Category Archives: Healing

She’s here! (My novel is live.)

Posted on by
2
A statue of the Virgin Mary in Najera, Spain

What does it look like when a woman returns to her true nature?

What does it look like when a woman sheds the armor of culture and reclaims her true identity? What does it look like when a woman discards the disguises and camouflage she’s accumulated over decades of striving to fit in, to be who others want her to be?

A middle-aged woman walks the Camino de Santiago, and finds a whole new life within herself she never knew existed. What happens when that woman, faced with the potential disruption created by allowing that new life to emerge, says “Yes”? What shifts when that woman begins to understand that her healing is the highest desire of God, the Universe, and the Camino? What wisdom does that woman hear when she acknowledges that her former ways of getting through her days no longer serve her on this journey?

Lost and Found: A Magical Journey on the Camino de Santiago explores these questions. You can download it here. And thank you!

~Barb

Rewild yourself.

Posted on by
1
A dam on the Colorado River

Dismantling dams and rewilding rivers is hard work. Hard work, and necessary work, if life is to thrive.

You and I were born free flowing streams. As we grow, most of us become dammed and channelized, our water “reclaimed,” our wildness dishonored and diverted.  We couldn’t resist this domestication when we were kids, subject to forces way bigger and stronger than we were. The grownups who dammed our waters were mostly just trying to keep us safe. Our culture, however, does not have our best interests in mind. It simply wants our water for its own purposes. The utilitarian value of the river’s water is more important to culture than the intrinsic value of a wild river’s nature.

My brother and sister-in-law live on the banks of what’s left of the Colorado River, close to where that mighty Grand Canyon-carving river flows to a trickle through Mexico into the Gulf of California. Here the Colorado is channelized and denuded, beautiful in its own way but a shadow of its former wild self. The Colorado’s waters are dammed all along its length — diverted to irrigate crops, generate power, and provide drinking water for Los Angeles, Phoenix, Las Vegas and other western cities.

Real rivers are messy and unpredictable, for sure. But the life supported by a river that runs free is exponentially richer. That life isn’t as useful to humans. It’s wild. Wild life has value in and of itself, value not seen or appreciated when the dam was built.

Fish-killing dams have been removed from many Pacific Northwest rivers in the last decade. Two examples: the Elwha in Washington and the Rogue in Oregon. Four dams on the Klamath River could be removed starting in 2022. Taking out Snake River and Columbia River dams has been a controversial topic for decades.

Demolish a dam and lose control. Floods are unleashed, rapids ripple again, wild life thrives, natural ebb and flow happens. Salmon recover, and they feed Orcas who depend on the salmon. Riparian songbirds reappear as willows recolonize river banks. As marshes, wetlands, and estuaries rewater, the abundant life native to these swampy habitats returns. A wild river isn’t conducive to commerce and capitalism, though, so be prepared to live less conveniently and with less stuff.

Yes, taking out dams is hard work. Yet dismantle those dams we must, once we become aware of the damage they do.

What’s the dam in your free-flowing wild river? Is your dam made from following rules you don’t believe in, rather than choosing your commitments intentionally? Is your dam the belief that you have to be small and quiet, rather than living big and bold? Is your dam made from waiting for permission to flow, rather than letting loose and being who you are? For me, it’s all of these. (I’m flouting all three of these limiting beliefs by blogging much more often!)

As adults, we can dismantle the dams blocking our flow. We can take them apart, brick by brick. Or we can blow them up all at once. We can also keep them, if we like the result. But be prepared to pay the price of dam demolition. Wildness does not exist to be utilized and controlled, to be at the beck and call of those who would use its resources for their own gain. Be prepared to ride the wild river’s ups and downs, to swirl in the eddies. Be prepared to meander up side channels to swampy places where life thrives in unexpected ways.

Be prepared to discover just how resilient you truly are.

Photo by John Gibbons on Unsplash

“She’s so street, but she’s such a lady.”

Posted on by
2
Bulldog in the grass

Mabel obviously knows her Whitman.

Do I contradict myself?

Very well then I contradict myself,

(I am large, I contain multitudes.)

