In This Moment: Field Journal and Photo Album

 

I'm becoming even more passionate about getting our photos out of our phones and computers and into our hands. Ellie loves to look through my photo albums from my childhood, from when Jon and I were first dating, and from the trips I took before everything went digital. She also loves it when a new set of Instagram photos printed from the various sites I use comes in the mail and she can hold a photo of herself and put her favorites up in her room.

Printed photos are a way for us to hold tangible evidence of our lives in our hands. We can literally hold a piece of our story and then put it someplace to remind ourselves of the feelings, the true stories, of that moment.

And when we pair these photos with words that help us go even deeper into the story, we hit a frequency that helps us feel seen.

I really believe this is why I used to sit in the guest room/office in my childhood home and slowly, repeatedly, flip through the photos from when I was little. I was feeling seen by looking through these pieces of my story. 

That isn't to say that we can't feel seen sharing our photos through Instagram and Facebook. These moments of feeling seen do happen in real ways online. I love Instagram for the connection I feel there. And in the Facebook groups I use for my ecourses, I see real, deep connection happening when stories and photos are shared.

But the connection to the memories, to sharing these moments, can be fleeting online. And when we only share on social media, we sometimes forget to take that important step of feeling seen by ourselves that happens when we interact in more hands on ways with our own photos, with these pieces of our stories.

In This Moment: Field Journal and Photo Album

Helping you capture the beauty and realness of your everyday moments by printing out your photos + pairing them with words to share even more of the story is the reason why I want to get the In This Moment: Field Journal and Photo Album into your hands. It is one way I'm saying: It's time to stop talking about how we want to find ways to tell our stories and start doing it.

This field journal is a beautiful book you can fill with your photos and your words that tell the story of where you are right now. It is your reminder to see and to notice, to root yourself deeply in the beauty of your everyday life (even on the messy, rainy, tough days). The 27 prompts throughout the journal are the prompts I turn to daily, and they give you a place to begin. There are also blanks pages for you to come up with your own prompts and ideas.

In This Moment really is a mindfulness meets photography ecourse that arrives in your mailbox. You can actually hold it in your hands so it doesn't get lost in your inbox.

 

Previously, In This Moment was available only through The Gift of This Moment Home Retreat Kit. But I now have about 100 of them in my studio ready to be sent to you. You can buy it in my shop right here. 

how to fall in love with poetry {part one}

I've been known to say that poetry is a lot like cilantro. People really love. Or they pretty much don't want it around. Phrases like, "I don't get it" or "Poetry is just too confusing to me" or "I'm just not into it" are the ones I hear most often when I tell people that I teach poetry as a form of creative self care. Lots of people have the story about that one teacher in high school who made them read a whole bunch of poetry they didn't like.

And I get it. Some poetry can be really tough to understand. Or it can take reading a poem out loud once or twice to get into the rhythm of it. Or you might have to keep looking until you find the poetry that speaks to you. But what might happen if you tried?

Poetry is one of the lifelines I hold onto when life is getting a bit upside down. What do I mean? Poetry reminds me that I'm not alone. It gently pushes me to step outside the old stories and open my eyes to the wonder around me. It sometimes makes me a bit uncomfortable. It stitches my heart back together. It is a tiny lantern in moments of darkness. It is a lighthouse. It is home.

April is National Poetry Month here in the US and over the next few Mondays, I want to share a few ideas to help you (yes, you) fall in love with poetry. Or fall even deeper in love if you're already hooked.

Begin with curiosity

Think about the way a child walks through the world with her eyes open wide, curious about the world around her. Everything is new. So many questions to ask and new worlds to explore. 

This is how a poet walks through the world. A poet asks, "Why?" In fact I think a poet asks, "WHY?" in all caps because poets really are the truth tellers of our time. Even when that "why?" might be whispered because the world is afraid to answer, they ask it anyway. And then they write down what they hear.

Poets look at the big human topics life grief and love and loss and anger and rage and gorgeous wide joy. They put down the truth about what it means to not fit in and not be heard and not be seen in the world. Poets take what other writers spend pages explaining and say it in a few lines that can take your breath away. But we'll get to all this on another day.

This week, I want you to just open up to being curious as you move through your day.

Take a few minutes over the next few days and ask yourself WHY as you encounter your world. Look under things. Ask questions. Look closer. Describe what you find. You might even want to keep a notebook near you to write down your observations.

Doing this will open up the poet heart inside you.

Feel free to come back here and tell me what you find. 

*****

And if this idea of opening up to curiosity has you already excited and ready to put pen to the page, check out my ecourse Poem It Out, which dives deep into the world of poetry and shares juicy poems and prompts to inspire you to get the poems just waiting inside you out into the world.

the uneven line

I wrote the following words a few years ago as a guest post on a blog called Roots of She (it's no longer out there). I came across it again recently and the words rang so true inside me as I read them that I knew I wanted to share them here. Writing the true stories, using a prompt like "I ignored you," is how I water my mama soul.

