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fieryanmitsu · 4 years

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Worthy | A3! Rare Pairs Week 2020 – Day 1 (Itaru/Izumi)

I AM SO LATE, but welcome to my first entry for the A3! Rare Pairs Week 2020!

This writing event is being hosted by @A3!_69min on Twitter and AO3 and focuses on writing romantic fics for unpopular A3! pairings. As it happens, every single Izumi pairing except Sakyo/Izumi is a rare pair per the event’s definition of rare pair.

SO, MY GOAL IS TO WRITE IZUMI SHIPS ALL WEEK!

Of course, I’m starting off with my OTP – I love ItaIzu so much, I’ll take any excuse to write them.

WORTHY

PROMPTS: Adoration / Jealousy

CHARACTERS: Itaru Chigasaki, Izumi Tachibana

PAIRINGS: Itaru/Izumi

My fanfic masterpost: Here

AO3: Link in my Blog Menu

Izumi was curious.

The question had been on her mind all day since her conversation with Muku over breakfast. The middle schooler had been excitedly telling her all about the shojo manga he was currently reading. Apparently, he hadn’t slept well the night before because he had gotten worked up over the latest chapter.

“You’re staring a hole into my head,” her boyfriend remarked suddenly, though his eyes never left the television screen in front of him, his thumbs flying across his controller.

Itaru was playing some kind of action-adventure game and was currently exploring an underground dungeon with his character. Ever since she had mentioned that she liked the background music, he played this particular game whenever he had to wait for her to finish reviewing her post-rehearsal notes.

“Oh, sorry – I was just… curious about something. But, it’s a bit, er, awkward to ask about…” Izumi responded, one hand fidgeting with the pages of her notebook and the other absentmindedly poking the back of her pen into the Poyo – some pink, round mascot character that Itaru liked – cushion on her lap.

“Oh? Why don’t you try me?”

“Well… I was talking to Muku this morning about the shojo manga he’s reading. There was a scene where the rival character was confessing to the heroine. It was apparently a very heartfelt and passionate declaration of love. Something about how even seeing her with the other guy made his heart feel like it was being torn apart by knives. And that he hated seeing her cry because of that other guy and that he’d give up everything to whisk her away and make her happy. It ended with him asking the heroine to pick him instead.”

“Ahhh, yeah, that’s a classic. Never fails to stir up the fans,” Itaru responded with a knowing nod.

“And then, Muku gave me a 20-minute seminar on classic shojo jealousy scenes and, uh, well… They were more, um, thrilling than I expected? Sooooo, it kinda just, you know… made me wonder,” Izumi stiltedly blurted out. She couldn’t believe she was going to ask him this – her face was already flushed with embarrassment. Maybe Muku’s starry-eyed wonder was contagious. “Do you, umm… ever get jealous of seeing me with other guys?”

“Uh… I’m not sure how to tell you this, but you have twenty other guys, twenty-one if you count Kamekichi, hanging off you – sometimes literally – every single day. If I got jealous every time one of them sat next to you, I’d be six-feet under already.”

“Okay, yeah, that was dumb question – let me rephrase it!” Izumi backpedaled frantically. “What would you do if someone else confessed their love to me – like they were trying to steal me away? Would you be jealous? Would you fly into a blind rage? Or pin me against a wall and forcefully kiss me?! Or barge in and passionately declare: ‘Choose me, not him’?!”

“Man, you really are starting to sound like Muku – all of those options sound awful, by the way. But, in all seriousness, I, uh… don’t think that would ever happen,” he responded with a nervous chuckle.

Izumi felt herself deflate a bit, unable to help feeling just a teensy bit disappointed that he had shot down her fantasies so quickly. At the same time, she wasn’t sure that she could even imagine him acting that way. She just felt like… it wouldn’t be Itaru anymore – and that thought also made her feel uncomfortable. Maybe this whole jealousy thing wasn’t as exciting as she had thought it would be a few minutes ago.

As her thoughts came full circle, she suddenly heard an odd sound from the television. She had been watching Itaru play this game for a few days now and recognized the sounds his character made when he was dying. Thinking that he was losing against a boss, Izumi glanced at the screen and saw that he was just fighting a bunch of normal enemies. She noted that the usual boss music wasn’t playing, either. Yet, his health bar was slowly, but surely, depleting.

Thinking it was strange for him to be playing so badly, Izumi shifted her attention from the television screen to look at Itaru. What she saw made the blood in her veins turn to ice. Unceremoniously throwing her notebook and poor Poyo to the floor, she practically hurled her body across the empty space between them.

Itaru had taught her the basics of how to use his GameStation when she had borrowed a Blu-ray movie from a friend, and she knew that, if she pressed the middle button on his controller, it would bring the user back to the home screen. Reaching over his arm, she pushed down on the middle button and a blue screen immediately popped up, effectively pausing the game. Gently prying the controller away from Itaru’s limp hands, she set it down on his coffee table before she turned off the television screen.

“Itaru, what’s wrong?” she asked worriedly, placing a hand on one of his arms and squeezing it gently.

The salaryman’s brow was furrowed, and he kept his face averted from hers, gaze trained on the floor. Even from his profile, she could see that his mouth was set in a firm and tight line. It had been a long time since she’d seen him make this expression.

“You’re not going to like what I’m about to say,” he responded after a long pause.

Izumi could feel her stomach drop. She had heard those words before – it had been right before her last breakup. She had thought things were going well between them, but maybe she was wrong…?

“Why don’t you try me?” she prompted, trying to keep her voice light as she imitated his words from earlier.

At the same time, she did her best to brace her heart, despite that it was starting to beat erratically. Whatever he said, she would graciously accept it – telling herself that she couldn’t afford to have things be awkward between them.

“Getting jealous over someone… it only happens when you don’t want them taken away from you, right?” Itaru said slowly, deliberately. “So… I don’t think I could ever be jealous… because… I… I don’t feel that way.”

Izumi couldn’t have possibly braced hard enough for that kind of impact. She could feel a hot feeling well up in her throat and tears were already prickling at the back of her eyes.

“Does… Does that mean you don’t want to be with me, anymore?” she asked, unable to help the waver in her voice.

Her question hung in the air unanswered as she watched him clench and unclench his hands on his lap, his eyes still stuck on the floor.

“Itaru, will you look at me? Please?” she begged. She was starting to feel light-headed and she just… She just needed to ground herself somehow.

After a long moment, he shifted his position to angle himself towards her on the couch, though his eyes remained downcast.

Izumi gently cupped his face in her hands and lifted his head to level with her own. She could feel his jaw clenched beneath her palms.

“Itaru, talk to me,” she coaxed gently, fighting to keep her voice steady. “What did you mean earlier?”

Though he didn’t move her hands away, he continued to avert his eyes.

“I… I can’t be jealous,” he began quietly. “Because… if someone else confessed to you, it’d be better that way. I’d be happy.”

“Why would you say that?” Izumi demanded, her tone coming out harsher than she had intended. She inhaled deeply to try and calm herself, though her brain was still rattled by his words. “Weren’t you the one who confessed to me first, Itaru? You asked me to give you a chance, so why would you think that way?”

A long moment passed between them in silence, but Izumi could see Itaru’s emotions warring on his face. She didn’t dare breathe until he finally opened his mouth again.

“Sometimes… I think it was a mistake that I asked you out,” he said quietly, his voice cracking as he continued on. “The more time I spend with you… the more I think about how… how you deserve someone better than me.”

Suddenly, she felt a wet sensation tickle against her fingers. As tears fell from his magenta-coloured eyes, Izumi was struck by several emotions.

The first was awe. For the first time, she understood what it meant when people said that there were beautiful criers. Though she knew that it was morbid, at that moment, she truly thought that Itaru was the most beautiful man she had ever seen, even as tears blotted his cheeks and turned his eyes red.

The second was sorrow. She felt unspeakable sadness that this person before her had struggled through so much in his life that he felt unworthy of being with someone he professed to love and thought that she would be better off without him.

Anger was the third. She was angry at herself for being unable to reassure him, to stop him from feeling this way despite the amount of time they had already spent together.

Last of all, she felt a surge of… something. She had only been in a couple of casual relationships before, and none of them as passionate as the one she had experienced with Itaru in the past half a year. Nor were any of them as comfortable as what she felt when she was with him. Spending time with Itaru both calmed her and brought butterflies to her stomach. Never in her life had she felt like she mattered as much as she did than when this man looked at her.

Was this love? She didn’t know, since she had no landmark to compare it against. But, what she was sure of was that she didn’t want to see Itaru look this way. She wanted to see him with his usual crooked smirk, just like the one he always gave when he teased her. She wanted to see his eyes crinkle like they did when he won a game. She wanted to see a smile on his face – like the one that bloomed across his face whenever the curtains fell after a successful Spring Troupe performance.

She didn’t know when it had started, but she was crying as well.

“Itaru,” she started, ignoring the salty taste in her mouth as her tears rolled past her lips, turning his face in an attempt to meet his gaze. “You… You don’t mean that, do you.”

“I do,” he said firmly, still refusing to look her in the eye. Instead, he took her hands in his and removed it from his face – but rather than letting them go, his fingers squeezed hers tightly.

“No, you don’t,” she replied just as forcefully, finding her footing again as her heart resolved itself. “Because if you did, then you wouldn’t look so torn right now. Your hands wouldn’t be shaking. If you would truly be happy to have someone take me away from you, then you wouldn’t have been dying against enemies that you can usually beat in your sleep.”

Itaru closed his eyes, as if he were wincing in pain.

“Itaru, please. Don’t push me away.”

A fresh stream of tears rolled down his face as he let out a rasping breath, shoulders shaking.

“Did you know, the look on your face just now was so similar to when you told me you wanted to quit the troupe? You couldn’t look at me when I asked you to admit that you weren’t interested in theatre – that you didn’t care about performing with the others,” she said softly, using her thumb to wipe away the tears streaking his face.

