Mother’s day is hard for so many, especially now.
For those who want nothing more than to hug their mother, or embrace their children rather than give a distant wave.
For those who have lost a child, or have been trying for the child they have yet to hold.
For those who grieve the mother they loved dearly and has passed on, or the mother they had wished for but never had.
Mother’s day can be hard
And so… for all of those who are mothers and for all who have had a mother , we offer this little gift: an affirmation we hope will help you connect with the infinite love that created you that you can tap into and give to yourself.
Many thanks to @zachkellum for offering this opportunity to combine my voice and this message with his beautiful music. Follow him on Instagram for a dose of his vibes that will make your spirit soar.
Our hope is that you listen to this affirmation daily, maybe even several times a day, to absorb the truth of the message so that you can and will show up even better for yourself. And if you love it, please do share it. We all need this now.
Sending you all a big virtual hug.
Dr. Stacy & The Design Your Life Team
Bearing life comes at a cost – sadly that cost is usually burdened by the Mother. For years, the pain that women go through to bring a child into the world has been a silent process. We have only recently begun to open up and talk about the bowtie pain effect that comes with having a child:
- The Want and Hardships of actually getting pregnant
- The Birth
- and lastly The Child and You phase
Each of these bullet points warrants its own Lord of the Rings trilogy both in running time and intensity. However I want to focus on YOU for a minute.
We women often fade to the background when a child arrives just as we are about to enter one of the hardest times of our lives. We are not only adjusting to a new life, new routines…we are also adjusting to a new version of ourselves, one that seems to be in a perpetual state of transformation. With so much change, it is no wonder that we are yearning to bounce back to life as we knew it before baby.
For years, the notion that you had to “bounce back to your old body” post pregnancy was a goal most mothers strived for postpartum. As a clinical therapist working in mental health for over a decade, you can imagine my thoughts about how toxic this thinking is to our health. However, it was only after having a baby myself in 2018, that I truly understood what women face post baby and just how difficult it is to resist societal pressures to erase any signs of the incredible process me as a mother had just gone through.
As I navigated bleary eyed through the early days of my maternity leave, I was shocked to see how many people would comment about my body. Whether I was seen as having bounced back to normal or now possessed a “mom body” that I had to accept, the message I received as a result of my body being a focus of scrutiny was that no matter what I looked like, I was being judged.
There were times I wondered, “Am I doing this right? Why haven’t I truly bounced back? Is something wrong with me? Do people think I am unhealthy?” And then I stopped in my tracks. I remember sitting down with my baby in the park and thinking that I was falling victim to the Bounce Back Epidemic (The BBE) and if I continued, it was going to make me sick. That’s when I found my resolve, my determination to reclaim the experience of motherhood for myself so I did not miss out on another second of it by worrying about somehow not meeting society’s standards of being good enough.
The skills that helped me get through The BBE were the very skills I teach my clients to help them be PRESENT in their experience, no matter what it is, without judgement. These were the lessons embedded in the meditation practice I have followed and taught for years. Motherhood was the ultimate testing ground that challenged me to truly embody my practice in my daily life.
As I adopted this mindset, I began to notice the critical thoughts that swam through my own mind as just that…thoughts. I wanted more than anything to be PRESENT with my baby and not to be bombarded with critical and toxic thoughts. But sometimes they happened. Being present in my experience allowed me to recognize that I could choose to give these negative thoughts energy or I could just let them pass and wait for other more helpful ones to show up.
Weening off of social media was also critical. Expectation can be a troll and reducing exposure to media that plays on our inherent tendency to compare ourselves, was one of the most important things I did to attain inner peace. My goal was to accept all the moments and focus on what I could control. I set attainable goals that made sense based on where I was at (not where someone else thought I should be) and worked towards those realistic outcomes. I decided that I would no longer allow someone else’s ideals deter me or push me off my own centre of balance.
So with that mindset, a lot of practice, and support from some like-minded moms, I bounced back to life. I worked to connect with my baby, my husband and loved ones. I bounced back to self care. The result…more bounce in my step.
