Category: short Stories

How do we give from a place that is full place?
In our current society, everyone is so empty,
We are empty of self-esteem, self-confidence, and Self-love.
We spend our lives seeking outwardly what we need. We have built a society,  culture, and economy based on this.
We seek from others who are just as empty as we are. We fight over love, acceptance, and understanding in a tug-of-war with society, social media, friends, and loved ones.
It’s sold to us from stores full of cheap things, meant to make us forget for a moment that we are empty, filling it up with a trinket or a drink.
Love, acceptance, grace, and understanding are more rare in this world than diamonds; more valuable than Bitcoin.
But there are worlds where these things are infinite.
There are different ways to access these worlds, your higher self, and live in light and love. Gratitude can help alleviate the constant growl of an empty soul and heart.
But finding the well that can fill your soul to the point you can give freely, without effort, where you can smile at your own jealousy, hug your own anger, and make space for your shame to live in acceptance.
If you can do these for yourself, holding them for others is so easy.

This may be the most difficult journey of your life. It is the journey to open the well within, the holy Grail that lives in all of us, holding our compassion and understanding of love for ourselves and those around us.

It’s almost impossible to go on this journey if you are in a state of survival. Physically, you will need to have access to food, water, shelter, and time. I wish so many more humans had access to these fundamental needs.

But step number one is to make sure you are okay so you know you can rely on yourself, and slowly build that confidence that you can survive in this world before trying to access others.

We are all so empty inside, and we fight this outside world for validation, compassion, understanding, and acceptance, begging for it from others who don’t have enough to give to themselves.
And we take that as a sign we are not deserving. You only deserve it when a starving man gives you their last piece of bread. Where starvation is only valid among those who are starving themselves. Or hunger can live here, its safe here.

This Holy Grail that lives within us is not empty.
Unfortunately, it is where we have stuffed all of our fear, shame, unlovability, hurt, and pain. We stuffed them into this Grail because society told us we should never feel those. It is bottomless, dark, and often hidden from our conscious, a great hiding place for darkness and pain.
We shove the pain from our friends who told us it was unacceptable, too much, that we are wrong, fat, ugly, smelly, and dumb. Confusion and hurt because our teachers told us to shut up, that it was not good enough, and our parents told us they did not have time. We only had one try, and if we did not succeed, we were a failure.  
The special gaslighting of generational hurt: Somewhere long ago, it was okay to tell your child you were never wanted or to hurt them when they made a mistake. So it lingers from mother to daughter, father to son, through generations. The pain of walking in daylight, accepted.

We keep searching for a place to express all of these, for them to be accepted and loved, even though we can’t seem to do it ourselves. Someone else needs to love them.
We were never shown how to love ourselves at our worst. So, we expect others to do it for us.

Wouldn’t it be nice if it were going to be an easy crystal bath or a morning gratitude practice? It is not; this will be the most difficult journey of your life.
All of these can help soothe the warrior battling the dragons and demons in his/ her soul. You will never be entirely alone, but it will feel like it.
This is the journey to become a woman or a man for our modern person.

Finding what we seek from within.
There is a door at the bottom of the holy Grail; it leads to the world behind worlds, you are the key.
It is here that whatever version of god is. t  The god that not only created all of this, but is, at the same time all of it. It’s the never-ending acceptance, love, and compassion. Because everything in existence is a manifestation of this. Even you, and hard to acknowledge, it is all the pain in the world; you can’t see the light without the dark.

Unfortunately, there are layers and layers of shame, anger, resentment, jealousy, sadness, pain, hurt, and fear standing between you and this doorway.

Put down the sword and armor. This is not a fight or a banishment. This is you, all of you that were shoved in this holey Grail.

A 4-year-old boy, whose dad told him he was not good enough, and a 3-year-old girl who was left at the store. 10 years old, whose teacher said he was stupid. And a teen who was abused by a trusted family member. A little boy or girl that never knew what it felt like to be safe at home.  A kid who was sent to a fat camp.. was bullied for being different, poor, or rich.
Humans can be both kind and cruel creatures, filling others’ holy Grail with both kind and cruel thoughts. And now it’s up to you to decide whether you want to keep them, believe them, or change the story.

These are not things to be banished or slain; they are your deepest fears, most profound shame.

The second step is to walk into the darkness, breathe there, and begin to listen.
Begin to feel, not fight, and let yourself break when needed. When your mind lies to you and says “you are too much,” only you decide if this is true.
Don’t blindly believe what someone else told you; make these decisions for yourself.  You will never be too much for you, though it may feel like the pain will kill you.
Remember, you are strong; this pain is the pain of a younger you who needed someone like you. To be there for them, let that soften you and create space.

Make this space in the darkness of your Holy Grail known to you. When you go there willingly, sit in it, find calm, and listen. Because there will be times when you are forced to go there because of an outside experience.

A fight, a letdown, a hurt, a trigger, as they say, pulls you into the dark. But this dark is not scary; it’s familiar and has a warm seat. It will take time here before it becomes comfortable.
Let time slow, breathe deeply, and feel your body agitated and your nervous system on fire. You can hear whatever demon was awakened by this experience. You have no need to fight it. It’s just you, in the dark, grumbling, fighting the idea you are unlovable, teeth sharp, ready to destroy whatever makes you feel this demon.
Unfortunately, this is not a place for stoicism but a place of deep feeling; you can’t think this pain away; you have to feel it. Find time to move your body outside in nature; you need to feel the energy and let your body move it out.

