Being vulnerable

Being vulnerable

I’m sporting a lovely new cold sore on my top lip. It was shocked into existence this afternoon by a few happenings:

#1 – I realised I might have made a fool of myself.

#2 – Someone I admire requested me to dive deeper into myself and then write about it.

#3 – One day in the not too distant future, I will be talking to a possibly world-wide audience about what I wrote in item #2.

I’ve been tapping all afternoon to stop the cold sore going ballistic. It’s working, thankfully. The self inquiry woven into the tapping eventually brought me to one pattern in particular, which I have never before been able to vocalise.

Context: tapping – EFT – Emotional Freedom Techniques (one of the therapies I used with clients of my healing practise).

The reason I struggle with untangling this pattern is, it is a paradox. I worry I won’t get what I deserve; but, I worry I won’t deserve what I get. At least, I can see the circle, now. Time to tilt it on it’s axis and spin that sucker into a spiral, then jump on for the ride and trust there is no knobbly banister-type stopper at the end of the slide, waiting to goose me.

My life is a series of magical moments. I write magical realism, because it is the way I see the world. Connections and threads, and sometimes, a bannister too shiny and inviting not to straddle.

A charmed life

A charmed life

I have never claimed to be consistent, especially with regard to my emotional state. Goddess love me, it’s like four seasons in one afternoon, some days. And, generally, not in the order nature intended them to be.

My habit of changing habits often and without warning can be maddening to those who love me. But, it is also one of the reasons they love me.

It has taken what feels like eons to be okay with that (maybe, is has been eons). Lovely one, it is not my responsibility to make sure you are coping with the inconsistent, maddening and completely charming ways I move through my life.

When I am holding sacred space for someone else, the matter is different. My regard is entirely for you, then.

Learning how to do the same for myself is part of why I write these articles and share them with you.

It is wonderful to observe the way I react to your reactions, or lack thereof. I can tell how blocked I am around a certain subject, notion, or idea; by the amount of free-flowing grace I experience each time I release my innermost thoughts into the world.

It’s getting generally less terrifying. So, that’s good.

When I extol my visions and plans, I’m also learning how to give loved ones a smidgen of context to go with my randomness. This produces smiles of relief, which are a joy to behold! This tiny addition also goes a long way to eliminating that simmering tension which has, for as long as I can remember, existed just below the surface of my life.

No guessing. No demand for said loved one’s approval before I can roll around and get all sticky in my awesome dreams. Weird, slight nausea relief: achieved!

Shifts in thinking impact profoundly on all levels. There is the obvious physiological shift — relaxed musculature, deeper breathing, and so on. Then, as we shimmer into the less visible realms, our emotions and spirit feel the changes.

Thoughts are powerful medicine.

Being real

Being real

There is an old pattern circling the drain of my psyche. It is the gross wad of hair we will affectionately call, Knotty. Knotty reminds me that I am shy and insecure. And, certainly not good enough to do the thing I want to do.

Danger! Danger!

Problem is, by the time I notice Knotty these days, I am already in the middle of doing the thing I am supposedly incapable of doing. Last night, I was actually finished doing the creative business thing (and being completely awesome and magical in the process) and had moved on to spooning a large helping of pumpkin curry into a bowl, before I noticed Knotty. I guess that is the definition of an ingrained pattern. Every time I look away, I forget it’s there.

Even so, the pattern tries with all its might to remind me what I am.

The thing is, I’m not shy and insecure. I seem to have been something else for quite some time, now. I am talking out loud to people I admire about my work and not feeling the need to pretend to be anything more (or less) than exactly what I am. I’m not vigilant for moments when I can casually allude to a mystery about myself that might lead the admired listener to believe I am interesting and capable.

I am using direct language, and finding it exhilarating.

Being real all the time is not a decision. It is my natural state of being. I am relaxed without that irritating grain of nausea in the back of my stomach, because at any moment someone is going to realise I am not good enough.

Holy crap!

I’ve passed through the magical green door that waits patiently in the most secret corners of the universe for unsuspecting voyagers. I didn’t even have to paint it black. (I’m pretty sure I’ve just mangled the meaning of that snippet of lyric and managed to either offend someone, or make them laugh.)