Having navigated this journey, I am now even more confident in my ability to help other mothers fight the BBE and apply the teachings of mindful practice in their daily lives. We work on building a new life, and accepting our new identity while not losing sight of who we were before baby. It all hinges on having the intention of being present in our lives, and appreciating the journey first and foremost for ourselves.
Interested in learning more about Shelly and how she helps women Design Their Lives? Click here to learn more and to book your free consult today.
My boyfriend and I decided to take a break, a break from social media. Inspired by hearing about others who did the unthinkable and quit social media ‘cold turkey’ for 30 days, we decided to give it a try.
Thirty days was a bit more than we thought we could handle to start, so we opted for a week. Seven days with no Instagram, Facebook, Twitter, or Snapchat. Which interestingly, rendered our phones quite useless after all of these apps were locked.
Our 1st challenge occurred three days into the week while at a Raptors game. I wanted to post a picture of us on Instagram. After a debate, we decided together that I could post it, but that I had to close the app right afterwards and not reopen it until the challenge was over. Five minutes later, we started to bicker about the caption on the picture. I could feel myself becoming agitated. I closed the app and while looking at one another we had the same realization. The first conflict we had since starting the challenge was when one of us started to engage with social media. Let that sit with you for a minute.
If I could describe the week in one word, it would be relief. It was a relief to learn that I could go into an experience without the pressure or expectation to share it with the world. I was relieved of the pressure to prove to someone else that I was having a good time. It was just the experience and I, and that was pretty great. We enjoyed the week so much that we continue to have time limits on our social media apps to this day and still hold each other accountable.
So many of us use these apps to express ourselves; to show the world what we love and to capture amazing memories. But ironically, the process and the pressure of capturing life’s special moments in order to share them with the world also distracts us from fully enjoying them. Moreover, our awareness of the “likes” we acquire along the way runs the risk of reinforcing a soul destroying premise: that our lives only matter if approved of by others. And then there is the automatic comparison to those who are always living a more fabulous life – a recipe for feeding the wide-spread belief most of us carry that whoever we are is not enough.
The week without social media was like finally taking a conscious deep breath and realizing just how much stress I had been carrying. We can certainly get by with shallow breathing throughout most of our days. But once we know what a deep breath feels like, well, we might decide to pay attention to the process we take for granted and consciously give ourselves more of what we really need. Which is not to live in the shallow, but to dive in, and really enjoy the deep.
I am a millennial and there is no denying that smartphones, technology, and specifically social media, have a huge influence on how I engage in the world. But I have redefined my relationship with it. Now I can see that the connections I want are all around me. For that, this was the best break I have ever had.
When was the last time you spent an extensive amount of time without social media? I invite you to try this same challenge and share your experience with us in the comments below. Or don’t comment and enjoy the experience for yourself.
Feeling grateful to have shared this with you,
Gabrielle Iwaskow, Registered Psychotherapist (Qualifying)
Interested in learning more about Gabrielle and how she helps people Design Their Lives? Click here to learn more and to book your free consult today.
My vision for The Design Your Life Centre has always been for it to become a hub for all things related to mental wellness, a place where people could stop in and find resources to help them on their journey or even just use it as a place of refuge to take a break and recharge before going back to face the challenges of the day. So rather than allowing my extra treatment room to sit empty when not in use, I thought that it was the perfect opportunity to turn it into The Muse Room, a place where people can engage with a cool piece of technology that has helped so many around the world build a meditation practice and reap the benefits of improved focus and calm.
The Muse is a game changer. It is an EEG device that reads your brainwaves and gives you audible feedback so you can redirect to the intended focus of your breath whenever your attention drifts. And afterwards you can see exactly where those drifts happened. In addition to allowing to see what is actually happening in your brain when you meditate, it will also help you understand that those times that you do drift and resume focus is akin to doing a push up for your brain. It is those reversals that improve your ability to focus, and actually has a positive physical impact on building the parts of your brain designed just for this.
