anger

I talk an awful lot about forgiveness on this blog – please forgive me. (wink)
I do that because I love you, and I want you to be free of the toxicity of hate, hurt, anger and grudge holding.

Read on. Liz wrote an amazing essay about the ultimate in forgiveness.
It’s a good one, it’s gonna make you cry.
-you’re welcome.

XoxJ

Take it away Liz-

ULTIMATE FORGIVENESS

Dear Ones –

This weekend’s Oprah’s The Life You Want Tour in Houston was incredible. THANK YOU to all who were there, for your energy, your passion, your open hearts.

As usual, I was in the front seat during the all the talks and workshops, leaning in hard to catch all the wisdom I could.

And as usual, it was Iyanla Vanzant who got to me — as in: She made me weep.

This is a photo of me clutching a scarp of paper upon which I wrote something she said — something that, if I can put it into practice, could truly change my life.

Yesterday, Iyanla was telling the story about how her husband of 40 years recently left her for another woman — for a friend of hers actually. She was talking about the anger, the indignation, the grief, the shame, the humiliation of this event. All completely understandable, of course, for such a large-scale betrayal.

Then she spoke in detail about all the steps she took to try to work her way out of her anger and back into grace — because she knew that if she held onto her rage forever it would only burn a hole of bitterness through her soul.

In the end — after all the crying and fighting and suffering, and after working hard to arrive at some model of forgiveness for both her ex-husband and the other woman — she had a revelation of love. She decided to love them. She decided to actually BE IN LOVE WITH THEM. Not just to forgive them, but to LOVE THEM — for their humanity, for their weakness, for their own strange grace, for their intimate role in her destiny.

She said that at first she thought she was going crazy, with this idea of loving them. (“Are you out of your mind, Iyanla? You’re in love with the woman who took your husband?”) But she knew in her heart that love was the only way out of this emotional hell for herself. Huge, holy, magnificent love, And then she said this, about her husband and the other woman, which I wrote down (through tear-filled eyes) on this scrap of paper:

“My love of you — it’s got nothing to do with you. I’m trying to save myself. So I love them. I get to choose my relationship with them. Doesn’t mean I will invite them for Thanksgiving. But I can love them from my altar and from my prayer table IF IT MEANS MY FREEDOM.”

I wept when I heard this.

Your forgiveness of people who have harmed you has nothing to do with THEM.

Your forgiveness is about YOU trying to achieve liberty from the prison of your own suffering, your own anger, you own grief, your own darkness, your own obsessive thoughts, your own indignation.

Love is the only way out of that prison. Radical, outrageous, nearly impossible, superhuman LOVE.

Please understand that — even as I write these words — I do not entirely understand how to get there.

But I really want to get there.

Because I want and need this kind of love and forgiveness in my life so desperately, I can’t even tell you.

And I believe in it, even if I don’t always know how to do it.

I’m gong to cling to this scrap of paper for a long, long time.

(Actually, I’m going to more than cling to a scrap of paper. I should tell you that I just signed up already for an e-course that Iyanla Vanzant is teaching on forgiveness. Because I really need that shit — and there’s something about the way this woman speaks and teaches that goes right through the spine of me and really works for me. I don’t even know what an e-course is, actually, but I signed up for it, anyhow. Because all I know is that her e-course is called HOW TO FORGIVE EVERYONE FOR EVERYTHING, and that’s exactly what I need to learn how to do in this lifetime. What we all need, maybe. Here’s a link to the course, if anyone wants to do it with me: http://bit.ly/1wdp8mf)

I just want to be free.

If anyone out there has had this experience — working through your anger and into forgiveness…and then even further into LOVE — please share it here. I want to learn all I can about it.

ONWARD EVER…INTO GREATER AND GREATER LOVE,
LG

Apropos to what’s been written about this week.

Big love,
Xox

As we rushed out though the smokey maze of the Casino at the old Sahara Hotel in Las Vegas, it suddenly hit me that he had once again forgotten to give me my bonus. It stopped me in my tracks.
Damn him!

We had just finished a week-long, Estate Jewelry Show.
I was bone tired from being on my feet for over twelve hours a day – in heels, and to add insult to injury, our plane reservation left us no time to eat before the flight home, so to top it all off—I was hangry.
In other words—I was in NO mood.

We had grossed over one million dollars – in a week, the two of us, and I was about to fly home empty-handed, once again.

