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Filtering by Category: the and space

the push and pull of motherhood

liz lamoreux

I spent a week at Pixie Lighthorse's Soulodge Ranch at a retreat last month. I'm still finding the words to explain how that retreat deeply reminded me of my wholeness. I feel a bit put back together as I'm in the integrating phase in my re-entry time at home. I haven't been to a retreat as a participant in a very long time. Oh my gosh I needed it.

As I keep integrating that experience, here are few words today that started out as ramblings on a post on Instagram about motherhood when I got home and became a reminder that I'm letting sink into my bones.

I think about the pieces that are her story, the pieces that are mine, and I know we are here to teach each other.

And yet, sometimes our different personalities make me feel like I woke up in the middle of a busy intersection in a country I've never visited.

And yet, so often she holds up a mirror. 

And yet, even though the initial moments of my return Saturday night from a week away were in the realm of me saying to the universe, "Wait, what? You stitch me back together and throw me into this?" with tears tapping around the edges, we made it to the next day with a renewed sense of softness amidst the sharp edges.

As she said goodbye on her way to camp one day last week, she yelled through the closing door, "I can't wait to cuddle more as soon as I get home."

Yes. Yes to all of it.

Even the holy wow this is harder than I ever thought it could be moments.

Because last week in the sacred meadow I remembered the answers inside me.

I remembered I am never alone.

I remembered I could reach out with an open hand.

I remembered there is still time to teach her so much. 

The truth is: Sometimes I try to convince myself that there is supposed to be a balance. Or that other people know what they're doing while I flail. I try to convince myself that I've failed. That somehow so much that feels hard is my fault. I feel all the feelings all the time.

The truth is: I'm doing the best I can. Sometimes my best is awesome. Other times my best is tired, annoyed, and overwhelmed. 

The truth is: I so often say to others, "All that you need for the next step is inside you. Trust that truth." I say it because I believe it.

The truth is: I'm remembering that applies to me too.

There is a push and pull in this experience of life, of motherhood, of being human. Each day that push and pull is there. Sometimes you find your footing and the sand beneath the surf doesn't swirl away. Other days you realize you can step onto the boat just waiting for you (do you see it right there beside you). Other days are just hard. And other days, you see the open hand beside you inviting you to step out of the push and pull and rest. 

I could go on and on with this image because the push and pull of the waves, of the grief and the joy, of the beauty of every day and the longings inside me...this push and pull is always present within me. 

It's a piece of The And Space that I walk through.*

One reason I practice is to create space inside me that feels more centered, grounded, and better able to navigate that push and pull. I hold onto mantras and poems and minutes outside breathing so that I can pause the swirling thoughts and be present to whatever is unfolding, to whatever is ahead. I sit in meditation, write out my thoughts in my many journals, reach out to you with a story, capture life through my lens to make sense of it all. These are all pieces of my practice.

While standing on a beach with my daughter last week, reminding her, reminding us, that getting outside and just being together can provide a restart, I remembered that I have time to teach her. I remembered that it doesn't have to look like someone else's life. I remembered that I have to keep practicing so I don't get carried away by the push and pull. I remembered I can continue to give us both the tools to come home to ourselves.

Right now, as we continue to be in this part of our time where we walk side by side, each on our own paths, she often reaches out for my hand but also really wants to walk ahead of me. Sometimes at the same time. Sometimes she really wants me to carry her. There is a deep push and pull at times. And I'm seeing that she feels that too. 

So we practice. We practice so we can better navigate and find our way. We practice to find the softness and ease. We practice to find the love.

Yes. Yes. Yes.

*The And Space is what I call this place where we hold onto the beauty and the mess, the joy and the grief. It's this place where we build bridges between the routine of daily life and the longings within. It's where we acknowledge the next steps we want to take. You can read more about it here. 

This is a story I shared with my newsletter list this week. If you'd like stories like this one in your inbox, you can sign up here.

my skin is on inside out

liz lamoreux


My skin is on inside out. This is what I keep thinking and saying to a few close friends. My skin is on inside out. I'm watching and reading the news. A lot. I'm praying. A lot. I'm trying to gather my practices to fortify myself. And yet, I feel myself slip toward the fear and the sadness. How did we get here?


My favorite movie is Lincoln. My daughter asks me this weekly, waiting for my answer to change to a movie she's allowed to watch.

"Why do you love it, Mama?" she asks.