Some demons you face once, others you face over and over. Listen to this demon, not what anyone else has to say. But listen to what you have to say, listen to what you are saying to you.
If it’s something someone else said to you, get rid of it; if you struggle with it, ask how to let it go. You may need to begin acting in accordance with who you genuinely want to be, and that is not easy.

So that this Deamon can tell you, “you need to make sure you eat better,”
Says the direction that uses drugs to stay thin. But it might just be saying you need to accept yourself and everyone as who they are.
Perhaps you need to ask for what you want and stand up for what you need. When your demons tell you that you are not worthy, you have to sometimes prove them wrong.

Do this, whatever it is, bit by bit, and you will become stronger than this demon. When you face it again, you can tell him, “No, I can take care of myself. I am confident and know what I deserve. I am not unlovable; I love myself in little ways.” And am worthy of love from myself and others.

It’s okay if someone can’t give me what I need because it’s not that I don’t deserve it; it’s because they don’t have it themselves. You can watch whatever demon you are fighting change and soften in the light and acceptance.

This will happen over and over, but you will get glimpses of the door of light in the dark. That is just within you. You slowly become the light within your own darkness. That is the key to opening a well of acceptance and understanding.
And the demons that once whispered mean things to you will now be your biggest advocates, and you can see the world for the light in it, not through the darkness within it.
The genital warrior within will no longer look to battle with himself but will honor him/herself and protect his demons, which were just parts of himself he needed to understand, feel, and forgive.  

Allow the rest of the world to be as it is, as its not his/her responsibility to change it.
But to just allow the light within to shine and flow over, and possibly guide others to their own Holy Grail and become their own key, where they can feel the love and understanding that is within the world.
That does not mean some might need a slight kickstart, and there is no need to allow others to starve themselves. But back away if they look at you as the only source of acceptance and happiness. Back away from anger but from self-acceptance and compassion.

We should never condemn the dark. This world is here for us to experience both and to learn, change, and grow. We would have reason to be here if it was not this way.

I will say there is darkness in this world, in our collective conciseness, that can be unbearable and unforgivable. And I will never ask anyone to go these roads alone. Or that you must be 100% okay, light, and have forgiveness and compassion, as that’s impossible and not the point.

It’s getting to a place where you are at peace with yourself and can accept when the demons rage and the darkness overflows, allow it, but do no harm to others.
When the time is right, find the light within. It’s about knowing there will be both, and no one is perfect. But you can find love for yourself in the struggle. And know that even if you are not always the best in yourself, you can hold space and accept this. Do your best to choose to be a little lighter, a little kinder, and a little brighter to yourself and those around you.
Slowly, allow the light within you to shine, acceptance, within the darkness and open the door to the well of compassion that is hidden within. Your demons are a part of you, but they don’t need to control you.

Mount Moran

Time is a funny thing; I wish people were more aware of its passing, not in the movement of a clock but in a person’s growth. Often enough, time crosses my mind, especially in difficult situations, as in, in a few hours, this will be over.

Skinning back over a frozen Leigh lake, seeing the faint image of my track from 13 hours earlier, a track I made at the beginning of this journey, in the dark of night, lit only by the brilliance of the Milky Way. I had the eery feeling of walking through myself. At that moment, the veil of time felt so thin, like I could almost hear the whispers of this morning’s lake crossing. I could feel the fear, nervousness, and excitement in the air, like walking past someone on a busy street and recognizing them from another life, remanence from another self.

Mount Moran the ominous broad peak in the northern part of the Teton Mountain Range. The Skillet, a wide couloir at the top, opens into a broad face; it looks like a skillet or a shovel from Jackson lake. Six thousand feet of sustained steep, beautiful skiing, one of the 50 classic mountain climbs in North America. And the hardest thing I have tried so far.

I have spent many summers on Jackson Lake with Mount Moran in the backdrop, the Skillet visible and holding snow. Stories from friends on the climb’s difficulty, how scary and deadly it can be, how badass it is to ski. It has weighed on me for years, curious, awe, and wonder. What it would be like, to be someone that could do that. Never in my wildest dreams would this be for me; that would be for athletes and professionals, a separate kind of human better at things than I am. I’m just some girl.

The day before the climb, I tried to stay calm; I had worked this moment up in my mind. I almost said no; I don’t think I can; I was scared. I’ve anticipated the text saying Moran was a go, knowing I had been training for this in a non-training way. The Goal was set last year after Matty’s passing, knowing this was his favorite mountain. I wanted to climb it as a way to be with him in that vailed thinness of time. Knowing he had been here, excited, he had created memories on this mountain and shared laughter and curs words with friends. It’s in these places where memories are created that I think time thins. This is why Brad had been avoiding it all winter; facing the memories. Climbing six thousand feet with a heavy heart. That is a lot to carry up a mountain, walking in both the present and the past, to see a friend.

Crossing Leigh Lake, the astounding beauty of the Milky Way in a moonless sky overshadowed the terrifying realization we are walking on a frozen lake in close to pitch-black darkness. A low level of primal fear rushed through our vines with every step. The sound of the lake ice settling, large womfs like mysterious sea monsters coming to the surface, and back under, the darkness lets the fear sink into your bones. What if it breaks, never far from conscious thought.

In the darkness, we navigate around Moran with no trails, just our phones as a compass, digital guides. Trying to find the best path through the woods, carefully picking our way through uncomfortable underbrush and trees, icy side slipping down to steep boot packing up dark wooded terrain. Physically this is hard; the variation of activity, at least with skinning, you are comfortable with the repetitive movement; this is like gorilla warfare on your body, with no rhyme and reason to what you will be up against next. Finally, a break in the woods, the crescent moon peeks over the horizon, and I see the outline. Moran!