As part of the recognition of the 1 year anniversary of The Design Your Life Centre, I will be offering up the muse room experience free to anyone who wants to use it. Come once, come daily. Its all good.
Click here to book your free 15-minute experience in The Muse Room today.
We look forward to seeing you soon and helping you start the habit that is actually good for your brain.
Warm Regards Always
My earliest memories of my hair are filled with pain of varying degrees. As a young child, the day started with the torture of having braids put in so tight that a simple head nod felt like my hair would literally be ripped from the base of my neck. This would be followed by the daily experience of having the joy of running and playing with friends interrupted by a smack to the face by the hard plastic “bobbles” attached to the ends of my braids to keep them from unraveling during the day. Not good.
During my teen years, I entered the phase of having my hair “relaxed”, a process that not only smelled bad, but required me to provide moment-to-moment updates regarding the extent of the burn, to ensure that the chemicals did not stay on the hair too long. One moment too long and my hair could literally be burned off my head. Burned. Off. My Head! Crazy!
All of the pain and torture, was in service of taming my unruly hair… of making my “bad hair” look as “good” (aka straight and ‘white’) as possible. I don’t think I have to spell out for you how the implicit messaging can really mess with a young girl’s self esteem.
To top it all off, the first trip to the salon gave me a reality check for which I was not prepared. As I sat waiting for my turn, looking at all of the beautiful pop stars and models in the pages of the black hair magazine I was given, thinking about what style I was going to be rocking when I left, I was told that none of it was possible. I kid you not..for every picture I pointed to, I was told that what was being shown was not her hair. Every single hair style I wanted was a wig or a weave. What what?!!
It was my younger sister’s decision to challenge and explore her own hair journey that gave me the courage to stop the madness and appreciate the beauty of my natural hair. And she started with a simple question: “What was my hair like as a child?” After years of various processes that transformed the true nature of her hair, this question and the willingness to explore it seriously, ultimately led her to get back to her “hair truth” so to speak, which was an abundance of soft natural curls and, more importantly, a new found freedom.
Interestingly, that question that explores what we were like at the beginning, before all the adults and society around us had too much say, is something that I regular ask my clients to help understand the essence of their authentic selves. As we work together to discover and reconnect with the authentic self, and the person starts to honour their truth with aligned action, the outcome is the same: a life of greater ease, confidence and flow.
The roots of our relationship with our hair run deep y’all. It has taken me until mid-life to really start to love mine. And as life would have it, just as I started to really understand how to care for it, the greys have started to appear. So now, thanks to my hair, I find myself challenged to confront an aspect of my life that a combination of good genes and a healthy lifestyle have managed to keep at bay…the inevitable signs of ageing. Thank you Hair for forcing me to wrestle with this issue and make a conscious choice about how I want to grow forward, with or without the greys, and for giving me the nudge I needed to explore this hair journey. There is clearly more inner work to do.
Interested in exploring your own hair journey? Let me know in the comments below or by emailing me directly. I would love to dive in to this topic with you through expressive writing, the best tool I know for accessing our truth, and in this case, exploring the role of Hair as a way of connecting with and understanding the authentic self. So join me and some other lovely beings for an experience that is sure to elevate and inspire. Your hair and your soul will thank you.
Your Fellow Seeker,
The impetus to share this story arose as a response to the chaos that was unfolding in the summer of 2016. I have come to think of that summer as the time of my own awakening when I heard the call to action and made the decision to do more to have a positive impact on the world. My hope is that reading it will not only help you gain some insight into what motivates me, but will awaken you as well to being bolder, and more courageous to create the world you want to live in.
And for those close to me who were previously unaware of this story and might be shocked and distressed to learn about what I experienced, I need you to recognize that, while I kept this story from you, I have never hidden the essential part of my truth: I am and have always been OK. I encourage you to keep this in mind as you read below.