As a quiet sob tore its way out of Itaru’s throat, he leaned forward and buried his head against her shoulder, quickly soaking the material of her shirt. Letting her own tears fall, she lightly ran her fingers through his hair.

“I… I want… to be with you… I want to feel worthy of you,” he gasped out in between sobs.

“Itaru, I’m not some deity on a pedestal. I’m just a regular person, like you. You don’t have to be worthy of anything to be with me,” she replied.

She felt him shake his head against her shoulder, his hair tickling against her chin.

“If you still think that way, then… then let me tell you what I told you once before. Give yourself a little more time,” Izumi said, wrapping her arms around him, and nuzzling her face into his hair. “You owe it to yourself to keep trying. And… it’s not all on you. I’ll keep trying, too. I want to be a person that’s worthy of your efforts.”

Then, after a long moment cradled in her arms, Itaru slowly lifted his head and finally allowed his red-rimmed eyes to meet hers, a small, lop-sided smile sneaking its way onto his lips.

“Well… then I hope you’re ready to accept responsibility for your actions again.”

“Of course!”

I had hoped to put this out on the actual first day of this week, but I kept rewriting it because I wasn’t satisfied with it. Even now, I’m not completely pleased with the finished product, but, I honestly don’t know how long it would take me to finish writing if I kept mulling over it! So, I decided to finally just settle with this version and post it and not look back!!

In the end, I still got my central point across: which is that I wanted to write about how and why someone doesn’t feel jealous in a romantic relationship. And, so, this happened, haha. But, I didn’t want a sad ending, so I ended up on a hopeful note.

Anyway, I APPARENTLY ONLY WRITE ITAIZU ANGST. I’m so sorry, Itaru – I’ll do you right next time!! No, really, HAHA. My entry for Day 2 (which will hopefully get written out in the next couple of days) is another ItaIzu and it’s NOT sad, I promise. In fact, it’s just PWP, LOLOL.

If you liked my first entry, please do stick around for my other pieces for “A3! Rare Pairs Week 2020”! After my ItaIzu for Day 2, I’ll be moving on to other Izumi pairings. It’s a secret for now which pairings will all be covered in the end, but I’m here to spread the Izumi love!!

Thank you for reading and please do leave a comment letting me know what you think! Any reblogs are always greatly appreciated and would really help me out!

I hope to see you again! Bye for now!

-Anmitsu

#a3!#act! addict! actors!#itaru chigasaki #izumi tachibana #itaru x izumi #chigasaki itaru #tachibana izumi #a3! game #a3! act! addict! actors!#act addict actors #a3! actor training game #itaru chigasaki x izumi tachibana #a3! itaru #a3! izumi #a3! rare pairs week 2020 #anmitsu writes

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brookscharis · 4 years

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how to own your story

I have to share my shortcomings and weaknesses. I refuse any space for the enemy to put me in a little box lined with mirrors so I can hatefully stare at myself from every angle. If I was to live for myself and fulfill a self defined purpose, I would only focus on my strengths and show off my greatness - my great taste in music, clothes, media, etc. But now that God has revealed Himself to me and showed me how, compared to Him, I’m not great at all, I’ve allowed Him to fulfill His purpose for my life. Which is the same for all believers –– to make Him and His greatness known, not our own.

I wrench and twist with embarrassment and pain when I think about the things I’ve done. How I’ve treated people and even how powerless I feel in the present. I lack the clarity to truly see my actions or know if I’m still perpetuating the same patterns. The enemy tells me that I’ll never get it right, that I will always be in this infant state of never changing. But, good thing satan is named, “the Father of Lies.” It’s true that I will never get it right, that’s what helps me to stay dependent on God. I am an infant in the eyes of God, I’m His child and He’s my Father. However, I am a new creation that God has began a good work in that He is faithful to finish.

I worry that I don’t deserve the mercy of God, even though I know I don’t. His mercy is a gift that doesn’t depend on what I do or who I am, but it’s just who He is. I often ask myself how I have the audacity to represent God when I’ve been so mercilessly selfish and defiant toward authority in my past. But it’s not audacity, it’s being obedient despite how I feel, we are called to be ambassadors of the Kingdom. I know I’m unworthy of the calling because I struggled with (and still struggle) with hating anyone and anything that got in the way of my desires. I played favorites and I never took no for an answer. And it was praised as “ambition” and being “determined”. But really, it severed close friendships in my life and led me to diva levels of pride.

At the beginning of my Junior year in college, I cut off friendships that I had for 2 years -- cold turkey with no warning. As soon as I made that decision, I instantly regretted it and decided to run away from the seeds that I planted. I was interested in studying abroad, not by coincidence but because of convenience. It didn’t matter where I was going or what the program actually entailed, I impulsively poured all of myself into the process of fleeing the continent. I moved out of my dorm before Christmas break and went home to wait until February to leave for Rio de Janeiro, Brazil.

While I was home, I kept replaying the details over and over. I cut off one in person and three others through Instagram DMs. I would jump from regret to “that’s what they get!” incessantly over and over again. My sudden rejection toward them felt justified because I felt like an outcast in the group, I only liked hanging out with one of them. Even though they would include me in plans sometimes, I had difficulty understanding the inside jokes or feeling wanted. I had a favorite friend and started developing friendships with the others because she was friends with them. I was fake, but I blamed them for a long time. I had so much resentment toward them that swelled into pride and it blinded me. It took being home, 3 months after cutting them off to realize that I was running from them because I was wrong. I despised the connection they had with each other to the point where I didn’t even value them as people. I let hatred and jealousy keep me from respecting them enough to end a 2 year friendship face to face. I was a coward. I hated myself for a very long time. Every day my brain would go on a loop, “you’re toxic, you’re trash, you’re emotionally abusive, you’re a narcissist, you’re an abuser.” My thoughts were debilitating me and I let them, I felt like this was the proper punishment for what I did. I felt like I needed to condemn myself.

But rewind to before I made it home for Christmas break, I was in the Chicago airport and I missed my flight. I had a layover for about 2 hours so I decided to find a place to chill. While sitting down and thumbing through YouTube video recommendations on my feed, I found “Wretched TV.” The first video I saw was of a tall skinny, Abraham Lincoln looking white man on a podium debating theology with college students. They asked the hard questions about Christianity that I could never answer as a believer. I was captivated by the certainty and logic of the man’s answers and I found myself going down a rabbit hole. I thought this was my first introduction to the world of apologetics, however, before this I saw Preston Perry do the same thing in a more conversational manner on his channel “BOLD TV”.

“Wretched TV” led me to “Living Waters Ministry” videos and that channel changed my life forever. This was the first time someone ever broke down the gospel for me in a way that I could understand. I could see the full magnitude of my sin and the holiness of God. Ray Comfort (the guy in those videos) referenced the verse, “No one is good, no not one.” (Romans 3:10) And in that moment, I had a hope that I couldn’t explain. I felt like I was a good person before I did my friends dirty, but now that I made that mistake, I was a good as filthy rags to be disposed of. But this man, Ray Comfort, was telling me – actually, a stranger that he was interviewing in his videos – that we are all in danger of eternal punishment, even if we think we’re a good person. Because to be “good” is to be morally excellent, which only God is. The standard isn’t even based on doing “good” things or deeds in order to appease God, it’s placed on doing it from a genuine heart posture that wants to serve God. “All have fallen short of the glory of God.” (Romans 3:23) After I watched one video, I watched another, and another and another. The questions I had about faith that I was never comfortable enough to ask in church were given answers in these videos. I finally felt like I was getting it! I finally saw Jesus as the God who doesn’t want to condemn me for my life of sin, but wants to save me from my life of sin.

Even though I grew up in church, I never heard the gospel as it’s own separate message, it was always just sprinkled into the sermon –– that Jesus died on the cross for our sins. I didn’t know what that meant and I didn’t really care. I knew that to keep things peaceful in my home, I needed to go to church with my family and pray before I ate dinner. Later on in high school and early college, when I was distant from God and believed in astrology, law of attraction, angel numbers, and pursued a same sex relationship, I still prayed in Jesus’ name. I knew of Him in a religious sense, but not in a personal way. In 2018, when I had enough of the confusion and darkness of new age beliefs, I surrendered everything, including my sexuality to God –– I fasted, worshipped, went to church, and was even baptized –– but I did all of this from the wrong place in my heart. I did it to earn favor and love from Jesus, I did it because I wanted Him to change me and make me a better person. I didn’t know that He already loved me so much that He sacrificed His own life for me, before I ever wanted Him. He did that just in case I wanted a relationship with God. Just so I could be saved from the torment of sin and be right with Him. I was already favored and chosen by Him. Even while I was His enemy, He kept me and protected me. Once I realized that, I clearly saw Jesus as my savior and friend. It didn’t feel like a religious story anymore, it became reality and I could clearly see that there is no other way to the Father. I want to know Him more out of gratitude, not obligation. If it wasn’t for the Holy Spirit drawing me near to God, if it wasn’t for those videos popping up on my feed to share the gospel with me, if it wasn’t for God’s word being truth and Him revealing it to me –– I would still be tormenting myself over my mistakes.

Like Romans 8:1 says, “There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.” Actually, you should take the time to read all of Romans 8.

We are not the hero in our story, it’s always God. He is our Redeemer and our Restorer. If it wasn’t for God’s mercy on me, I would not have this blog. I would not post Tik Toks about His love and how to grow closer to Him. I would be bound by the past and the opinions of others would still be my god (I still struggle with this, but I’m learning how to surrender more and more everyday). I am a new creation with a heart of flesh and not stone, I was spiritually dead and now I am alive, I was truly lost but now I am found. I was blind but–– ya’ll get the point.

I did nothing to be in this position. I didn’t see much of a choice when deciding to follow God or continue in the darkness and confusion of my life of sin. I hated my life, so I gave it away. Like Matthew 16:25 (NIV) says, “For whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for me will save it.” He is love. One of the reason why I fell in love with following Jesus is that, as humans, we are to fully embrace how in need of God we are. How is anyone supposed to know Jesus as a savior if we front (or pretend) like we don’t need saving? The Christians around you who model being “perfect” need the most prayer because that’s pride. If we boast in our weaknesses, that’s when Christ’s power rests upon us (2 Corinthians 12:9). There’s no need to project a god-like image when Jesus didn’t even do that Himself (Philippians 2:5-11).