I am not the same person now; after, I know what ‘hard’ really feels like, which is a new place for me. Getting to the base we can barely see the outline of this massive mountain in front of us. My mind is screaming; I don’t think you can do this; this is too big. I was already a bit beat up; I had 4 hours of unrestful sleep, and the alarm went off at 12:05 am. To a cold 8.5-mile bike ride with all my gear and split-board on my pack. Made only possible by the e-bikes, in the darkness crossing String Lake and then Leigh Lake, then the woods around the base of the mountain. We had already traveled over 12 miles.

Brad asks, “how are you?” I just say “I’m doing ok.”

It’s 5:00 am; we start the ascent, wet slide avalanche debris, massive rivers of ice chunks from the past few weeks, like crossing lava fields, but of ice. I often count to 100 over and over to push through difficult climbs; this was different. I was scared; I was doubtful; my mind, in a stern parental tone, “you can’t do this. This voice in my mind always shows its ugly opinions when I face my fears.
I have spent the past four years battling with this voice; I’m familiar with the demons of self-doubt. A never-ending war, me against me, winner takes all. I win some, I lose some, but I’m battle-hardened; I don’t go down easy anymore.
I start an old mantra I’ve used many times, fighting my mind, every step gets a word; practiced at home, on the skin track, familiar like a worn-in pair of shoes. “Strong, confident, capable, beautiful, worthy, deserving. My Mantra, I slowly built over a few years as meditation and practiced hiking Glory. I use to drown out my fears of inadequacy, worthlessness, and failure.

I’m on the climb, watching the sun crest over the horizon, a frozen Jackson Lake, memories of me four years ago, on the boat looking up at this mountain, in wonder at the people that climb these. I feel as though I am looking down at myself, looking up at a version of me I never thought possible. A moment where time felt thin again as if I could reach back and touch her, me from then.

I was a little behind, but I usually am, I’m comfortable here. Before sunrise, we transition to crampons and verts. I am strangely impressed by my boot packing strength. But last in line, I have the most settled steps. I am wearing Matty’s crampons. Pink light on the walls above us as the sun peaks over the horizon. This moment is frozen in my memory. I can bring myself here, time travel in a way. It’s a little fuzzy as I blissfully forget the intensity of my doubt, the pain in my quads, the strange rubbing in my right boot that could take me out if it worsens. I remember telling myself that just saying yes to this was a victory. It was a win over doubt. I could always stop and go back down, I was not going down easy, and I was not going to quit because I wanted to, I would keep going until told to head down.

We had switched back to skinning, the guided group ahead of us had set the track. We are in the handle, they delayed us a bit, standing on the side of the couloir. Waiting for them to descend, they were 2 hours ahead of us, waiting for the fog to clear at the summit—slow going for them as visibility was close to nothing at the top. I wish I could have used that time to catch up or hydrate and fuel; I was not being effective, and the thinning oxygen always makes me weak.

I can’t see the summit, and grateful, as the sun would have warmed things even faster. I am 15 minutes behind the guys, and they are 30 min from the top, about 500 feet. I stopped to get some water and food; my body was weak, tired, knowing we were entering our time window and not at the top. The sun came out, and it was hot. I hear the snow falling from the cliffs around us, the rocks holding the morning heat, melting the new snow off.

I hear it in my mind. Get off the fucking mountain; this is not my negative voice. It is different; I don’t question it. A voice from slightly outside, it’s not entirely mine.

I plan to radio the guys at the next switchback, I think it’s a good time to ask about their status; I can see two of my buddies. On the next kick turn away from the warming cliff wall with the snow falling off it, I will ask if it is safe to continue or if heading down would be best for me. I can hear the danger around me. “Get off this mountain;” maybe it was Matty. I hear more snow release above me from the cliff; it hits the fresh snow in the couloir and grabs momentum and mass as it continues gravity’s path down. I’m in the middle of a kick turn. I see a small bubbly wall of snow, about 10 feet wide little over a foot tall, coming at me.
I brace myself.
I will never underestimate the force of moving snow, like a wave in the ocean; it took me, I can’t see, it’s all white, I am digging for anything solid. Yet, I’m aware and grateful that so far, nothing hurts, and I am still upright. I know this is a steep slope, and I can go a long distance; I thought this could get better or worse; either way, it will be over soon; awareness of time, an unknown future coming at me fast. I feel myself slowing down and crawling to a stop, not buried but having to shake the snow off myself. I traveled perhaps 60 or 80 feet.

I am cold and scared; I’m ok! I yell; I find my radio and reattach the antenna that always detaches. I think to myself; I need to duct tape this. I radio up. I’m ok, just scared, and I’m going to transition and head down.

It took some time to unbury my split board, tangled up, my polls further down.
I hear Ian coming down to check on me; he stops a little above, sending slight snow debris my way; I freeze in terror at the noize, aware that I might have some lingering trauma from this event. I find a safe place, needing to transition quickly, to get down so the rest of the group can descend safely. In a reassuring calm voice, Ian reminds me that slow is safe and safe is fast. The last thing I need is to drop anything down the mountain. I get my board together and shove all my stuff in my backpack.

This mountain is a steep mother, with a maximum slope angle of 50 degrees. I’m sore, weak, and shaking with adrenaline, and now I have to make turns. Fuck I say to myself; each turn, I coach myself through. You are a strong badass bitch; now make that turn. Sheer willing myself down the mountain.

