Tag Archives: Anxiety

Day of Reckoning | Doomsday

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I’ve had a really tough last few days. My WiFi broke on Thursday– I mean really broke. and there was nothing that the telephone tech could do to fix it so I had to schedule an appointment for a real, live human to appear in person.

The even worse news is that no one can come until Tuesday. TUESDAY.

That’s a lifetime, right? Nowadays, to be without internet access grinds our lives to a complete stop. I’m not sure that it’s a great idea to be so reliant on this technology.

I thought I was really smart and tethered my computer to my phone’s cellular data until I got the message that I was using too much data, so I had to untether…unplug completely.

In some ways, this really feels like the end; doomsday, my own personal day of reckoning. I guess I didn’t realize how totally dependent I’ve become on the internet — in every aspect of my life. I confess that I felt a level of anxiety, stressed out because it was as if I was marooned on a desert island, cut off from the rest of the world.

I was lucky enough to still have a radio because I couldn’t listen to music any other way. It was like turning the clock back more than thirty years.

No computer, no social media.

I had disconnected from cable TV a while ago but no WiFi meant that I didn’t have Prime or Netflix or Roku and I was stuck with only a handful of local stations. Crazy.

I found a couple books to read but it didn’t take me very long to finish both of them. I polished all the furniture, I washed windows, I cleaned out the refrigerator. I worked in the garden. I actually got a lot done, much more than if I had wasted time on the internet.

Psychology Today says excessive use of the internet is known to negatively impact a person’s mental health. It has been associated with mental health issues, such as loneliness, depression, anxiety, and attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder. Cybersex and pornography hurts our minds, souls, and relationships in so many ways — it’s incredibly sad.

While the internet has completely revolutionized the way we live and work in the modern world and opened up opportunities, it’s also closed the world. I believe that, too.

The internet transformed communication, information dissemination, commerce, education, and social interactions in unprecedented ways, reimagining the way we live, work, and interact with one another.

In the old days, we used typewriters to write papers or letters — or we hand wrote them. If we wanted to read a book, we went to library — or the bookstore. There were no e-readers or digital downloads.

If we wanted to hear a song, we listened to it on the radio or we bought a vinyl record, tape, or disk.

If we wanted to watch a movie, we either went to the movie theater or watched whatever came on television, and later we had Blockbuster to rent movies, remember that?

Upon reflection (since I’ve had a lot of time to THINK) I think life was better because there was more one-on-one interaction. Being alive didn’t feel as disposable as it does now. We didn’t expect everything to happen instantaneously. We didn’t give up as easily on things. We didn’t discard things as quickly. We learned how to take care of them and mend them if they broke. We didn’t feel the need to rush out and buy the latest new thing that was being sold, and then obsessively track its every delivery movement. (That’s me.)

It hasn’t been easy, that’s for sure. I only lasted three days before I packed up my laptop and drove to the (empty) city parking lot to access their free internet.

This is where I am right now, sitting in my car, typing away on their signal. After this, I think I might hit up Amazon and look for a new table runner to accent my now beautifully polished and shiny dining room table.

The pain is real. How long could YOU last unplugged?

These Dreams…

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Photo by Alex Fu on Pexels.com

Like the lyrics from that Heart song…
“These dreams in the mist
Darkness on the edge, shadows where I stand
I search for the time on a watch with no hands”

I experienced an incredibly unsettling dream last night that I just can’t shake, one of those dreams that some other protective part of your brain thankfully forces you to wake up from; a heart pounding, traumatizing, scary dream that you can’t quite figure out and you wish you could forget, but some of the details and the feelings of dread and fear remain firmly etched.

In this dream, I had driven to the airport, not to immediately travel anywhere, but for another reason, although I don’t know what that was.

I wasn’t alone–one of my first-born fur children was with me, Sabrina Sue, my beloved Border Collie. (She died when Angel Boy was still a toddler). I parked on the street, close to the airport, because I planned to walk there. I couldn’t explain why Sab was there and alive when she’s been gone for decades, but our bond was strong and it was like old times when that beautiful black and white, bright-eyed little girl was with me, as she always was.

Here’s where it gets weird. I left Sabrina in the car, which I had NEVER EVER done when she was alive, except for a couple of times when I quickly ran into the store or the post office, and only when it was cold outside, so she would be in no danger of becoming overheated.