I hope it inspires you to write your own true stories. To get them out of you and onto paper, even if you don't share them with anyone. We simply let in more light, create space for more joy inside us, when we tell the true stories, even when (perhaps most importantly when) we're telling them to ourselves.

And I'm pairing these words with two self-portraits I took back in 2010...when the uneven line was fresh on my body. When I was almost disappearing into the role of motherhood and caretaker. When I was diving deep into my self-care and self-love toolbox to feel seen. Self-portraits are another powerful way I unearth the stories inside me.

Note that this post is about my cesarean scar, which feels important to share in case it is a sensitive subject for you.

*****

For months, I ignored you. I tried to pretend you did not exist. 

But then there would be a pull or a twinge or a pain that seemed to come from the center of me and I would remember you. You, the scar across my abdomen that birthed my daughter. (That birthed me.) The scar across the abdomen, the core, the womb inside me that had housed her, connected me to her, protected her for almost 10 months. 

I ignored you.

I ignored the core of me that you decorate with your uneven purple fading to creamy pink line.

I ignored you. And with that decision I ignored part of me. I pretended you (we) weren’t even there. 

And I did this for self-preservation really. I had a job to do. One that involved taking care of a baby girl who would have open-heart surgery at four months old. And I had a business to run. And I needed to ignore you. I was focused on her heart (holding my heart together), and I couldn’t think about you.

Every now and then, I would talk about you, telling pieces of the story to a few trusted souls. Just here and there. Sometimes through tears. Sometimes through sobs, I shared pieces of the story. 

Then the day came where I told the whole story. Looking up at the ceiling with my foot tapping and my breath almost stopped, the words it really was trauma and why did this happen and they just keep telling me to be thankful we are okay but she wasn’t okay really and I fear getting pregnant again so much I can’t breathe poured out of me as my foot tapped on the beige carpet and I almost held my breath because if I didn’t the words wouldn’t all come out.

I told the story. Your story. My story. I told it as the space was held. 

Please don’t ignore me.

Those were the words you, my body, my core, my center, said to me as I sat in guided meditation listening after the truth poured out of me.

From this moment of listening, a practice was born: Breathing all the way down into my belly until you were forced to expand and move and we could both begin to let go. Five deep breaths in between nap times and reading Goodnight Moon for the twenty-second time in an afternoon and projects and quick meals and walking in the park as the dahlias stretched toward the sun. Five deep breaths all the way into my belly. 

I see you.

This practice was slow and often beautiful and gave me the gift of noticing all of me, noticing you, in the moments between all that a day holds. The layers between us began to shift and shed. But still there would be a twinge, a pull, a reminder that I might never feel whole again.

A few weeks ago, I thought about you as I spent a few days in the Pacific Northwest woods at a retreat with eleven other women. We were exploring poetry, photography, painting, and slowing down to be present in our lives. There were stories shared and moments of being deeply seen. And then there was the laughter. (There was so much laughter!) 

I laughed all the way down into my belly until my whole body was shaking with the silliness and the beauty, until tears of actual joy pooled in my eyes. Laughter full of so much realness and truth and sound that it shook something loose inside my core, inside my center. It shook something big loose as it tucked joy right inside my heart. And I thought about you as I stood in the kitchen of that cabin in the woods and listened to their laughter. I thought about how something I thought you had locked away had been awakened by the sound of joy.

In this moment, today, I stand naked in front of the mirror in my bathroom. I close my eyes and I hear the memory of their laughter, my laughter, and it echoes as it rattles around inside me.

And then I hear Maya Angelou when she stood on the stage in March and sang, “I shall not; I shall not be moved. Like a tree planted by the water, I shall not be moved.” I hear her just as I did as I sat in the audience and felt those words cloak me with a shawl of hope.

I hear her, I hear their laughter, I hear my own truth singing within me, and I open my eyes as I clasp my belly. 

There you are. You, the scar across my abdomen that birthed my daughter. (That birthed me.) The scar across the abdomen, the core, the womb inside me that had housed her, connected me to her, protected her for almost 10 months. The scar that houses trauma, sadness, and more love and joy than I thought possible (for me, for her, for us). The scar that runs across me like a river, as I stand tall planted in the earth, in my truth.

*****

If you're looking for a way to tell the true stories, my book Inner Excavation is one place to begin. It is full of prompts to help you explore your stories through self-portraits in photography, poetry, and mixed-media art. You can read more about it and order a signed copy from me right here.

you are not alone over there honey

I shared these words a few years ago, and I'm feeling deeply moved to share them again.

A prayer in the form of a quote from a wise man from my favorite show, The West Wing:

“This guy’s walking down the street when he falls in a hole. The walls are so steep he can’t get out. A doctor passes by and the guy shouts up, ‘Hey you. Can you help me out?’ The doctor writes a prescription, throws it down in the hole and moves on. Then a priest comes along and the guy shouts up, ‘Father, I’m down in this hole can you help me out?’ The priest writes out a prayer, throws it down in the hole and moves on. Then a friend walks by, ‘Hey, Joe, it’s me can you help me out?’ And the friend jumps in the hole. Our guy says, ‘Are you stupid? Now we’re both down here.’ The friend says, ‘Yeah, but I’ve been down here before and I know the way out.’”