We make it to a safe place; Brandon comes down, watching his beautiful turns; this kid can ride. He stops to let us know he will continue his line. I waited for Brandon to get into a safe location and follow him down; my insides shook, stiff. We watch Brad come down; I know he enjoys the turns and is also concerned about me. We meet up, and just a hug, are you ok?

Yes, I’m ok, just scared. The heat of the sun turned the snow from morning ice to fun slush, it’s a fun ride out.

Regroup, laugh, smile, and tell stories, talking about the almost summit today—all of our struggles and moments of sheer awesomeness. We talk about my push off the mountain and the warming, and we laugh overall. We all look up at Moran in full light, beautiful, lightly aware of time passing; not long ago, we were up there, hidden from our current views. Aware of an unknown impending future that is always coming. We still have 3 hours to get out of here, a long walk, unhurried in the light, and the warm day, filled with funny stories and dumb fuckery, time can move with more ease now. Everyone takes a few moments to check in with me and make sure I am ok. The light-hearted banter on the walk back was healing and reassuring.

We are crossing the lake back the way we came, warm sun, a little slushy; I see our skin tracks, and I can almost hear myself; through the veil of space and time. To the person, I was 12 hours ago. I want to hug her; she is brave for sure. Tell Her I am proud of her. I am curious; I may have heard myself this dark morning crossing the lake, a future self telling me how proud I am, drifted through the thin places in time.

acknowledging my eating disorder.

How to start a story as old as me, one so intertwined hiding under the surface of so much pain through my life. How do I begin in a place so dark and hidden in my mind? I am barely aware it is there.

I will openly admit that I have an eating disorder; it started at about 11 or 12. It has gone through many fazes. It’s closer to the surface when I’m at my worst; when I’m doing well, it’s still hiding in the shadows, less prevalent but still making decisions for me.

Where I am now,

I am more in love with my body today than ever. I have had these fatigue spells; they have been ongoing for at least 20 years. But looking at the real problem opened a door in my mind and fallowing it back a dark rabbit hole. One I have no desire to relive.  

I face myself in these mountains; they burn through me like nothing before. I face my fears, my goals, my limitations, my stupidity, and my self-beliefs. I see the worst of my mind here.

As soon as I start feeling strong in these hills, going bigger, further, a whisper starts, a lie in my thoughts, one I hide from myself. “you should not eat that, you are working so hard, eat less and become thinner.’ So quiet that for years I didn’t even hear it. ‘You are doing so well; look how fit you are becoming; if you eat less, you will look even better; if you are thinner, people will like you more, I will like you more.”

These days, I’m more aware of my mind; I’m watching now, listening more closely. I just hiked 4k vertical feet in 8 miles, burned about 5k calories, and may have eaten 1,500. I know food is fuel; why won’t I let myself eat.

Something in my mind telling me, quietly, I barely notice it, or I pretend it is telling me good advice. I believe it wants the best for me. Yes, I want to be happy, people to like me, and all my ex-boyfriends to be jealous, an evil Jedi, a Sith. “These are not the foods you are looking for.”

This has been happening to my unwitting self for so long. —the cycle of over-exercising and under-fueling. And then confusion as to why I am tired and sick. Then the natural weight gain, depression, and the long lag time to get moving again, healing my body from its trauma. Then, finally, feeling good, going hard, getting thin, and the whisper starts, “you are doing so well, look how thin you have become if you don’t eat this, you will get thinner, people will like you more, I will like me more.”

This is the most hidden of my eating distorters, the most difficult for me to spot; Im not in full anorexic mode, as I’m eating 1,500-1,800 calories a day, but with sustained activity, that is not nearly enough.

The definition of a Heather belly,

Someone whose stomach is protruding like a basketball under their shirt.

My issues with my body started pretty early; I love my family, they did the best they could for me, and that is a whole other issue to address.

I’m not angry, and I don’t want to place blame; it was the 80’s parenting. It was pretty loose back then, smoking in the house, no seatbelts, kids just freely roaming the streets. Emotional health was not a hot topic, hell heath, in general, was not a hot topic.

Hence, the store Hot Topic, created for a whole generation of emotionally stunted children from emotionally stunted and reckless 70s and 80s parents.

Put it straight; My mom was not stoked on the idea of having kids; she is happiest in her fun stages of life, children were a lot of fucking work, and I don’t blame her; I don’t have them for the same reason. I think most moms are overwhelmed and under-appreciated for their work.

But being frustrated at your job can cause a toxic work environment, within that, when your job is a mom, and you are unhappy. All things to unpack a different day.

I was a thicker kid compared to my sister, who, at graduation, was 5 foot tall and weighed 98lbs.

The difference was noted, pointed out, and made known my whole life, her this frail light thing. Me a sack of potatoes.  

Graduation for me was 5’2 and 125. A lifetime of being referred to as “Deadweight, Sack of Potatoes and heifer, with the occasional pointing out of a “heather Belly” In my mind, I was Jabba the Hut. I had no positive body references to look to within myself. All I saw was dead weight, heifer. I look back at photos, and I look like a normal kid. But, in reality, I could not escape those labels. I was what they called me; that was all I could see. 

Girls are mean; why I’m not sure, also another story. In seventh grade, the queen of our girl click decided I was not good enough for our friend’s group. So I was voted off the island, the steps by the orchestra room where we ate lunch together. I cannot express enough the damage done to me that day, how long it lasted. It was one of the most emotionally devastating things that has ever happened to me, and I barely started to recover 25 years later.