Walt Whitman, Song of Myself 51

Mabel is a bulldog. She’s brazen, bodacious, bold. She’s one of those brawny, hefty, low-slung bulldogs, built like a brick house. I met her yesterday on my river walk. She’d just come up out of the water, dripping wet and ready for action. A taller dog came around the bend just then to find Mabel ready to go. Much romping ensued, Mabel very much holding her own.

Mabel is beautiful in and of herself. The icing on the cake of Mabel’s Mabel-ness, though, is her collar. She sports a sparkly pink collar studded with rhinestones. When I complimented Mabel, her mom said, “She’s so street, but she’s such a lady.”

Mabel knows she doesn’t have to choose between being “street” and being a lady. Mabel is who Mabel is, period.

You and I can be more than one thing, too. We don’t have to choose. We contain multitudes.

Photo Credit: Gabriela Torzsa on Unsplash

“Racist Anti-racism”

Posted on by
1

I want to begin by saying that I have such a long way to go here.

I grew up White in a small Arizona town. I didn’t begin to comprehend Whiteness and white privilege until five years ago. I’m 62 years old. I feel deeply uncomfortable investigating my racism and talking about racism. I’m not good at it. Oh well.

If you, like me, want to educate yourself, I found this post helpful. In her post, Katie Anthony, a White woman, explains why good White women’s common responses on social media to incidents such as the one in Central Park on May 25th are actually racist anti-racism. Then Katie tells us what to say instead: “I’m sorry.” “I see you.” “That’s awful.”

The book she recommends, So You Want to Talk about Race, is available here.

I’m sorry. I see you. That’s awful.

Healing is often uncomfortable. So be it.

~Barb

Let your messy light shine.

Posted on by
11
Woman holding light: Our cracks and broken places are where our light shines into the dark.

Last week I wrote an intensely personal note to you which included two pieces of information I rarely share: my dad’s skiing death and my stepfather’s abuse.  I put them out there for all the world to see. Why?

Mostly, it’s because I’m tired of keeping these secrets. I’m seeing more and more clearly that I’ve been making both events mean that I’m bad, broken, and unlovable. If you know them about me, you won’t like me. Or you’ll feel sorry for me. I don’t want to believe that anymore. That belief has caused me to lead a diminished life, and I’m tired of it.

Here’s what’s truly true: bad things happen to everyone. As do good things. It’s all part of the human experience. What hurts us is the story we tell ourselves about the bad things. And the good things, too. What hurts us is our thoughts about ourselves, others, and the nature of the universe. What hurts us is thinking we deserve these events, bad or good.

The brilliant Kara Loewentheil’s Unf*ck Your Brain podcast on December 17th was about vulnerability. Kara dropped this bombshell that exploded in my brain: “The only person we’re vulnerable to as adults is ourselves.” Kara elaborated that when we’re afraid of someone else’s negative judgment when we tell them something personal, it’s because we secretly believe they’re right. If we’re okay with the information, we’re okay with their reaction, positive or negative. So I dug into why I resist telling people about my dad’s deadly accident and my stepfather’s sexual abuse. I thought it was because hearing about these events makes others uncomfortable, so I was just being considerate. And they do make others uncomfortable, but that’s only part of the story. Mostly they make me uncomfortable.

It turns out I’ve spent fifty years believing bad things happen to bad people, and I thought I needed to keep my badness a secret. But of course the truth is I didn’t cause either event. My dad hit a tree so hard he died. My mom’s need to have this man take care of her was stronger than her desire to protect me. That’s all. I didn’t cause my parents’ divorce, my family’s disintegration, or my dad’s alcoholism and three remarriages, either. I was a just child trying to make sense of bad situations created by the adults in my life who were dealing with their own shit as well as they could. Sometimes they dealt very badly. And gravity happens, even to the best of skiers.

I’m learning to think of the decade that undid me as a testament to my strength and resilience, and the mysterious power of grace. As I’ve come to see myself differently – as a tender, strong woman who deserves joy – I’ve also come to see my parents differently. This is forgiveness. As I open myself to deeper and deeper healing, I’m letting my parents off the hook. I’m forgiving my dad for dying young and my mom for inviting someone into our lives who hurt me. I’m pretty sure, as I continue to heal, I’ll find that I’ve forgiven my stepfather, too.

