Choosing Myself

 

Happy New Year, 2026.

This year, I choose a different kind of strength—the kind that moves like still water: calm on the surface, steady underneath. I’m no longer begging to be heard or stretching myself thin to be understood. I will speak when someone truly wants to listen, and I will rest in the dignity of quiet when they don’t.

I’m learning to keep my explanations close, like secrets in a closed hand. I will share only when curiosity opens the door, not when fear pushes me to justify myself. I’m letting go of the instinct to project my morals or reshape someone’s worldview. People reach their own clarity the way seeds find their own light—slowly, naturally, without my pulling at their roots.

I will say No more often, without guilt, without long trails of explanation. My time is a garden, and not every request deserves a place to grow.

I will no longer reveal my emotions so quickly or hand my vulnerability to those who treat it like spare change. My insecurities are many, and for a long time I held them out like offerings—hoping someone would say, “You are a good person, You’re kind. You’re safe.” If someone cannot honour the timid places in me or give them the time of day, then I will no longer bend myself toward their understanding.

This year, my validation comes from within—difficult, yes, but necessary. I am choosing to be the one voice that doesn’t misunderstand me.

So in 2026, I will walk forward quietly—lighter, firmer, and finally choose myself.

Check In

 

https://www.timeshighereducation.com/hub/learning-labs/p/check-yourself-mental-health-awareness-campaign-uk-higher-education

Lately, I’ve been thinking about how easy it is to lose yourself without realizing it. Not in a dramatic way. Not by walking away from your life. Just by doing what needs to be done every day, over and over, until it becomes normal not to ask how you are doing.

For many years, my life revolved around responsibility.
I cooked, cleaned, washed, folded, ironed.
I worked with students.
I took care of my kids and made sure their lives were full — birthday parties, gifts, playdates, fun outings, science projects, art days, baking afternoons, pizza nights, dancing in the rain, volunteering, caring for animals, trying to raise kind humans who notice the world and give back to it.

I tried to hold things together when life became difficult. I focused on keeping things as normal and stable as possible, especially for my children. That felt important. It still does.

I tried to be a good mother.
And somehow, even while trying my best, there was always guilt — the quiet feeling that it was never quite enough.

I tried to be a good wife too. Supportive. Present. Giving. I wasn’t perfect. I was often tired. Sometimes overwhelmed. Sometimes emotionally drained. Life has a way of doing that.

Still, I tried.

I try to be good at my jobs... 

A good teacher.

A good friend.

A good daughter.

A good daughter in law

A good relative.

So much of my life has been shaped by trying to show up well for everyone around me. And somewhere in all of that, I realized I had stopped checking in with myself. Not because I didn’t care — but because there never seemed to be time. And when there was time, it felt almost uncomfortable to use it for myself.

This year, I’m thinking differently.

I am not stepping away from the people I love or the responsibilities that matter to me. I am allowing myself moments — small ones — to think about who I am, what I need, and where I want to grow.

There is something deeply spiritual about giving yourself permission to exist beyond your roles.
To remember that you are more than what you do for others.

My intention for the new year is not to break away, but to expand. To loosen the limits I’ve placed on myself without realizing it. To grow without guilt.

If I take a few moments each day to return to myself, I believe it will make me more present — not less — in the lives of the people I love.

This isn’t about becoming someone else.
It’s about remembering who I already am.

Take A Break: A Hardened Heart Forgets How to Love

Sometimes, it is okay to step away from reality.

Not because reality doesn’t matter—
but because it matters so much.

There are days when the weight of the world presses on the chest like a heavy coat that cannot be taken off. The news feels endless. Suffering echoes from faraway places, even when we don’t name them. War. Loss. Innocent lives caught in forces far bigger than them. Our hearts know, even in silence.

And yet—
we are still human.

We still breathe.
We still laugh unexpectedly.
We still reach for small comforts.

For a long time, I thought stepping away—breathing, giggling, celebrating—meant forgetting. As if joy was betrayal. As if rest meant indifference.

But wisdom whispers something softer: rest is not abandonment—it is renewal.

Life is short. Like steam rising from a cup you meant to drink slowly. Like seasons changing while you’re busy living inside them.

So we choose what we fight for.

Not every battle is loud.
Not every stand is visible.
Some courage looks like staying gentle in a harsh world.
Some resistance looks like choosing love anyway.

We speak when it matters.
We stand where we can.
And sometimes, we step back so our hearts do not harden.

Because a hardened heart forgets how to love.

There is something deeply human about gathering with family. About shared food, soft laughter, familiar traditions. About moments that remind us we are more than headlines and positions—we are people.

Festivities are not distractions.
They are reminders.

They remind us that joy can coexist with grief.
That love does not erase pain—it gives us the strength to carry it.

We are allowed to breathe.
We are allowed to giggle at spilled tea and inside jokes.
Laughter does not deny suffering—it steadies us.

