second that I know them right now, I’d be fooling myself. I’ll be working on them for the rest of my life. I’m trying diligently to listen to the compass. If we quiet ourselves enough, and ask our inner selves for advice, the most profound wisdom is all there, right within us. Our bodies know what we need. They keep the score.
My dog Koji who teaches me all sorts of invaluable lessons without saying a word
Bored at home after carpal tunnel surgery of my right hand this past Monday (9/10), I decided to try to open my right brain by painting with my left hand
My left handed drawing depicting what is supposed to be a sunset
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Daren and I have been in Africa for the past week. We started out in South Africa and are currently in Zimbabwe. The economic disparity between the first world and third world is almost inconceivable. The modern-day effects of corruption and apartheid are prevalent with just a glance out the window. How can such an atrocity exist in the year 2017?
It’s so complicated. We have been having conversations with one another, friends, and locals about this very topic for the past week. I think we were both surprised at how much the lower-paid locals know about the US political system and how thoughtfully they have considered ways to remedy situations created by governments and history. There isn’t an easy answer.
What has also surprised me is seeing firsthand what South Africa looks like today and reading older materials about apartheid. From a brief glance, the population of mixed race did not appear enraged or agitated with one another; it seemed to be something the government enforced. Many citizens were recorded to have said that even though apartheid laws were proposed, they didn’t think they would pass. Then when they did, they thought there was no way they could be enforced in a modern society—until people of non-white descent were suddenly removed from their homes. That was only 50–70 years ago, after WWII and all we learned as a human race. Something similar happened in Zimbabwe, though in that case whites were forced off the land.
Then, interestingly, I heard a different perspective from the “white” side. We have friends from the states who have been living here for the past nine months and have met many locals. They shared perspectives from people of Dutch descent that I had not considered. One idea presented was that when groups with very different ways of living are forced together, conflict can arise. For example, if one group values certain systems like schooling, taxation, and land management and another does not, it can create tension.
From that perspective, apartheid was seen by some as a way to separate groups by how they chose to live. Again, I don’t know all the facts of the Dutch settlers specifically, and we know displacement did occur in many places, but hearing this perspective made me pause. Over time, cultural differences remained, and instead of blending, separation was enforced. Since European settlers built much of the infrastructure, some believed they had the right to maintain those areas while others lived differently elsewhere.
Wow… on a much smaller scale within my own home, having a blended family, I understand how difficult it can be to merge different backgrounds into one living situation. And in my family, we are very similar in many ways—yet it is still challenging. How can entire communities, countries, and cultures with hundreds of years of history be expected to suddenly align?
I know apartheid wasn’t the answer, just as creating separate rules or divisions within my own family wasn’t the answer either.
The truth is, there is no easy answer. Some might point to education, but education doesn’t necessarily make someone right about how life should be lived. What is wrong with living simply, connected to the land? Is the ultimate goal to keep building and advancing, or is there value in simply being present and living fully in the moment?
Does striving to improve the future make someone more important than someone who is content with the present? And if someone believes that, does it give them the authority to decide for others?
We also can’t forget the people who were enslaved, displaced, or killed. These realities are not just part of history—they still exist in different forms. For those who were freed, how do they catch up in a system that requires education and resources they may not have access to? It becomes a cycle that is incredibly difficult to break.
Their cultures may not have required these systems originally, yet they are now expected to function within them. In some ways, that can feel like a continuation of the same struggle, just in a different form.
Affirmative action is one possible approach, but it comes with its own complexities and challenges.
These are difficult questions—ones we don’t often consider in our daily lives. It’s easier to focus on our own routines and responsibilities, which is important too. We need to take care of our own lives to have any chance at contributing positively to the world around us.
One of the most unsettling thoughts I had this week was hearing how much trust people had in their government when apartheid was introduced. Many didn’t believe something unjust could happen in a modern society. It made me reflect on how fragile systems can be if we stop questioning them.
I wouldn’t want to be in a position of making decisions for millions of people. The complexity is enormous.
It can feel overwhelming, but maybe the question isn’t how to solve everything—it’s how we show up individually.
Perhaps it starts with something simple:
Be kind to others.
Don’t take more than you need.
Treat people equally.
Think critically.
Stay informed and participate as a citizen.
Make decisions in your own life that contribute to something larger than yourself.
Take care of your health so you can show up fully.
Make time to rest and enjoy life.
And find one or two things you genuinely care about and focus your energy there.
Even small, thoughtful actions can create change over time.
