I AM NOT YOUR GURU- Sometimes when you let go, the people around you grow the most.

When I met my husband, I was well read in the virtues of new age spirituality and quick to run my mouth off about it. Alas, the walk didn’t match the talk. I’d done little to actually integrate anything I’d learned.

In my defense, reading had brought me to a point of understanding my beliefs about the afterlife and not left me with much in the way of how to live the one I was still in. It was like knowing my ABC’s but not yet how to read. Or maybe I just wasn’t ready to see that part in the books. Having recently come out of a failed marriage, personal progress was less of a concern than survival. If your energies are tied up in an emotional battleground, whether with yourself or another, stagnation is a typical byproduct. Even though I was out of that situation and in something healthier, I was still finding my footing, regaining my confidence.

Sean, my now husband, found all of my spiritual mumbo-jumbo to be just that. He wasn’t interested, having chosen Christianity of his own accord in high school, and practicing with friends for a few years. There was skepticism about religion as “big business” and blind obedience to socially ancient political agendas. I saw that willingness to question established dogma as a crack in the foundation that I could weasel into.

I used my newness with him to push my perspective, dropping books in his lap left and right. Out of kindness and respect for me and our still novel relationship, he kinda read some of them.

It should come as no surprise that he found them to be absolute bullshit. He wasn’t looking for anything. They weren’t calling to him like beacons in the night, the way they had to me. He’d come with his own vision for spirituality, but I’m an infamous know-it-all, relentless to a fault, so I kept pushing. Cue the annoying girl at the party, forcing drinks down everyone’s throats, “making” them have a good time. You know my type, you’ve met a few of me before, probably nursed hangovers because of the me’s in the world.

I’m going to fast forward six years, because it was all more of the same, but with a slow and subtle decline in pushiness. Three children later, a lack of time had robbed me of my ability to care very much about other people’s life choices, a brilliant and much-needed thievery.

The afterlife part was concreted for me, it was nothing I needed to hash out and didn't receive much attention anymore, being of little bearing on my todays and tomorrows. The reading continued, but with emphasis on how to live in a fulfilling manner while owning my own shit. Self-help books instead of Sylvia Brown books riddled with countless trips to psychics, trying to wrangle information from them that could dismiss me of personal responsibility for the outcome of my life. I never did end up with those two sets of twins promised by the chain-smoking, botched plastic surgery faced Gerry.

But that husband of mine, I still couldn’t get him to agree with me, dammit, in spite of all my reading aloud from Earth-shattering books (poor Sean). There were fights, lots of them. He was slightly broken down. He didn’t really subscribe to his previous beliefs, but he wasn’t buying in to mine either. Full disclosure- he’s stubborn, and I’m pushy. This can be difficult, on an array of fronts. (I will not ever try to buy him clothes again.)

And then I just gave up.

I decided to quietly believe my shit and leave him alone. In fact, I decided to do that with everyone (except in my book club on spirituality, cuz that was a proper venue).

I don’t know if his beacon was calling to him or if me shutting up made space for him to see it, but something incredible happened. He started to believe. All by himself.

He didn’t read any of my books. He bought his own, decidedly more pragmatic in nature, but at their core, the same damn business. They weren’t about the afterlife. That’s of zero interest to him. Nothing too “woo woo,” but all in the same vein as my core beliefs: You are but the product of your thoughts and because of that, you have control over your responses and can manifest greatness and abundance or their opposites (in a teeny tiny nutshell). He even started eating healthy and waking up early. Gasp. Wtf. It’s 5:30 am and Sean is currently downstairs meditating, doing yoga, and gratitude journaling, while drinking Bulletproof coffee. Seriously, wtf.

I’m not pulling any “told you so’s.” I’m just giddy about it, in awe of the coalition that has arisen from this coming together, the strength that we possess as a unit, now rooted in personal power and responsibility. I respect that he’s come at it from a completely different angle than me, for his own purposes, to fulfill his own desires, and answer his own questions. I’m growing leaps and bounds through our mutual points of view of varying origins, through enlightening, empowering dialogues, and cohesive desires.