I finished whatever business I had in the airport and walked back to where I parked my car. When I was about a block away, to my surprise, Sabrina was sitting on the sidewalk, ears up, looking at me. I crouched down low and like I always had done, stretched out my arms and said, “Come, girl!” She ran at full speed, nearly knocking me over, and we proceeded to where I parked.

But the car was gone. It had disappeared, gone, not where it should have been.

My car had been stolen, I surmised, but whoever did it must have opened the back and let Sabrina out, which wasn’t easy, as she was an extremely protective Border. I think she was the best trained of all my kids, and stay was so ingrained in her memory that she could wait forever until I gave the signal that released her to come to me.

My memory is fuzzy about how we got home, but I remember using my scarf as a leash.

As I reflect about the dream, after my heart rate subsided and I was no longer in panic mode, I had a faint recollection that I went there to purchase a ticket to Hawaii, but I’ve lost the rest of that mindthread.

When we got home, I called the police and reported my stolen vehicle.I don’t remember having a cell phone, so I had to wait for a landline.

In my dream state, I was overcome with an overwhelming feeling of shame and anxiety. I remember saying to the police, “But how will I get anywhere? I need my car.”

That’s when I woke up, saturated in self-hatred and shame for whatever I had done to set the wheels in motion to make my car available to be stolen. I must have done something wrong and that’s an intense stressful trigger for me. I always take the blame, it’s always my fault, somehow.

I think I woke up before there was any clear resolution, but I have a fleeting thought that my car WAS found and returned and that it wasn’t damaged, but I don’t recall any details about who stole it, or why.

Of course I researched dream interpretations and learned that dreaming of your car being stolen has many different meanings and scenarios. It could reflect something you feel is out of your control. You shouldn’t ignore a dream in which you lose your car because it shows your deepest fears and hopes. This dream could be the consequence of a number of unacknowledged insecurities that have surfaced in your subconscious and are causing you fear. To overcome your anxieties, you must first recognize them.

Along with my subconscious mind freaking out, here in SoCal we’re being blasted with multiple energetic events, solar flares, and strong Santa Ana weather with very low humidity. There have been multiple structure fires around here today, and a wildfire up the coast.

Did you know about space weather? That’s new to me. Check it out. It’s NOAA’s (National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration) Space Weather Prediction Center.

Sun activity has jumped to high over the past day, thanks to an M5.4 flare blasted out by sunspot region AR3511. The blast happened late in the day yesterday.

What damage could a solar flare do?

Heliophysicists and other scientists studying space weather warn that flares and related solar outbursts can indeed interfere with modern life by damaging power grids, as well as by increasing radiation exposures for occupants of space habitats and high-altitude aircraft.

Solar storms also affect the circadian rhythm in humans, reducing the production of melatonin and increasing levels of the stress hormone cortisol, effects that are more pronounced in patients with coronary heart disease.

During solar flares, people may feel disconnected or low while others of us may feel imbalanced or emotionally sensitive. This volatile energy can be used to connect with the higher self or achieve spiritual connectedness through meditation and yoga.

My solution? Spend the entire day in the garden.There’s always a project or two that needs attention and love. In Southern California, autumn/winter is a good time to prepare the garden to plant natives so they can benefit from the upcoming rainy season. Fingers crossed that we’ll get some decent rain this year.

At the end of the day, this dream is still sort of haunting me. As much as I loved being reunited with my sweet Sabrina, the idea of my car being stolen triggers every one of my vulnerable abandonment issues. I’ve never had a dream like that before and it’s going to take a while to recover from the intensity of the feelings it generated.

And if you read this far, the calamity that befell me wasn’t a stolen car, but just now when I returned from a walk, the garage was flooded from a very leaky and failing water heater. I don’t know how it happened so fast, but it did. I put a bucket under the drippy part, wiped up the floor, and now I need to find a plumber. Did my dream foretell impending doom? Maybe so…

Cosmic Blunders

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I don’t know about you, but today has been a day full of frustrations, miscommunications, stress, anxiety, and a general sense of agitation and discord everywhere I turn.

People tell me they didn’t get my emails that I CLEARLY have a record of sending while one misunderstood word engendered disagreements and verbal sparring before the matter was cleared up.

