I decided I would use Tara’s We Scout Wednesdays as the spark to keep me blogging. (I know, dear blog reader, that I have left you hanging a bit…here’s to getting it back!)
This week, she has served us up a doozy…by sharing her own, she is cajoling us to expose our soft underbelly, to explore and state (and thus release?) our fears, our struggles in living the creative life (in other words, the life you love).
**Takes deep breath**
There really is no easy way for me to say it: My mother passed away when I was 11, suddenly, traumatically.
My brothers are much older than me, adults by that time. We had just moved back to where I was born, where my mom was born and were settling into a life there. Looking back, I believe I was in shock for a long, long time.
It left a gaping hole in my heart, a very deep and dark hole. Who can describe that when they are 11? I was hurt, angry, sad, numb, repeat, repeat, repeat. I tried many things to fill the gap, the void, the hole, so that I could become whole again. I was tough, independent, somewhat standoffish on the outside…my uncle called me “Stands with a Fist”. I moved frequently, chasing — no running from myself. I partied a little too much and threw myself at unworthy men. I gained weight (and lost it and gained more, you know the drill). I worked too much and appeared “successful”. Went to personal growth groups and workshops and to therapy. Said “I can’t”. On the inside I churned through the emotional roller coaster.
NO ONE, not even me, could fill the role of Mom.
Even through all that, I had creative endeavours. I made jewellery, I knit, I tried other crafty things, I researched family history, I scrapbooked, took up photography, made cards, wrote and wrote and wrote.
And yet, I felt somehow not enough…not Enough…NOT ENOUGH and NOT DESERVING. I couldn’t even keep a mother, how the heck was I supposed to do anything else?
If I had to name the fear that arises from this place of “NOT”, it is that somehow I would be found out to be a fraud…
And the reality is that the life I had constructed for myself, to keep myself safe, was a fraud: constricted, strangled, controlled, driven, fearful.
It wasn’t until I found yoga that I began to see that I was enough, AM enough, AM deserving. There is nowhere to hide on the yoga mat….you are there, in all your glory, doing what you can on any given day, in any given class. And what ever you do is exactly right. I learned to open up my heart; to see the beauty of me and to break away from my old life. It was not me.
Now, in my small moments, it is the fear that keeps me down, that stands in my way: the fear of being “found out”.
I tell you all this not to throw some big pity party, but to air it out, like taking the band-aid off the sore so it can close over, healing itself.
The hole is not near as deep as it was; I am healing, becoming whole.
Because, somewhere deep inside, I believe in myself.