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“Don’t be ashamed of your story. It will inspire others” ~Blake Pierce
Division Bell
Wikipedia defines a division bell as: A division bell is a bell rung in or around a parliament to signal a division and thus call all members of the chamber so affected to vote in it.
Hence –it’s a call to action.
It’s also an album by Pink Floyd that was released in 1994. Pink Floyd was one of my favorite groups in high school. In 1994 when this album was released I was a senior in high school just about to graduate. I heard it right after I made my decision to join to military once I graduated. It felt like a time of hope. The album spoke to me.
It’s time for me to do my part in a call to action against domestic violence. I grew up as a child in a household with domestic violence. My father was the perpetrator, my mother, brothers, and myself the victims. More than anyone though, even my family would agree, for some reason I bore the brunt of the violence.
Like a fish doesn’t know it’s in water, I didn’t know I was in a bad situation. I didn’t realize my father was an alcoholic. I knew he was a gambler. I knew what happened in our house wasn’t right, but I also thought it could be worse and the people who experienced something worse were really the victims. There were so many people in my life who saw the signs and bruises and heard our excuses. Teachers, friends, friend’s parents, our own extended family, our neighbors. No one dared ask past the excuse. They all suspected, but they dropped it there. I always thought – they should suspect more, poke a hole in my ridiculous story so I have a reason to elaborate. Since they didn’t, I assumed my parents were right and it must not be too bad.
Everything went. Things broke. Things were thrown at us – food, boiling water, household objects. Our heads and bodies made holes in walls and doors. I was thrown across the room, beaten with a chair, punched, kicked… you name it. Called names, told I was stupid, lazy, a whore, an idiot, etc. Looking back it’s a miracle I made it out ok.
I was also told not to cry – by both of my parents. Neither could stand anyone yelling back or crying. I learned so early on to bury my feelings and cry only under the cloak of darkness.
I knew I wanted out of that house, probably from the age of a toddler. My mother once said to me she couldn’t leave my father because she didn’t finish high school and couldn’t take care of us. It was my life’s mission as a kid to finish school and get an education so I could take care of myself. I didn’t want to be like her and put anyone else into the situation I was in.
It wasn’t until about a year after I left my house & was in the military that I realized anything was different about me. I overreacted far more than anyone else to other people’s anger. I jumped when asked to do something and did it better than anyone else. The only good that probably came out of my growing up situation is that it made me a good solider, a good employee, one who aims to please. But other people’s anger really got to me. I went to see a counselor through the EAP program once my ship was on land. She gave me a book about co-dependence and didn’t think I needed to go back. It was no help at all to me.
When I got pregnant with Tommy I was determined to be a different kind of parent. I read every book I could get my hands on about parenting, which was pretty limited 21 years ago – it wasn’t like I had Amazon or all the time in the world to shop while I was active duty. I think the books served me well. John didn’t read anything and was quick to listen to me. We were on the same page as parents – loving, stern, caring, rules, and fun. Once I had Tommy and I was a parent myself, I started to realize how it feels to care for and love another little human so much. It really started to bother me thinking about the way I grew up. I just didn’t understand. For about a year I think I cried and journaled EVERY SINGLE day. John was kind and patient. He was more angry at my parents than I was. Again I went to counseling through the EAP, and again I found it to be a waste of time.
One day about a year of absolute post suffering, in the middle of writing – something just clicked inside me. It was like something you read about in books or see in the movies. All of a sudden my sadness was just lifted. It wasn’t replaced by bliss and I wasn’t overly joyed; but I felt a sense of letting go of the past. I suddenly realized what John meant when he said there is nothing you can do about it anymore. I think I just put the pen down and stopped shedding tears. I was just done crying about the past. I was only 22 at the time.
For the most part since then I’ve been able to talk about my experience without getting swept away by it. When I was 30 my mom passed away and her boss asked our family if we would write a little something about her life. I wrote this story that I shared on the 10 year anniversary of her passing on my blog page: https://esterinaanderson.com/tag/my-mom/.
At the time there was nowhere to post it. I emailed it to a bunch of my family and friends. Everyone gathered around & supported me. It was the first time I was public with what happened in my house. I hit send and was kind of frightened by the reaction I might get. I had always felt ashamed and broken by the situation – as if it made me different from everyone else and less of a person. But the love and support I received made that feeling disappear. It felt good to share. I felt light.