You see, I had a boss that hated to pay me. He just did.
And no carefully scripted notes, or heartfelt talks, or angry outbursts on my part had done anything to change that.

I had coached him repeatedly on the merits of showing respect. It wasn’t difficult, all he had to do was pay me. And not make me ask for my money, which I HATED.

What would this be? The third time that day I’d had to ask him for my money? I was quite familiar with this humiliating fucktard, power play, and I was sick of it! Listen, I had done everything I could think of to sidestep this idiocy! Even after years of his bonus structure consisting of whatever loose cash he had in his pocket, not his fat, overstuffed money clip mind you—but instead his pocket change, I had won one battle by finally getting him to agree to a pre-set amount.

“Why are you stopping?” he yelled impatiently. His aluminum wheelie suitcase, a rectangular R2D2, skipped from wheel to wheel, trying to keep its balance. I could’ve sworn it looked back in my direction with a “help me” face.

He continued his frantic march through the casino toward the door, not even turning around to see where I was.

“ I’d love to get my bonus before we leave?” I asked for the third time, running to keep up. I knew that if I let it slide, even for a day or two, the odds of getting it would become so slim even a Vegas bookie would pass on that bet.

I wasn’t sure he’d heard me when, in one fluid motion, he arced to the right, making a wide, sweeping, u-turn back in my direction. Then he reached into his murse (man purse) and dumped a handful of gambling chips in my direction. Surprised, I reached with out with both hands in time to catch most of them, but watched several make a break for it, rolling on their sides with great momentum underneath the dollar slots nearby.

“That should cover it; now hurry up, we don’t want to miss our plane.”

I stood there red-faced and flabbergasted, knowing I didn’t have any time to cash them in. Quickly, I shoved the chips in every pocket of my purse, and proceeded to get down on my hands and knees to see if I could retrieve the ones that had made their escape.

The pot-bellied, middle-aged woman, who was dangling a cigarette with two inches of ash from her lipstick stained mouth, straddled two stools in front of three slot machines. Without ever looking away from the rapidly rotating numbers she was counting on to change her life, her foot kicked the chips my way, like a bedroom slippered hockey stick.
“Uh, thanks” I mumbled, crawling on the ground in my skirt and heels, totally in awe of her concentration.

“Janet, let’s go!” He bellowed from inside the automatic revolving glass exit doors and then turned right to join the cab line.

I could hear those damn plastic chip clinking together in my bag as I ran to catch my flight back to LA.

In the hour that it takes to get from Vegas to LA, I began to seethe with rage.
Not only had he made me repeatedly ask him, he had literally thrown poker chips at me in lieu of my bonus! I had never felt so disrespected In. My. Life.

I don’t know about you, but when I get in touch with that level of anger, I have a tendency to burst into flames, tears.
Hunched down in my middle seat toward the back of the plane, I cried and cried and cried. Big, wet, sloppy tears.

I decided I would rather die than take the prearranged ride home to Park La Brea with he and his wife. I know that’s what we had agreed to but seriously, someone was going to die if I got in that car with him— and I was way too overdressed to go to jail.

As we walked out to the curb, I saw his wife’s car to the left and without making a sound, (or so much as an indecent hand gesture) I made a beeline to the right and jumped into a cab that just happened to be waiting there in front of me.
The moment the door shut… I lost it.

I began to sob like a little girl, gasping for breath, snot running down my face.
There I was, trapped in a horrible working situation with no solution in sight. What do you do when you ask someone repeatedly to treat with respect and they blatantly disregard that?

I know what you’re thinking, quit! I couldn’t quit. I had the kind of career everyone wanted. Travel, great pay, jewelry, prestige. Which led to a lot of financial obligations, AND I was single.
Wahhhhhhhhhhhh. That always made me cry even harder.

As we wound our way through the late night traffic on LaCienega, I could see the dark, soulful eyes of the cab driver, looking at me in the rear view mirror. If I hadn’t already guessed that he was from India, with his deep brown skin and white turban, his accent gave it away as he asked softly,

“Beautiful lady, why you cry?”

“Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh, I’m just feeling so saaaaaaaad, I don’t know what to do.”

I could see his eyes searching my face in the rear view mirror as I accidentally wiped snot into my hair with the back of my hand.
“Beautiful lady, don’t be sad, it can’t be that bad,” he cooed in his soothing, heavily accented voice.

“Ohhhhhhh it is, I think I hate my boss…he doesn’t show me any respect…he paid me with…”

I started to wail louder, “With poker chiiiiiiiiiiiiips!”