Your story is never supposed to show how strong and great you are, but how merciful and present God is in our times of trouble. When we are afflicted, He is with us. When we afflict others and do them wrong, He corrects us and is merciful. Share His greatness so other’s can have the same hope that you feel from reading my story. It’s not about us and it’s not about our reputations. It’s about making Christ known.

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fulloflesbeans · 7 years

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Hazel Eyes & Cake Pops [Ch. 7]

Read on Ao3 here

"Work, work, work, work!" Rachel cheered me on as I attempted to do a model walk out of the bedroom with my new clothes. Every time I took a step, "work" would be chanted.

I went through the many shirts, sweaters, and hoodies already. It was fun to listen to Rachel's compliments and fixing anything on me that would make the outfit better. Right now, I was wearing khaki jeans for the first time, one of the black "boyfriend tees", and a red-and-blue flannel tied around my waist, but I still wore my old sneakers. I put my hair up again, even though my undercut thing was growing fast.

So far, it has only been me trying on the new clothes. I watched as Rachel had her hand on her chin, pondering something as she looked me up and down.

"Maybe it would look a little bit better," Rachel got up and rolled my sleeves twice, "if we did that."

It was a whole new style I wasn't familiar with. I was really into it; it would just take some time to get used to.

"Too gay," Rachel rolled them back down, "That was too gay."

"I look like I know how to skateboard, but that's a fat lie." I couldn't stop looking down at the pants, mostly. Rachel was highly influenced by Californian styles, as she was from Long Beach, and it showed. What was the Oregon style anyway? Was there one at all?

"Girls are into that," Rachel encouraged, "And I could totally shave down your undercut again, if you want."

"That would be nice. Maybe I should look gayer." I rolled the sleeves again. I felt gayer just doing that.

"I'll fix it when you're done modelling, get into the next outfit, girl!" Rachel pushed me back into the room again.

Even I was starting to get a little excited. It took a moment to take the pants off and put another pair on. It was black pants, apparently the ones used specifically for skating, and a white hoodie. To add to the skating effect, I put my hair down and put the black beanie on.

I walked out, followed by Rachel's clapping and whooping. I did a few poses for her, but they were slightly exaggerated. I felt weird about getting all the attention; I almost kinda liked it.

"Okay, your turn to model something." I fall onto the couch right next to her.

"Don't mind if I do," she goes into the room, "Prepare to be amazed!"

Chloe and I had to watch her fashion shows on YouTube and they were pretty interesting. Rachel had a stronger presence than everyone else and wore the clothes with such confidence and pride. She was in the Fashion Week shows and we wished we could have seen that. Rachel might be up to becoming a Victoria's Secret angel, but she hasn't talked about it.

Rachel came back out, wearing the leather jacket she bought from Gucci, ripped black jeans, and a strappy white bralette under. My mouth might have been hanging to the ground, because she laughed as she looked at me. Rachel has gotten in shape and had well-defined abs, making the outfit a lot more jaw-dropping.

"This jacket was meant for Chloe, but it looked good with these shoes." She showed off her Jimmy Choo boots.

I knew that jacket was too big for her. She said she went into Gucci to buy something for herself, guess she changed her mind.

I took my phone out, "I'll send a pic to Chloe. Give me your best."

She gave some "jacket off one shoulder and thumb in belt loop" poses, pretending to put her hair up in a ponytail, looking into the distance while her jacket fell to her elbows, and one close-up of her winking and sticking her tongue out. I took as many pictures as possible for every pose.

"Which one should I send?" I asked her as I looked through every one.

"You don't want to take one together?" She took her phone she left on the couch.

"I think she would prefer to see you."

Rachel pouted, "Just one."

I sighed, but I smiled and nodded, "Just one."

Rachel took selfies constantly from what I saw from her account, but since she arrived here, it has only been her food and the nicer areas we go to. She might be saving them for a something special. Rachel was so pretty and taking a picture with her made me feel unworthy. She had her arm around my shoulders and we just smiled for the picture. She clicked the button two times; she seemed satisfied.

"Okay, let me see all the ones you took." Rachel put her phone down again.

I haven't been able to use my Polaroid camera for anything, but only because there just wasn't anything that felt right. I would like to take professional pictures of Rachel eventually, but I needed to find a place and time.

"I really like all of these," she groaned, "I can't choose one!"

"I can help, somehow," I took about ten of each pose, "We can just choose one of each and send those ones."

I was stuck with an iPhone 4 and couldn't stop admiring Rachel's 7 Plus. I wished I had a case on mine. She seemed to have a million different ones from designs of red roses, cherry blossoms, marble, and a bird with its wings outstretched.

"That's such a good idea," she started to delete duplicates, "I'll find my favorites."

I watched as she deleted them after looking at them for a second, eventually left with four photos.

"Do you do that with your selfies?" I asked.

"I'm going to let you in on something," Rachel put her voice low, "Every model I've ever met do this. I only do it sometimes. Edit their face and everything, it’s not shocking anymore."

She handed my phone back to me, "This is so fun."

"I'm having fun, too." I just text Chloe first. Hey, we did a fashion show.

I added an emoji at the end to just irk her.

"Now," Rachel opened a browser on her phone, "Do you like these clothes or do you love these clothes?"

"I love them, Rachel. I'll need to repay you sometime."

"Don't, it's fine, I'm happy buying you these things."

My phone vibrated.

NO EMOJI

Must have been fun. You're learning from the best.

Some things never change. All I did was send the pictures; her reaction could be anything. She must be bored if she answered so quickly.

"How bored do you think Chloe is?" I asked while going to a different app on my phone.

"She must be hella bored. She might be dying from it."

The TV was still on, but on mute. It was close to one AM, but neither of us were tired. We weren't bored, trying our new clothes and cheering each other on as we did was the most exciting thing I've done so far. Earlier this week, Rachel made me play this game while different shows were on. She put it on mute and made me say what we think they were saying. It was fun, but I was still awkward and more forced to be funny. She suggested to try again, but the chances of that were second to none.

About thirty minutes passed and Chloe still hasn't replied.

"I think she's speechless." I checked my messages again and it was still the pictures. I was proud of myself and the camera for taking such nice pictures.

"I hope she's okay," Rachel looked over my shoulder, "I wouldn't want her crying in the club."

Her phone was open to Tumblr. It looked like she only followed aesthetic blogs, but my blog was forty percent that and the rest were memes. A lot of the pictures were of various birds and what I think are dream catchers.

"What's your Tumblr? I got one too."

"Oh, it's my name and birthday," Rachel scrolled a little more, "You would have a Tumblr."

"It was for memes. What do you have one for?"

"When I'm sick of talking about myself and promoting things."

Chloe finally text back. She sent a picture, the one that goes "have you ever seen a woman so beautiful you started crying?".

Wish I could leave.

I was going to show Rachel until Chloe sent in another text.

Fuck it, I'm going home right now.

I showed Rachel. Chloe would prefer that I didn't, but I figured Rachel would get a kick out of it.

"You really did it now." I said to her.

Rachel's eyes widened, "It started sweet. What is she gonna do, cry on me again instead?"

"She might really be sniffling in the club, at least. I have no idea what she'll do."

The both of us just turned the volume up on an old school Disney channel movie—the one about mermaids. It was still at the beginning when the main character's birthday was starting.

"You know what, you go change," Rachel directed, "I have a bad feeling about this."

I didn't protest. I changed into my comfy sweatshirt and sweatpants and got the couch ready for me to sleep on. Rachel sat down again on top of my blanket, letting out a sigh as she took her shoes off.

"You're not going to brush your teeth?" She asked like a concerned mom.

"I'll do it later. I may or may not eat later." I bundled into my blanket. I took my beanie off; it was getting a little hot.

It wasn't until a quarter into the movie we heard the door unlocking. Rachel was alarmed and watched the door's lock jiggle around. I was only worried if Chloe couldn't open it. I mean, if I was technical, Chloe was home in the morning after all.

The door swung open and Chloe walked in, shutting it, placing her keys in her back pocket, and then finally taking her jacket off.

"Chloe, you're back so soon, what brings you here?" Rachel acted like she never saw the texts. She stood up and we watched Chloe's actions. Suddenly, she dropped her jacket to the floor and went up to Rachel, abruptly grabbing from the waist and lifting her off the ground. Rachel let out a squeak, and then wrapped her arms and legs around her to hold on. Something told me they've done this "stand and carry" position before.

Chloe stayed silent as she proceeded to go into the bedroom.

"Max, don't come in!" Rachel yelled. After that, the door closed. I only snickered to myself before I raised the volume up again. I became too comfortable in bed, so I decided to brush my teeth and went to sleep.

Yet, I couldn't. I was unable to sleep, not because of them or the TV, but there was this nagging feel hitting me against my side, like it was trying to tell me something. It was so annoying and I flipped around on the couch about ten times. I sat up, sitting crisscross and rubbing my eyes until I saw colors. What was it? I wasn't jealous of them; I was perfectly fine, I think. Was it subconscious? Was my brain kicking itself because its human couldn't talk to a girl she liked? Was I secretly hating myself? It has been a while since I liked someone so much I could barely look at her. Damn it, I should have asked for Kate's number before I ran off. I couldn't help but think that she hung out with me just so I didn't give myself a concussion.

Fucking sucks.

I rested my arms on my lap, slouched over and staring down at the floor, trying to get the feeling away from me. There was something wrong or something wrong close by.

It couldn't just be her. Sure, I was a gay wreck, but I was managing. I was pushing myself too hard. There was something else that wanted my attention.

It was fair to say I got no sleep that night.