I don’t like stress, not that anyone really does, I guess. but for me, stressful situations cause my poor little heart to pump too hard and raise my blood pressure.

This is when I need to practice breathing and meditation. It will all work out, I’m sure, but in the meantime, I won’t really be able to relax.

In addition to the annular “ring of fire” solar eclipse on the 14th, in SoCal we’re on the verge of a Santa Ana weather event; windy, very low humidity, and lots of swirling energy, so it’s probably a good idea to go outside and water my plants to redirect my mind.

BREATHE!

Oh, and stay hydrated, ‘cos when I get stressed, I shut down and don’t eat or drink, so I’m sitting here with a giant water bottle. There’s nothing worse than a dehydration headache.

Today’s MOOD

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With August’s second full blue moon emerging in a few days and Mercury in retrograde until September 15, the Universe has essentially strapped us into a cosmic rollercoaster and I’m feeling it.

This is so ME.

I have a history of driving to meet someone, park, and simply sit in my car for a few tortuous minutes until I turn around and drive home.

I try to talk myself into staying, but the walk from my car to the destination can be paralyzing, so it’s easier on my brain and psyche to go home.

It’s an overwhelming feeling. I came. I saw. I had anxiety, so I left.

Yup. I need that mug. Also the one that says “Not today, Satan.”

(Not sure where the photo came from, credit to the creator.)

As Above, So Below

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Photo by Visit Greenland on Pexels.com

As we transition into another Mercury Retrograde (whatever that means) and another super moon, this Sunday finds me in a sort of melancholy mood. The Full Flower Moon coincides with a total lunar eclipse in some areas, so a lot is happening above us.

As above, so below.

These words from Rainer Maria Rilke resonate deep within my heart.

“So you mustn’t be frightened, if a sadness rises in front of you, larger than any you have ever seen; if an anxiety, like light and cloud-shadows, moves over your hands and over everything you do.

You must realize that something is happening to you, that life has not forgotten you, that it holds you in its hand and will not let you fall.

Why do you want to shut out of your life any uneasiness, any misery, any depression, since after all you don’t know what work these conditions are doing inside you? Why do you want to persecute yourself with the question of where all this is coming from and where it is going?

Since you know, after all, that you are in the midst of transitions and you wished for nothing so much as to change.

If there is anything unhealthy in your reactions, just bear in mind that sickness is the means by which an organism frees itself from what is alien; so one must simply help it to be sick, to have its whole sickness and to break out with it, since that is the way it gets better.”

Have a lovely Sunday, everyone!

(So I walked into the men’s restroom)

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Let’s back up a bit.

I had to drive to the big city which meant I had to go to a place where they had a parking structure.

Immediately, those are two things that cause me a great deal of anxiety and panic–traffic and bad distracted drivers, along with the terror of driving into and maneuvering my car in a tiny space inside a gigantic parking garage with a low ceiling.

I hate them.

That’s always been a stress trigger for me. How will I remember where I parked? (I’ve gotten lost before.) How do I get to where I need to go from the parking garage? What if there’s an earthquake? What if I forget how to back up? What if all the horrible things I’m afraid of happen all at the same time?

There’s a word to describe the fear of parking garages: Tingchechekuphobia. It’s a neurotic phobia, I know, but I suffer from it. I don’t know who created that word and I don’t even know how to pronounce it, but it is what it is.

At this point, since I had to drive around and around and around to find a bunch of open parking spaces, I was pretty much completely dizzy, disoriented, and confused, because that’s what happens to me in tall buildings and parking structures.

Luckily for me, there was a very kind man who had parked a couple cars away and when I asked for his help because I didn’t know where to go, he must have felt my fear and walked with me to the right building. Like Blanche DuBois, I have always been able to depend upon the kindness of strangers, referring to A Streetcar Named Desire, of course.

I also hate elevators but couldn’t find the stairs so I took the elevator and when I found my destination, I needed to go to the restroom and the secretary pointed into the hallway.

Without thinking, I entered the first door.

OOOPS.

I hadn’t paid enough attention to the little graphic on the door because I had entered the MEN’S ROOM (!!!) although I wasn’t immediately sure because for a split second I thought perhaps I had been away from the world for so long that there were now all genders restrooms and this was the way it was in 2021.