For dramatic effect, I grabbed a couple out of my bag and threw them on the seat.

“Beautiful lady, you have God’s respect and that’s all that matters.”
Really? I guess he had a point.
The cab slowly came to a stop in front of my high-rise apartment building.

Since I had cried the entire ride home, I had to scramble around to find my bag and scrounge for cab fare. As I did, the lovely turbaned cabbie grabbed my suitcase from the driver’s side backseat where I had launched it, opened my door, and wheeled my bag inside the lobby, depositing it in front of the elevator doors. When he returned to the cab, I had composed myself enough to hand him his fare.

“Here you go, thank you for being so kind to me.” I said sheepishly through the tissue that was attempting to clean the river of snot from the side of my face.

“Oh no beautiful lady, you keep that. This ride is on me.”
And before I could argue with him or even thank him, he pulled away into the dark Los Angeles night. As I watched his tail lights fade into the distance, I realized a couple of things that gave me goosebumps.
They still do.

Number one: I never told him where I lived.

I just got in the cab and fell apart while he drove me home — to Park La Brea, which is a labyrinth of apartments, turnabouts and one way streets. Even with the best directions from the back seat, many a cab driver has made a wrong turn and been spit back out onto Wilshire Boulevard.

Number two: There are ten high rises. How is it that he had he managed to navigate all the twists and turns and one way streets inside the complex to deposit me right at my door?
The only answer? He was an angel. Plain and simple.

When I finally managed to come out of my stupor and slowly walk inside to the elevator, I noticed he had propped the doors open with my bag and pushed the button to the ninth floor!

My floor! How did he know?

I really believe that angels are everywhere and only show themselves when we need them.

THAT is the story of my Angel in a Turban.

Carry on,
Xox

We talked in the Wednesday Group about clean living.
B O R I N G……..(insert loud snoring here)

Actually, we talked about it with genuine enthusiasm; healthy eating, minimizing alcohol and caffeine consumption, dialing down the gossip, amping up the exercise, trying some liver cleansing and becoming financially responsible.

It may not seem to make any sense but it all comes part and parcel with becoming self aware.

We must clean our house before the big guns, self esteem, self awareness and self reliance can come to stay.

Here’s where things start to get a bit dicey:
Your life REALLY makes an about face when you become self empowered and ramp up your yoga, meditation, prayer, green juice and self love consumption.

As you undertake this internal housekeeping, not only do you and your liver become furious knuckleheads (temporarily) but so do the people and circumstances around you.

I was told at about this point in my spiritual journey, twenty or so years ago, when I couldn’t believe how ridiculous everyone around me was behaving; this honey of a tongue twister:

You can’t unknow what you now know

Huh?

In other words, there was no going back.
No more Eyes Wide Shut.

Oh…..how I prayed at times to go back to being unconscious, and now so are my women.

All the Good Time Charlie’s that used to appear so charming, jovial, fun and engaging while they dispensed their alcohol fueled advise; now they seem like raging alcoholics, in horrible jobs, with relationships they can’t stand and their advise is just…….well, it’s justBAD.
Honestly.
When did THAT happen?

How did we never see that before?

You’re out there, transforming your little ass off, making all these brave, impressive changes in your life, and the peanut gallery is……. supportive…..except for the ones in the bleachers that want you to stay the same.
They are fearful and they are LOUD.
They call, they text, they email and talk to your family as they fight to remain relevant in your life.
One of the interesting things that happens as you awaken is that the Universe will supply to you, a living, breathing, “devil’s advocate” who embodies all your doubts and fears and becomes like gum on the bottom of your shoe – annoying and hard to get rid of.

It’s a good plan. It causes you to plead your case, gain clarity and steels your resolve to evolve.

As you survey the landscape of your previous life, you realize it was populated by a cast of rather reckless characters, of which YOU were the ringleader.

Your eyes were wide shut as you ran up your credit card debit, enabled a friend, and did your best impression of an ostrich, head in the sand, while bills, the shrapnel of your lousy choices and legal papers gathered around you and swallowed your butt.

It was a bit of a circus, and we all know, when you join the circus – you join for life….unless you open your eyes and clean things up, and that doesn’t make your circus family very happy when you decide to ditch your baggage and leave the Big Top.