#life is strange #max caulfield #kate marsh #marshfield #my fanfiction

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fictionaltortoise · 7 years

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Inspiration In All Places

My problem: I get an idea, and before I’ve even attempted it, I talk myself out of it.

It’s probably been done before:

True, it likely has. Has it been done by you though?

It’s stupid, no one will like it:

No one? That’s a lot of ground to cover, isn’t it?

It won’t be perfect:

You’re right. It won’t, because it can never be perfect.

The idea for this blog hit me when I was supposed to be writing, but instead, found myself in the black hole that is You Tube. (Also see: Instagram, Facebook, Snapchat, or even Google Search.) What I’m getting at is this: When it’s time to sit down and write, suddenly anything can become entertaining. Cat videos ü Makeup Tutorials üWhat I eat in a day üIt gets pretty ridiculous, quickly. (Reasons, besides the obvious that this is a waste of time: My cats are cuter than any on the internet, I barely wear makeup, and I’m assuming it’s some sort of food, like any normal human would eat.)

It’s not that I don’t want to do it. Write. I do. I just don’t think I can do it justice. My grand ideas suddenly become mediocre and I’ve already deemed myself unworthy before the first letter hits the page.

Words are intimidating. Or in my case, the lack of them is intimidating. That bright white, close to blinding, far too empty Word Document (yes, I capitalize it, because it is that important and daunting, much like a final boss in a video game).

I was watching a music video of a song that had come up several times on my Pandora station, and it hit me how far inspiration can reach.

Was this the best song I’d ever heard?

No.

Did it have an effect on me?

Yes, for whatever reason it did. (I’m not getting into the justification of it. Just trust me when I say, that at the time, it affected me.)

I was prepared. I knew what I was going to do. I had my own story to tell. It wasn’t the lyrics in this case, but the visuals, the actual video itself. I don’t know what the artist’s story was. It didn’t seem clear to me (probably drugs), but there was something there. And I was going to write it.

Wasn’t I?

With my best intentions, the answer is

Yes.

I failed myself five minutes later, when I was staring at the aforementioned Word Document, and my parasitic worry took over.

What if people found the idea stupid? Or worse, what if they found the song stupid? What if they couldn’t understand what I saw in it in the first place? What if, my taste in music turned people off, and they refused to read another thing I wrote ever?

First off, I’m not going to flatter myself. I’m not that powerful: to turn droves of people off with one post? Who do I think I am?

Secondly, who cares? All of these questions didn’t need to be answered, and really didn’t even need to be explored, or brought up in the first place.

I’m not going to pretend it’s the best or most clever idea.

The most important thing is that it hasn’t been done by me.

My weakest point is no follow through. And I’m ending that cycle now.

Another long night and sleep had eluded her. Lyla sat in bed, cross legged. Her body ached, and the four walls of her bedroom no longer felt safe. Disappear, she whispered, wishing for a moment that it was only her in the world. The television at the side of her bed, alive with static, swallowed her words, camouflaging them in the gray, and went black. Silence blanketed the room and an ear popping pulse took over. The door of her bedroom was closed, but the house rumbled with the buzz of her roommates and friends. The television came alive in a quick flicker, the tail end of a used car commercial. “Here, you get exactly what you want,” said the man, with a wink. The volume reached max, and a din of music took over. Lyla inhaled, and held the breath in the pit of her stomach, willing the silence to return. The room was too small, claustrophobic, and her body vibrated with noise and panic. Across the room, the curtains fluttered, and streams of light flickered through. The beige walls were bare, and bulged with moisture, slowly becoming marred in cracks as she stared at them. She pushed herself from bed, and crossed the room, her heartbeat a hammer in her chest.

The hallway light was on, although dim and she wrestled with the door for a moment, refusing to remove the sweatshirt she’d tucked beneath it the day before. She looked to the ceiling, and realized the cracks were ripping through the house. The palm of her hand was pressed to the hallway wall, a guide as she walked its length, not taking her eyes off the trailing crack. It stopped at the kitchen’s edge, and she dropped her gaze. A throng of people hovered near the kitchen, the heat of the day obvious with the cluster of bodies. Lyla pushed her way through, to arrive at the its center. The refrigerator was askew, and one side had been painted aqua, the image of a squid drawn on in thick black lines. On the ceiling, the erosion had gathered and begun to eat a hole, revealing blue sky and heavy clouds. The kitchen came alive with movement, every item lifting and tilting towards it like a magnet. Lyla felt the uncomfortable shift as the house began to unearth itself. An image of the television, and the used car salesman flashed in her mind, the toothy grin of the man seared behind her eyes. She pushed herself through the screened door, letting it slam in the frame behind her, her gaze locked on the floating bodies of her friends being gently tugged through the gaping hole. They were complacent, their bodies relaxed as if they’d known their purpose was sacrifice.

Every nerve in her body ached to run, but Lyla stood in place, her feet planted firmly in the gravel. Her pores sucked up the humidity and her skin beaded with sweat. “Here, you get exactly what you want,” came the voice from the unplugged television, before it shattered midair. Lyla spun on her heel, and moved forward several feet. The house, at her back had ripped from the ground, severed cleanly from the foundation, levitating around her. She stared in awe as it scattered, without making a sound, the contents of her world spilling like a bag of sugar. It dissolved in the air, turning into a fine mist that pricked her skin and bounced off in waves. Lyla pushed herself forward, each step steady and traveled through the alley, aware that the long line of fence was still firmly in place. The ground beneath her was motionless, but an old car began to shiver and rise into the air. It rocked in place for a moment, but was quickly slung upwards and disappeared. Everything around her burst and popped into tiny shards, and were quickly absorbed by something above. The buzz of the city had dispersed, and Lyla stood alone, at the end of the neighborhood. She was standing amongst nothing, fog rising from the ground. The entire neighborhood leveled, and the city beyond had begun to fracture. Lyla sat to the ground, her knees beneath her, and she pushed her face to the sky. The slightest hint of moisture hung in the air, and she closed her eyes, waiting for the downpour. “What you want,” said the man from the television, his voice a staccato drop from above.

Below is the video I got the idea from. For this one particular, its not the words that are important, but the visuals, so if you don't like it, just mute and enjoy!

youtube

#amwriting #amworking #fictionaltortoise #ashleywebb #inspiration #writer #update #creativity #storytime

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www-myjourneyasasurvivor · 5 years

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These Things Called Emotions...

It’s been so long since I’ve last written on this blog. Healing is a strange thing. There are so many ups and downs. Just when I think I’m on the upside of my pain, something or someone pops up to remind me how much I still haven’t healed. It’s such a painful process. Painful, but honestly so worthwhile…and necessary. I’m sure that sounds crazy. I have felt emotions I’m not sure I’ve ever let myself feel. When I go through these periods of transformation, the emotions seem so familiar; however, the intensity is almost unbearable at times. This process is continuing to teach me about myself, about how I feel about myself as well as what I truly feel inside I deserve. I’m also learning to trust my intuition.

Throughout my life I’ve always been hard on myself. Harder than anyone could ever be on me. I used to say “don’t worry about hurting my feelings with your criticism….it doesn’t matter how harsh you are because I’m harder on myself than you can ever be.” Why is it that we are so hard on ourselves? We are only human after all. This thing called life is supposed to be about learning and growing. Funny thing is, looking back throughout my life, I’ve realized I’m the only one holding me down. Blaming others or situations don’t do much to solve any of my issues. For 49 years, even as strong as I know I am, I’ve held that “victim” mentality. For the first time since I left office over a year and a half ago, I attended a council meeting. For some odd reason, I feel like I’m in between worlds still. I miss being in office as much as I find it repulsive. Is it ego or is it me not living out my purpose? A year ago I would have said it was just my ego missing it. Now? I miss serving. I miss feeling like I’m doing something good. I miss helping others on a large scale. Ego may have gotten in the way during the middle of my term but it’s not why I ran. It’s not what sustained me during the really hard times. I was able to sustain those times because I was living in my purpose and I’m still working on finding that “thing” that fills my cup.

I’m not sure what I was expecting Monday by going to the council meeting. I don’t think I was expecting anything to be honest. What I found were some very wonderful people I’ve missed for a long time still there smiling and offering me support. I felt so grateful for their warmth and love. For the rest of the people in those chambers, many of them elected, I just got more of what I had become accustomed to….silence. Not a word. Not one acknowledgment after four years of service. It’s this feeling I’ve been processing since Monday. Obviously, I still have some “victimhood” to work through. Watching everyone from a distance has been an incredible learning experience. Politics is such a façade. The ones you feel are your allies or friends one day can and will change at the drop of a hat…or vote. Sadly, many haven’t realized that yet. I have learned so much about myself these past two years. No one can make me feel unwelcome or unloved or unworthy but myself. I’m stronger now. I am beautiful. I am confident, and I am deserving. I can’t control what others do or say. I can only control how I think and feel about myself and the situation. What an incredible lesson….really.

Tonight, I ran into a woman who was like a second mother to me. We haven’t spoken since the first restraining order I filed against my ex-husband. Like so many, it was hard to determine who was telling the truth. In fact, this is something every domestic violence survivor has to come to terms with. No one is in the room when the fights happen so it’s always ‘He said-She said’. Her relationship with him went many years beyond me. It was such a loss for me because I loved this person dearly- still do. While we didn’t speak tonight, I know we both could feel the energy between us. Love and forgiveness has replaced the hate and hurt I’ve held in my heart and that’s a huge deal for me. The Universe has an interesting way of helping us heal. As if walking me through each layer of hurt, slowly, I’ve come into contact with people and issues one step at a time. While the pain feels unbearable at the time, I’ve somehow always been able to work through it. Just when I think I’ve healed, something else pops up I have to work through. It’s painful but each time I feel like I’m getting better at dealing with the full extent of my emotions. Feeling them as intensely as I do has caused me to confront the shadow side of me. I never realized how many emotions I've tried to numb all these years- how many I prevented myself from feeling. I’m finally to a point that I can look back and see everything happens for a reason- and believe it. Each day, each emotion, I become a better version of myself. For that I’m grateful….

