The long and winding road to a real life Life Changer! My experience in a nutshell (including some nuts)

Pt I.  You may ask yourself, well how did I get here?

Ever wonder what it’s like to work with a Life Coach/Mentor?  A person whom you admire and has actually guided you very swiftly to see many things about your self, or “holy shit” moments as I like to call them. Real eye-opening real life Life Changers.  Maybe you are wondering “what the hell a life coach/mentor is or does” before we get to the “wonder what it’s like to work with one” part.  Because the person I am working with now, who I can’t wait to tell you about, just “aint ya mama’s life coach”.  But first let me tell you a little backstory into why I believe I can properly explain this, because in many ways finding a right person to work with on your life is much like dating. You have to play the field, go through some experiences, and then when you meet “the one”, you will be assured they are the real deal.  If i can help you speed up this process, then I would have saved you time.  And there’s nothing like losing time.  You can’t get that shit back.  So listen in.

Maybe you think a life coach plays the role of Therapist.  And that would be true.  I saw a therapist once.  So I can see the similarities where they do bring out and talk you through some past traumatic  wounds experienced and shaped in childhood.   When I saw my therapist way back when,  we did go on and on about these wounds, also known as Imago relationships, formed as early as childbirth with our parents and why we would seek partners of similar parental qualities to help us heal from any emotional scarring created in childhood that has sense shaped our beliefs.  My therapist and I would dance and dance on and around this topic, and it helped for the most part in that I started to intellectualize why I would do certain things.   Which was fascinating.  I could understand the why.  Of course I had no clue as to how to stop the why, but I could understand it.   Then after about a year she raised her rates and I felt as if I was healed, because one of my take away “breakthroughs” was that I accepted and lived in mediocrity, so we parted ways.

After a few years of grappling through life on my own (sans therapist), I reconnected with an old friend who happened to be doing some work in something relatively new to me called life coaching therapy.  I decided to give her a whirl and see what she was all about and how my life could be coached from her perspective.  I was fresh into my 40’s and going through hell on some rough seas in my life, clinging to a deflated dingy.  Again, as with the therapist, we delved into the why’s to see where my childhood wounds were playing a role in what, in this case, were my love relationships.  Or relationship, one specifically, which happened to be an affair.  We danced and delved and I remember crying a lot and after a while, I think we became stuck on repeat.  I remember our last session together, it was more a “hail mary” football pass to the end zone to see if my brain could make the catch because I’m pretty sure we had reached a mutual impasse and there weren’t any more seconds on the clock.  She made the long pass. I think it hit me on the back of the head and rendered me unconscious.

After that coaching experience, I did for a brief moment, hire what I can only describe as a possible voodoo priestess disguised as a yoga teacher/masseuse in training.   We met at her house in the “healing room”.  You could only enter the “healing room” through the very back of the house from the outside,  and I remember tromping through tall weeds and waving my hands to clear spider webs so i could get to the backdoor entrance and ring a bell.  It usually took her about a solid five minutes to get to the door.  Granted that was probably a big red flag, but I wanted to be open minded and see what she had to offer.  Her method of therapy included me sitting facing her while she sat in an elevated chair and based on what we wanted to bring to the circle of sharing, she would offer me her mantras of advice. And based on those mantras, it would determine what form of therapy I could receive such as reflexology, a massage, or being wrapped very very tightly in hot towels while chants were said, with eyes closed, over me.   It came to a head on what turned out to be our last session when I brought up my past affair in the sharing circle.  What followed was an hour of what is best described as projection shaming.  Following that, I reluctantly got my massage while thinking to myself “my lord she is going to make a voodoo doll of me and stick pins in its eyes and vajayjay to repent for the sins I had brought up into the healing room!”  I got out of there and dropped her like a hot potato, over email.  No way I was doing it face to face oh hell no!

stay tuned for Pt II…

Today I am sad.

Today  I am sad.  No matter what the benefits of my recently new morning ritual of 30 minutes dedicated to positive affirming, mantra speaking and Deepak meditating may have done, today I am sad.  No matter how much I try to limit my intake of social media, news media and my inner dialog from having looked too long at said two, there are things and events that can not be overlooked.  We are not immune to tragedy even though with the almost now daily coverage of what appears to be violence seeping through the pores of the ground that we stand on, we can only step on so many stones, climb up so many branches, put on our gas masks to try and avoid and outrun the shit seeping up and covering the ground below. Eventually sh”it” touches us.  Maybe not directly. Maybe directly would be easier, then you would know how to navigate if only by no other choice but to fall in the shit and sink or swim no matter how retched the experience.  We can stand on our branches, helpless if we choose to look down and watch those who fall get caught in the swift current, or we can choose to look up and keep climbing, and see if we can outrun it.  Eventually though, I’m convinced no tree is high enough to support you on the top branches and eventually you run out of tree.  Eventually we are all going to have to stop and look down.   Today is that day.  No matter how much I try to look away, stick my fingers in my ears and repeat over and over “its not happening to me, i can not control this” today I can not look away and I can not keep climbing.  Today someone on a branch not too far from mine stepped up and their branch snapped.  And no matter how much she tried to hang on, or not, she has fallen into the shit river that has formed from needless hate and violence.  It is swallowing her, although she can’t just see that yet, but it is something from my view I can see.  And my heart breaks like the limb she was standing on, so easily and suddenly, snaps and breaks.  I can look around for a loose limb to grab off and reach out to her and yell “grab on!”, but when has it ever proven wise to cling to a branch in a swollen raging river?   All I can do now for her is watch from afar atop my branch as she gets colossally tossed downstream.   “I will pray for you!  I will send you love!” I will yell, but really can she even think to hear?  And I will do both those things.  For her.  And for me.  And for everyone caught in that current. And I will mean it. That is all I can do.  Until I can do more.  And I will do more, as soon as I know what more is.  Maybe it starts with writing this, and everyone will stop climbing up reaching for higher branches, higher ground.  And look down and send a prayer and love blast.  And close our eyes and wish tomorrow will be better.  But today, I am sad.