Some people around you, old friends and co workers will seem crazy and even a bit frightening. 
Don’t be alarmed, you may just have to chill while the circus leaves town and circles back around.
Give them time.
They’ll get used to the new Eyes Wide Open you, and they’ll either embrace the new, improving you….or not.

In any case, just love them.
The key is kindness and the very thing we all desire – acceptance.
Send them light and love and the courage to open their eyes.

How are the people around you behaving? Are they accepting your “eyes wide open?” How do you avoid getting hurt and angry? I’d love to hear about it!

Sending circus love,
Xox

I’ve recently started a liver detox. 

All the cool kids are doing it, so when the bandwagon came by, I jumped on board.

It was actually circling, in my orbit for a couple of weeks with several people mentioning that they were currently doing it, or that I should try it; which makes me wonder if my liver was sending out silent signals to strangers that it needed rehab.

My liver has gone rogue.

My liver is fucking Sid Vicious.

I was warned that anger could “come up” as a result of detoxing the liver and Sid being the furious malcontent that he is, did not disappoint.

I have an edge

My mouth wants to start a war, leaving land mines of vitriol in its wake, dropping F Bombs from the sky.
My mouth, it’s safe to say, is going to get me in trouble.

I’ve been a complete ass to everyone – but I swear it’s the juice.

Here’s the skinny according to Chinese medicine:

Anger is associated with the liver.
By its nature, anger causes qi to rise, leading to a red face and red eyes, headaches, and dizziness. This matches the pattern of liver fire rising. Anger can also cause liver qi to “attack the spleen,” producing lack of appetite, indigestion, and diarrhea (often experienced by those people who argue at the dinner table or eat while driving).
In a more long-term view, suppressed anger or frustration often causes liver qi to become stagnant; this might result in depression or menstrual disorders.

*It is interesting to note that people who take herbs to release stagnant liver qi often experience bouts of anger as the stagnation is relieved. The anger passes as the condition clears. (Whew) Similarly, anger and irritability are often the determining factor in diagnosing liver qi stagnation.
Many people are relieved to know their rage has a physiologic basis. (relieved, really?)
It is essential to avoid drinking coffee when treating anger-related liver disorders, as coffee heats the liver and greatly intensifies the condition. (Well, that just pisses me off)

When I gave a shot glass of said juice to my husband, his hackles went up, and he shouted out to the kitchen in his best bad husband voice, “don’t give me that shit to drink EVER AGAIN”.

“Hey, take it easy pal.”

I’m telling you, it’s that juice.

So here’s the deal, it’s not one of those heavy-duty, doctor prescribed, Gwyneth Paltrow “conscious cleansing” detoxes.
It’s super simple.

I was told to mix together in a small glass:
pure unsweetened organic cranberry juice
2 tsp of Organic apple cider vinegar
Juice of half a lemon

Then bottoms up.
The bitterness and alkalinity help to balance the enzymes inside the…………
Sorry, give me a minute – – auto-correct just made me mad.

Everyone said I would feel great.
I would start to crave kale and exercise and I would hear angels singing.

Three days. Nothing.

I crave ice cream, movie marathons and yodeling.

Sid is being extremely uncooperative, as often happens with these detoxes. He’s acting like a punk.

My liver doesn’t want to get clean, it wants to play pool, do Jell-O shots and go to the track.

I’ll let you know how this thing progresses, maybe by next week I’ll be able to give it my ringing endorsement.
I’ll be a new woman. (Meh.)

Maybe you should try it and let me know how it goes with you?

FINE, then don’t. See if I care.

Sorry.

Damn that juice.

Attempting to send love,
Xox

“If you’re looking for sympathy you’ll find it between shit and syphilis in the dictionary.” 
― David Sedaris, Barrel Fever

Once upon a time, I hung out with a shaman. 
He was my own personal “pocket shaman.”
He went everywhere with me, and helped me through all the wild things that were happening back then, with his wild eyed magic, his herbs and teas and his amazing energy work.
I was NOT having a good time with my spiritual awakening. I was a sick, whining, complaining, crying, hot mess.

He did love me, so he was somewhat indulgent. But he was so much further along on the spiritual path than I was at that time, that after awhile, he wouldn’t tolerate my behavior.
He would not continue to hear my complaints, no matter how valid. He could not bring himself to listen to my stories of victim hood for one. more. second.
He would just turn and leave the room…….while I was in mid sentence.
With my head in my hands, weeping, I’d beg for his advise about a situation that was causing me intense emotional pain, and his response would be: “We’ve discussed this, you know what I think you should do, I’m not talking about this again with you.”
WTF?! “Don’t you want to help me?”
“I’m not helping you by continuing to talk about it. If you want to stay there, if you want to summon a co-complainer, someone who will join you at your pity party, go call a girlfriend.”

