123 Street Avenue, City Town, 99999

(123) 555-6789



You can set your address, phone number, email and site description in the settings tab.
Link to read me page with more information.


Filtering by Tag: what is real


liz lamoreux

a post is brewing inside me about the realness of working from home while taking care of a toddler full time and running a business that is really more than a full time job. a post about the lifelines i hold onto some days. a post about why i really invite you to let go (for real this time) of thinking the people you see online "do it all." a post about how some days find me vacuuming with a toddler eating cheerios strapped to me. a post about how going to the bathroom by myself sometimes seems like it has become a luxury. a post about how sometimes i drive around my neighborhood drinking a hot chai tea and talking with a friend because my daughter is napping in the backseat and i don't want to hang up yet. a post about how just when i think "i got this" the overwhelms arrive again. a post that is just about the realness of things so that i can remind myself that choosing self-care (like i did last week when i closed the shop during my ecourse's "breathing space" week to give myself some breathing space too) is the right choice...so i can remind myself of what i know...

and i wanted to write that post tonight. 

but then there was this photo from today.

this photo of a little girl who has her head on her daddy's chest. a little girl who wants to go outside even when it is freezing because there are birds and trees and so much to do and see. a little girl who giggles and then gets so frustrated in the next breath that i can't help but wonder what will happen when that frustration is finally paired with words. a little girl who looks at me like no one has ever looked at me before. a little girl who runs down the hall and wraps her arms around my legs when i get done with a marathon brainstorming skype session because she just can't believe i am finally back. a little girl who touches her chest and my chest when i say, "where is love?"

there can be both you know. there can be deep deep love and frustration about the realness of it all. you can hold both at once. you can hold both the beauty and shit.* 

this is the way of life i think. 

*i just can't come up with another word. this phrase, the beauty and the shit, is one i have been using with my friends for a while now. i basically want to name my next ecourse "the beauty and the shit" but i know that won't really resonate with everyone. at the same time, i think you probably know exactly what i mean when i say it. life is full of beauty and shit. it is full of moments that take our breath away because they are incredible and because they are so so hard. and we get through. and we find our breath again. and there is love. and we hope there is more love than shit. and it is okay to see all of it and tell the truth about all of it too.

on shining a light (on all of it)

liz lamoreux

Stand in Your Light pocket talisman in the Soul Mantras shop.


A year ago, my life felt heavy, my heart felt heavy. A year ago, my practice was centered around staying grounded and surrendering while holding on by my fingertips. A year ago, I couldn't stop thinking about how I wanted to feel lighter and less tethered to the past. A year ago, I thought I was coming out of survival mode, but in reality, I was still neck deep in it. A year ago, I had no idea how I would do it all and thought I was supposed to have it all figured out by now.

A year ago, I chose the word LIGHT to focus on in 2011.

I chose light because I wanted to manifest more light in my life. I wanted to feel the sun even when the past threatened clouds. I wanted the light to show me I was not alone on my path. I wanted to listen to the light within, around me and trust the way. And I chose light because I simply wanted to feel lighter. I wanted to dance more and seek more joy in simply living.

As 2011 unfolded, light became my guide.

(For real.)

As I began to do some deep inner work and healing from all that 2010 brought through Ellie Jane's birth and open heart surgery and the experiences surrounding all of it, I kept focusing on the light.

I began to realize that my work is to shine a light, a BIG light, on all of it. I don't want to be afraid in the dark and a flashlight isn't enough. I want to shine a big lighthouse-sized lantern on all that has been before this moment, from yesterday to decades ago, so that I can be present to right here and all that is to come.

As I worked with the light, I began to stand tall in these truths:

My work is to invite you to shine a light in every corner of the home that is you. To bring light to the dust and the stacks of stuff that belong to someone else and the truths just hanging out waiting to be seen in the corner and the whispered dreams of the little girl who lives inside you. 

My work is to tell the stories about how I am shining my light to unearth the joy and the beauty and the real.ness amidst all that living brings so that you can be invited to know you are not alone as you stand in your light (so that I can remember I am not alone).

My work is to create talismans that act as traveling companions on the journey.

My work is to show up as me and live with my heart open to all that has been and all that is to come.