In Gaza, Even Under Fire, Education Is Resistance

 

    When my sister first met Diaa online, he was simply a young man in Gaza eager to learn English so that he could pursue his studies and keep education alive despite the blockade. Over time, their exchanges turned into friendship, grounded in his relentless desire to learn and teach others. Today, Diaa can no longer reach my sister — he and his family are being displaced again and again, caught in cycles of ethnic cleansing and forced from their homes. His voice, though cut off now, still echoes through the messages he sent before communication was lost.

These are Diaa’s words, originally sent in Arabic to my sister:

“My brother Mu‘taz — well-known engineers in Gaza — they designed car showrooms and amazing villas, shops, chalets, houses, towers, and we even had an office in Al-Saraya in Al-Rimal. Thank God, within five years they became known and grew. Suddenly everything ended, and my sister’s dream — since she was seven to become an engineer — ended; now she is 34 and her home and future and past are gone. She used to be among the top at university. Likewise my brother Baha was top of his class and a TA at the university and now he is studying for a master’s in electronics. Imagine.

I am not only talking about us — all of Gaza was like this, full of dreams and ambitions. Now everything has ended, and do you know our biggest dream? To drink good water, for fuel to enter the country, to have nutritious food, and for the war to finish. I just want to live for real; we’ve lived through many wars and we have been hurt a lot.

That’s why, if you noticed or asked why I study while the war and bombing are around me, do you know why? Because I’m afraid ignorance will take over me. I’m afraid I’ll start thinking only about the war and forget my dreams and goals. I’m afraid my mind will stop understanding if I leave it without practice and study, and I’ll waste my life since I’m at the start of my twenties. That’s why it doesn’t matter to me if a hundred rockets are around me — if I have the means, I will keep going. I love culture, study, effort, education and success — I search for them, I search for them.”

    Diaa’s words show us the human cost of this war: a sister who once dreamed of becoming an engineer and is now left without a home or future, brothers who excelled at their studies but saw everything vanish overnight, and a generation whose greatest wish has been reduced to clean water, food, and the end of bombs. Even as rockets fall around him, Diaa refuses to surrender his mind to war — he studies so that ignorance does not take over, because he still believes in learning, culture, and success. 

    Diaa’s story reminds us that behind every destroyed building is a human life, a dream, and a future struggling to survive. You can help Diaa and his family hold on to education and hope by supporting their fundraiser here:

https://chuffed.org/project/help-diaa

 

Grief’s Quiet Weight

                            https://pixabay.com/vectors/broken-heart-sad-depression-heart-7182718/

Grief is strange. It comes and goes like the tide—sometimes a gentle pull, other times a crashing wave that leaves you gasping for air. I can be working in my office at school, caught up in the rhythm of the day, and then suddenly a wash comes over me. Tears fall before I even realize they’ve arrived. That’s how grief works—it ebbs and flows, unpredictable and consuming.

I think of my uncle often. For more than fifty years, his presence was a gift of laughter, kindness, and steady love. He had a way of lighting up the room with a simple joke, of making people feel seen, cared for, and cherished. He was always moving, always giving, always capturing the small but meaningful moments that stitched our lives together. His legacy is not something left behind—it continues to live in each of us.

Being away from family and friends who also loved him makes this harder. It reminds me of when I lost my Tata, my grandmother, from afar. That same ache of distance returns—of grieving without the comfort of shared tears and shared memories. It also awakens the heartbreak of other loved ones who were taken too soon, unexpectedly leaving holes in the fabric of my life.

Grief never truly disappears. It settles into us, becoming part of who we are. It is like a wrinkle etched into our skin, or a stain on our favorite shirt—always there, a quiet reminder of the love that once flowed so freely. And though it hurts, it is also sacred: proof that love existed, that love endures.

So I try to remember the joy—the laughter, the warmth, the countless moments of light. Those memories soften the edges of grief, carrying me forward while keeping him close.

I Wished Them Well

    This New Moon self-reflection practice had me in tangles today. The energy of the Earth has been off for the last two days and I felt it deeply. I was discombobulated the whole day but tried to laugh it all off. However, my efforts to appear cute with my forgetfulness, only showed off my age even more. 🤣

    Anyway, I have been off the whole day.  I was either forgetting my online lessons, or my phone at home, or my keys at Staples or my visa card with my husband after scanning all my Shoppers' items. It also rained as soon as I got out of our parked car and stopped as soon as I entered Metro. And yup, you got it! It rained as soon as I walked out through the automatic door again! Luckily, I had a small 5 Euro umbrella with me from Dublin to save my hair. 

    I was informed through Instagram yesterday, that the New Moon was going to be spectacular on this date. It is one of those very rare occasions when two New Moons happen in one month. And it was my birthday month! So logically, I took this as a sign from the universe that I need to make some changes. I also could literally feel the energies of change zipping around in my body. 

    Which was why, after reaching my healing place today, I made sure to do my normal practice of writing a list of people that I love, wish them well and pray to keep negative energies away from them. 