I started to hate him. (I don’t want to say hate….. but I’m being honest here). 
I remember screaming at him to listen to me.
“You’re NOT my friend, you DON’T love me!”
“I DO love you! but you’re right, I’m not your friend, I’m your teacher, I’m here to help you. I will not come join you in your pain. A true friend would not keep you in this misery”
I remember slugging him hard in the arm as he turned and walked away.
Not my proudest moment.

“It is terribly rude to tell people that their troubles are boring.” 
― Lemony Snicket, The Blank Book

My friend Wes is similar. He wouldn’t commiserate with me when both my cats were killed by coyotes within a week of each other, and it almost ended our friendship. He just wouldn’t go there. He listened with compassion, when I cried about it in the beginning; but he wouldn’t indulge my need to keep talking about it, and stay in the “why” of it. He would get quiet, make a joke, or change the subject all together.
God, that was annoying.
He did it again when my business went south. I remember being at dinner with him and feeling so hurt and angry, because he seemed bored with my plight. He listened, but he wouldn’t engage. It was so freaking frustrating; like standing at the net with my racket and my opponent won’t return my serve.
Over and over and over again.
I felt ENRAGED!
The rage inside felt familiar; very similar to what I had felt toward my shaman friend years before. I had to restrain myself from hurling my body across the table and stabbing him in the neck with a fork.
Note to self: I am a pacifist ONLY if you indulge me, by listening to endless hours of my sad, sucky stories.

Staying in wounded victimhood has it’s own special high. With all the words of encouragement and people trying to help, it keeps you from having to stand on your own two feet, move forward, and take some responsibility.
Sympathy can be addictive.

Here’s the thing. They both loved me a ton, and they reacted in the most loving way possible. They wouldn’t stand with me in the energy of my pain for any longer than necessary. It’s a kind of spiritual “tough love.” I get that now.
And they did it at their peril. I felt abandoned and betrayed, and I lashed out accordingly. I strung together tirades of four letter words that would have made a drill sergeant blush, and there were long periods of time where I didn’t see either of them. I wasn’t ready to move on. I wanted to beat the dead horse and then some.
They would not meet me there. They stood in the place of my healing, of my wholeness, not my woundedness……….and they waited for me there.
It took awhile to join them, but eventually, I did.

I want to caution you: Please, Don’t try this at home. It may not go well. People want a shoulder to cry on, and if you take that away; they may punch you.
Be advised, there will be hurt feelings. But it IS the more loving act.
Maybe someone is loving you this way right now.
Food for thought.
Carry on.

Any thoughts? I’d love to hear ’em.

Xox

“Believing in yourself is an endless destination. Believing you have failed is the end of the journey.”
– Anon

The Universe is a self correcting force. It is always aimed toward the highest good. The only things that can make it deviate from this trajectory are fear, anger and guilt.
The freaking Trifecta of Punishment, the Grand Slam of Self Sabotage, The Catholic/ Jewish/ Italian/ Triple Crown.

I hate to break it to ya,
The Universe doesn’t judge, it doesn’t hold a grudge or believe in mistakes or failures. We can count on ourselves for that.
Every time we fall on our faces, the Universe is waiting patiently for us to get up, brush ourselves off, and stop complaining. It knows there is always the opportunity to self correct. There is always tomorrow.
Believe this, and it is the key to your freedom. Don’t; and it will feel like hell.

Note to self: The Ego gives shitty advise.
While the Ego talks you into doing that thing that “seems like a good idea at the time” or “what everyone else is doing”, the Universe takes a comfortable seat and waits for the finale. This is not its first rodeo.
It knows it may take a while, so it brings Sudoku and it’s knitting.
When things inevitably fall apart, because they are built on the quicksand that the Ego provides, the Universe NEVER says “I told you so.”
The Ego ALWAYS does. AFTER it tells you you are a pathetic, no good, loser.
That’s when the anger and self hatred kick in.
Those are the Ego’s henchmen. The Universe doesn’t take their calls.