- John Spencer as Leo McGarry on The West Wing (Season 2, Episode 10)

You are not alone over there honey.

you have all the tools you need {a meditation}

An invitation to remember that you hold all you need inside you. (You can hear me read this audio meditation right here.)

Give yourself permission
to let this moment,
this moment
right now,
be just for you.

Find your breath.

Notice your next inhale,
then the exhale that follows.

Let your mind rest
inside the movement
of your breath
in your body.

Find the rhythm of your breathing.

Inhale,
chest opens.
Exhale,
shoulders relax.
Inhale,
heart opens.
Exhale,
feel the space inside you.

When you are ready
to return
to whatever your day holds,
know this:

You have all the tools you need for this day
and the next
and the next.

(yes.)

PS For more little reminders and love notes like this one, sign up for my (almost) weekly newsletter (where I also share stories of my real, true adventures in self-care and living with my heart open).

20 songs to sing in the shower when you want to feel all the feelings

I often say that I turn to poetry when I need to feel all the feelings because the words of others help me find my own words when I'm neck deep in being human.

Music so often does the same thing for me.

Over the weekend, I found myself singing a medley of songs to just get myself out of a shame spiral that came up totally unexpectedly. When I was suddenly grooving to Billy Joel's "Just the Way You Are" while in the shower and feeling all that cheesy goodness of remembering that "my people" really do just want me to be me, I knew I wanted to make a list of the songs I turn to when I want to just be in the feelings, whatever they are. 

This is just part of that list, and is mostly full of songs that I pretty much know all the words to so I can sing them (or at least the chorus) in the shower or while pulling weeds (or just looking at the weeds) or cleaning the kitchen etc. Basically songs I don't need to also be listening to in order to sing. As I started pulling these songs together, I realized I could probably list about 50 or more but 20 is more the length of a mixed tape and oh how I miss mixed tapes.

Because of course music taste varies, if you have your own "feeling all the feelings" songs you like to sing or listen to, I hope you'll share them in the comments.

*****

When you want to feel empowered for setting a boundary or two: Kelly Clarkson's "Since U Been Gone"

When you need to remind yourself that you're going to get through: fun.'s "Carry On"

When you need to remember that it's okay to still be really really mad (at least until it starts to distract your from actually living): Dixie Chick's "I'm Not Ready to Make Nice"

When you need to remember that you aren't alone over there: Carol King's "You've Got a Friend"

When you want to remind yourself that you have all the wisdom inside you to take the next step: Stephanie Dosen's "Brave"

When you want to step deep into vulnerability while also feeling the empowerment of singing one of the greatest songs of all time: Dolly Parton's "Jolene" (you knew it was going to make the list)

When the spark of something wondrous feels within your grasp: Joshua Radin's "Brand New Day"

When you need to remember that it doesn't matter what "they" say: Taylor Swift's "Shake It Off" (obviously)

When you're shaking off the shackles of who you're supposed to be: Queen's "I Want to Break Free"

When you're kind of hoping to get your sexy on: Jonatha Brooke's (featuring Keb' Mo') "All You Gotta Do Is Touch Me"

When you need the reminder that you aren't too much and you really can show up as you: Billy Joel's "Just the Way You Are" (I can't help myself. It's back in my life and I can't stop. Won't stop.)

When you just want to be in the sadness (or perhaps the miracle) of it all: Any version of "Hallelujah" from k.d. lang to Justin Timberlake and Matt Morris to (of course) Leonard

When you just want to give into the missing of that someone who isn't in your life anymore: Jim Croce's "Photographs and Memories" (I'll pass the tissues)

When you know it's time: Michael Jackson's "Man in the Mirror"

When you're fresh in the OMG how did this happen to me: Cee Lo Green's "Forget You"

When you want to bring on the joy: the Glee version of "Don't Stop Believing"

When nostalgia and what used to be or might have been is tugging on you: Judy Garland's "Somewhere Over the Rainbow"

When you're deep in the grief and know it's okay to be there: Kenny Roger's "You Were a Good Friend"

When you're trusting the decision you're about to make: Rosie Thomas' "Wedding Day"

When you're letting in light and know things are getting better: Paul Simon's "Gone at Last" (This one is on just about every music list I have - dance it out, sing it out, get connected to who you want to be, dance with ellie, put on in the studio and shake it out, and how the list goes on.) 

And because oh my gosh I miss the days of mixed tapes, I made this list into a YouTube playlist here. 

What are you listening to over there when you want to feel all the feelings? Share in the comments. I'd love to know!

*****

For more prompts and stories about creative-self care, sign up for my (almost) weekly newsletter right here.

how are you over there?

 

How are you? Really. How. are. you?

(Let it out. You might even want to speak your truth in the comments of this post today. I'll catch your words over here from this place of loving silence. Yes.)

a spring sale

Over in my shop, I'm having a spring sale!

Just use coupon code SPRING15 to take 15% off your order from now through Sunday evening.