Those events broke me, and it’s okay. I’m okay. I think Leonard Cohen was right: the broken places are where the light gets in.  

“Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack, a crack in everything
That’s how the light gets in.”

And light doesn’t only come into us. Light goes out, too. Our cracks and broken places are where our light shines through most brightly in the dark. Our imperfections can be channels of grace and healing for our world. We can flow with this light.

Sharing my broken places with you, dear reader, has been healing for me. Thank you for allowing space for them.  

An invitation: If the time is right, gently and with immense kindness, ask yourself what about yourself you keep sequestered from other people. What secrets do you carry? Why are you choosing to carry them? What are these secrets costing you in energy and intimacy?

Answering these questions will help you discover if you, like me, believe untruths that are causing you to suffer. Contact me here if you’d like to investigate together.

Photo by Josh Boot on Unsplash

Let God call you “Sweetcakes” for Christmas.

Posted on by
4
This Christmas, let God call you "sweetcakes."

Forty years ago my dad died while skiing in Keystone, Colorado. That event put the cherry on top of the decade that undid me. I’d been mostly holding myself together through my parent’s divorce when I was 12, my big brother and eventually my little sister leaving to live with my dad, my dad’s subsequent three marriages, and my mom dating and marrying a man who violated me. Despite all that, I was still remarkably intact. Until December 15, 1979.

That sunny December morning shattered me. From that day on, the world felt lined by broken glass.

As children do, I made sense of my dad’s sudden death and all that had come before by concluding that I must be a bad person and I deserved this pain. So I renewed my efforts to be a good girl who followed the rules and did as she was told. Like many women living under patriarchy, I had a deep sense that I just wasn’t good enough, so I practiced other-focused, people-pleasing behavior and created a life that was too small.

I was desperate for ways to make life not hurt so damn much. Sharp surfaces, piercing nails, rattlesnakes with poisonous fangs – they seemed to be everywhere. So I stayed little and quiet and I stuck to well-trodden trails, striving to pad myself and blend in and make myself useful. A bad person pretending to be good.

I spent forty years seeking solace outside myself, searching for places that didn’t hurt. Trying to find answers to the wrong question. Looking outside myself, when what I needed to do was see the lie and let it go. I was trying to figure out how to live in a world of broken glass, since that seemed to be what I deserved, rather than allowing myself to see that I’d made the world of broken glass with my own mind.

I’ve realized that forty years is long enough to wander in the wilderness of suffering and self-loathing. The meaning I made from that terrible decade – that I’m not worthy of love and respect, that bad things only happen to bad people – is a lie. I know it’s a lie because I feel hard and separated from my soul when I believe it.

This lie of self-loathing can only be healed by choosing to believe the uncomfortable truth that God doesn’t make junk. Even squirrels have value and worth. All creation is holy and worthy and beloved, just because it exists. Value is intrinsic. It doesn’t have to be earned. We are born perfect.

The false belief my clients have in common, the core thought causing them distress, is this: “I’m not good enough. I have to try harder. I have to pretend to be perfect.”

Focusing on that false belief doesn’t heal it. Focusing on the false belief only cements it deeper. That belief is a habit. That’s all. We break old destructive habits by building new, better habits.

So shine a light on that false belief just long enough to identify it, and then set about gently dismantling the lie. Don’t take the wrecking ball to the lie, or do battle with it. Just focus, instead, on healing your brain by believing new, life-giving thoughts. “I am okay. I am enough. I am necessary. I am priceless.” Just five minutes a day will begin to weaken the old false beliefs and begin to build a home for the ages. The too-small dilapidated house you’ve been living in will slowly crumble and blow away.

Gently give your heart, who’s known all along that you are beloved and precious, light and rain and warmth.

The seed of your true self has been waiting for just such conditions to sprout.

She will burst her armored shell, break forth, and sing. Your small life will be broken open and will never be the same. The world changes when you become yourself.

I know now the World cried with us when my dad died on that mountain. Holiness was in the trenches with me as my world fell apart. Light was shining through the broken glass. Love has been holding my hand all along, leading me out of the wilderness back home to myself.