However, seeing the man standing at the urinal convinced me I was in the WRONG PLACE AT THE WRONG TIME. (Teehee)

I did what I normally do in life and turned it into a self-deprecating joke…”Well, I seem to have made a mistake. My bad!”

I turned around, walked out, located the PROPER restroom with the girlinatriangledress graphic, used the facilities while I laughed to myself, and re-entered my destination.

Most people would probably not use that embarrassing situation as the icebreaker in a conversation, but I’m not most people…

“I just walked into the men’s room by mistake. I guess that’s why I don’t come into the big city very often.”

We all laughed and totally diffused what could have been a forever humiliating experience and THANK GOODNESS I didn’t see the man who had been at the urinal, but that wasn’t my first time in a men’s room.

Nope. Not my first rodeo, as they say.

When I was twelve-years-old in Detroit, I spent the summer going to the JCC almost every day because there was some sort of pre-teen activities program a lot of my friends attended. On one certain day there was obviously not enough adult supervision because a few of the guys dared me to go into the boy’s bathroom.

I took that dare and entered the boy’s bathroom. Apparently it was bad timing because the program director happened to be in there and I was subsequently asked not to return to the JCC for the rest of the summer.

When I told my parents why I was persona non grata, they simply looked at me and said, “Oh, Rosebud. We’re disappointed in you.” And when I explained it wasn’t my fault; it was a dare, I got that tired old cliche…”If someone dared you to jump off a bridge, would you do that, too?”

However, I believe I detected a glimmer of a repressed chuckle behind their serious demeanor.

Although today’s excitement wasn’t due to a dare, I was able to successfully navigate my way back to my car and drive around and around and around to finally find the exit and return to sky and daylight where I could finally take a breath, but the stress had taken its toll, and there’s only one remedy that always works for me: retail therapy!

I haven’t been to our mall in more than a year, so I decided to see what it was like now as the pandemic is easing up a bit; what stores were open, masked of course. I had a thoroughly pleasant time. It was just what the doctor ordered to soothe my fraught nerves as I leisurely strolled from shop to shop.

I treated myself to a few bits of frothy intimate apparel at Victoria’s Secret. Here’s the bag, but you can’t see what’s inside. Instead, you’ll have to use your imagination.

Have you ever found yourself in a similarly mortifying situation? How did you handle it?

Heart/wrecked

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Like a ship that runs aground because of low tide or unseen rocks or fog or navigational errors, our beautiful heart can be damaged when blood flow is restricted or when it flows unregulated.

Heart/wrecked.

I grew up hearing the term, “Stress kills.”

I was never quite sure what that meant, but then I did when it happened to me.

Uniquely & Brilliantly Adorned: Can Your Job Kill You?
http://www.uniquelyandbrilliantlyadorned.com

After a seemingly nonstop barrage of a personal stressful situation–like a ship hitting the rocks over and over again–it all finally took an undeniable toll on my physical health.

One of my favorite places to live is in the state of Denial, but I’ve been forced to temporarily move to a new town called Reality. Hopefully, I’ll just visit there for a bit until I can come home again.

After experiencing some intermittent and strangely terrifying heart pains, I went to the doc who took my blood pressure and was concerned about the results. It was super high. I had always had enviably LOW blood pressure since I exercise regularly, am vegan and never smoked, so this raised concerns.

Over the course of a couple weeks, my BP was checked daily and it stayed consistently high; dangerously high, which only made me more anxious and more stressed, and at one of the office visits, I started hyperventilating and had a panic attack. (Super embarrassing for the doc and absolutely mortifying for me.)

This led to an order for an Echocardiogram along with all the other heart-focused tests. The echo was done at a local hospital–a definite trigger. No one wants to go to a hospital at any time, but especially during Covid. It seemed like I was being admitted, with a wrist band and lots of little stickers, and I was devastated.

I almost bolted out of the front door at that point, but I persevered. I can share with you that it’s a scary time when you have to figure out why you don’t feel great. I’ve been a medical advocate for several loved ones, but it’s radically more difficult when you have to care for yourself. Poor me.

The technician was amazing, especially considering I tormented her with a million questions. I know enough about medical stuff to see that she was concentrating on a certain area of my heart. I really appreciated her patience with me and her detailed explanations during the hour-long ordeal.

The results showed a dilated aortic root valve and regurgitation of the mitral valve.