Today, I would answer: Because it's a dive into a time in our history where one man was holding our future in his hands and he understood that truth in his bones. He was breathing that truth as he made mistakes and angered many and made choices only few can truly understand the weight of. Because somewhere in my heart I believe that each time I watch that movie, I move just a little bit closer to being able to be that brave.


I took a walk to get the mail this afternoon. We're in one of those neighborhoods with the boxes all together. I walked and noticed my senses. The lawnmower, the squirrel, the leaves fluttering against one another, the colors colliding, the clouds painted on the blue. I took a walk and tried to just focus on my senses to give my mind and heart some space.


As I watched the debate, and in the days since, I'm in this space of knowing I need to be a witness. A witness to your stories, to my own. A witness for this woman who stands tall against a man who symbolizes abuse and rage and fear of other. My skin is on inside out as I hear your stories. As I watch her stand tall as he looms. As I hear an audience on the news chant about repealing the 19th amendment so that women cannot vote anymore.


My skin is on inside out. But I'm standing. I'm a witness to it all. I will not look away. And I will acknowledge those with less privilege who have felt this way their entire lives.


I hear these words:

We breathe. We hope.

When they go low, we go high.

Let freedom ring.

I hear these words and I lift my head up toward the sky and let the love and connection that is waiting for each of us hold me for a moment.


This is The And Space.

This is where I hold fear and disbelief in one hand and love and hope in the other. This is where I dig deep into what I know and dig even deeper to understand what I do not.

This is where we all live.

(Can you feel this truth even more, right now?) 

And in telling our stories, we will realize again and again that we are not alone in this space.

get out your camera (eleanor at 6)

liz lamoreux


A few weeks ago, Eleanor and I went to Point Defiance park to walk around the rose garden. We were working with prompts from Chapter 2 of Inner Excavation and using our senses to explore.

It was awesome. I let her use my phone to take photos of whatever she wanted, giving her the prompt of "find your senses," which she quickly expanded to "find flowers in every color of the rainbow." 

While she took photos and ran around, I took photos too. With my "big-girl camera." I snapped lots of flowers but also captured Eleanor at 6.

What I found on my camera today made me so very happy I got my big camera out and just had fun.


Capturing everyday life through our lens helps us gather evidence of the beautiful, messy, real life we're living every single day. This evidence in turn pushes us to see the ways we're already living the life we sometimes long for. We see examples of the ways we slow down and really enjoy our loved ones, how we take the time to notice the simple beauty around us, and how we honor our own needs. And sometimes a photography practice actually invites these moments of mindfulness and love into our lives. 

Gathering evidence is one powerful way to navigate The And Space. Try it and see what happens. Then come back and let me know what you unearth. 

welcome to the and space

liz lamoreux


Hello Beautiful Soul,

It’s here. My new website is really really here.

It’s been a labor of love for months now as the extraordinary Evan Leah Quinn has worked her magic, listened to me, and synthesized my ramblings into this new home.

And I love it!

For several years now, I’ve been talking about how on any given day we have permission to hold beauty in one hand and the grit life hands us in the other. And I've mixed in this image that we can build a bridge between the routine of daily life and the longings we have inside us. With my new site, I want to introduce you to phrase that encompasses all that this idea means to me: The And Space.

The And Space is where:

  • You're sitting in front of the evening news and can’t believe what you’re seeing, and five minutes later a text arrives from your best friend saying she just got engaged.
  • You're at the kitchen table surrounded by the joy of listening to your daughter tell you a story, and the grief of wishing your grandmother could have known her taps you on the shoulder. 
  • You're in the midst of a phone call that is about to change everything just as you notice the cherry tree is blooming in the front yard. 
  • Your to-do list is stacking up, and you stop just for a moment to wish you could just rest.  
  • You're in line at the grocery store exhausted from a long day at work, listening to the chatter around you, and you're smiling to yourself because you know when you get home you're turning up Johnny Cash and making your famous enchiladas. 

The And Space is where most of us live. 

And it is beautiful and overwhelming and amazing and messy.

What I want you to remember is: You aren’t in it alone. (I’m here with you.)

My hope is that this site will feel like a place for us to be in conversation: 

  • As we sift through the stories of where we’ve been and choose truth and love.
  • As we name and claim the dreams of what the future might look like.
  • As we make the choice to just set it all down and sit in the quiet for a little while.

I’m so glad you’re here. And I look forward to navigating The And Space together.

Big big love,


photo credit: Lauren Oliver Photography