I still have a long journey ahead of me in healing…but don’t we all? I’ve come to believe this is what life is all about. Becoming a better version of myself- and even if that’s not everyone’s purpose here on earth, I’m comfortable for the first time loving me for me. All of me.

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treehugginglibrarian · 7 years

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The Strongest Librarian & the Littlest CrossFitter

Me: "I've tried to convince my library friends to come to the gym with me. They're all scared of you guys. Probably because I've told them I'm the littlest CrossFitter. Since I'm the strongest librarian, they assume you're all huge and scary." Coach: "The Strongest Librarian and the Littlest CrossFitter. That'd make a good blog post." Me: *challenge accepted*

And so I write. Or attempt to write. About my "CrossFit Journey." It's something I've given consideration to writing for a while now. "At the six month mark," I told myself, only to not bother writing it. "The first time I RX a WOD," I told myself, only to not bother writing it. "If you actually attempt every workout in the Open," I told myself. This time, I guess I'll actually write it.

Because I did.

I attempted, with varying levels of success, every workout in the CrossFit Open. Had you told me in March of 2016 that I would be participating in the CrossFit Open in March of 2017, I would have rolled on the floor in laughter. I think I'd known for awhile, in the back of my head, that I would eventually join a CrossFit gym. How could I not, given who I was dating? She'd been at a CrossFit gym for forever. The gym was life, sanity, a safe space. I just thought about my joining in the same abstract way you think about anything that is going to happen "eventually," but for which that "eventually" is a long way off.

Then I broke myself. And gained weight.

A little back story, so those statements make a bit more sense. I completely hate my body. Or, more accurately, I used to completely hate my body. Now I only sort of hate my body, which sounds awful, but is rather remarkable progress. No one beat me as a child or told me I was unworthy. I'm just like way too many women in America in that I look in the mirror and see something that I don't like. If it was severe enough for me to turn to drastic measures, like avoiding food or puking my food back up, a shrink would have diagnosed me with body dysmorphia. Having grown up listening to my mother's horror stories about anorexia, however, I have always been hyper vigilant about not giving in to my occasional desire to starve myself into a smaller size. I am naturally slim and blessedly fond of exercise. This fondness grew all the more extreme when I left the military and required an outlet for the intensity that simply wasn't necessary in grad school or working at a library. I took to triathlon training, with the end state of "IronMan" in the forefront of my brain. A woman who had never run a marathon, didn't own a bike, and hadn't been in a pool for swimming purposes since sometime in elementary school thought a triathlon was a good outlet. Sometimes I'm a few screws short of fully operational.

In the first six months I made it through a metric century and a half marathon. In the first year I made it through a full century and a full marathon. Two years after I started, I made it through a half-IronMan, with the intent to do a full one two years after that. At the start of my third training year, I heard my knee pop while out for a run, a pop that was all-too-familiar, and knew there was a chance my plans were shot to hell. I ran a ridiculously painful, poorly trained for, road marathon five months later. Six weeks after that I did a trail marathon, my first actual trail race, and sincerely regretted my life choices for the last six miles or so. It was a trail marathon towards the end of the summer, however, that finally got my stubborn ass to the doctor and made me realize I was going to have to change the way I was doing shit. When I was forced to quit at mile 18, my first "DNF" in any event I had tried, I knew that if I was going to make it to a full IronMan, at any point in my life, I had to fix myself. Three or four months of physical therapy later and I was still barely running more than four miles at a time. I was lifting weights, playing on ellipticals, going to work out classes at the local Y, and completely miserable. I was neither challenged nor in as good a shape as I wanted to be. I tried boxing, and found that while it was great for anger release, the instructors were touch-and-go and my wrists were completely miserable.

I remember looking in the mirror one day, about 18 months or so after the initial pop in my knee, and wondering if I would ever be able to run again. Wondering if I would ever look in the mirror and be happy again. Then remembering that, even when I was elfin in size and capable of finishing a half-IronMan, I didn't actually like the way I looked. I was smaller than I had been in high school and still felt too big. I felt broken, I felt like I was losing ground, and I actually was gaining weight. None of these things were good for me from an emotional health stand point. When a desperate five mile run left me in a heap on the floor my knee hurt so badly, I sent my girlfriend a text message. "It's time. Tell Adam it's time." There was no need to explain further. Two days later, her coach contacted me via e-mail and we set up my first one-on-one consultation. About ten days later I went through my first full WOD. It was hell. Complete torture. I felt weak, useless, out of shape, and like I was never going to be able to do this. So, naturally, I just kept going back.

The actual changes to my body that this insanity has wrought were hardly overnight, but they also weren't as gradual as one would think. Within six weeks, pants that hadn't buttoned were buttoning again. That didn't much matter though, since a mere four weeks later they didn't necessarily fit over my quads or my glutes. Shirts stopped fitting through the sleeves and the shoulders. Button downs stopped buttoning properly. What was weird, though, was that I didn't really care. I mean, I cared that I had to toss clothing that I liked. I cared that I had to spend money on new clothes. But I didn't care that I was bigger. I had something to show for it. By three months in I had added 35 pounds to my deadlift. Three months after that, I had upped it another 20. Weights that started as things I could lift once, maybe two or three times, became the weights that I used to do entire WODs with. When I started, a dramatically modified WOD may have left me sore for two days. Now, I routinely show up two days in a row. And abiding by the RX is, with growing frequency, a very real possibility. But I am, absolutely, a physically bigger human being. I was once one of the smallest people at the library I work at. I am now one of the largest in my department- a fact that owes as much to my department's current hiring practices as it does to my exercise regime. Once used to being elfin in appearance, I have had to get accustomed to a new image in the mirror. The image of a woman with a figure, and the arms and legs of someone much stronger than the triathlete I once was.

I stand straighter. I sit straighter. I can run five miles pain free and ride 50 miles having barely trained for it. Routine things that once caused pain, such as carrying a purse or a back pack for too long, are never a problem anymore. On the occasion that I get sick, it lasts me a fraction of the time it lasts my coworkers. From a practical stand point, I am probably the healthiest I have ever been. I am certainly the strongest I have ever been. I am, absolutely, the strongest librarian I know. But then, librarians aren't notorious for being physically strong. That said, I'm still one of the littlest CrossFitters I know. Frail and weak compared to most of my exercise buddies, I routinely look at the board in the gym and wonder "how the fuck does the coach think I'm going to do that?" I also know, though, that I am stronger than I think I am. My brain has failed to keep pace with my capabilities, resulting in "well, shit, I could have gone heavier for that," being a semi-standard thought after a workout. Suffice to say, when one of my coaches says, "No seriously, you can lift more than that," I typically listen. I whine and grumble about it, but I do it.

This process has hardly been without a learning curve, though,and not just because the movements I'm using weren't all familiar to me.

I've had to get used to men, and occasionally physical interactions with them, for the first time in a while. When I left the military, my standard reaction to the male species looked slightly like a child recoiling from a bowl of spinach. My experiences with them in more recent years had been less than great. I knew in asking Lesia to text her coach that I was going to be putting a fair amount of faith in a dude, for the first time in quite a while. I didn't realize how much faith, though, and I didn't realize how frequently he wouldn't be the dude I was having to trust. Moreover, I didn't realize how quickly the other men in the gym would reestablish some of my faith in men, in general. While the coaches are amazing at their jobs and are easy to trust (four men, two women, all awesome), the men I work out with on a regular basis have done wonders for my sense of well-being. They're encouraging, kind, funny, and enjoyable to be around. They have reminded me that, long before a few bad apples spoiled the bunch, there was a good reason I had so many friends who were men. In a world where a full 50% of the population is male, finding a space where I can allow myself to interact with them, knowing that I am perfectly safe, knowing that they are good people, has done a world of good for my sense of sanity. Had you told me THAT was going to be a by-product of a CrossFit gym, I would have thought you nuts.

I eat. A lot. A lot more than I did when I was marathoning. And a lot differently than I did when I was marathoning. At the beginning of the year I finally caved and started cutting down on the amount of processed sugar I was eating. The results were pretty immediate, and not just in my waist line. Workouts hurt less. I recovered more quickly. Moving more weight got easier. It wasn't just anecdotal evidence pulled from a book at the library anymore. How I fueled my body suddenly became a major concern and, as such, the food bill has gone up.

Clothing and shoes matter, but not as much as you'd think. I've purchased very little in the line of new clothing since I started this adventure, and none of it because I "needed" it. I didn't purchase a pair of CrossFit specific shoes until about a month ago. I needed flat shoes, basically zero drop, but they hardly had to be manufactured for the sport in order to be useful for it. If you wanted to, you could do CrossFit in basketball shorts and an old t-shirt every day. In that sense, it's actually the cheapest workout routine I've ever gotten involved in. My bicycle cost me $1300, for the bike itself. My running shoes routinely cost $120 a pair and never lasted nearly as long as my CrossFit shoes will. Triathlons, and training for them, cost me significantly more financially.

It's not really a cult, it's just that we're all the same type of crazy which means we all intuitively understand each other a little bit better than others will frequently understand us. It doesn't matter what your career is, or what your hobbies are, it takes a specific type of crazy to go to a gym where you will take your marching orders from a different person and may well be endeavoring to push over half your body weight over your head. The rest of the world thinks I'm a little bit insane. It thinks the rest of my gym friends are insane, too. This is the main reason why you hear the joke that the "First rule of CrossFit is that you always talk about CrossFit." You give up a lot when "be super strong" or "be super fit" or "be super anything" is high on your task list. I didn't realize until I noticed how much I talk about lifting heavy objects, just how much I used to talk about running, cycling, and swimming. ALL people talk about the things that they do with their lives, their passions, and their pastimes. It's just that for most people, these activities are things that the average human being is relatively capable of relating to.