But, I needed to give him the space to get there. There being wherever he needed to be. I shouldn't have had expectations, or projected my "right." Constant chirping didn’t sway him. The ideology may have cracked the door a little, or slightly opened his mind to unconventional credos, but ultimately, this seems to be where he was always meant to land, with or without me. 

Having witnessed this process within my own marriage, friend and family relationships, and studying the art of allowing people to just do them, something that doesn’t come naturally for me (I know I’m such a weirdo… the why’s of that are a whole other blog), I’m slowly learning that everyone gets wherever they need to be eventually, whether in this life or the next, emphasis on slowlyyyyy- it’s that difficult for me to de-invest from other people’s lives. I’ll never stop sharing information because you can lead a horse to water… it’s the make them drink part that I’m working on.

In life and at parties, no more pouring drinks down anyone’s throats. Just some clinking of glasses over the beauty of our differences.

It feels good, not shouldering the weight of other’s choices, a self-imposed burden I was never meant to bear.

-Angi

OWN YOUR SH*T. OWN YOUR LIFE.

I’m not going to mince words, I’m a bit woo-woo. I’d stake my life on reincarnation, and I practice manifestation on the regular. I believe that, in the words of Neale Donald Walsch, via God (stay with me here), “our thoughts are creative.”

I started reading The Secret years ago and never finished it, but I engulfed every page of The Law of Attraction by Jerry and Esther Hicks, from the first cover to the last. It resonated so hard that I would’ve swallowed that book if I could’ve. It’s far from my first read on spirituality, acting as the icing on the cake, the final stitches that brought the tapestry together, creating a comprehensible masterpiece.

I’ve written about this before, but I want to delve in a bit further, because it’s the most empowering concept of humanity, in my humble opinion. Owning your shit. I'm sprinkling in a little manifestation talk, too. Check out these basic principles of attraction, borrowed from http://www.abraham-hicks.com/lawofattractionsource/teachings_brief, and my elaboration upon each.

1. YOU ARE A PHYSICAL EXTENSION OF THAT WHICH IS NON-PHYSICAL.

Whoa, people. Just whoa. It’s all the same fabric, and we’re all cut from it, but still of it. That’s a miraculous, beautiful concept to ponder. All of our individual and group energies are continuous and congruent, tailor-made to commingle and contribute to that fabric.

2. YOU ARE HERE IN THIS BODY BECAUSE YOU CHOSE TO BE HERE.

Own it. Own your life choices. Once you do this, once you take responsibility for the challenges, the joys, the relationships, you empower yourself to change them as needed. As long as you’re blaming the elusive “other” or are pissed off at the “World at Large”, you’re no longer in the driver’s seat of your life. We can't change the "other" or the "world," only our interactions and responses to them. When we sever our capacity to do that, via anger and blame, life is happening to us instead of for us.

You want to be here. You chose to be here. Your soul has a plan. Quiet the fear and the chatter so you can hear it.

3. THE BASIS OF YOUR LIFE IS FREEDOM; THE PURPOSE OF YOUR LIFE IS JOY.

That’s right. Life isn’t about sucking. It’s about joy, finding and pursuing passion and service to others. Free yourself from a lot of emotional strife by choosing empowerment. Choose empowerment by choosing personal responsibility and gratitude. Be the driver. Own your shit. Love your shit. That one bears repeating: Love your shit. Gratitude is the gift that keeps on giving. Finding thanks for the good, the bad, and the ugly is the path to freedom from struggle, anxiety, depression, and anger. When we allow these experiences to own us, our lives no longer belong to us.

4. YOU ARE A CREATOR; YOU CREATE WITH YOUR EVERY THOUGHT.

This is tough to swallow because we’ve all been through devastating circumstances. Believing that you’ve created those things via your thoughts is where people say adios. I’d like to reframe that to instead express that you’ve created the lesson born from the tragedy or the pain. We’re here to learn. Our souls know what we still need to integrate to become more whole. The ultimate Growth generally is accompanied by discord and discomfort. There is beauty to be found in pain, but you may have to look really hard for it, and that involves making a very powerful and conscious choice to do so.

Your love for this fabric of souls, your universal kin, has influenced your willingness to contribute to that loving energy, to expand it via your human existence. Only in human form can we experience the type of limitations that contribute to such amazing growth. Ego- the struggle is real.

