Hi, and an invitation to gather our moments together.

Hi.

In the exhaustion of some flu that captured me, I wanted to come say, just, hi. And brevity isn't really my jam (Twitter continues to confuse me) so I will continue on, but mostly, hi.

Hi, away from social media. Hi, in the moments before dinner is on the table. Hi, when you are cuddled up on the couch under a heavy blanket.

A hi, and, how about a story?

A while back I unfollowed a few people on Instagram. Not because they were doing anything wrong, because when they showed up something not-so-good would happen inside of me.

I had to examine if it was jealousy or a mirror triggering or what, because I thought they were lovely humans. I just got this response every time they would show up in my feed. I didn't feel good when I saw them.

Because there was so much 'similarity' in being moms and having businesses and being seen and growing a larger presence I had to unpack it slowly, I knew my reaction was taking me somewhere.

I asked myself a whole lotta questions. One specific thing that came up was in response to someone who said, "This course always sells out." It just hit me with pricklies all over my body.

Starting with jealousy, I asked myself if I felt jealous that someone could make that statement. Of course. Sure.

Then I looked at it a little more. One of the things Dave and I have spent the last few years on is not speaking in absolutes. The words always and never are part of our boundaries in heated conversations, we hold firm on redirecting the person who uses them in battle.

OK, so the word always triggered me, felt a little wounding.

But I still hadn't hit what was going on. Until I did. And it was so uncomfortable and sad and all the things.

I sent my friends a text and asked. 

The reaction I'm having to these particular people is something some people feel towards me, isn't it?

Their lovingly beautiful response, absolutely.

So I went into that. I lived in it for weeks. I went beyond the first layer of boundary work, which is that it isn't my job (or the job of these other women) to fix that or make it better for anyone else.

I went deeper into it as a true, honest feeling that isn't pleasant. I managed to stay out of my head that wanted to sort it and file it and research it and make it ok.

I stayed in it. I felt the grief inside of it.

Any instinct to want to return to the salvation of it not being my responsibility to take care of other's feelings was acknowledged and then I asked it to step aside so I could keep on feeling the extreme discomfort of what was coming up.

Being in a feeling, in a moment of our life that is so TRUE is inherently more beautiful than resisting it AND because it is often a feeling we'd rather numb, it is so convenient to choose instead, not to feel it.

I chose to feel. I made it through. 

Emerging from that discomfort was such a new iteration of myself that I put on a sweater I used to live in and it no longer felt good on my body. The whole day I was tugging and pulling and thinking about taking it off.

The truth is, I care so deeply, fully, intensely about how others feel.

My business is built on feelings.

In the rise of social media and the constant feedback of people liking you or not liking you because of a decision to hit a couple of tiny buttons on their phones I think there is this part of us that tries to numb out how much it hurts to not be liked by claiming to have good boundaries and not be co-dependant with our followers. 

But what if we go deeper? 

No one has to align with me on how I choose to show up and be seen, but I have needed to get honest with myself around it. My fear runs deep and feels primal, especially as this is how I support myself and my family.

In therapy I told my healer how angry I was that my love story with Dave wasn't the magical one I was writing, that I had convinced myself it was.

She asked me who I was angry at. 

I know, you know the answer. And, hi.

Hi.

I was angry at myself.

Once I let myself feel these things and feel what was underneath them, Spirit and I have been on a wild ride of feelings, of gathering moments, of making space, of listening.

The sweater now belongs to someone who has become exactly who needs to be wearing it.

Today, in between sick kids and calls from insurance companies and making lasagna for my sort-of-mother-in-I-am-not-married-in-the-traditional-sense-law who broke four ribs, I will put something on that feels like me now.

And here is where I'll invite you to something that will become as we do. A thing that doesn't actually exist until we bring it to life. A something that came from everything before and waits in this quiet wondering of who will breathe their spirit into it.

This is the place I'll offer something that I need, that I believe in, that dreams of becoming as we gather our moments together and feel ourselves in our lives.

The little link to the invitation I'll throw in here is the result of that sweater no longer feeling right on my body and yet being amazing on someone else's. 

It will begin with a story. About meatballs. (I'll remind you here, brevity is not my thing.)

What it mostly wants to tell you, is that there is a place, a space, where your stories weave into mine into hers into theirs and our moments gather into something that I believe is great big, and, fantastical.

Our lives.

So, hi. Hi.

I see you. I appreciate you. I adore you. The invitation is below. xo

My Great Big Fantastical Life