edge

Gifting me a morning ritual

Gifting me a morning ritual

October 13, 2020
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The bottom line:
Building a morning routine, where I feel thrown off my game when time does not allow for it to run its course in full, and realizing that this morning routine, or perhaps even ritual, is a gift. A Gift. To me.

Getting thrown off my new morning routine where I wake up, of my own volition, at six am. Get up, pee, go downstairs to fetch phone and iPad, standing in the kitchen doing a slow morning Seven of pelvic movements, waiting for the kettle to boil while checking my email and doing a quick scan of SoMe (now that the ayurvedic challenge is over, no more morning videos to peruse). Armed with electronic (writing) devices, a cup of warm water, I head upstairs, doing my Wim Hof breathing regime (normally in bed, today I lay down on the floor, pulling the duvet off the bed, to keep me warm), before climbing back into bed, to do my morning writing while drinking the warmed up water.

Once I’ve posted my writings, somewhere or other, I head for the basement bathroom, do my regular morning Seven (lately, a lot of Lindy hop-practices, which is akin to cardio, let me tell you) before jumping into a two minute-cold shower, before getting dressed, ready to meet the world.

By this time, it’s nine o’clock, give or take, and I realize how anything scheduled by me before nine throws me off my game. Off my writing game, to be precise, because the other things I do, regardless. Not necessarily in the order described above, but more or less.

Yesterday I’d scheduled a CoachTalk at 7:15 am, and then the day simply rolled on… never granting me (me never granting me, that is!) the time and space to sit down and do my (deep dive) writing. And somehow the entire day feels slightly off.

Yesterday, I had a Zoom-call scheduled at nine am, in conjunction with the Bonnie Bliss Yoni Club-training I’m taking online right now, and I got into sharing something I will be writing about in my deep dive, so in a sense, I got ”it” out of my system, but… it’s still not the same.

There’s something to the writing that provides both an edge (the permanence of it? The shareability of it? The way my words take on a life of their own? The dance with fear at being rejected, shamed and shunned for writing what I am writing?) and an expanded opportunity for learning. When I write, I explore. It truly is a deep dive, regardless if I am deep diving into a topic (shame) as I am at the moment, of if it’s ”just” writing because I want to, because I blog daily (No. Not at the moment. Unless the sharing in a small online-community can be called blogging, which, in a sense, it actually can.), because it’s a habit I’ve gotten accustomed to.

The way I write, I learn.
About me. About you. About the world.
There is discovery and surprise, there is exploration and aha-moments, there are connections made visible that have previously eluded me, there are new questions arising.

Waking up today, I realized… I need to stop giving away my mornings to others. I want to give them to me. I want to honor the precious opportunity they are to me, and be much more deliberate in when I schedule something else during this time. Sometimes, it’s a necessity. I have clients requiring my presence at certain times. I have commitments to others giving me an opportunity to prioritize, making me truly look at how I spend –and value!– my time. But if I am to give my mornings away, it’s going to be for very good reasons.

Because I haven’t, ever honestly, been so aware of the need to value my time, as I was today, waking, and realizing how my entire system longed for my morning routine, the very same one I did not gift myself with yesterday.


#tankespjärn, for those who wish to discover. More. Other. New.
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Do you know such a place?

October 4, 2020
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The bottom line:
Finding a place where you and your endeavors have optimal conditions for deep-diving, for discovery, for expansion, for exploration. Within or without. A place which helps you go deeper, burrow further, discover more, other, new. 

I write.
Every morning, I fetch my iPad from the downstairs charging station, after feeding Pop the cat, and bring it back to bed with me. Using the wifi of my iPhone, as the wifi at Hasselbacken has exceptionally shaky reception in my bedroom, a fact which I am not altogether sad about, I load Pages and open The depth(s), containing my current writing endeavor. 

I write, write some more, pause, looking out the window, drinking a sip of lukewarm water, breathe for a few repetitions, deliberately, sensing into it, and then write some more. 

But you don’t get to see it.
Not here.
Not yet.
Possibly not ever. Here, that is. 

Parts of it will be shared, with you, but not here. Perhaps you will not find it. You see, at the moment, my plan is to share, in due time, parts of it at least, anonymously. 

It’s a way to be gentle with me, to not push myself so far outside my comfort zone that I freeze. But rather, to play at the edges, dipping my toe now and again into the unknown, in that which I paint inner landscapes off as scary. After not dying this time either, revert back to base, rest, recuperate, nourish myself, only to let me loose at play at the edge, over and over again. I do share it though. So far, all of it’s been shared, in a small community, a community where I feel held, where it’s (me. My writings) not just possible, but even welcome. A safe container, boosting me, strengthening my resolve, self-confidence and commitment. To finally, at long last, shine a light, at that which I’ve kept in the dark. For so long. Forever…

The writing is better, goes deeper, affects my every waking moment, informs my every waking moment. Thanks to the container in which I share, thanks to the people within this community, generous and gifted, loving and laughing, kind and considerate, smart and sharp, all in the most nourishing mix. My roots go deeper, my branches wider, the leaves of me vibrating with the richness of the colors of the rainbow, open to receive sunshine and rain, in exchange for oxygen, the life-blood of humanity and all things organic, freely given, in abundance. 