For the next 10 years I only talked about it when it seemed relevant (super rarely). It wasn’t until I went to a Yocovery class last March that I realized I was still very much affected by what happened to me. Yocovery is a special program at my yoga studio where addicts and family members of addicts go weekly to share their stories and do a little yoga. I was curious about what it was one Friday evening, so I drove over and joined the class. Everyone started sharing their stories. When it came to be my turn and I started talking, I was surprised to get choked up and then start crying. Wow – it did still bother me. Over the next few months I started to read about the affects of child abuse on adults. I was a classic case. Anxiety, anger, rage, guilt, shame, emotional numbing, dissociation. On the outside I’m very normal and well adjusted, but I hid a lot. And I hid it so well I was no longer aware it was even there.
In December I became aware of a group called Exhale to Inhale (ETI). ETI. is an organization that supports victims of domestic violence and sexual assault through the teaching of yoga. I joined the group and will soon be taking trauma teacher training so I can volunteer my time at shelters and safe houses. In the month of April the organization asked members to hold donations based classes through their own events and at their home yoga studios. I wanted to be a part of that. I emailed my beautiful point of contact at my home studio and got it registered for a volunteer class on Sat 4/15/17 http://www.yogasouthington.com/news-and-events/. I may also host a personal event at the house in Branford on 3/31. Stay tuned.
As strong as I feel, while researching some quotes, pictures and facts to incorporate into this class; I had to stop, cry and feel. Even 23 years after I have left the house, the experiences sit so deeply within in me until today. As a child I had nowhere to go, I didn’t even really know I was in harms way. In school we learned when to tell, but my parents would tell me that is for other people, not us – don’t waste their time. And I believed them.
I just still wanted out of that house. Music through my growing up helped me to escape and deal. Be normal. Sing in the car. Have something fun to connect to. Dance in my room with the door closed. Pink Floyd was one of those music groups for me. Those last few weeks in high school when the Division Bell came out, the end was in sight. The songs on that album mean so much to me. They can be relevant for so many topics. In my room while falling asleep – those songs… the lyrics and instruments were about the rise and fall of innocence before and after abuse. “On the Turning Away” from Momentary Lapse of Reason spoke to me about people who kind of knew but turned away. And then the escape. The ringing of the division bell at the end of that album in the song “High Hopes” as it faded away, sounded to me at the time like the bell toll that was my escape. Any bells I heard after that, especially in my early days of boot camp and in the military were the sound of justice for me. I hope to make that album in some way part of the theme for the karma class to raise money for ETI. The ringing of the Division Bell is a call to action to vote on something and bring justice. It’s time to do something about domestic violence.
Also in reading about the topic of child abuse I had to shake a bit in disgust. Sometimes as a society we take identifying “abuse” too far. Feeling angry, yelling at a kid every once in a while when they actually did something disrespectful, not looking up for the 5th time when a child shows you something and pretending it’s the best thing you ever saw while you are trying to finish something for work, taking some time for yourself and not attending every last little league game is NOT abuse. I couldn’t believe the things I was reading. It’s not even in the same league. Doing these things repetitively could be – absolutely… But children who now feel like they are being neglected and abused by working parents because they only help with their homework 50% of the time is not neglect. I understand why people tune out and don’t pay attention to so many allegations.
There is real abuse taking place. It can be hard to weed through the garbage of allegations, but those who know about it or have experience just can tell. There is a true sense of hopelessness, loss of control, and fear in victims. ETI’s two platforms of Intimate Partner violence and sexual assault help survivors to feel empowered, to feel safe, to help themselves, and to connect with the spirit inside of them that knows the right thing to do.
People are surprised I don’t hate my father. I do love him. I can’t be around him for long. I feel kind of bad for him. He has no real friends. He is still an alcoholic. He hangs with the wrong crowd and does the wrong things. When you talk to him he lives in the past and will still talk about my mom and how she left him, never understanding his part in it. He is still quick to blow up. Has been in jail a few times. He is loving. He is generous with his money. He has some really insightful, intelligent things to say sometimes. People that don’t know him who tell me that my father is a good man and nice company don’t know any better. I liken it to what my brother Mario once said recently about the type of people who support certain politics – if you say you like pops you just don’t know any better; and there is no way I can explain it to you because you haven’t experienced the dark side.
We all come from different experiences. Don’t judge, but do give and command respect back – Always. Act in love, but don’t be pushed around. Listen to your gut if something feels off and stand up for what is right. Push a little harder if you are talking to someone you suspect is having any of these experiences. They likely won’t tell you the first time you ask, but once or twice more may be just the little barrier breaker that can save them.
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I’ve known it for a while, but this morning it really hit me. I was standing in my closet, wrapped in this oversized gray robe I bought on a whim at Target. It was warm. Comfortable. Easy. And getting dressed for work felt like effort I didn’t have.
