struggle

Share your pain

Share your pain

March 30, 2019
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Share your pain, he said.

I nodded, saying Yeah. I know. I do.

His turn to nod, agreeing.

Because that is what I do. I share my pain. Or rather. I share what I am. Where I am. The feeling of the moment. Right here. Right now. Be it pain, bliss, fear or subtle joy. I share, what I am. Where I am.
And I have, for many years now.

This is one of the results of me blogging daily since 2013. Have gotten used to writing about what I see. What I feel. What I am. What I observe. What I struggle with. What I rejoice in. What I feel ashamed of. What I dread.

Photo by Anders Roos: http://www.andersroos.nu/

 

Life, as it is.
Is.

Not how I would like it to be.
What norms say I should want it to be.
What convention has me fobbing it off as.

As. It. Is.

So yeah.
There’s pain.
Bliss.
Grief. Fear. Joy.
Excitement. Thrill.
Sadness and anger.

All of it.

In one great big mess… just like life.
As. It. Is.

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To my foremothers

March 8, 2019
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International Women’s Day.
Today.

Over lunch with friends and colleagues the other day, I talked about the deep connection I have to the long line of women that have come before me; I can literally look over my right shoulder and sense them there. All of them. Thousands of them, strong women, connected to me womb by womb by womb. Back through the ages, until the beginning of time, human time.

That’s one of the images I have – and it’s powerful. Physical in a sense.

The other one is that the buck stops here.

Not in the sense that I haven’t given birth to a daughter. Because I have.
Rather… there’s a shift. With me. I bear the full weight of all that has gone before me, all the angst, the anxiety, the strength, but also the weakness. The inability to make choices, empowering choices, due to… well. Culture? Societal norms? Heritage and expectations of parents, relatives, and society at large? Yes. All of that.

Without resilience amongst the women that I am born of, I would not be here.
But there has been a struggle. A long hard one.

Photo by Anders Roos

Photo by Anders Roos

And it stops here.
I am breaking patterns, that have been passed down, from mother to daughter for millennia.
Tossing them up in the air, and like a skilled juggler, catching the components, and making new patterns.

For all of my foremothers that have walked the earth, and all of my descendants to come – I am breaking patterns.
Healing wounds, wounds of ages past, as well as those of today.

The image of my female ancestors came to me in a session with D. Who else? A catalyst he is. Opening up for what wants to happen. For letting go, as well as letting come. At the time, I wrote about the experience thus:

I saw more of me.
Saw those that came before me, the generations upon generations of women who have given birth to babies, who in turn bore babies, and somewhere along the line, this resulted in my mother giving birth to me. And me giving birth to my daughter.

About holding it in…. or not.
The pivotal moment in time when the path ahead, for the women stemming from my womb, going back all the way to the womb of my First Mother, shifts, no longer carrying the weight, the burden, of judgement and inner harshness, concealed within. Letting it out into the world. Being, perhaps, created by those who cannot stand to see it, visibly, so used to it being concealed. Cringing from the physical aspects of it, when it is recreated outside, rather than sneakily hidden underneath the skin, the flesh, deep within our soulbodies. So much easier to ignore, pretend it’s not existing, turning it into something that-we-must-not-name…

My back pains. Related to this. Without a doubt. A not-so-gentle way to let me know, there’s more I need to let go of! For us. All of us! Knowing… that I would not be where I am, without the strength, resilience, survival instincts and skills of all the women that stand, physically, behind me, all the way back to my First Mother.

Humbled. Honored.
Proud!

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#blogg100 – Carefully protected delusions.

June 5, 2017
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”You always sound better inside your own head and in your dreams than you do in the cold light of the playback room. There, the way you truly sound initially lands on you like a five-hundred-pound weight. Inside your head, you’re always a little better of a singer, a little better of a guitarist and, of course, as with the layman, a little better-looking. Tape and film have no interest in the carefully protected delusions you’ve constructed to get through your day. You just have to get used to it.”

delusionsWhen it comes to how I sound, to myself, physics come into play, because the sound will of course sound differently to me, as I am speaking and singing, when it comes through the spaces of my body, the caverns of my skeleton, constituting the sounding-board that is me; and when it doesn’t. When I hear my self played back to me from a recording, the sound i s different, because then my own voice only comes to me through the normal route for outside sounds, making it into my awareness.

But when it comes to my looks… I don’t know. Something else happens. Or? Maybe physics has the answer there as well? As the perspective I have looking down at my body, automatically has me looking down at myself, somehow elongating me, I am always so surprised to see my mirror-reflection; much shorter and chubbier that what I look like from ”up here”. Makes me wonder though – is the same true also for really tall people? Do you also become surprised at how short you look in the mirror?

Regardless, the carefully protected delusions are perhaps one of the reasons why it’s a struggle – sometimes, or honestly; oftentimes, at least for me –  to be at ease with my own body?

#Blogg100 challenge in 2017 – post number 97 of 100.
The book “Born to run” by Bruce Springsteen.
English posts here, Swedish at
herothecoach.com.

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