Risk Adjustment Coding Academy- Coding Focus

What this means is that the accumulation of stress and panic attacks and PTSD that I’ve endured during the last four years manifested medically and physically and caused structural damage to my heart.

Mitral valve regurgitation - Symptoms and causes - Mayo Clinic

“Severe physical or emotional stress increases blood pressure to the point where the tensile limit of the aortic tissue is overwhelmed, causing the rupture.”

“Over time, certain conditions, such as high blood pressure, can cause your heart to work harder, gradually enlarging your heart’s left ventricle.”

“Mitral valve regurgitation can cause complications such as atrial fibrillation, in which the atria of the heart don’t contract well. This leads to increased risk of stroke. Also, elevated blood pressure in the lungs (pulmonary artery hypertension).”

Hypertension makes the blood push harder against the valve and causes it to dilate, enlarge, and that’s pretty much the same scenario for the mitral valve, which seems to be the cause of the intermittent chest pain.

I’ll need to be monitored regularly because if I can’t control the stress/blood pressure and the valves stretch to a dangerous size, the only solution is surgical intervention–or death.

Reducing stress and hypertension can possibly keep the valves from enlarging any further, but the damage is done–nothing will make them reduce in size back to normal, except surgery.

Let me tell you that it’s true. Stress kills.

Now I’m off to change course, take some magnesium, eat more beets, meditate, calm down and regulate my breathing so that I don’t have a stroke or an aneurysm.

Photo by Daria Shevtsova on Pexels.com

Heart/wrecked.

Shipwrecked.

“To sleep: perchance to dream”…

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Of course this is Shakespeare:

HAMLET:
To be, or not to be: that is the question:
Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to, ’tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish’d. To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there’s the rub

Yeah, there’s the rub, that’s for sure.

I used to love to sleep. Sleep came so easily for me. Almost as soon as my head hit the pillow, I could count backwards 5-4-3-2-1 and be asleep. Just like that, *snapping my fingers*. I could fall asleep anywhere. I took blissful, restful sleep for granted.

Back then, my dreams were mostly of my beloved dogs and cats that had crossed the Rainbow Bridge, sometimes bringing happy messages back to me. Or every so often, I’d have a prophetic dream about my son but never really a nightmare.

Last night was a big deal for me.

April 1, 2019 marks the first night I slept an entire night without waking up once in dread, in a cold sweat, without my heart beating a million beats per second ready to jump out of my chest, without the gasp of that split second between sleep/awake and remembering that my daytime reality IS the nightmare, that there really IS hell on earth, and I am living proof.

When I first woke up this morning, it took a moment for me to perceive that it wasn’t 3am, that the earliest of early morning birds had started to sing and there was a faint hint of dawn lightening the sky.

There was no swirling of dreams that made waking up a death unto itself. A shard of glass to slice at my heart and torment me, poking at me with each inhale and exhale for the rest of the day.

There was peace. OMG, so much peace.

I had to help my brain process this miracle of healing, a painfully slow process of realization that FOR THE FIRST TIME, I had slept unfettered by the bondage of painful memories that morphed into night terrors so incredibly lucid that they haunted me during the day.  Sleep was walking into a dark tunnel with not the slightest glimmer of light at the end of it. Depressing, huh?

I couldn’t endure another dream of a gigantic mottled black plague-infected rat with oozing sores climbing in my bed to curl up next to me, no more continuation of the abject panic that permeated my waking life.

No more dreams that weren’t even really dreams, simply the continuing of the day’s macabre horrors.

For more than three years, thirty-six months, 1,095 days, 26,280 hours, and 1,576,800 minutes, I couldn’t sleep, and I’d cry out to no one into the silence of the night to please wake me up from this nightmare, please take me out of my misery; only to realize that there was no respite for me.

“No sleep for you!” said the sleep Nazi (an homage to Seinfeld’s soup Nazi.)

The nightmare WAS the reality.

The dark soul of the night became the abject despair of the day.

There is the saying “follow your dreams” but if I had followed those dreams, I would have ended up in a vortex of Sartre’s No Exit. 

I was in a neverending episode of the Twilight Zone, caught in a purgatory that I could never have prepared myself to endure. Drowning.