The magic of a mentor! (along with Ricky Martin, dead squirrels, deep ends and other things…)

Cannonball!!!! Splash!!!  Into the deep end!!  I wish I could say that’s how it is happening, my introduction into blogging.  A big splash!  Like before America knew who Ricky Martin was, and his breakout performance on the ’99 Grammy’s, everyone was sitting there in the audience watching him sing La Copa de la Vida shaking his hips, doing his salsa moves and the audience was mesmerized wondering who the hell is this dude?!   I’m NOT comparing myself to Ricky Martin in the least, I can’t speak a lick of Spanish and I don’t really know what La Copa de la Vida means (well I do now, I looked it up, its Cup of Life!)  I’m talking about his splash!  That shit was a SPLASH!  Now here I am ready to make “my splash” into the blogging world,  but it’s more like I’m cautiously standing two feet away from a three inch ledge peering into a five foot deep pool.  I’m 5’6, can swim and the pool’s clean, there aren’t any dead squirrels floating in rotten leaves.  In other words, I ain’t gonna drown while staring and grasping at squirrel carcass.  But at times it sure does feel that way!

This is my very first blog post!  or so I thought.  Apparently this is my very second blog post. My first blog post was by accident, and was a three sentence canned welcome introduction by wordpress.  I had no idea I published it until I figured out how to view my blog page.  Which trust me, took a while because i went down the rabbit hole of all the other things I could do with my newly established blog such as “setting up your blog in five steps”, “viewing stats”, “how to get started”, “custom colors and background” and “choose a palette” which then led me to “upgrades” because I realized I had no clue what i was doing and could someone please tell me how to use this thing, better yet SHOW me how to use this thing I will pay you a hundred thousand dollars (in monopoly money) don’t make me have to learn this on my own!!  Is there a recovery program for people who suffer from Immediate Gratification issues?  Forget about actually writing content on my blog, mine had to look pretty first!  If I have been choosing from the life a la carte tray, I will have the immediate gratification with a side of perfection please.

So…maybe a couple of hours and 12 wordpress open tabs later, i walked away from it, no wait… I more slinked away from it like how I would do if i were at an open house for a new build using the bathroom and I go to flush the toilet only to break the fancy new toilet handle that pulls up (or sideways who the hell knows) instead of the no brainer down and then I rig it back like nothing ever happened until the next person goes in the bathroom and they “break it”.   That was almost three months ago…not the toilet bowl handle story, I made that up (or did I?) but the birth of my blog and accidental first post and my subsequent abandoning of my writing ship.  In fact, I’ve never closed the tab links because I am pretty sure I wouldn’t know how to find the site links again, one of many fears I have around blogging! Fears or excuses?  Or are they one in the same? All I can say is, thank gawd for the “open previous tabs” feature on Chrome!

Now here I am, back again writing a current status new draft for my blog (yay I figured out how to change status from “publish immediately” to “draft”).  And I’m going to change the status to Publish (once I read it 1000 times).  What brought me back to my broken toilet bowl handle?  I would like to say it’s because I can’t wait to share my stories with the world!  And honestly that is for realz!  I’ve always wanted to write.  If anyone could be remotely entertained by the running dialogue i have in my head, and like to read how I can incorporate Ricky Martin and dead squirrels into my posts, then that makes me happy!  I do want to share and I will share oh yes I will!  Snap!  But really what’s got me here now, fingers to keyboard, has been because of the help of my awesome mentor who challenges me to get out there and be seen.  Who, without judgement, teaches me how to get out of my head and live from my heart.  Tracy Crossley, who happens to also be, out of her many many brilliant attributes, a true example of authenticity.  She writes it, she walks it, she talks it, she lives it, she breathes it.  And she inspires me to want to be that for myself too.  As she reminds me, I am only writing for myself and no one else.  I’ve been working with her for the past 8 months, which in the broad sense in my 46 years doesn’t seem that long and did i mention she is brilliantly intuitive, she knows all my excuses!  Lets say she’s the person who walked into the bathroom after me and know’s I am the one who broke the handle and comes back out, taps me by the back of my collar as I am tiptoeing in the other direction and gently but firmly says “oh no no no, get back in there and put the handle back on correctly or at least leave a fuckin note!”

OK, i see now that I possibly could be comparing my blog to a toilet bowl, but that’s not my point. My point is, if you find yourself staring from the outskirts into the pool of life hesitant to jump because you’ve been living in a space where having courage isn’t often encouraged, allow yourself to be inspired.  Do I splash or do I splat and do I really care? Now that outcome really doesn’t matter, as long as I am out here jumping in to the deep end sometimes fearless but always free, THAT is what makes me happy.

Thank you Tracy!

Go,Go,Go, allez allez allez!!