My clothes—once something I took pride in—just hung there. Waiting. They suddenly felt stiff. Confining. They represented something I was starting to resist.
Work.
I’ve always loved work. I’ve always taken pride in what I do—whether it was scooping ice cream, solving a customer issue, or building dashboards. I’ve always wanted to make things better. To go above and beyond. To leave people better than I found them.
I didn’t need recognition. I got enough satisfaction from doing things well.
Looking back, I was deeply self-motivated. I built my education piece by piece—CLEP exams, online courses, degrees—while raising kids and working. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but it took drive. A lot of it.
And for over two decades, I brought that same energy to my work.
Not because I wanted to climb the ladder. I didn’t. I never aspired to senior leadership. I wanted balance. I wanted to be present for my kids. I wanted to do meaningful work from whatever seat I was in—and then go home and live my life.
And for a long time, that worked.
Until it didn’t.
A couple of years ago, I took a new role. It was a chance to grow, to build something new. There was no clear structure, no defined path—but I saw potential. So I created direction. I built a small, motivated team. I floated ideas, got approval, and we moved forward.
But over time, something became clear.
The support wasn’t real.
The ideas were approved—but not understood. And when challenges came, the support disappeared. Decisions were reversed. Priorities shifted. Conversations that needed to happen never did.
I wasn’t growing anymore. I was managing noise.
And for the first time in my life, I started to dread going to work.
It felt… pointless.
Waking up tired. Getting dressed in clothes that didn’t feel like me. Driving in to sit at a desk and move things around without actually moving anything forward.
Meanwhile, my life outside of work was getting fuller and more demanding. A blended family. Four teenagers. Real life.
So I asked a simple question:
Could I work part-time?
The answer came quickly: “Absolutely. We’d do anything to keep you.”
But then… nothing.
Weeks turned into months. Promises were made, then quietly undone. I adjusted my schedule, continued delivering, met every request—and still, no real answer.
If I had been told upfront that it wasn’t possible, I would have made a different decision. Instead, I stayed in limbo.
And something in me shut down.
Motivation doesn’t disappear overnight. It erodes.
Not too long ago, I couldn’t understand how people became disengaged at work. I saw colleagues who seemed checked out, counting down to retirement, and I didn’t get it.
Now I do.
It’s not laziness.
It’s what happens when effort and impact become disconnected. When leadership lacks clarity, consistency, or follow-through. When people who care stop seeing a reason to.
All the things I studied—leadership, motivation, organizational development—they’re not abstract concepts. They matter. A lot.
The right people in the right roles. Clear communication. Follow-through. Support.
Without those, even the most motivated people start to disengage.
And once that happens, it’s hard to get back.
At some point, I realized something else:
It’s not just about the organization.
It’s about fit.
I’m no longer a good fit here.
And that’s okay—but it also means something needs to change.
Because sitting in a role where I feel like an observer instead of a contributor isn’t sustainable. Not for my mental health. Not for my sense of purpose.
I don’t need perfection. I don’t need constant praise.
But I do need to feel like what I’m doing matters.
Right now, it doesn’t.
And that’s the hardest part.
How do you squash a motivated employee?
Ask them to do as you say, not as you do.
Ignore their track record when they make a reasonable request.
Avoid real conversations about expectations.
Give them goals they’ve already surpassed.
Approve ideas, then withdraw support when it matters.
Don’t follow up. Don’t engage. Don’t lead.
Take everything they’re willing to give.
Give nothing in return.
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I have a deeper appreciation for life and moving through my day than I’ve ever had before. Two things happened in the past few months that helped me come to this realization: I started taking an SSRI, and I had outpatient knee surgery. Two very different things for completely different reasons—but in all honesty, both were the result of moving through life too quickly and absentmindedly. Both have completely slowed me down (and fattened me up just a little!), and it’s not all a bad thing.
Back in March, I quite literally lost my marbles and, thankfully, became fully aware that fooling myself into sleeping more, doing more yoga, or meditating more often was not going to be my cure. Truthfully, I was no longer able to do any of those things in a way that felt meaningful. Yoga still felt good physically, but it didn’t slow my thoughts or help me “just be” like it used to. Meditation was a joke. I sat there diligently, but I couldn’t stop the racing in my head.
I did everything I could to keep up with my life. I was (and still am) one of the most organized people I know. Everything was as efficient as possible. No time management tip was going to help—I would read them and think I could write a better article myself. I was stretched thin. There was no room for error. One small miscommunication between family members and the entire chain of well-planned events and pickups would fall apart. No way to live.