Given my already fragile state, this kicked me into a major depression. Suicide was a nagging chirp in my mind. I started restricting my food severely at this point; I lost about 15 lbs that year. I spent the rest of middle school and high school playing with anorexia. Funny, I started to enjoy the pain of hunger; it felt better than rejection. This glitch is still part of my life; when i feel rejection, I begin to control my eating, as huger is an easier pain to process. I am letting myself feel these days; it helps. 

Sports were not a large part of my life growing up; I was allergic to outside, constantly drugged, and didn’t want to put effort into it. I don’t think I liked that I sucked at everything.

But I started running, as a way to lose weight, a great combination to not eating. Exercise boosted the thinning effects. That is how I spent most of my high school years. If anyone in my family noticed, they did not bring it up to me. If they did, I would deny it, and the conversation ended. My family did not like confrontation, so it was easy for them to pretend I was ok; I said I was. 

There was a lot that happened from the age of 17-25. I can’t even begin to unpack that hell hole in my mind. The amount of self-hate and disgust. Fear, confusion, and shame that I had taken on with the events in my life that unfolded. In this stage, the cycle expanded, adding binge and purge to over-exercising, laxatives, and extreme calorie reduction, give or take when ephedrine was legal. I remember clocking in 80 miles a week of running off of apples, granola, and yogurt. 

My insides were broken, but I if I could keep the outside looking fine. Maybe people would like the broken insides, or perhaps I would like broken in me.

WRONG!!

Funny, the thinner I got, the more I disliked myself, the more the mean voices in my head would remind me, “you are not good enough, you will never be like them, no one likes you. But if you are skinny, all that pain goes away.”

My dissociation with my body and fear of food has been a part of my life for so long; I barely notice it as it wreaks havoc, but with watching and actively trying to face the hard parts of me. Finally, it’s gotten easier to see this and begin the process of owning it.

I’m in a better place inside my mind and soul these days, self-love is a large part of my life, and with that, I see others love for me, thin or not. There is still a large part of this puzzle that needs to be addressed. But for now! I will acknowledge my pain, fear, and struggles; I will not abandon myself when I cry out for help! And I will not listen to the lies in my mind. I will do what it takes to help heal this part of me.

For now, it is acknowledging the problem and letting the bottled-up emotions behind it free. And I have had people to talk to that understand and encourage the healing process. I am here for anyone else who wants to talk, though currently, I dominate the conversation. Letting my insides be heard. Hopefully, soon, Il settles and be able to listen better.

The full story I’m not ready to tell and may never be. I’m not sure how much of it is even my story. But it helps to let go, of all the surroundings, to let myself feel what I could not then.

photo from a different time, I have no photos from this time of my life.

The smell of wet asphalt and gasoline on a cold November day. My body is still pulsing with anxiety that does not seem to leave my chest. I’m not sure if I have slept in the past few weeks; I’m not sure if I have been home more than a few hours a night. I don’t think I have been in my body for some time; everything is still a soft blur. As if I’m watching myself from a place lightly above and not in this world.

Everett Washington not far off the Puget Sound is known for never-ending depressing drizzles and low covering clouds. My home not far from here, the light blue house, originally so small on its 3/4 acres. My dad had expanded the garage into what we called the wreck room, at one point a Polygon structure was attached to the house, tall cathedral-like windows housed mother’s indoor plants, and a hot tub that made my skin ich from too much chlorine. The yard is beautifully manicured, an artist’s color pallet set off against the green lawn in the summer. Roses of all kinds were planted out front. These beautiful monarchical flowers stand superior to the rest. China Rose Damask Roses, but Mr. Lincons always draw my attention with their classic structure. As if it stands with more dignity and prestige, I always wondered if the other flowers were jealous of its grandeur.

Small bushes of white and purple Heather make some low ground coverage. I was always proud of the strange tiny bell-shaped flowers, my name shake. Overshadowed by tulips and daffodils. My flower, Heather, somehow pulled me into something older, something with lineage, it had a place in the world, and I took comfort in that. I never paid the flower much attention, always drawing and collecting the others. Heather, left alone to live, not a flower picked for a bouquet its soft hanging flowers were not for a vase, and too difficult to draw, with its tiny tiny leaves. A small shrub, just ground coverage, settled with that identity.

I come back to the smell of rain and asphalt; my dad is with me, the low buzz of small planes overhead. I’m not sure if this is a punishment, I want it to be. I’ve lost the ability to assess the ongoing of my life. Numb, with the tightness of anxiety, stomach clenched in shame, or maybe guilt.
Is this a punishment, scared and wanting a penalty, deserving a sentence. I’m not sure what it should be; I can’t even think of the punishment I deserve, I can’t think of much. “It should have been me.” That thought is the only clear thing in my head. Gonging loud, bringing me back to reality as if set on a timer, in a grandfather clock, that will live forever in my mind.

My thoughts bring me back as my dad talks to a lovely Ms. Fox. She is a beautiful lady, her blond hair seems big to me, I feel like I’m wasting her time, does she know I am in trouble, does she know why I am here?

I am not sure if my dad seems scared or excited. Excited I get the opportunity to follow one of his dreams. A passion he has that life never gave him the allowance to pursue. He is scared for me, my life, my numbness, my choices. The desperate act of a desperate man scared for his daughter.

17, I had not been home for a few weeks, school and work yes, home no. I could not face the emptiness of it, the silence of no one having anything to say. The cold, how are you, knowing full well no one wants the honest answer. With a quiet, “I’m fine,” whispered before I shut myself in my room. Just the knowledge of them in the same house weighed on me. I can feel it, the confusion, the fear, the shame, and concern, the anger also. Like a weighted blanket thrust on me when I enter the house, crushing my chest, making it hard to breathe. I wish they would punish me and get it over. I don’t even know what punishment looks like for what I had caused; it should have been me, I hear the gong.