On a smaller scale, I’m sure everyone reading this has had several defining moments when you got sick of your own bullshit and finally pulled the plug, vowing to have a mental shift, and what happened? It changed, didn’t it? You changed. If thoughts are the muscle behind change, positive thoughts are the steroids.

5. ANYTHING THAT YOU CAN IMAGINE IS YOURS TO BE OR DO OR HAVE.

Yeah, I know. It doesn’t feel possible, but that mindset is the problem. Many of us (read all of us) have abundance blocks. Know that you deserve to have what you desire. It’s okay to want a fat bank account, success, or a lovely house, but if you carry subconscious guilt or associations with money, those need to be worked through. A lot of this comes from the attitude surrounding money that you were raised with. If wealth was “bad,” or “greedy,” at the expense of doing what you loved, or only came with “back-breaking” work, that’s a block. If your family belief was that “we just don’t have financial luck," you may still be operating from that headspace. What do you tell yourself about abundance? Think about it. Explore those ingrained, irrational notions.

6. AS YOU ARE CHOOSING YOUR THOUGHTS, YOUR EMOTIONS ARE GUIDING YOU.

This is so important. Fear and love are the dominant emotions. If Fear is the underlying feeling, you can imagine what kind of thoughts you’ll be creating. When we create from Love, for ourselves and others, we’re back at the wheel. Our intentions become pure and our paths cleared. Fear is a self-imposed limitation, a brick wall to progress. We're pretty adept at dressing it up with pragmatism, so it may take some deep examination to uncover camouflaged Fears, like "I'm too old to go back to school," or "We don't have enough money to risk a career change," or "I don't know what I'm passionate about"... You most certainly do, be still, and dig deeper.

7. THE UNIVERSE ADORES YOU FOR IT KNOWS YOUR BROADEST INTENTIONS.

Remember, we are the cloth, and we are cut from the cloth. Of course the Universe adores you. The Universe is you and you are the Universe. No, I’m not high on pot brownies right now. Choose your intentions, shape your life. I set my intentions regularly. This could be as simple as telling myself that we’re going to have a “safe, uneventful, barf-free, tantrum-free car ride,” or "this morning, my kids are going to get ready for school peacefully and quietly, while enjoying one another's company." The key is to say it, believe it, and feel joy while doing so. If you exude anxiety, not gonna work. I close my eyes, do some deep breathing, put a lil’ smile on my face, then tell myself how I want things to go. Be detailed and specific. On my end, it has about a hundred percent success rate and is how I survived 40 hours of travel from Bali with three small children. You can do this several times throughout the day. I find it most effective performed in small increments, relegated to each activity.

8. RELAX INTO YOUR NATURAL WELL-BEING. ALL IS WELL. (REALLY IT IS!)

It doesn’t always feel this way, but the light is there, even when you can’t see it. Trust that you were born to be alright, that things will invariably work out. Just keep moving and believing. The Universe wants what you want. That’s a pretty intense notion, but you wield A LOT of power. What you think you want and what you're putting out, via your thoughts and (often negative) self-talk, can be two vastly different things, so don't take that statement at face value. Listen to the words you tell yourself each day. Be the observer of your own thoughts. You'll learn a lot about what you "want."

9. YOU CAN NOT DIE; YOU ARE EVERLASTING LIFE.

Our souls live on after our bodies are no longer needed. There is purpose to this madness we call Life, to every joy and sorrow. Your soul is constantly integrating the lessons thereof, ever expanding in light and love, continually reincorporating within the fabric.

For the Love of Self, and the Love of Life, go forth and take your power back. You were always meant to drive.

-Angi

MADE ANEW- Why I Like Myself More as a Parent.

We’ve started going to church. Honestly, it feels more like a workshop on mindfulness than anything religious. It’s Unitarian. You know, church for the sensible, grown-up hippie of the 60’s and their liberal offspring, right down to the magazine-worthy modern design and proudly hung rainbow flag billowing in the breeze.

A few weeks ago, after the ministry, a man in his 50's approached us. We were all chatting, and he mentioned something that resonated. He said that he likes himself more as a parent than he did as a childless person. Not Earth shattering information, but I was surprised that I'd never had that specific thought before.