I tried everything: meditation, EFT, mantras, deep breathing exercises to control my out of control hyperventilation /tachypnea, conscious mindfulness, and lessons in neural plascticity to nurse my wounded brain. One of the best pain relievers was and is listening to raw binaural beats with headphones. Some nights, that was the only way I could even attempt sleep.

I dreaded going to sleep, the actual sleep, and the waking up from an unhappy sleep.

The simple tortuous action of closing my eyes created a canvas where I’d be subjected to an endless loop of conversations, images, mirages spanning more than twenty years.

I wished for a lobotomy, to be in a coma, to erase all that was etched in my conscious and subconscious.

Through pain and fear and sadness, I discovered that the only cure is radical acceptance. I couldn’t run away from it. Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Wherever you go, there you are.

I had to stand my ground and surrender to the pain.
To love it, honor it, respect it, and learn from it.

Now. Right now. I hear a hawk, I hear a scrub jay, I hear the angry chattering of a nesting Bell’s Vireo. Off in the distance, I hear a train. I hear an airplane. I hear a symphony of wind chimes. I see blue sky, I see lush green grass that’s been lovingly tended, I feel a gentle breeze lifting a swarm of Painted Lady butterflies from the yellow marguerite daisy bushes to settle for a moment on the Pride of Madeira. All the rain we had this season birthed an incredible floral display.

Everything around me seems to be conspiring to show me that there’s still beauty after a storm, that there’s happiness to be discovered if you look and listen.

IMG_7039Oh and I see a bunny. Always a bunny.

My heart is wounded and scarred; I’ve been through a war zone,

I had no weapons to fight the enemy that raped and pillaged my life and my innocence. And my heart.

I’m collateral damage,

I’m eternally sad.

But I’m alive, and that’s something to be grateful for.

And…for the very first time in a long time, I slept an entire night and woke up in serenity and peace.

(But that peace wouldn’t last, as I soon learned…)

 

How To Hold Sacred Space

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Sacred / Scared

Switch one letter and not only is the word changed, but so is the meaning. That opens up a whole new conversation about fear; fear of the known and fear of the unknown.

Recently, I was chatting about sacred space and how to define that concept. I wasn’t quite sure I knew enough about it to offer an intelligent explanation that would make sense-I’m still not sure it makes sense for a lot of reasons, but I know that it accurately describes how I’m feeling.

When we hold space, we release control. Yup, that’s about right.

It’s another way to show unconditional love.

According to GoodTherapy.org, around the midpoint of life, we start picking up hints that we’re not going to live forever. In Once Upon a Midlife, Allan Chinen describes how shocking this realization can be, accompanied by anxiety and grief.

Especially at such a point, a sense of the sacred can act to ground us. As the fact of “me” begins to lose its apparent guarantee of continuance as well as its centrality (because how central to the universe can I be if I’m not going to be around?), the universe is less and less about me. But perhaps I become more and more about something else, something larger than me.

As above, so below…

Carl Jung notes that, in this way, the ego becomes relativized and the process of individualization—becoming wholly who we were meant to be—is accomplished. We begin to live in a system of meaning where the earth revolves around the sun, the sun rotates through the galaxy, and the galaxy itself follows its own great attractor. Our experience then seems to participate in larger movements, whether those are our family or a cause in which we believe or humanity in general, a spiritual pathway or the life of the universe.

Everyone has trauma.

The only way through trauma is to feel it. If a person doesn’t feel their pain, their anger, their fear—if they instead repress it—it grows and festers, like a sliver that doesn’t get pulled out. But feelings like pain, anger and fear are painful and scary!  Feeling them isn’t fun. It takes a great amount of courage and strength to do so.

Holding space means to release judgment, to open your heart and lend your courage and your strength. It means holding the four corners of a safe environment like a safety net for someone you care about to exorcise the hurt within them.

Allowing a human to cry, to scream, to shudder; to witness their authentic experience and react with love and acceptance to the extent that you are able/capable, is a powerful way to support them in this most important spiritual and emotional work; to hold hands physically and/or emotionally; to walk together through their journey of self discovery.

For me, it’s a little different. It might not make sense to anyone else but I visualize holding space more like a drawer I’ve cleared out in my bedroom or a space I’ve left empty in my heart. Being that resolute and solitary lighthouse, that beacon of shining white light on a dark and stormy night, blinking through the fog.

For me, this is sacred — even though at times it scares me to death.

(Featured image by Google/Pinterest)