The place was a small fishing village in northern Brazil. A piece of paradise where nothing much happens other than eating, surfing, dancing and swimming with dolphins who delight in teasing humans with their regular visits to the beach.
My husband and I were on the last leg of our month-long honeymoon in South America. That morning, we decided to take the ferry from the mainland to a small strip of beach frequented by kite surfers. There was a makeshift restaurant at one end close to where the kite surfers were doing their thing, and a broad stretch of beach further up the strip.
We decided to admire the kite surfers at a distance and set up far enough away that we could enjoy the tranquility offered by the nearly uninhabited stretch of white sand and the hazard free ocean in front of us.
We were alone with the exception of 3 men who were hanging out, throwing what looked like a flimsy fishing line in the water. It seemed like a strange way to fish, but what did I know? I didn’t give it much thought. One of them looked like someone who had attended University with me. Another fleeting thought. Without a care in the world, we turned our backs on them to face the sun.
My next memory was of being woken from a daze by one of those men standing over me, yelling. My eyes struggled to transition from the darkness behind my eyelids to the blinding white light of the sun that back lit his face. In spite of my initial blindness, the intense tone of his voice triggers everything in my body to instinctively and immediately ready itself for action. My pupils constrict and I can see through the blinding sun to the features of his contorted face as he yells in a quick staccato voice filled with aggression. And somehow, with powers I did not know I had, I spring up from my prone position on the ground to standing on my feet. I am ready to run.
My initial thought was that there was some kind of emergency. As I came to my senses, I quickly realized that we were the ones in need of help.
The next few moments in my memory are like a frenetic scene out of a Guy Ritchie movie, sped up in some places and incredibly slow in others with dramatic close ups of the most dangerous aspects of the threat:
An angry face yelling angry words in a language I didn’t understand;
Another grabbing our knapsack and my husband running after him with pure rage on his face, a look I had never seen before… and never want to see again.
The man with the gun fires a shot into the ground and I see the sand fly upwards in response. In my mind’s eye the shot explodes just in front of my feet.
My husband falters but keeps going after him and I am screaming for him to “STOP! STOP! STOP!”
In that moment, I did not fear my own death. Nor did my life flash in front of my eyes as is often portrayed in movies as the main character falls towards their demise. In that moment, I feared for only one thing: the death of my future with the man I had waited a lifetime to meet.
What flashed through my mind was not my past, but of stories of others’ who had survived the horror of witnessing their spouse murdered during the honeymoon. Was this going to be my story too? Was this the moment when my life would take a dramatic turn? The moment that would leave me traumatized and would forever be a marker by which I judged the ‘before’ and ‘after’?
I knew why my husband was desperately trying to retrieve the knapsack. It had nothing to do with the money, the keys and the papers for our rental car, or the key to the home where we were staying. He was running after our camera, which contained the memories of all of our experiences of our honeymoon up until that point.
I kept screaming for my husband to stop because I didn’t care about having a reminder of the wonderful moments we shared in the past. All I could think about was keeping him with me so we could continue to create new moments of wonder in the present and future.
It was the bullet that whizzed past my husband’s left ear that finally got him to stop. The man with the gun, aimed it at his face and then, with a steady hand and arm outstretched, moved the gun slightly to the right and fired.
What followed in the wake of encountering this dark side of humanity was a surprising demonstration of love, caring and concern from the most unlikely places.
As we ran for the safety of the restaurant, screaming for help at the top of our lungs, we were met by a tall French man who told us that he caught the entire robbery on video. He had been filming his friends kite surfing when he heard our screams. When he saw what was happening, he immediately started filming our assailants in the act and continued filming them as they escaped into the bush with our knapsack.
Among the mixture of locals and tourists at the restaurant was a young man who took it upon himself to escort us back to the mainland and act as translator in our initial interactions with the police. This young, brown faced man in a green t-shirt, was somehow able to communicate with me in spite of the fact that I do not speak a word of Portuguese and he could not possibly have any familiarity with the Spanglish that was coming out of my mouth. To this day, our mutual understanding remains a mystery. And quite honestly, his calming presence and willingness to stay with us earned him guardian angel status in my eyes.