When I come into work and answer the "what'd you do last night" question with "lifted 155 pounds, 55 times just to see if I could," they just shake their head. They don't find it that odd, however, since there was a time when the answer to that question would have been "rode my bike for 60 miles." For as long as my coworkers have known me, half of everything I talk about has involved exercising because that's what I do. They've never thought to tell me to "shut up about CrossFit" because they're used to it- it's a change in methodology, but not a perceived change in topic. They read, write, watch movies, or play video games (for the most part. There are a few other hobbies in there I’ve picked up on in conversation). I pick shit up and put it down. In the end, we're all after the same thing- finding a meaningful way to occupy our time on this planet and, when possible, claiming some bragging rights. (Anybody who tells you they've never done anything just to claim bragging rights is, absolutely, 100% full of shit).

I started this craziness nine months and some change ago. My clothes don't fit, my food bill is out of control, and most of my friends think I've lost my damn mind.

And I'm insanely happy.

I love going to the gym, even on the days when the workout is going to suck. It's my happy place. A safe space of sorts where I'm free to push myself as hard as I want, under the watchful eyes of one or more coaches who may be the only people who care about my progress more than I do.

I won't say it's cheaper than therapy, because that'd be a lie.

For me, it's a hell of a lot more effective, though.

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moringakayaandi-blog · 8 years

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Strength

“Black hands, Strong hands” - Ma (next door neighbor)

The day after Christmas, we spent most of the day helping Mama P clean the restaurant from cooking and eating with the children the day before. We dry cleaned (what mopping the floor is called) and cleaned pots and pans, etc. After a long, arduous day, Kaya and I finally came home. It was so exciting to get on the bike and move towards our house. The scenery here is beautiful and every time I go from place to place my breath is taken away. Climbing the hill as the sun was slowly beginning to set with a slight layering of clouds in the sky was a perfect way to end that part of the day.

When we arrived we greeted Ma, our next-door neighbor. I noticed she was getting the kernels off the corn to be ground to make fufu corn. I said “I can help.” She said “Yes.” I said, “I am coming.” We entered into our house and I set my things down. The truth is I told myself that I was coming home to clean because our house was a PIT, as we had not been there much in the last few days, had been making Christmas books, etc. for days before and there was dust/ dirt everywhere. Again this is dry season. However, instead of wanting to embark on cleaning, I decided to procrastinate. It was more a chance to work with my hands, doing an activity that all the Cameroonian women take part in on a daily or weekly basis at least. Kaya and I do not have a farm, I did not gather corn for this year and I am still learning how to make fufu. So activities like this make me feel connected to this place and culture. Thus, when I am able to partake in these activities, I am provided an opportunity to learn and participate in the actual daily activities of Cameroonian life. On top of that Ma, is a sweetheart. She is kind, full of knowledge and a joy to be around.

Back to the story at hand. I entered Ma’s compound, grabbed a seat—a bamboo stool—and sat down under the shade of the caster bean and cheecho tree (a tree that has these hanging tomatoes on them) and next to what they call apple (which is Chinese apple) vines that were beginning to shrivel up as the fruit had finished. I looked up to examine the Caster Bean plants and the cheecho as they were beginning to ripen. I reached my hand into the basket of corn cobs, grabbed one, and began to use my thumb to get the kernels off. In case you have never done this before, it’s not as easy as it might sound and sometimes these corn cobs are STUBBORN. Anyway, it really hardens your hands. We had done this the week before with Ma and afterwards I got a blister on my right thumb from doing it. In the next days after this, it popped. On the day before x-mas we were chopping onion, carrots, green bean, etc. Here in Africa, women do not use cutting boards, they use the knives and their thumbs to cut everything. Needless to say it can be hard and tough on your hands. After doing this the entire day, my thumb was paining and the cut had gotten deeper around my blister.

While working with Ma, she inquired what was wrong with my thumb. I told her the entire scenario and her response was that I have soft hands. I said, “ I know.” We then compared hands, mine are soft and squishy, while hers are strong, callused, and sturdy. She works with them to do everything. Cameroonian women, those I have met thus far, use their hands to work their farms with machetes and shovels, cook on the fire, cut firewood, they have the ability to grab hot pots off the fire sometimes with no pot holders, cut vegetables with a knife, wash clothes, and care for many children. In response, she looked at and felt my hands and then hers and said, “Black hands, strong hands.” It was in that moment, that I knew this was going to be my reflection.

Strength comes in many forms for each of us. We all have grown up in different families, in different cultures, with different goals and aspirations. Our different experiences impact our choices and has given us strength to do the various things, activities, and jobs that we are doing today. My strength may not be in my hands, but in my heart and in my mind. I have chosen a path to continuously learn about myself through experiences while delving into new places, cultures, and activities. Over the years, I have found myself doing a variety of things in many places. Looking back, I sometimes think “How did I do that?” and the answer that comes is through drive, persistence, and strength.

On the one hand, this is true and I remind myself many times that I/ we all have this power in us. Yet, it is not always easy to feel strong in myself and what I am doing. Life, at times puts obstacles in our ways. I think it is in part to make us stronger or learn something that we need to, but these can be difficult times. My journey thus far in Africa is not what I was expecting it to be. The work that I thought I would be doing has shifted because of environment, political, and social networks that are out of my control. Thus, there are some days when I am left thinking, “What am I doing?” I do not think this is abnormal. I think many people at different times have found themselves asking this same question. However, how I react to it and move forward is pivotal and grounded in strength. I say this because it is not easy when we doubt ourselves or question what we are doing. I/ we can go through feelings of personal frustration, anger, and unworthiness in these moments. What I tell myself is that these are just fleeting moments. That time is always changing. That today does not have to be forever, but today I am here and where I need to be.

I am here in Africa surrounded by women, men, and children whose strength can be seen in their hands, eyes, and hearts. I see strength by watching how the land is worked—the steep slopes that permeate throughout this landscape is no joke, in the activities I see as a walk down the road—fixing and building of car, bridges, furniture, the gathering and hauling of firewood, the caring of children by all, and the belief in their culture and country. I sense my own strength for being here. For attempting as much as I can to embrace all aspects of this culture. I sense strength by working with what is available and not complaining or getting frustrated if there is no water, the power goes out, or I don’t have a clear vision of what to do every day. I know that I and Kaya are both learning, growing, and becoming stronger because of this experience. I know too that each of you, those reading this, those I know and even if I do not, you are strong and most likely have encouraged me to find my strength that has brought me here right now. For that I am forever grateful. I offer an exercise to each of you. I would love to know how or what you have done that has given you strength at some point in your life. I’m sure there are many and I believe when we reflect on these it too reinforces and ignites that fire within us. I also wish to let you know that the action of writing these blogs gives me strength. I appreciate the opportunity to share my thoughts and experience with you, and wish to thank you for being a part of this journey with me.

#thepowerwithinus youarebeautiful

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mikazukikannagisjourney · 5 years

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Spiritual Log November 16 2019

Subtitle: Physical release after meditations, healings, clearings, all that icky and gross stuff plus some tips (yeah this post comes with icky warnings, just a disclaimer)

Hi everyone, how are you all doing? I am still hoping that you're all doing great, even so-so, or maybe even meh and eh are acceptable. It has been a bit gruelling the past few weeks, I personally felt it, so many old crap kept popping up and I just had to do so much clearing and healing, and I had to haul the remaining stuff I left behind at my old place, mostly books that I plan to send to my friend and Soul Sister who owns a learning center (and probably reads this now via Twitter lolz), some of the books I plan to keep, assuming that they weren't yeeted yet lol, and my drawing table. It's hard not to have a decent table, I mean, I do my card readings either on the floor or on the bed. Not that I mind, but I actually need a decent table to do my adulting activities, and I needed a large space to draw, so yeah, partly why I failed the Inktober challenge by not doing anything is because I haven't set a drafting table up. Yeah I'm not a pro because I can't work without my tools, I can admit to that. Just thinking about that makes me tired and sad about my state,living in a mudflat. More gunk and mud keeps me down, and the heaviness just zaps my energies even more, apart from clearing a lot of my subconscious garbage which can get pretty emotionally taxing and exhausting physically.

Even the collective has been feeling super-tired and stuff, a lot have been complaining about feeling deadbeat and not being able to finish what they plan to do, unless it was something that had to be finished. Well, that's Mercury Retrograde (Rx) for you. Don't start shit, just finish what has been started or planned to get done. So don't push yourselves too hard, these are the times we need to pull back and check our progress, set reunions with our past selves, or our old friends, just don't start new stuff, that eats up a lot more energy because it's new, and more or less unknown. For now, just take that chance to rest, we're just getting the usual body and spiritual upgrades. Pains and aches can also occur, so if you can tap those out or remove those trapped energies, then all the better for you. And if you've been at it with your clearings and healings, then your comeback will be even stronger! Yay! Also... We're just a few days before Mercury goes direct, and then the magical days of 23-24 when Jupiter and Venus goes conjunct so we can manifest our BEST LIVES EVER!!! Also if you're into spellcasting yeah that's the golden date my friends, let's do this!!!

Ok, now for the heart of this post, which is mostly about the physical manifestations of releasing stuff from our bodies. If you've been in this blog long enough, you would probably know by now that my favorite form of release is crying the heck out of me. Yep. Like a child. A baby. I was really good at it when I was a kid, and I never got sick. I felt at peace whenever I finish crying out my emotional crap. The mental issues started when I was forced to grow up and repress all the crying. But lately after having to accept that crybaby part of me as a part of my true self, some of my chronic issues decreased. And I guess acceptance helped a lot. But of course, that's not the only form of physical release when dealing with trapped emotions, trauma, etc. You can search the web for more information on the matter, but I'll just mention stuff here that I experienced first hand, as well as any actions I did to release whatever it was.I mean, any Mercury Rx is a great time to heal these things because the process is faster, but these are great anytime, anywhere because we are all timeless beings living in a time-bound space.