Ms. Fox and I walk over to a little Cessna 152, and I climb into the right side as she goes through pre-check. The putt putt purr of the engine before we taxi to the runway. Paine Field, the mini airport used mainly by Boeing and local pilots, was about 10 miles from my house; my dad and I watched the stunt pilots in the back yard, sometimes we would play with small styrofoam gliders. I’m not sure I liked the air shows we went to, or I liked seeing my dad happy and excited. He would tell sorties of how he learned to fly in Vietnam. So proud of those flights, as the memories gleaned in his eyes, a younger time, with less responsibility, in a war with no oversite.

I try my first “touch and go” this day, unsure how to handle what is happening inside of me; flying a plane brings me to some focus, my senses alert to new experiences. Ms. Fox is astute in her processes, following the list, she must see the glaze in my eyes, the look of one whose soul is trying to lave. She would spend hours with me hoping I did not kill us both I’m sure. I was rarely scared or nervous. Except when speaking to the men in the towers, speaking always made me nervous, I never liked to talk.

I enjoyed the solo flights the most, no one watching, no one judging, Stall outs where I play with my mortality, it was then that I would feel. Pushing the plane straight into the air until there was not enough speed to keep the oxygen in the engine. You hear it putter out, and watch the blades slow down, as the plane turns into a nosedive. I could feel here, something, excitement, fear, anything over numb, as you pull the choke and throttle into the dive to restart the engine as the oxygen floods back in. Like my soul, flooding back for a quick moment. I always did this out in the cow pastures a little too low to the ground for regulation, I wondered if I was scaring the cows.

When we landed, my dad asked if I had fun, with a pleading look on his face. Please let this help fix you; I don’t know what to do. I smiled, and yes, it was fun. The shame for causing his hurt finding new ways to burry deep into my soul, the soul running from me. Gong, it should have been me.

If the cheerful candy-coded exterior cracks, I don’t know what would spill out of me. So I keep smiling. Is this my punishment, flight school? With the sinking feeling that punishment would never come from an outside source. I had not yet realized that the need for punishment would slowly sink into my subconscious. It would become part of my shadow, that would subtly control my life, a puppet to my pain, shame, and guilt.

Gong!

Glory
My mind and I say it’s a good day to hike. So I drive the pass, put on my gear; it’s ok if others pass me on the hike; I’m here to do my best. Setting myself up for the low goal, whatever my mind says is the best for that day—prepping myself for a meme-friendly easy out—that participation award.

Strap my boots, and start the hike; I know this is hard, but hard is relative in Jackson. The hike is 1,600 feet of vertical gain on a 45-degree boot back, with a decent amount of weight on my pack.

I feel the burn of my lungs, the complaint of my legs, my mind telling me stories of how cool it is; I’m doing a Jackson thing; I will post about it on Instagram and have others think I’m cool.

My legs begin to burn, my chest tight; this is not an easy hike, I remind myself, it will not be easy. But, my mind, beginning to change its mind, don’t forget that good enough is good enough, and I get to decide that.
You gave it a try, and I’m proud of you for that, my mind says.

I keep going, my legs burn more, the weight of the pack pulling on my shoulders. Finally, the pretty exterior of the stories begins to waver, and it’s where I start to face myself, the real stories in my mind. The subconscious belief I have of myself, these are the stories that create “to what extent is good enough, keeping me in the negative worthless subconscious self-talk.

“Look at all these people passing you; they are athletes and fit; you are not; why are you doing this. You suck, this is painful, you are not this kind of person, give up, we did enough.”

At this point, I’ve let some people pass at the stopping rock, not even 1/3 the way up. Maybe this is why I go alone, no witness other than me to my self-worth and belief system. It’s easier to quit on yourself when no one is watching. I don’t have the look of disappointment as my girlfriend waits for me above, eyes reminding me she is better than I am. I think she hikes with me so she can feel better than me. It lets her feel like the superior athlete. At the same time, making sure I know I am slow. Poli Poli, slowly sowly.

I tell myself, ok, let’s make it to the next stopping spot, already giving up on a summit. So I’m moving really slow, mainly at war with myself.

I remember the first time I started listening to myself, really listening to myself. My mind was so well hidden in the neverending white noise of chatter and music. Meditation is an amazing thing.
The hidden voice behind the narrative of my story, the shadow story to who I am, and what I am capable of. I am a slave to this hidden narrative, and I don’t even realize it.

I finally saw it on this hill. I heard it; I felt it. It was as if a stranger had been following me my whole life, invisible, whispering.

You are so slow, dead weight, a sack of potatoes. Just turn around. Who do you think you are? You are not good enough; you are not athletic; you are not and will not be capable of this kind of strength. This is too hard for you; you heifer! you are not worth this much effort; go home. You did enough. Just quit!

Half the way up Glory, I heard and saw a part of me that had been hidden so deep. It is here that I strip myself, my mind naked. I’m facing the ugly truth of what I think of myself.
No one wants to look at themselves that close; seeing this side was a shock to my system. To believe that was me, inside saying these things. There is so much ugly and pain behind that invisible shadow, the one that thinks so little of me that is so willing to give up on me.

I will warn you, once you see it, really listen and feel it, it’s tough to unsee.