Christmas, the Feast of the Incarnation, is God saying “Yes” to us. The Divine is telling us this fleshy human life is beautiful.

This Christmas, hear Holiness say, “You matter. You are necessary. You belong. You are perfect.”

This Christmas, hear God calling you “Sweetcakes.” She says it every moment of every day. Listen. Let Love in.

God Says Yes To Me

I asked God if it was okay to be melodramatic
and she said yes
I asked her if it was okay to be short
and she said it sure is
I asked her if I could wear nail polish
or not wear nail polish
and she said honey
she calls me that sometimes
she said you can do just exactly
what you want to
Thanks God I said
And is it even okay if I don’t paragraph
my letters
Sweetcakes God said
who knows where she picked that up
what I’m telling you is
Yes Yes Yes

Kaylin Haught, From The Palm of Your Hand. © Tilbury House Publishers, 1995.

Photo by Denys Nevozhai on Unsplash

What would it feel like to be free?

Posted on by
5
Girl in field of daisies: You are holy. You are perfect. You are beloved. You are safe.

I wonder what it would feel like to be free. What would it feel like to know that I am perfect just as I am? To know I can be 100% me in the world and I would be safe? To know I can say what I think and share how I feel and I would still be valued and belong to a community? To know that I could tell the truth and have a family and friends who love me?

What would it be like to truly comprehend that, in reality, hiding and not sharing myself is what creates loneliness and division?

If you think your true nature is too outrageous and loud and uncouth, or too quiet and sensitive – if you reject your true nature and judge yourself as unacceptable and wrong – then no external healing on the planet can touch that inner disconnect.

That inner disconnect, your self-loathing and lack of love for your authentic being, reproduces itself in your outer reality because of this cycle: Thoughts create feelings. Feelings drive actions. Actions produce results. Results accumulate to become the circumstances of your life. Then you think more thoughts about your results and circumstances, and the cycle continues.

If your foundational thought is “I’m not okay. I’m not good enough. I have to pretend to be someone I’m not to be safe and loved,” then you will feel fear and shame. Fear and shame drive actions that probably look a lot like being good, accumulating achievements, and meeting others’ expectations. These actions produce results that accumulate to create your life – a life that doesn’t fit who you really are. Your life becomes an illusion that must be maintained so you feel okay about yourself. Maintaining the illusion takes a tremendous amount of energy and is ultimately unsustainable.

Living a lie is always unsustainable. Your belief that you’re not okay, you’re not good enough, and you have to pretend to be someone you’re not to be safe and loved is a lie. I know it’s a lie because it causes suffering.

The way back to the truth is not to believe something else really hard.

It won’t work to tell ourselves over and over that we’re fine just the way we are if we still, deep down, believe we’re shit. We have to drop the lie that’s causing suffering. We have to see the lie for what it really is, and replace it with the truth.

The source of your self-worth is ultimately a faith question. Your innate worthiness, your guaranteed belovedness, your essential holiness, can’t be proven. It can, however, be experienced and remembered. There was a time in your life when you were deeply connected with your innate preciousness. You didn’t question it. Even if your mind can’t pull up those memories, your body remembers. That connection still exists. You just have to find the connection and strengthen it. Even though the spring has gotten blocked, the source of the flow remains. The blockage just has to be dislodged so the water can flow. The lie of “not okayness” is the blockage. And the water wants so badly to flow through you.

Try this. Put one hand on your heart and the other on your belly. Breathe deeply. Feel your heart beating. Now imagine that you’re holding a baby or a cat or a dog in your arms. That tender, perfect creature is in your care, and they’re completely safe. Just resting on your chest, being completely who they are. Now imagine that you’re that baby or that animal, and you’re resting completely in the arms of a loving presence who’s got you and is never going to let go. Call that presence what you want – God, Universe, Mother, whatever. You are holy. You are perfect. You are beloved. And you are so, so safe.

This is the truth. You were born perfect. You’re still perfect. You’ll always be perfect.

Freedom is knowing that the thoughts keeping you caged are lies, and they’re flimsy as dust. Freedom is living as the perfect, holy creature you are.

Choose to believe the truth you’ve always known. Choose to be free.  

Photo by Melissa Askew on Unsplash, edited on Canva