A few days before the marble-losing, I went to a routine Thursday morning report-out for senior leadership. As usual, I prepared at the last minute—rushed, but still pulled together something polished and well-coordinated. I walked into the conference room, my employee pulled up the presentation, and I slid my chair under the large dark wooden table.
SLAM.
I hit my right knee hard on one of the table legs.
There were the usual reactions—“Oof,” “I heard that,” “You didn’t need that knee anyway!”—and I shrugged it off and kept going. About 24 hours later, during a meeting with my small team, I noticed my knee hurt. I wondered why as I pushed through the agenda, then remembered hitting it the day before and briefly questioned why it took so long to register. That night at dinner with friends, it hurt more.
The next day, Daren and I went into the city. We were so busy and stressed that I didn’t think about my knee at all. The following morning, seemingly out of nowhere, I had my first long-overdue panic attack. I cried the entire way home. I noticed my knee hurt, but it wasn’t until late the next night—around 9 p.m.—that I realized how swollen and red it had become.
Daren was at hockey practice. I wanted him to look at it, but I fell asleep before he got home.
Long story short, the next few weeks were filled with panic attacks and knee aspirations. The panic worsened quickly. I realized I had to start medication—I had nowhere left to cut back. And have you ever tried to “relax” while in a nonstop adrenaline rush? It doesn’t work.
Once I started the SSRI, I began to notice how often my body was in fight-or-flight, even as my mind started to calm. It was eye-opening. I had been living like this all the time.
I first went to urgent care five days after the injury and was told to rest and monitor it. It stopped hurting—but it didn’t stop swelling. So I ignored the advice. I ran on it, did yoga on it, and didn’t call an orthopedist for three weeks. Who has time for this?
Eventually, I was getting it drained every couple of weeks… then every week… then it started swelling again almost immediately after each visit. At one point, the doctor tried to drain it and nothing came out. A wall had formed. Surgery or live with it.
It’s funny—my knee felt like a physical version of what had been happening mentally for years. Rushing. Ignoring warning signs. Doing the bare minimum to manage something that was clearly deteriorating. Until I hit a wall—mentally first, then physically.
It wasn’t until I had no choice but to deal with it that I realized how much my lifestyle was harming me. My body is all I have—why wasn’t I taking care of it?
After medication adjustments and a few rough weeks, the panic attacks lessened. And then I had surgery.
I’m not claiming I’m a changed woman, but I’ve had some of the most relaxing weeks of my life.
Since March, I’ve rediscovered the library. I’ve been reading a book a week—fiction. Nothing intellectual. Nothing self-improvement related. Just stories.
I’ve started getting bi-weekly massages. Daren and I have been spending more time at home—making the outside of our house beautiful, sipping cocktails, watching fun TV (not documentaries—actual fun TV). I’ve been coloring mandalas. Visiting local shops. Sitting in coffee shops with a matcha latte and a book. Writing for fun.
I’ve even started going back to sleep in the mornings when I don’t have to rush.
That, in itself, feels like a revolution.
My whole life, I woke up ready to go. Even when I was exhausted. There was always something to do. Something waiting. Something urgent. My dad used to bang on our doors and tell us we were “sleeping our lives off.”
Now… I listen to my body. And sometimes it tells me to rest. And I do.
After surgery, I slowed down even more. I slept. I sat outside with my leg up and a book. I noticed things. I wasn’t rushing anywhere.
One morning, I walked slowly down my own street and realized I barely knew it. The houses, the details, the quiet beauty of it all. It had always been there—I just hadn’t.
Later, on the ferry, I looked at my legs—one swollen, one not—and felt grateful just to have them. In the shower, I noticed their strength, their design, how they carry me through life.
I ate breakfast and actually tasted it. I thought about how each raspberry grew—slowly, over time—until it was ready.
I want that.
Slow growth. Presence. Awareness.
We spent the day outside. I modified yoga to meet my body where it was. The trees were alive with spring. Food tasted better. Life felt softer.
Healing—mentally and physically—is happening in small increments. Just like those raspberries.
This morning, I woke up early when Daren left to drive Kieran to work. I started writing this… then stopped.
I opened the blinds. Listened to the birds. Laid back down. Let myself rest.
I want to live like this more.
I’ve already asked to cut back hours at work—and thankfully, the answer was yes.
I don’t want to need medication or injury to slow down. I want to choose it.
We all need to live a little more and “do” a little less. Be present more and absent less.
Every single moment matters.
And I’m finally ready to live in them.
Namaste.
Thanks for taking the time to read. I’d love to hear your thoughts!
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