He accompanied us on the ferry back to the mainland, and woke up the village police who were literally sleeping at the time. As the village police got dressed (and I know this because they were putting on their long pants, socks and shoes in front of us), the roar of a speeding vehicle and the loud screech of tires rudely disturbs the lazy pace of the scene in front of us. The military police have arrived.
With the vehicle barely stopped, four large, muscular men in full fatigues, carrying big machine guns jump out of the vehicle and come running towards us. And I find my heart in my throat once again for the second time that afternoon.
They are intense, and are clearly not impressed with the village police who are taking far too long to respond to this situation. They drive their truck onto the ferry and my husband, the guardian angel, and I head back to the scene of the crime.
Once we arrive on the shore, the military police get back in their jeep and are motioning for our angel to go with them. He backs away refusing to join them, to which they respond with a mixture of frustration and disbelief. My sense was that he did not want to witness anything he would want to forget. Sure enough, we later learned that when the military police are involved, their approach is to shoot first and ask questions later. Not wanting to waste any more time, they sped off into the bush on the hunt for the criminals who stole our knapsack.
In the hours and days that followed this dramatic event, the people in this little community continued to astound us with their generosity and demonstrations of care. The developer of the time share community where we were staying was one notable person whose efforts to take care of us went above and beyond anything we could have expected.
He anticipated that we would not feel safe going home that night while they were in process of changing the locks. So he offered us a room in his hotel down the road and fed us at his expense. But more than that, he sat with me and listened as I told my story and allowed me to cry.
He was also there for us as a driver, and translator as we went into town to file an official police report and in all further dealings with police and the investigators assigned to the case.
That night after he dropped us at the hotel, my husband and I talked for hours in spite of our exhaustion. We shared every thought, every feeling we experienced throughout the ordeal. As a psychologist, I knew it would be important to not hold anything back. The time to process this was now, not later, so that we could move on without having to relive it repeatedly in our minds in the future. I was determined that we would not leave this place as victims of trauma, and this was not going to take away from the amazing experiences we had up until that point, or those that we were yet to experience in the days ahead.
One of the questions we contemplated was whether we should leave or continue with our vacation as planned. As we reflected on everything that happened, we could not help but be moved by the kindness of strangers and the support this community had given to us. In spite of having an encounter with the dark side of humanity, we made the choice to focus on the love that we received and decided to stay.
Believe it or not, the authorities actually took this case seriously. In fact, the chief of police for the biggest city in the region got involved and openly expressed his determination to find the men who did this.
Why would they care so much about a stolen knapsack belonging to a couple of Canadian tourists? Because the knapsack was not just a knapsack; its theft at gun point from tourists who would undoubtedly tell the story when they returned home, represented a threat to the entire community.
This little place where nothing happens had built its reputation on being a safe heaven, an oasis, in a country too often plagued by chaos. So yes, they had a vested interest in keeping the peace. As they should, because the benefits to them went beyond the monetary. They were fiercely protective of their way of life. They were passionate about their community. They were courageous enough to care.
Caring and acting on that care was clearly demonstrated by people from all walks of life. From the store owner across the street from where our rental car was parked who organized to keep watch over the vehicle throughout the day and night, to the chief of police of the small community who was moved to tears as he held our hands and expressed how sorry he was for what we had been through.
In the end, they caught the three men. Between the video, the community banding together, and the police, they caught the men who did this and our camera was returned.
The people in this community became our heroes and defenders and it was their actions of compassion that ultimately healed our hearts.
It was a little place where nothing much happens. And they knew what it would take to keep it that way. They lived with compassion. They cared but were not passive in their caring. They embodied the true meaning of that word: with feeling, with care, with passion, together. This is what it takes to build and nurture a strong community.