As I sit on the edge of a new year and think about all that has been, I feel surrounded by the light that has taught me and will teach me and show me the way.

And as I gather up all the beauty and truth that has been 2011, I think of you (yes you) in your corner and I want to you to hear me say:

Thank you for walking beside me. Thank you for you showing me that my stories matter. Thank you for helping my business grow. Thank you for sharing your stories. Thank you for sharing your light. Thank you for showing up as you. Thank you.

what is real (october 7)

liz lamoreux

mirror self-portrait (straight out of the camera) . frog creek lodge

one year later.

after everyone had gone to bed friday night, i stood in front of the mirror and couldn't help but smile wide at this girl i saw before me. she looked lighter and maybe even more real. and she looked beautiful.

these are the thoughts that went through my head: this is why i choose to seek the joy. this is why i let laughter in. this is why i know that all you need is love. this is why. this face of light and love is why.

hello you. hello me. it is so good to see you.

one year later.



::what is real:: is a mirror self-portrait photo + a few words series that began in july of 2010. during the last year, i have noticed that the act of taking these photos feels like a meditation practice. before i take the photo, i stand in front of the mirror and think about what is real in this moment and let my face relax to wherever that truth lies. then i snap.

i document the series over on flickr but share them here from time to time.

what is real (september 15)

liz lamoreux

you are doing it.
all of it.
you are stumbling
and laughing
and learning
and opening your heart more each day.
you are finding a rhythm.
you are remembering to breathe deeply
and sit inside truth and feelings and hope.
you are exactly where you need to be.


::what is real:: is a mirror self-portrait photo + a few words series that began in july of 2010. the series started the first night jon and i slept for a few hours at the tree house while ellie was in the PICU. when i was by myself in that room for a few minutes, i turned and saw my reflection in the mirror in the room and had an urge to document the real face of that moment in my journey. looking back, i realize i wanted to feel seen by someone, and it turned out that being seen by myself was like a hand i could hold. 

as i continue to take these photos, i have noticed that the act of taking them feels like a meditation practice. before i take the photo, i stand in front of the mirror and think about what is real in this moment and let my face relax to wherever that truth lies. then i snap.

i document the series over on flickr but share them here from time to time.


liz lamoreux

new blue wall . the little room

the view from here:


  • a visit from a partner in crime and friend
  • one studio freshly painted (and truly found underneath all the stuff)
  • a carload or two of that stuff to goodwill
  • rediscovery of so many good things that fill my heart with joy
  • many moments of laughter so loud we almost woke the baby
  • juicy brainstorming for so much that is to come
  • nods of "yes, i get that. totally."
  • mug after mug of coffee
  • a moment in the quiet overwhelmed by kindness
  • a smoothie that looked like she added algae (like from a fish tank) [it was super good]
  • a very specific wish or two released into the universe
  • plans hatched (the midwest retreat is gonna be so good. like big. like oh this is the way life is gonna go now. hold on. it is gonna be awesome.)
  • another reminder that showing up as you is the way to find others who will see you
  • another reminder that it is through love (and letting ourselves be loved) that we heal 

an evening...

liz lamoreux

Real (march 8)
what is real (march 8)