Ok! Releasing emotions or trauma (repressed or not)

1. Crying -When you feel it welling up, just acknowledge that it is a part of you that no longer serves your best interest, and just cry it out. No questions asked, no judgement. Let it flow. Most-likely it has anger, sadness, bitterness, depression,feelings of unworthiness, feeling unsafe, betrayal, all the icky stuff that we just wanna forget, but they won't let us unless we remove the emotional charge.

How to deal: If you find that a memory resurfaces while crying, dwell in it, and MAX OUT YOUR EMOTIONS. Try getting the emotional levels to the highest intensity that you can, as you recall all, if not most of the nitty-gritty details of the event. It sucks, I know. But just max it out. Get as angry or as sad or bitter as you can, summon the demons out, let them roar, release them from their chains. After you've felt like you've released as much as you can, say thank you to those negative energies, they only wanted to keep you safe. Send them back to Source, God, the Central Sun, Mother Earth, whatever Higher Power you believe in, and ask them to be transmuted to their best selves. To calm yourself down, you can hug yourself, or have a thought anchor: You are safe, they can't harm you anymore. Let the love of the universe envelop your entire being. Just stay like this. Ideally this is to be done with a therapist, a healer, counselor, someone who can catch you as you fall. But if you can manage doing these on your own, well, hugs for you. Great job!

2. A bad case of diarrhea with unknown origins -This applies to most people, but more importantly if you're a person whose lower 3 chakras have been clearing lately, or you focused on clearing them. If you know your human design and you're a Generator, Pure or Manifesting, this can also be a clearing of our sacral center, so we can harness even more of our personal power.

How to deal: First of, don't take drugs, unless they're rehydration salts. Or if symptoms such as fever and vomiting appear, plus some blood in your poop or vomiting, see a medical professional. But if it's just loose bowels, then let the bowels move, they're just adjusting to your energetic upgrades. Also, try eating light foods, less oils and fats and simple sugars, drink more water, get some rest. Your body is dealing with physical manifestations of clearing, so just be patient. Symptoms usually clear up in 2 days, 3 at most. Any longer, see a doctor. As a person who gets easily affected by food poisoning, yeah even if I don't take drugs the bowels usually become normal after 2 days. The body is smart, it knows what it's doing.

3. Peeing a lot -Whenever you do sound healings, it is essential to stay hydrated not just to allow the sounds to reverb within your body (because water is a smooth and really good sound conductor compared to air), but also because dehydration can cause uncomfortable symptoms like dizziness and headaches whenever you listen to certain sounds. Plus staying hydrated can help calm you down, regulate body temperature properly, and balance cellular integrity in between healings (because the water helps clear our cellular debris, and dehydration prevents exchanges between cell membranes due to an imbalance in osmotic pressure. Seriously whoever thought science and spirituality can't mix just didn't learn cell biology a bit more lolol). However, this can also cause you to pee more.

How to deal: Unfortunately, peeing more IS the healing part, the more you do it, the more stuff you flush out. This can't be helped. But if your only issue is with rehydration aka water becomes too boring, just flavor your water with natural fruit or veggie juices.I personally mix sliced apples and cucumbers in my water jug, and drink them. Mint is also a great addition, as are sliced grapes. I squeeze lemon directly into warm water and drink it, while I just letthe peels sit in cool water for 30minutes. They get bitter if they stay more than 2 hours though. But honestly I don't mind drinking just water, just gotten used to it I guess. Simplifying life, I guess.

4. Tension within the body - this is definitely something that warrants professional help, because sometimes there are hard-to-reach places that even we can't touch.

How to deal: Honestly I just get a massage or a back rub, but I also shield myself and transmute so the massage therapist won't absorb my gunk. Even if I do an energetic exchange aka pay them.

Well, I hope this post serves you well. Please let me know what you think about it, or if it helped in any way. Thank you for stopping by. And may you find the healing you seek.

Love and hugs from Source above

I remain your friend and Soul Sibling

三日月

Mikazuki

#thought log on spirituality #healing and releasing the past #clearing the self #healing the self #releasing the past #past trauma release #physical releasing of trauma #physical releasing of trapped emotions #healing the past #healing past memories

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sarahburness · 5 years

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How to Make Your Life Matter (Even If It Lacks Purpose and Direction)

“The purpose of life is to live it, to taste experience to the utmost, to reach out eagerly and without fear for newer and richer experience.” ~Eleanor Roosevelt

“Calm yourself down. It’s okay. All is well.”

I clung to the sterile white table while the laboratory was spinning around me.

“It’s just an anxiety attack. It will be over soon.”

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, forcing my lungs to expand against the tightness in my chest. Cold sweat trickled down my spine as I battled the all-consuming feelings of overwhelm, panic, and disappointment.

My life was going nowhere.

How had this happened? I thought I had a plan.

I had chosen a promising career in science to make a positive contribution. I’d dedicated myself to changing the world, gaining recognition, and creating a legacy. So my life would matter.

And yet, I felt empty. Aimless. Unhappy.

I was stuck in a pointless treadmill of work, eat, sleep, repeat. I had no social life, no hobbies or passions. I focused solely on my research, hoping to enrich other people’s lives.

But instead, I added to pharmaceutical companies’ profits. I made no difference to anybody. And I was way behind in my career compared to other people my age.

I lay awake at night, disillusioned and frustrated, beating myself up for my miserable failure, drowning in hopelessness, anxiety, and worries.

What if I died tomorrow without leaving a mark on the world? Vanished without a trace, my insignificant life instantly forgotten?

What if my existence was meaningless?

I stood in the middle of the deserted lab, tears streaming down my face. Everybody else had left to enjoy their evening. Their lives had direction, happiness, purpose. They counted.

What was wrong with me?

As despair washed over me, I knew I couldn’t go on like this. I had to find my true purpose in life. Before it was too late.

My Hopeless Search for Purpose and Direction

After my fateful (and humiliating) breakdown in the lab, I embarked on a quest to find my true purpose, determined to make my life matter.

I studied countless blog posts, articles, and self-help books. Desperate to discover the secret to filling my life with meaning, I absorbed every piece of information available on the topic.

Most writers agreed that we have to focus on the things we love, and use them to contribute to society.

The problem was that I had concentrated all my time and effort on pursuing an academic career. It had seemed a sensible choice at the time, with excellent prospects of achieving purpose and impact. But it had never been my passion.

And I was now at a dead end, without a clue about what I loved, because my whole life was purpose-driven.

I never went for a walk in the sun unless I could pick up some shopping on the way. I never spent time in the garden unless I could pull out some weeds at the same time. And I had abandoned my favorite hobbies of jigsaw puzzles and crochet because I thought they were useless activities.

I felt guilty and lazy when I wasted precious time on them. Time that could be spent doing something productive and significant.

For months, I obsessed over finding something I loved that also had purpose, but nothing I felt passionate about seemed important enough to lend meaning to my life.

Growing more anxious, frustrated, and desperate by the day, I prepared myself to settle for an unfulfilling half-life, devoid of purpose, meaning, and direction. Maybe I had no purpose; maybe my life was too irrelevant to matter.

But then, a thought popped into my mind that changed everything.

What if the crucial question wasn’t “What’s my purpose in life?” but “Why is having purpose so important to me?”

My True Motivation for Seeking Purpose in Life

Having purpose enriches us. Knowing we can use our gifts to improve our community, better society, and enhance people’s lives, we experience joy. A deep feeling of satisfaction, connection, and fulfillment.

But, as I dug deeper, I discovered that none of this really motivated my relentless search. At least not primarily.

The truth was that I so desperately sought purpose in my life because, somehow, I believed that I had to justify my existence.

It was as if I didn’t deserve to live if I didn’t have a purpose. As if I was unworthy of love and happiness until I could offer something useful to the world—until I had important achievements and contributions to show for myself, and was somehow special, somehow more.

So, the pursuit of purpose became the sole purpose of my life. And my failure to identify what could give my life meaning left me feeling pointless, stressed, and ashamed.

All because of one devastating misunderstanding.

The Tragic Reason Why We Obsess About Our Purpose

I spent my entire life chasing my purpose—desperate to achieve the one important contribution to mankind that would make me special, that would earn me recognition and approval and justify my existence—because, deep down, I believed that I was worthless.

I considered myself an empty vessel, devoid of value and significance. I assumed that I had to gain worth through my accomplishments, successes, and qualifications. That I needed purpose and a clear direction in order to could gain some worth and finally deserve happiness.

The absence of purpose in my life created a painful worth deficit. I felt inferior to others who made valuable contributions and earned admiration, approval, and status.

I mattered less. I was irrelevant because I was useless to society.

It was my perceived lack of worth that made me feel empty and meaningless. And the only cure I could see was to find that extraordinary purpose that would make me worthy.

So, I searched more and worked harder. I sacrificed every activity that didn’t seem meaningful and important enough to increase my worth, irrespective of how much I loved it.

Foregoing all joy, I burnt myself out hunting for my purpose. So I could prove that my life mattered. So I could convince the world of my worth—and my right to exist.

In the process, I missed the purpose of my life altogether.

The Empowering Secret to Living a Worthy Life

I thought I would never be useful enough to have worth, which meant my life would never matter, but I was wrong.

And I realized it on the day I first cradled my newborn daughter. Looking down at the tiny bundle in my arms, there was no doubt in my mind that she was worth. That she deserved all the happiness and love in the world.

Yet, she had no accomplishments to her name. She’d made no contributions to mankind and society. She had no concept of purpose, goals, or direction.

Yet she mattered, simply because she existed.

In this very moment I understood that we cannot have worth. It’s not something we earn, gain, or lose.

Worth is the essence of our being. An absolute, inherent, unchangeable part of who we are.

We are worth personified. Every one of us is 100 percent worth. From the day we are born to the day we die. And beyond.

Having a purpose, a goal to work toward, can enhance our life, add to our happiness, and enable us to contribute to the world. But it won’t change anything about our worth, which is unconditional, unlimited, and independent of our actions.

Success, accomplishment, and focused direction won’t increase our worth. And failure cannot diminish it.

Because we are worth. We are wonderful expressions of life. And as such, we matter.