Since the Universe is self correcting, it will plot another course for your success.
Just like your GPS does when you don’t listen and take the “short cuts.”
While you’re waiting, it’s easy to lose your faith. You’ve mucked it up and things could not look worse. If you stay centered in the present and field every hunch and idea for the future, no matter how crazy or far fetched they may seem, the Universe will deliver the goods. If you fall prey to the Trifecta, she’ll wait……and correct again.

Marianne Williamson likens faith to a pilot making an approach to the airport in heavy fog. He has to trust his instruments to “see” for him and land the plane.
I love that analogy.
You can’t see radio waves, yet you know they exist. The same with gravity.
Even if you can’t see your way to success, or love NOW, there is a bigger picture in which it exists.
Have faith. The Universe will appear like a freakin’ Ninja Navy Seal. It was there all along, crouched in the shadows, just waiting for the right time, you just weren’t aware of it. It’s that stealth. 
And it’s coming in to kick some Ego ass.

Have you fallen prey to the Trifecta? Do you have a Universal Reboot story? I’d love to hear it! Let me know in the comments below.

Xox

I love our Wednesday Women’s group. We get together after a long day, notebooks in hand, and settle into our sacred circle with the intention to transform our lives. We let loose the habits shaped from our pasts, divulge an occasional secret dream, and bask in the fertile conversations of our lives reimagined. Even though Saturday put up a good fight, Wednesday is now my favorite night of the week.

This week we discussed gratitude. I LOVE me some Gratitude, and its sister, Appreciation. I truly believe they are the stepping-stones to a happier existence. I’ve witnessed how they can literally transform a life.

That being said, when terrible things happen in life, and they do; the losses, the failures, the disappointments and the heartbreaks. You do yourself a disservice by immediately slapping a happy face bandage over the feelings.

Back in the day at the start of the “New Age” movement, it was taught that everything could be solved with a positive affirmation and a side of gratitude.
“Be grateful that your life is in shambles, you’ll be a better person. Now say this affirmation: When shit rains down on me, I will smile and grab an umbrella”.

So, that’s what a lot of us did.

I did.

I was the poster child for laughing through tears. I had notes with positive affirmations stuck all over my house. I had them written in lipstick on my bathroom mirror.

I firmly believed that I could “positive think” my way out of every sad, sucky situation. But there was no feeling behind my gratitude, it was all lip service. I was hurting and the last thing I held in my heart at that moment was appreciation for the situation. I could have tattooed an affirmation on my forehead, that still wouldn’t have made it so.

When you know this stuff as well as I do, you think you should implement all the teachings you have in your back pocket to navigate your pain. All you do is delay it. Pain, anger, grief and the rest of the crew HAVE TO BE FELT in order to dissipate.

Then, and only then, can the gratitude flood in and fill the void.
But not one minute before.

Oh shit.
I messed that up for over thirty-five years.

I’ve had “delayed reaction syndrome” regarding my darker emotions. Sadness hits me months later. I can throw a dinner party with balloons and sing with the band minutes after terrible news.

I’m THAT girl.

I misunderstood the directive: This too shall pass.
I never let it pass me, I ran faster, in my endless race of avoidance.

I used to feel guilty for feeling sad and wanting to cry all day. I thought I should be able to rise above it. I would gear up with my pad of Post Its and search for the silver lining every time life took a terrible turn. But often that lining is buried deep under multiple layers of anger, pain and resentment. You have to really get in there and mine for it. Otherwise, a positive affirmation scab can form, and everything just festers underneath.

It’s not pretty, I don’t recommend it.

I do believe you can “Fake it, till you make it” which is affirming a behavior as you learn it, but not until the underlying issues are resolved.
Oh yeah….that.

I hold such deep admiration for those cultures where it’s accepted to wail with grief. Men AND women, what a relief that must be. They just give into it, and let all that emotion out. Ahhhhhhhhhhhh. Seems so much healthier.

I’m always afraid the sadness will be so deep it will swallow me whole, and my wailing will never cease. Dogs will continue to hear it for weeks and pray for sweet relief.

So this is my cautionary tale of not reaching for gratitude too soon.

We discussed this at length on Wednesday, because we are all about transition through transformation. We all agreed that we would not cheerlead someone out of their pain. Myself included, because I am the biggest offender. We would hold the place for them to feel through the layers until the onion is peeled.
We won’t let them wallow either. Tightrope walking, I know. But so do-able in this group, and for that I am TRULY grateful.

Are you someone who can process your emotions in real-time, or are you more like me with “delayed reaction syndrome”. Let me know in the comments below.

XoxJanet