it was a day.
one of those.
one part beauty and one part oh my god how did i get here with a dash of just do it girl.
i changed out of pajamas by 10.
so that felt like perfection.
by 10:15 i had apples+sweet potatoes sweetly kissed (ahem) in various spots of my shirt + purple dress i had put over my yoga pants to feel like i was actually dressed like i might leave the house.
one piece of toast eaten was at some point.
thank god it had peanut butter on it as it ended up needing to last me until jon brought something home around 4:30.
in the midst of that there was an answer from the universe disguised as a (thank you for you) phone call with a friend.
and a nap was taken by someone other than me.
a short nap.
a seriously girl you have got to be kidding me short nap.
and a dog breathed her is that really your breath breath in my face while seeking attention.
i let her kiss me.
i think she was after the apples+sweet potatoes.
somewhere in there i began to dream about going to a bookstore and out to dinner.
but the i think i will be fussies arrived in full swing. 
the maybe i am just gonna go ahead and get two more teeth fussies.
or perhaps it is the i am just not feeling happy fussies.
hopefully it isn't the i feel a cold coming adventure.
so i found myself just holding on.
the to do list as always tapping at the corner of my mind while i sang about rainbows and changed the words to several songs while playing peekaboo.
a lunch/early dinner arrived via jon.
and i found myself saying maybe i could just run over to the bookstore.
after you eat.
just me.
okay was the reply.
a change of clothes.
a decision that three-day-old dirty hair actually starts looking good on the eve of day four.
add boots.
gotta have them boots.
plus the happy yellow purse.
and into the car i went.
i sang loudly as i crossed the bridge with the sun almost setting and the olympic mountains peeking through the clouds.
"and i'm gonna drive thru the hills with my hand out the window and sing till i run out of words."*
then wandered and gathered goodness at the bookstore.
so. much. goodness.
including two more notebooks because we all agree i need more of those.
then had the reminder that bad customer service in adorable children's stores always helps me save my money.
(guess she missed the boots.)
and then a call from home.
all was okay in the way it is when someone knows you need a deep breath but has a question.
do you need me to come home?
we are okay the response.
so maybe i will try that wine bar flitted through my mind.
one glass and time with some new to me sharon olds and an at the ready notebook.
and then i looked across the parking lot and said out loud or i could go to a movie.
(right now)
totally alone.
immersed in something other than all that must get done or those who need me for almost two hours.
i actually felt my heart quicken.
totally alone.
another call.
just text if you need me.
within minutes a moment to myself in the bathroom where i looked in the mirror and laughed because i felt like i was playing hooky for the first time ever.
in my whole life.
the good girl playing hooky.
with a side of popcorn+frozen coke+darkness+a row to myself+silly previews+johnny depp.
on the way home, i turned the dial up even more.
"and i'm gonna drive to the ocean, go skinny dipping, blow kisses to venus and mars."*


*from "wedding day" by rosie thomas

the pieces.

liz lamoreux

a few hours into labor . june 2, 2010 (photo by our doula patti ramos

Today, the scar that has not gotten smaller or faded, the scar that sits just beneath my belly, hurts. It hurts as though Ellie was born last week and not almost eight months ago. There is so much the doctor did not go over when she sounded like the last moments of a medical commercial as she listed all that might happen. She left out the parts about how my skin would be numb (perhaps forever) and that the scar would just hurt some days and that my body would still be reacting in unexpected ways months later. She left out a lot of things that became part of the story that makes up who I am on this day.

The part of me that is the realest me has a visceral reaction when I think about that doctor. The doctor who I met just hours before my daughter was born. I am pushed by some momentum outside myself to say that I am grateful. Of course, I am grateful that my little girl sleeps down the hall even after her intense entry into this world, and I am grateful that I am here writing these words.

But, I give myself permission to say that I am not grateful for pieces of what happened after I met that doctor.

In this moment, with the scar hurting and my baby girl asleep down the hall, I push myself to remember the beauty of the first 18 hours when I was in labor. My contractions were so close and intense that we all thought Eleanor Jane would arrive so very soon, but the story was to go another way. After many hours, the story involved medication and a doctor who allowed me to push for hours longer than I should have even though they knew a cesarean was imminent and an epidural wearing off in surgery and a woman experiencing the most significant trauma of her life with her minutes-new-to-this-world baby daughter’s cheek against hers and a decision not to start screaming but instead to find the place deep inside me filled with more courage than I thought possible, to just breathe, and then firmly say, “No, I am experiencing pain not pressure” and then more emotional trauma in the minutes and days that followed as no one quite understood what had happened to the woman who was awake during a surgery where the epidural wore off but she didn’t start screaming.

Months later, as the fears of what might happen have quieted just a bit in the months following Ellie Jane’s open-heart surgery, I have found myself sitting inside a bit of space to begin to unpack all that happened in those first few days of June. My heart and body went through a lot in those days. And for many reasons, I was not given the space (I was not in a place to give myself the space) that I needed. Just as we held Ellie Jane and took care of her in those first few days and in all the days that followed, I needed my own moments to be held. I needed someone to put her hands on my face and look me in the eyes and say, “What you went through should not have happened. I am so sorry you had to go through this. Even though I know you are grateful that she is here, I wish it had happened another way for both of you.” And then, I needed that person to hold me while I cried myself to sleep.