Do you know such a place?


#tankespjärn, for those who wish to discover. More. Other. New.
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#blackouttuesday

June 2, 2020
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On this #blackouttuesday as I sit here, trying to take it all in, reading some (not a lot), watching some (not a lot), listening some (not a lot), I come back to this:

Attention energizes.
Intention informs.

To what do I give my attention?
What do I want to see more of in this world?

How am I being informed by my intentions?
What’s my learning like?
How can I expand it, go beyond, stretch myself, crossing edges as yet not crossed by me, helping me learn more, see more, grasp more?

And then… turning the energizing attention, and the informed intention into action.
That’s how change is made, by Being the person Doing the work.

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It’s on me as well.

October 2, 2018
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Read this post on Facebook. It referred to a question asked on Twitter by Danielle Muscato:Read the replies, from both men and women.
Realized two things.
First: I know what these women are talking about.
Second: I can also relate to (commenting) men not really being in the know, because honestly, I haven’t spoken enough out my experiences to the men in my life. It’s simply not been part of the conversation.

So.
It’s on me as well. Speaking up – about the things I do to keep myself safe, without really reflecting upon them and definitely without letting on to the men around me. And I should. Because we are not mind readers, us humans. Sharing my experiences is a way to increase the likelihood of others raising their awareness of what happens to women in their circles.

So.
The other night I was filled with energy after a wonderful weekend course, and when I got home, I had dinner and afterwards took my boundless energy for a dance walk in a recreational area just across the street from my house.

It’s lit in places, and not lit in places.
I had my headphones on, playing music, singing and dancing along, as I also caught the occasional Pokemon and spun a few poke-stops (most of them placed in the unlit areas of the park).

Now and again, a jogger (all of them men for some reason) would come running from behind, having me spot them, glancing back, slightly on edge, until they had passed me by.

And as I entered the darkest path, through the arboretum, I DID consider… was this wise of me? Should I really walk through here, in pitch black woods, not knowing what might happen?

I chose to.
But also turned on my IPhone flashlight, to give ME an opportunity to spot anyone else coming on the chance of them having ominous intentions (rather than for the sake of lighting my way).

So, yeah.
I know precisely what it feels like, having an inclination towards fear and insecurity. I don’t let it stop me from taking the walk – but I do take the walk slightly on edge, truth be told. And I don’t want to. I want to be able to take this walk, without any fear in my system – because I don’t want to be ruled by fear. I want to look at people around me with a loving disposition. And I believe you would want me to look at you like that as well, don’t you?

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Sensations

March 2, 2018
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SensationsI crave sensations.
Not the ”wow, that’s so cool!”-type of sensations, but rather the sensations of feeling, of touch, of sound and movement. The lightest of touch, the softest of whisper.

What can I feel?
What do I want to feel?
What do I like?
What do I want? What don’t I want?
What do I desire, what makes me aroused, what drives me over the edge?

From having been an it’s-all-in-my-head-gal, for the past few years slowly but steadily I’ve been reconnecting with my body, with all of me. I am still… hm… possibly a bit scared of it all? But more than that, it’s mostly a matter of not knowing what and how to do, being acutely aware of that fact, and fearing ridicule, so yes, fear is at the root of me depriving myself of the sensations I crave.

That won’t stop me though.
I want to sense life – in all manners possible – and I will.

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Dare to ask!

January 28, 2016
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I’m discovering something new about myself as I’ve begun to play a game in my coaching, which also means I am pushing my edges by asking for things I’ve never even dreamed of daring to ask. And I discover lots of things as I do this.

pushing at the edge

Firstly that the edge (within me, the one saying “No Helena, you most definitely cannot ask for That!“) I perceive is a figment of my imagination, created by thought, but it is not and will never be the Truth, something real. It’s made up.

Secondly that I don’t die for asking. No matter how much my inner voice tries to tell me I must not ask for outrageous things. On the contrary actually. Asking makes me feel as if I live even more. And it makes me laugh, as the made-up-edge is pushed a bit further within my imaginary world.

Thirdly it’s a great way to collect No’s. That may sound very strange, but listen to this: Yes lives in the land of No. So if I go in search for the No’s, and even cherish them when I meet them, I’ll gladly go in search for more No’s. And you know what? Somewhere within all those No’s there will be a Yes. And the more No’s I collect, the more Yes’es I’ll encounter!

So, here’s to me asking and asking and asking some more, discovering where my edges are and challenging them, cherishing every No I meet along the way!

What are you afraid of asking for?

Welcome to my new website!
Since 2012 I have blogged over at herothecoach.com and this post is a sample of what I’ve been writing over the years. I hope you enjoy this #ThrowbackThursday, originally published here, and if you do, please subscribe to updates so you won’t miss out on future posts.
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