I’ve often contemplated the gifts that parenthood has bestowed: patience, perseverance, mental stamina, fortitude, selflessness, priority…. qualities I’m not sure I’d have developed, to this extent, without motherhood. Of course, they’ve come at the price of independence, time, sleep, hygiene, and guilt-free personal indulgence, to name a few, but when it boils down to it, I like me so much more now.

My first child didn’t require much sacrifice of personal freedoms. Most of the things I’d enjoyed, pre-parenthood, were still possible with a little bit of tweaking. I was showering every day, drinking a cup of coffee to completion (without any treks to the microwave), running in the morning, legitimately styling my (clean) hair, reading, sewing, etc etc... That’s probably why having a second didn’t sound like too big of a deal. But, for me, round two more or less pounded the final nail in the coffin of my previous self. There was no way my needs or desires could ever come first again, at least not without acting as a detriment to my parenting.

And, with River’s birth, I also lost some of my capacity for self-reflection. Alas, I wasn’t using it wisely anyway, still spending too much time worrying about how others perceived me. One of my favorite sayings is that “It’s really none of your business what other people think of you.” I had enough time before that second kid to make it my business. After him, I may have thought about it but didn’t have the emotional space to grant it effect.

But, I was still trying to operate like a mother of one, still attempting to pull off a flawless house, remodeling said house, a busy work schedule, all healthy homemade meals, yard perfection, body perfection, things I had no business putting so much energy into when I had two little boys to tend to.

Then I got pregnant again. I was hanging on by a thread, my health was failing, my marriage was fragile. How was I supposed to pull this off? At the time, I was petrified, feeling like a derailed train maneuvering through a dark, endless tunnel. Today, I realize that my daughter saved me from myself. From my overachieving, ridiculous self.

It was by far my most difficult pregnancy. I was sick for the duration. I was exhausted, battling adrenal fatigue from the aforementioned lifestyle. But, I still pushed myself too hard, getting up at 5 am every morning to exercise till the very end, working 10 hour days on my feet, and continuing to do all the house stuff. The Universe was trying to tell me something, and I was the heedless teenager with her Walkman blaring, holding up her middle finger.

Indigo was born, and I got legitimately knocked on my ass. Back to work four weeks later, colicky baby screaming in the next room, breastfeeding, up all night, trying to parent two little boys, finishing our remodel and then selling our house, packing and moving to another state- operating in pure survival mode, all before she was even a year old.

Living through that, the utter chaos of it all, broke me.

And I needed to be broken. A fragile vase, too close to the edge of the shelf, I could feel myself teetering, and then slowly losing footing, eventually shattering to a million little pieces.

But those fragmented bits of me found their way back together, some rightfully lost to the rubbish pile, and others spared. With each subsequent child, we’re made anew. For some, it takes longer than others to accept the beauty of that transformation (me, me, me), the necessity therein. It took space and time to unravel, moments of quiet that hadn’t existed when I’d worked and lived in a project house. There was depression as I lost my sense of self, then redefined it and my priorities. My importance, my worthiness was no longer a derivative of hard work. Now, being a mother to my children is distinction enough. But, it took all three to get me there.

And, I like myself so much better now.

-Angi

CUPCAKES, THORNS, AND STAY AT HOME MOM GUILT.

“Okay, now stir in one cup of flour”... We’re sitting on the floor, in front of the play kitchen, making pretend chocolate cupcakes with rainbow sprinkles. “Add a teaspoon of vanilla and whisk the batter.” My two oldest children are in school until 3:30. These days, it’s just me and Indigo at home together. “Pop ‘em in the oven and set the timer.” Last year, I was a working mom. After my first child, I was putting in 50 hours per week. By the third, I’d whittled it down to 30. But, they were still 10 hour days with no lunch or break time, and me running out to nurse a baby or make my toddler a meal every time I put a client under the dryer. I’d set up shop at home right before my third was born, thinking it might ease the workload; invariably, it had the opposite effect,  making me available to do more.