Yet, as I sit here with my daughter asleep down the hall, I look at the photo at the top of this post, and I remember how there was bravery and a feeling of being rooted in the best of who I am. I remember that there was music and there was dancing and there was chanting and a sense that nothing else existed but love. I remember the joy of knowing each breath meant one breath closer to seeing her face. I remember the kindness of women I had never met and how my husband was his most confident, calm self. I push myself to remember because this is part of the story; this is part of the woman who sits here gathering up the pieces of herself as she stands in the truth.


Today, I am giving myself the space to share some of my story here, to share a few more of the pieces of the last year that have made it the most difficult one of my life. No drama. Just truth. As I sit in the quiet and listen, it feels like sharing these pieces today and writing more over time is part of the healing that is to come. I feel moved to gently say that I am not seeking advice about where I am nor do I want to invite you to worry about me, as this post is just a part of what makes up the woman writing these words. This woman also spent a good part of today singing and listening to her daughter's laughter and brainstorming and creating talismans to send out into the world. This woman who is me spends much of each day gathering up the beauty that makes up this life. I spend a lot of time sifting through the realness to find the light and the joy. But I also know we must look at the truth and open our hearts to this truth.

Sharing these truths, being willing to look at the cracks and broken places, is how we heal. I believe this. And I believe that we can have the best intentions in our desires to help someone, but in doing so, we sometimes don’t realize that they are not seeking our help. Or sometimes what seems like help is really a desire to fix. Fixing and helping are not the same. I know this because I have been guilty of being a “fixer.” I know this because in the past year people have tried to fix when we needed love. The last few months have taught me the beauty that can be found in simply just showing up and shining your light when you see someone else is walking through a bit of darkness (we all walk through a bit of darkness). I want to write more about this soon…the idea of just showing up and being open to what a person most needs (and saying the words “what do you need?”) instead of believing there is something to fix. (Sometimes broken places do not need fixing.)

Thank you for catching these pieces of me and shining your light in this world…

i want to tell you...

liz lamoreux

windowsill . frog creek lodge, fall 2010 be present retreat

in the time i am spending in my studio creating necklaces this month, i have been brainstorming about the many things i want to tell you here.

(there is so much i want to tell you.)

i want to tell you about the beauty that can be found when you slow down, close the laptop, and look at your life.

i want to tell you about how my heart often aches because my body and soul have been through so much in the last 16 months. (so much has happened.) i want to tell you the pieces of this truth and about how i am trying to stand still in the healing waters.

i want to tell you about how i have begun to let go of a belief that life is about finding balance between work and family and seems to be more about finding you and what makes your heart rest inside truth when you stand eye to eye with yourself.

i want to tell you about rocking ellie to sleep at night while i chant a song from my teacher and how this has become an act of self-nurturing.

i want to tell you about how hard it is to take in kind words even when you know they are real.

i want to tell you (i want to tell me) about how it feels not to receive what you are asking for and how this sadness still becomes part of the healing.

i want to tell you about how powerful the mirror meditation continues to be as part of my personal practice. there are moments when i feel as though i might be fading away, but the act of taking a deep breath and looking in the mirror always pushes me to be seen.

i want to tell you about these fantastic boots i have been wearing and how they make me feel like i could truly kick some serious ass.

i want to tell you about how all that has happened in the last year has taught me that the best thing you can do when someone is experiencing some major stuff is to listen and then say a variation on, "is there anything i can do?" and mean it.

i want to tell you about what you might want to think about doing if your friends find themselves in the ICU with a loved one.

i want to tell you about how things are not always what they seem (and how i think we should throw open the windows to let assumptions of the destructive kind float on out of our lives).

i want to tell you about all that is inspiring me these days.

i want to tell you about how much i want to start heading to seattle on sundays for my teacher's yoga class, but thinking about hearing her nurturing voice makes me fear that i might cry the entire time.

yes, there is so much i want to tell you...maybe i will begin with this list.

until then, perhaps you could tell me something about you...what do you most need to tell someone?