As I write this in the midst of the summer of 2016, it feels like the world is crumbling all around us. The politics of division fuelled by fear are inescapable as is the news of yet another mass shooting, or attack on citizens by those given the authority to serve and protect.
After Orlando, Philando Castille and Alton Sterling, I wake on the morning of July 8, 2016 to hear about the shooting and killing of several police officers guarding a peaceful anti-violence protest in Dallas; the act is assumed to be in retaliation for the killing of black men at the hands of police. I read in a state of near disbelief, and I lose it. The tears start streaming down my face. No amount of deep breathing or meditation is going to be a salve for the ache in my heart. And as I cry, I realize that this is what I need to feel.
I cry not only for the victims and their families but also because it feels as if we, who are committed to having a positive impact on the world, are losing the battle.
And then, I come back to thinking about that little fishing village in Brazil and their compassion and courage to act boldly and decisively to protect, and nurture their community. And my sense of hope returns because I can see the answer through their example. The only way to counter the chaos and the temptation to retreat into passivity is to fight even harder to build a strong sense of place, to make meaningful connections and to contribute. To care like your entire life depends on it. Because it does.
Renovations are hell. Anyone who has undergone a renovation knows this. I should know this. I have lived through enough of them in my personal life to expect broken promises, and things to not happen as planned. But somehow, as with other challenges we welcome into our lives, we often go into them focused on all of the shiny and happy they will bring in the end and seem to forget about the discomfort and turmoil that happens on the road to getting there.
Let me just say close to the outset of this post that I am keenly aware of how lucky I am to have such problems. To be able to have an office to renovate is such a privilege and a blessing that to complain about things not happening as planned seems pretty ridiculous. And yet, as much as I managed to keep calm and carry on through weeks of delays, poor communication, and lack of follow through, even after I let go of timelines, plans for a big grand opening, and surrendered to the fact that much of this important project was out of my hands, I managed to reach a breaking point.
Here is a little video of me in the office at 7 am, on the day that this project was supposed to be completed (which was one of many “final” delivery dates that did not come to fruition). This is the calm before the storm.
While the renovations were happening, I set up shop in one of the boardrooms in the building. That day when I came back to the unit to pack up, I was delighted to discover that the appliances from my unit had finally been removed and were delivered to my house. I was chatting with my contractor, so happy to express my appreciation for some work being done after a week of nothing and was feeling hopeful as we discussed next steps via bluetooth on my way home. When I arrived, I hung up, and was greeted with this:
I immediately texted him with a picture of the scene and asked for him to contact his crew to come back to put the appliances inside the garage. His texted response was to tell me that his team were not returning and that he had explained this to my husband. That’s when I lost it.
I could not believe that these men could not make the effort to climb the stairs, ring the doorbell, to give the adult at home the opportunity to open the garage so that they could deliver the appliances properly. They clearly did not care. They did not care about me. They do not care about this project. How could I have people who do not care be involved in creating a space that is all about taking great care of people? And why is he talking to my husband and not to me? We had discussed this so many times. My husband had told him this over and over again and yet he continued to discuss plans with him and not me. I was just on the phone with him! No matter how I looked at it, all that I could see was evidence of disrespect and a lack of care and I was mad. So mad. A line had been crossed.
That evening was tough. I went for a walk by myself to blow off some steam, which was probably visibly coming out of my ears looney tunes style to anyone who was in my vicinity. It helped a little, but not enough.
I did not get much sleep that night as the frustration and anger and the uncertainty of not knowing how to proceed swam around and around in my head. It felt awful. Something needed to change. This was not me.
In my 2 am delirium I had this vision of going to my office with a big piece of paper (the kind you used to paint on with those messy easels in grade school) to write out a mission statement of sorts with a black sharpie. It went something like this:
This space is a place of healing and transformation
This is a safe space.
A place where all who enter can expect to be accepted, nurtured and cared for
in order to access and empower the divine within.