It's no secret that being a working mom doesn’t remove any domestic responsibilities. Cooking, cleaning, laundry, and trying to take care of yourself just get added to the list. On the weekends we squeezed in as much family time as we could and on my weekdays off, it was a nonstop parade of errands and chores.

I was patient and loving with my children, but there wasn’t a lot of interaction happening in the form of play. I taught them all the basics. We spent a lot of time reading, baking, snuggling, and performing the requisite holiday crafting, but I couldn’t turn it off enough to relax on the floor and just BE with them. There were too many tasks looming in preparation for a workweek with long days and nights spent nursing a restless infant. I'd race from five minutes of reading to cleaning a toilet and then back to singing a quick nursery rhyme out of obligation, then off to to do dishes or fold some laundry. That, coupled with both boys living through nine months of pregnancy-induced illness, consistent pre-term labor, and basic being-with-child lethargy, robbed them of a solid year of quality parenting. I did the best I could, but it never felt like enough. I knew I wasn’t the mom I wanted to be even when not pregnant, but I justified it by telling myself I didn’t enjoy play or lacked imagination. When we moved, I left behind my clientele and embarked upon stay-at-home mommyhood.

“Alright, time to take the cupcakes out so we can put the pink frosting on.” She reaches for a hot pad and delicately removes the tray from the oven. I’ve never felt this much joy, this kind of ease. Never have I been able to relax to the point of being able to sit and immerse myself in the creativity of childhood. It took me a solid six months of not working to even allow myself this. I operated like the sky was falling and preparations need be in place at all times. That sensation slowly took leave as I realized that if the laundry didn’t get done on Tuesday, there was always every single other day. Playing with my children no longer feels like a chore, as it did when I worked. There are no tasks resting upon my shoulders to rob me of the gift of presence.

Yet, all of this leaves me with a lingering sense of guilt… on many levels.

When she lays down for her nap today, I’ll go for a run and then sit in the bathtub and read or do some writing. My husband works from home. Sure, I do all the house stuff and cooking, but he’s bringing the money in while I’m upstairs soaking in Epsom salt water infused with lavender. Guilt.

It’s too easy. I’ve never had days like this. The last eight years were spent in survival mode. Now, it's just me and a two year old. It doesn’t feel fair because I’m not toiling. Aside from minor toddler drama, it's all pleasantries. I have decent time management, so my house is clean, my laundry is done, my meals are planned. Her nap times belong solely to me. They exist for my indulgence. Deep down, I don't feel deserving. Relaxation doesn’t come naturally. I’m a better human, a better wife, a better mother for having it, but still… guilt.

Those two big boys at school all day who never got to experience their mother like this…. God, the guilt.

That one hurts so much. I can get past the fruitless guilt born from exercising and taking baths, but I can’t ever make the time lost right for them. They’ll never be home with me in that capacity again. Gone are the days of make-believe. They want to be outside adventuring with friends, not building LEGO houses with their Mommy.

I can’t help but lose my emotional shit when I think about what they’ve potentially lost from those missed interactions, from having a mommy who’s mind was always wandering from one chore to the next.

Alas, what can I do?

Nothing.

Thus is life. We have to grin and bare the casualties of our mistakes. This isn’t said to lay judgment upon working mothers. We come with different desires, thresholds, standards, support systems, and life contexts that dictate our choices if we’re so blessed to even have choices.

I write this with the intention of allaying guilt, cathartically putting pen to paper for the sole purpose of healing because it’s not something I’ve worked through or have the answer to.

The only thing I know to be true is that guilt takes up space and emotional energy. My family needs all of me. I need all of me. It changes nothing and is a senseless thief of joy and content, not worthy of creeping into priceless moments with my daughter. I’ll make that my mantra from here forward, reminding myself that I did the best I could with what I had and what I knew. In the words of Maya Angelou, “When you know better, you do better.” I hold that saying close to my heart always, especially as a mother, because grace is so important as we journey through parenthood- a thorny, winding path rife with mistakes and wishes for do-overs.

-Angi

CART FULL OF ZEN- I Stopped Shopping and Here's What Happened.