Finding a Way Out of Worthlessness

And so, five years after the day in the lab that started my journey, I abandoned my unhealthy quest for purpose and focused on accepting my true, inner worth instead.

Countless times a day I affirmed: “I am worth.”

I reminded myself of my infinite worth every time I felt useless. I repeated the affirmation when I struggled with my meaningless, aimless existence. And I tried to remember the truth whenever I beat myself up for not being important enough.

At first my mind resisted, stressed by the change of priorities.

Too many years it had held the belief that I was worthless, and that purpose was a prerequisite for worth and, ultimately, happiness.

I ignored it as well as I could, stubbornly affirming my worth, over and over again.

And step by step, day by day, my understanding of my true worth grew, and the compulsive need for purpose weakened.

Until one day I was liberated. I felt free to explore my passions, enjoy all my unproductive hobbies, and fill my entire house with crochet doilies. Without guilt, without feeling I was wasting my time on idle indulgences.

I even found joy in my profession as a scientist once the crushing pressure to achieve, outperform, and impress had been lifted. Once I no longer expected it to give me purpose.

And I could relax. Knowing that, sooner or later, some purpose would reveal itself to me, without having to be forced, simply because I was focusing on the things I loved.

The Liberating True Purpose of Your Life

When I was convinced of my inherent worthlessness, I sought purpose as a means to deserve happiness, while I abandoned the things that actually made me happy because they lacked purpose!

Looking back, the irony makes me cringe.

I now believe the purpose of life is to be happy. To grow, thrive, and experience life to the full. To worry less about our achievements, productivity, and the meaning of our life and to prioritize the things we enjoy. Even if they serve no purpose at all.

Because the only way to make your life matter is to make it matter to you. To know your true worth and contribute your unique perspective to this world.

So, be kind and compassionate. Take care of your loved ones. And yourself.

Help and support others. Not because you have to earn worth, but because you want to improve their lives.

And do what you love as often as you can. Walk in the sun, sit on the beach, lie in the grass. Just because it feels good.

Do it without feeling guilty or beating yourself up for the lack of purpose. Without fear over whether you are important enough, useful enough, influential, significant, or deserving enough.

Because, at the end of the day, purpose can add to your happiness, but it’s not a prerequisite for it. You don’t need a mission, purpose, a direction for your life to be worth living.

You don’t have to justify your existence or prove your worth. Not to your parents or your family; not to your friends, your boss, or society.

Not even to yourself.

Because you are worth personified. You matter. Right here, right now.

And as long as you enjoy walking your path, no matter how aimlessly, your life has meaning.

About Berni Sewell

Dr Berni Sewell, PhD is a health scientist, energy healer, and self-worth blogger. She is on a mission to make you feel good about yourself, no matter what. Grab her free “Healthy Self-Worth Starter Kit” to boost your confidence, release shame and self-judgement, and start reclaiming your life today.

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The post How to Make Your Life Matter (Even If It Lacks Purpose and Direction) appeared first on Tiny Buddha.

from Tiny Buddha https://tinybuddha.com/blog/how-to-make-your-life-matter-even-if-it-lacks-purpose-and-direction/

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maggieminordesignssculpture-blog · 7 years

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How to Fill the Void after a Breakthrough

Ever since I made the decision that I wanted a happier life I've been living in a constant cycle. It goes something like this....breakthrough....reality check (which means anything from a moment of acceptance to an ugly cry)...the void....and then fulfillment. If you're familiar with this emotional cycle than you are familiar with the dreaded void.

What is the 'Void'?

"The Void" as I like to call it is when you've allowed all of the negative mental energy around a past event to leave your body and you feel this strong sense of emptiness... through forgiveness or acceptance. Sometimes it feels like you've had your guts ripped out but most of the time it feels like a persistent hole in your stomach. I had a huge breakthrough (epiphany) over the weekend and woke up with a 'void' that feels like part of my identity was stolen. I feel unsure and my body doesn't 100% feel like its mine.

It all started when I asked myself a very strong question, "why am I still in this situation?" You see, I've been living in limbo since I moved to San Francisco. I've been renting a room in a house and feeling frustrated that I still haven't found my own place. I was frustrated and I felt like I had become a child again...even though I'm actually an independent and accomplished 40 year old woman.

I now understand that I've been in limbo because I hadn't dealt with feelings of unworthiness and helplessness from when I was a child...I've been unknowingly repeating a cycle over and over in my life because my mind hadn't resolved the past....thus drawing in similar situations.

How to Fill the Void

So now I sit here in the 'void' and man is it uncomfortable. It's so painful that I began to wonder if I should just end it all. But you know what snapped me out of it? Realizing that through my epiphany I had killed part of myself...part of my identity...and my body is grieving the loss....and this loss makes me feel unsure. It's almost like when a relative you really don't like dies but you still feel a sense of deep emptiness. They might have been a negative force in your life but they were part of your life....and now they're gone.

So as I sit here I'm reflecting on how I've filled the void in the past....and I feel this burning need to share them with you....because I've been living this cycle for the past eight years...all the while working through some pretty serious stuff. So for those of you who are just starting this journey to happiness and feel like you've been struck in the gut by the void I'm here to share some of my wisdom. It's not perfect wisdom, but it's mine....and I hope it helps.

One: Remember it's a Cycle

When you're in the void one of the most important things is to remember that it won't last forever. It's part of a larger cycle ...and the road always leads to a more fulfilled existence....if you let go and accept it.

Where I see most people get stuck in the void is when they start to tell themselves that this feeling will never go away....and this makes this stage of the cycle last even longer. So when feelings of hopelessness pop up and you feel like ending it all or diving head first into a bucket of mint chocolate chip ice cream... remember that we're part of something larger and in nature some of the most beautiful trees grow from the ashes of a forest fire. In fact, these beautiful baby trees would never even have had a chance to grow had the fires not burned away all of the foliage that was blocking the sun. The void is right after the fire when the forest is still and it looks like nothing will ever grow there again. When you find yourself here just remember to look up at sun.

Two: Remember that Nature Abhors a Vacuum

I woke up this morning with the phrase 'nature abhors a vacuum' in my head. It just kept repeating itself as I lay there and I couldn't figure out for the life of me why until I sat down to write this blog post. You see 'voids' are always temporary. They're unnatural...literally. So your void will be filled by something....so be conscious of what is filling it.

So when you're in the void it's extra important to check in with what you want. If you have a vision board spend some quality time in front of it....if you've written down your ideal day, go read it...and maybe even print it out and carry it around with you for a few days. And if you have neither of these things or have never even heard of them, then take about 10 minutes and write down at least 5 things that you want to accomplish in the next year that would dramatically improve your life....print it out...and read it to yourself at least 5 times over the next 30 days.

Three: Relax and Accept

The best way to stay in a situation is to resist it.....so remember when you're in the thick of 'the void' to accept it. Don't try to force your way out. Instead take a few deep breaths throughout your day and allow your body and mind to accept the emptiness.

Four: Move your Body

At the beginning or end of your day (or both if you can), take at least 30 minutes and move your body. Take a walk down one of your favorite streets while deeply breathing in and out. Be aware of your senses as you walk. Smell in the smells. Listen to the hustle and bustle or the quiet....whatever it is about that place that makes you like it. Buy just remember to move. Our bodies and our minds are intimately connected. 'The void' is a physical state as well as a mental state of being and moving helps you to process it quicker....

If you enjoy an intense workout regime that's wonderful (I do too), but don't substitute this for a walk. Sometimes high intense workouts are all about pushing yourself....they can sometimes feel forced...so maybe for a few days do one of two things: add a walk to your day somehow or substitute a yoga class for your usual regime.

I swear... it helps a great deal.

Four: Take Action

Even after taking the above steps you're still going to feel a sense of emptiness (especially after a huge breakthrough) and you're going to feel uncomfortable. Pay attention to what makes you uncomfortable now....especially in your physical environment.

Is there a particular room in your home that makes you uncomfortable now? Or particular kinds of objects? These things that are bothering you are objects that emotionally resonate with your state of being or your identity before the breakthrough..the part of you that you've shed...and it's important to take pause and do one of two things:

Forgive the Objects in your Home

I know it may sound funny at first but we have strong emotional ties to the objects in our home. In many cases we pick them because they represent something to us...either who we aspire to be or who we think we should be. So when we do through a breakthrough how we see ourselves changes and therefore our relationship to the objects in our home changes too.

So if you feel this tension, download my free worksheet - How to Forgive your Objects...and go through your home.

or.....

Discard the Objects

If you feel a strong sense of 'doneness' .... like you can't wait to be rid of these objects that remind you of who you used to be...then put them in your car and drive them to your nearest charity shop or dumpster. I've done this many times and I've always driven away feeling ten tons lighter and more myself.

Six: Give yourself Time

Sometimes 'the void' can last for hours and sometimes it can last for weeks....so just remember to give yourself time. It takes however long it takes. Just keep going through the above exercises and know that fulfillment is on it's way.....because it is!

If you're looking for one on one support in the process of transforming your home or office to reflect the new you, I love working with people like you. Simply contact me and set up a virtual or in-person appointment. Click here to learn more about the process.

For More Inspirational Artwork and Design Ideas

Visit my modern sculpture, modern wall sculptures, abstract canvas artwork, and abstract framed wall art pages. And click on more inspirational posts...

How to Get out of a Rut...and Start a Cycle of Positivity

Why Neutral Rooms Can Make you Unhappy

How to Feel more Connected to your Home

How to Declutter for Better Relationships

How to Use Artwork to Make Eating Even More Enjoyable

How the Right Office Decor can Focus your Mindset

How Waking up to Colorful Artwork can Improve your Day

How to Create a Peaceful Brown & Turquoise Bedroom

How to Create a Sophisticated Loft Living Room with Oversized Artwork

How to Create a Colorful Loft Living Room with Vibrant Artwork

How to Create a Beautiful Modern Rustic Bedroom

How a Colorful Home can Make you Bolder

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