This voice, this shadow, was the K2 of my mind; little did I know it was more of an iceberg; I had just seen the tip, so much more had been buried under the surface. Buried by the pleasing smile, everything is fine; I’m ok, nothing upsetting here. Don’t open that door; it’s not pretty; people won’t like you if you go there, worse they will ignore you. Focus on the positive; you are doing better than most.

I turn around, giving up on myself, going back to the cheerful little voice in my head, you did good enough. But I saw the demon in my mind, that said ” though shall not pass” I was scared, confused, and hurt. Where did it come from, the answer just under the surface of that iceberg, visible and distorted.

I have two choices, I can try and hide, or I can face it, I wanted to hide.

Chapture 2

My shadows shady past.

I had started meditating perhaps six months earlier. I have been a yoga instructor for about eight years, but still, meditation was not a large part of the practice, though traditionally, it’s 99% of the practice.

A few months before my dive into meditation, I decided something needed to change, and It was not going to be my location, I was over packing up and moving whenever life got hard.

I had spent my life running, thinking changing location would bring me to a better place. Perhaps if I moved to Montana, things would work out for me; I would find a great job and an awesome boyfriend. I was 36/37 at this time. And I had been running my whole life. Hawaii, Europe, ski town after ski town, Moab, the Caribbean, on the outside an adventurer, on the inside running.
I had been debating moving to Montana, but something in me was saying, no, not this time. Maybe some maturity, or the fear of being too old for this lifestyle, I had perfected survival, and I didn’t want to just survive anymore.

I can’t remember where I got the idea, perhaps a book; thank goodness I read a lot. But it hit me that maybe it’s not the places, perhaps it’s me. The same things repeatedly happen in new locations, and I am the common denominator.
Whatever was going through my mind, I had realized my current pattern was not working. And I had decided to try something different, because what if it was me? Science says I am the only constant variable. It’s a rare thing, to decide to take ownership of the ongoing of your life, and stop blaming others.

I heard a reel recently, that said, “real change happens when you get tired of your shit.” The thing is, you don’t realize it is your shit until you step away from it.

I added so many things to my life during this time: I read books every morning, meditated, ate well, listened to podcasts, and used them to find more books. I was learning and learning a lot. I’d take in any form of mentor I could, and in this day in age, I had a whole internet of mentors, both dead and alive.

I started Journaling; Journaling is a way for my brain’s right side and left side to communicate. I stumbled into emotions I had suppressed for years. Memories, experiences, things I never let myself feel or process were beginning to bubble up. Journaling gave these an avenue to be expressed, from memory to thought and then often my body, not always in that order. Often Journaling would end with me up in a ball of tears, finally letting myself feel a pain that had accrued, someplace in my past.

Meditation gave me the space to watch myself, to listen to my thoughts, to become aware of the neverending chain of chatter I had trained myself to ignore.

After unearthing it, I wanted to hide from my Shadow. There is pain, shame, and blame; I did not want to open that door; I did not want to acknowledge how my Shadow grew; I did not want to relive those experiences, to feel those suppressed emotions.

I did not have the tools or the courage to face my Shadow. But I knew It had to be done.

As with any warrior’s journey, they never start out having the tools to defeat the monster. In the journey, the tools are found, the mentors unveiled themselves and lessons learned, the friendships and allies made. I had started the journey; what kind of story would it be if Frodo gave up the first time he saw the “Eye” of Sauron, or if Luke Sky Walker quit after his first encounter with Darth Vader in The Battle of Yavin. (Brad would love that reference) . But the warrior, the hero of the tail, does not know that at the time; that is why he is courageous; he/she has Faith that the tools and skills he/her needs will be learned on the way. They continue on the journey with Faith, forward with hope. We don’t understand that the universe will guide us give us the tools and the mentors we need. Both good and bad. The force, Universal energy, Faith, whatever you may call it.

I had met my Shadow in one part of my life, but I recognized it now; I had begun to train myself to hear it. And little did I realize it had been following me everywhere and for a long time.
In every part of my life, whispering sweet poison in my mind. In my friendships, my work environments, on the yoga mat, in the mirror, in my relationships, the bedroom. This Shadow of mine had eclipsed my life. I was in my shade, and I did not see it.

Within my friendships, whispering, they don’t like you; they don’t want you here, they are talking about you behind your back.

With my work, They think you are shit, you don’t work hard, and no one likes you, oh and you are fat and ugly, they are all saying that.

The yoga studio, you are a fraud, you are not skinny enough, you don’t know enough, who do you think you are? They all see it; they all doubt you. Look at her; she has nicer things; she must be better than you. Look at them. They are judging you as fat and ugly.

Every one of these has a seed that was planted in reality, an experience that was had, that created an identity I hid away; I suppressed, did not speak about, or allow myself to feel. Thousands of little experiences ignored, suppressed, buried deep, manifested into this creature, this shadow, that was in its way, controlling my life. Me, the unaware puppet of my trauma.

Look in the mirror at yourself naked and listen to what you say about yourself; that’s a fast way to get a glimpse of your Shadow. Or get blackout drunk and record yourself, happy, sad, ego, asshole, bully, fearful, insecure; needy; that’s another way to get a glimpse. Try something new and suck at it, try and be vulnerable, all ways to see a glimpse of your shadow.

But the real way is to listen, to watch, allow yourself to be honest beyond belief, and utter acceptance of all the possibilities of yourself. To acknowledge where it shows up in your life, and accept it. To do the work there, to find a better way. When it is triggered, let it, and be present for it, nonjudgemental, and learn.

So no more bullshit, distractions, lies, running, drugs, alcohol, distractions, made-up drama, diving into production at work.