Every being who enters, no matter their role, is invited to take a moment to centre themselves in the purpose and focus of this space
So as to do their best work, with their highest level of skill, ability and care
In service of the divine within themselves, which ultimately functions to serve others.
With deepest gratitude and respect for your service
Your willingness to show up fully in all that you do
and share your divine light with us
My focus in writing this message was on the men hired to bring my vision to life. It was a desperate plea. An attempt to try to regain a sense of control of this thing that was not going as planned with a team whose actions communicated to me a lack of caring for something that I believed required the utmost care. It felt like everything was misaligned. This was my way of righting that.
And while the image of me writing this in big black letters and posting it on the wall was all about them, in the end it was really about me. I was the one who was misaligned. That message was for me. I was the one who needed to return to being a place of healing and transformation.
As soon as I crafted that statement in my head, something shifted for me internally. The anger, that I chose to accept and allowed myself to feel, started to dissipate. So much so, that two days later, when I came back to the space on a Sunday morning it felt like the anger, that at one point was overwhelming, was completely gone.
As I entered the unit with my friends to give them a tour, I was surprised to find my contractor and crew working away. To my surprise, and his, I immediately walked over after greeting him and, believe it or not, I actually gave him a big hug. I was able to express my genuine gratitude for him being there. I also grabbed him by the shoulders as I pulled back and told him to look into my eyes. As I pointed to my own eyes while I stared into his, I asked him to do a simple thing. To see me. I told him that I needed him to see me. I reminded him that my eyes existed before my husband existed. I exist. I needed him to see me. And seeing me meant that he needed to speak to me. No matter what, he always needs to speak to me.
He laughed and said he understood. We hugged it out again, and we both parted with smiles.
As I left I realized that just like the way my subconscious brought me back into alignment with the divine light within me, my anger was all about me too. I had projected my own values, and assumptions onto the renovation crew. I made the assumption that they could not be bothered, that they made a choice without regard or respect for how overwhelming it would seem to have to figure out moving appliances a few feet when for them it was so easy. The fact is, they were likely not conscious at all. Who knows what they were thinking? Their thoughts were somewhere else. And yes, thinking things through is a reasonable expectation to have of anyone we hire to do work for us. But the extent of my anger was about something else. I was the one who added the layers and made it into something much bigger than it likely was or needed to be. I was the one who has had too many experiences where I was overlooked, my opinion, undervalued, my voice unheard that predated the experience with this contractor. In the end, it was all about me.
Now I know some of you are wondering whether my internal shift resulted in a better outcome. The answer is, yes and no. The office is useable and I am delighted every day that I get to be in it. People tell me that they feel at home and some of the groups I have hosted hang out because they don’t want to leave. It means the world to me that people feel comfortable here. In this respect, my goal has been realized.
However, it remains a work in progress. I am still missing my internal doors, the lighting is not quite right and there are some other finishing touches that need to be completed. But whether with the original crew, or someone else, it will all get done. And more importantly, I am not stressed or distracted by it. I am focused and relaxed and my energy is where it needs to be. And I am confident that I will be able to maintain this mindset, regardless of how long it takes for the vision for my office to be realized.
The point of this story is not so much about the outcome, it’s about the process. It’s always about the process.
I do not regret feeling my anger. I did regret expressing it to those who were undeserving (e.g., hubby) and apologized for it. But I do not regret allowing myself to feel it. It pushed me to explore why I felt so strongly, which ultimately led me to understanding and affirming my values, my purpose and even my existence. The solution that arose was fantastical and weird and perfect in its own way. It allowed me to come back to me. And I am happy to say that I have been even more conscious about choosing how I want to feel and what I want to experience each day, especially those days that have the potential to be hard for whatever reason.
Designing Your Life is all about assuming responsibility for your inner world. It is the only way to have true control and to live the kind of life you want to live.
So as we enter a new year, I ask you, are you willing to face your “dark side” with compassion, and acceptance with a focus on understanding the source of your distress? If not, consider that it might just be the most efficient and effective way of reconnecting with your light.