I’m on my fourteenth beanie. Things are starting to look obsessive. I’m certain that the Target employees and my fellow shoppers are concerned for me. Anything that isn’t embellished with sequins has made its way to the top of my head and been paraded in front of the tiny mirror. We’ve taken up residence of the accessory section long enough for Indigo to litter the aisle with fuzzy gloves and purses so small that grown women really shouldn't own them... and I’m not showing signs of stopping.

I’ve never been on a budget before, always having worked and been fortunate enough to make decent money. We’ve never Dave Ramsey’d it. No envelopes. Yet. There's never been a need to run a personal purchase by my husband. I do have some restraint. There are certainly tons of things I want that don’t come home with me. Being cheap is a beneficial roadblock to accumulation- my dad’s voice echoing in my head, “If it’s not on sale, then it’s not for sale.”

But, I don’t work anymore. It's been a really fun, rather indulgent year, and now it’s time to reel it in. I thought I’d been doing that, but as it turns out, my subdued version of shopping isn’t cutting it. The unexpected expenses now seem to be given monthly occurrences. This is an “absolutely no extras” situation until we get our shit together.

I’ve done this once before in years past, for a very short spell. Walking the aisles proved to be a losing battle. Just get the stuff on the list, don't veer from the periperhal, and hightail it outta there before catching a glimpse of anything Nate Berkus. It’s the home stuff and the little girl clothes, they make me weak in the knees every time.

But something else happened when I refrained for that month- a surprising and behemoth sense of relief. I didn’t have to search for things online to “make my life better” or my person “cuter.” There was no wrestling with myself about “should I or shouldn’t I," and no pressure to improve my situation, as defined in a completely material way. 

So, when the budget crisis 2017 hit our house, I felt that same wave of relief take residence. I’d effectively removed the pressure to strive for more, but this time around I noticed a nagging feeling that I hadn't given the space for introspection before. I realized that when I become adrift from purpose and self-care, l try to recreate feelings of abundance and importance through shopping. Except, it's completely extrinsic in nature, and any good feelings it elicits are short-lived, which means more stuff needs to be bought on the regular. Controlling my environment is the obvious but ultimately inadequate stand-in for the lack of control, intention, and purpose I’m feeling internally.

Today I had pie and espresso for lunch. I skipped my workout. After six days of the stomach flu and house guests thereafter, the whole week had fallen into that vein, and then I went to Target and lost whatever morsel of self-control I had left. It’s an avalanche of mindless choices.

I craved it, the shopping, the spending, the hunt, the incongruity even. I dressed it up first- “Indigo needs a snow hat, and we need a bin to organize her toys.” But, since I’m outing myself, her old hat just requires mending and no one “needs” an organizational bin. Ever. Fucking Martha Stewart, planting her evil seeds in my head.

We walked around Target for two hours. Yes, two hours. I threw in a snow hat with kitty cat ears, I bought the damn gold polka dotted bin. And now here I am, in a mustard yellow beanie, batting my eyelashes at the mirror, feeling like I won’t be able to find it again in this weird hipster color if I don’t just do the damn thing. It’s $5. I’m justifying. I buy it. And a cream one too. Uffff, failure.

I get home and immediately announce to my husband that I’ve fallen off the wagon and just needed a fix. I try to validate my purchases to him, but I can’t even reason them to myself.

When we stop taking care of ourselves, when we don’t listen to our internal compasses, the slippery slope starts to form and it’s so easy to slowly slide down, sinking further into the deluge. The stuff and the poor choices all serve as distractions from the neglect of my inner voice.

Eating pie for lunch tasted good, but it didn’t feel good. Carrying the polka dotted bin full of stuff into the house didn’t bring purpose or mindfulness to my life. I know what self love looks like for me, which things bring me intrinsic abundance- building lego houses and making pretend cupcakes with my daughter, reading self-help books, meditating, getting outside, exercising, eating well, connecting with my husband… Shopping isn’t on that list. Often, making just one grand gesture on my own behalf is enough to careen me back towards my path of mindfulness and self-care.

So, I’m gonna pack the Target crap up, mend the beanie, go put in a workout DVD, eat sautéed kale salad for dinner, hope that the world goes on without ever having seen me in a mustard-colored beanie, and freeze the rest of the cherry pie.

-Angi