I saw the tip of the iceberg that is myself I’ve been running from, and it hated me.

How the hell have I been living my life this way? How have I not heard it before? I felt it, anxiety and depression, lack of self-worth, This is what I’ve been running from and why I never seemed to be able to escape, it was in me all along. And Just like on Glory, every new location, my mind would tell me, what a fun adventure, until things settled down and the hard part of pushing through life’s challenges arrived.

I would use these hills; this would be my battlegrounds. Not a battle of hate, but of one of sheer acceptance, and forgiveness beyond belief. Me against me, winner takes all.

Be small, don’t take up too much space, don’t be too much, keep it in. Be what they like and approve of. Be the cool girl; laugh it off as if it does not hurt. Don’t criticize, don’t stand up for your self-worth, don’t stand up for others. And for god’s sake don’t tell anyone how you really feel. If you do, it might show them their insecurities, where they could improve, what they are doing wrong. And they will hate you for that.

They will find someone that only reflects what they want to see. You can call it less, you can call it different, but it will not be you.

It is up to you to decide what matters more, you or them wanting you.

For the longest time, our lives depended on having a man/ boy/male; it was instinct to keep them happy and wanting you. So women were trained and praised for being meek and quiet.
Our lives depended on it.

So much buried in this, so much of my mental makeup was this.
Trained to seek approval.

I am 40, single, never married, and have no children—a string of boyfriends in my past, lessons, and reflections on self-worth.

I thank god or my mother for whatever iron in my soul. My adventure spirit was always stronger than the desire for a boyfriend, husband, white picket fence 2.5 kids. My life never went that direction, and I never had a craving for it, to the point of almost revolution at it.

The internal fight of who the world says I should be and the person I want to be.

But the training was in place. Be less, never be more than them; it makes them insecure.
So a lifetime of amazing feats was dismissed in my mind. I never took them on as part of who I was. They made me too much. As I lived in a world of trying to be less than I was, trying to impress those that would quickly put me down if I showed more. A delicate balancing act of approval.

“How dare you make me second guess what I am doing with my life? How dare you remind me that I could be more, but I’m not putting effort into it; I am too scared of failure.”

How much of myself put me here in this cycle, my internal belief that I was not worth more, kept me with people that would reinforce this belief. My fear and the opinion that I was not worth more were reinforced by expecting more from those who were not capable of it. My mind is creating the loop, not seeing the difference.
But still, inside, the adventurer. She was fearless, still is fearless. I dismissed her because she made weak men insecure.

I second-guessed her, the amazing woman in me; I did not believe in her; I made her doubt herself over and over. I told her she was wrong that she should settle down be consistent; she was scaring the people in her life. My mother’s voice in my head, not understanding this wild creature that is her daughter—feeling a criminal as myself, at war with my life.

The tug of war between what I should be and who I am.

Be less; you are scaring them. You make them look at their lives and question.
You don’t know it, but they are comparing themselves to you. So you make them reflect on who they are, and they don’t like it.

Be Cinderella, be Sleeping Beauty; they don’t make men question. Don’t be Peter Pan, don’t be Sinbad. Be all of them if you want; make their head spin.

The long journey, inside. Looking at the labels others had given me, The labels I had fought against most of my life, an invisible war against the past, others peoples projections of insecurities. Who was I trying to prove myself to, That I am not these things you say I am, For another day, another story.

But for now, I will spend some time celebrating the wild woman in me, the adventurer, the fearless creature. She surrounds herself with people who encourage her; their uniqueness is not threatened. But look on with smiles and encouragement at something brave enough to be different because they are not comparing themselves to her. Instead, they love themselves for their unique journey. And can love others on theirs.

And I will finally stop comparing her to others, letting go of the war inside, to fit in, to be approved of by others. Never felt like I was enough but constantly worried I was too much. Let go of the desire to be what others think, and trust the woman in me to find joy as herself.

I will own myself, my bigness, I will understand not everyone is meant to live this way, and your life is beautiful however it is, as long as happiness is in your heart. And your life is what you desire it to be. You are brave enough to be you and not compare yourself to others.

Who Am I? I will own these as labels I choose for myself. Fearlessly! Others can put labels on me; I will determine if I accept these.

I feared that someone would second guess a label; I gave myself as if they had the power to take them away. Others give me labels; they can take them away.

I own myself; I choose who I want to be and who I am; I put in the work. I give myself these labels as both a reward and a goal. I decide who I am.

Entrepreneur- business owner- land owner- developer- sommelier, investor, writer- poet- artist- yoga instructor- Snowboarder- mountain biker- extreme sport athlete- class 5 multi day river guide, beginner surfer- world explorer- artist- cook extortionate- pilot- survivor- daring- loving, kind compassionate- friend- daughter- sister, builder, creative- strong beautiful- sexy- lover- dancer- energy worker-emotional maturity and expression- Woman

All of these have stories; all of these are things I might have squeaked and passed off as nothing much of a thing I had done. It was no big deal, never taking pride in myself; it made others uncomfortable. I plan to breathe into these labels, these ideas of who I am, and I plan to make them grow. I want to add more; I want to be more.

I will say it takes a lot to be me. And I will have to be a lot to succeed!
I have to be too much to succeed! I might take that one on, and I am too much. But, as I know, I can never be too much for those that can not get enough of me.

Labels I want to add.

Successful-
I think, for now, I want to breathe into my labels; I want to give them life and encourage them within.
The amount of effort it takes to be a lot, I will walk into that, own it. And take pride in it. Not fear it, not shy away, and give each the time and effort it needs. While getting good sleep.