    This month, though, was a little different. Due to this rare New Moon, I chose to include the names of people who have never made it on my list for one reason or another. I chose to let go. I chose to release my anger and wish them well.

    I chose to release the blackness in my heart and wish it away. This negative energy within me was causing me a lot of hurt. A lot of damage. 

    Why was I holding on to this emotion that even Prophet Mohammad mentioned by name (PBUH) in many of his Hadiths? “No one has swallowed back anything more excellent in the sight of Allah, than the anger he restrains.” (Ibn Majah)

    Looking back at all those months that I wasted,  it seemed as though I was shielding this thing I was keeping inside, trying to protect it. 

    And I am not sure why. Maybe I have held on to this anger for fear that I would lose everything. Maybe I was worried that I was letting go of the one part of me that I knew well. The one emotion that protected me- kept me safe. Maybe that anger kept me alive and breathing. 

    Surely there is a good reason why I kept it for so long? But try as I might to ignore the signs that the universe was throwing at me, I must admit that this part of me was not just a draw back, it was unhealthy; mentally, physically and emotionally. 

    So tonight, I went outside and soaked in the new positive moonlight energies. I whispered to the Moon that I am still learning the ropes but I am breathing in deep, and releasing anything that is not helping me move forward. I wanted her to be witness to my promise to her and to myself. 

I wish everyone all the best of light energies this New Moon. May we shed what does not serve us and may the energies bring miracles into our lives. 

Embrace it all y'all and wish others well. 

At the end of the day,

 

                                                                     My Fabric Painting of an Unfinished Dragonfly

I am a good girl.

    Every full moon, I take the time to reflect on my actions using a few questions such as; how well (or not) I handled something, or how loving (or not) I have been with my loved ones and strangers alike.... (and it goes without saying that it is all relative, of course! 😉).

    After years of this practice, I have come to realize one thing. As countless of people out there,  I am usually very hard on myself. But I want this year to be different because I am a little different! 

    I am very grateful for my small improvements and even more thankful for the big lessons that pushed me forward to make them. 

    And even though being hard on myself is no different this new moon than every other 27 to 29 days of the year, I have decided to be a little forgiving of myself. I am a good girl despite my flaws. I am a good girl regardless of my scars. In spite of everything, I am a good girl because I want to be a good person. 

    At the end of the day, all I need, to keep me in check, is answers to some questions; 

    Have I tried my best to be a good person? 

    Have my positives out shined my negatives? 

    Are there more people who love me today than those who hate me? 

    and, How do I intend to be better?

     

    And even though I have passed half-a-century, I am still learning, still healing, and still pushing. 

    Just like my painting up there, I am an unfinished Dragonfly!

    

This Battle Inside

 

    I battle with myself every time I feel alone or am by myself. I battle with finding what is good in me. I battle with the demons that tell me that I am not enough; for myself, for my husband, for my children, for my parents, my family and friends. I fight with these little voices that try to convince me otherwise and I struggle to overpower the doubt. But many times, it fails. I feel that these thoughts bombard me with the pollution of negativity; smoking my eyes, disfiguring my brain. 

    I wonder sometimes if I am the only one who goes through this. 

    Are there people out there who also swim through this world of uncertainty? 

   I wonder sometimes what they do to settle this battle. 

    Lately, I distract my thoughts with things that make me feel good. I journal, meditate, listen to my music, think of special people, and write my gratitude list. These practices have helped me see the minute and distant twinkles of the stars inside of me. I know that the battle is lingering but I also know that the pollutants are not completely winning. 

The Heart of Ramadan

 

    I always said, out loud and with conviction, that there is so much more to Ramadan than just not eating from sunrise to sunset, praying, reading the Quran and feeling with the poor. My Tata, used to giggle and say to me, "You only stop eating? That is like dogs' hunger!" I used to giggle but still refrain from doing anything else other than that and a few prayers and Quranic verses.  I now understand that maybe her statement meant so much more. 

    I always thought that I could show my growth in other ways. I could restrain my tongue (I always had a challenge with that!). I could focus on constraining my anger (and yet, another challenge!).  And follow one of the Hadith's that I truly love, "Religion is how you treat people!" And that is how I have been fasting Ramadan. I try to be a good person! I fail! I try! I fail! But the growth keeps pushing forward. 

    I see Ramadan as a boot camp for Muslims to elevate themselves and become better individuals. They could try for a month to be the best version of themselves, and then if they could do it for a month, then they could do it for two, then three, and so on, for twelve months. We have multiple chances and lessons! That is why it is so important for us  to return to its heart.

    I have been sharing my views on Ramadan and Islam with my husband throughout our marriage. As you know, he is Canadian and is now teaching at a "mostly" Arab school. Lately, due to Ramadan, he has been asking me confirmation questions seeking understanding about what is important in this month, what does Islam say about certain "rules", and whether or not you can disrupt learning to go pray. 

    And, today, just by coincidence, my mother sent me a video by The CJ Werleman Show (CJWS). It explained what Ramadan truly is and how knowledge and seeking it are important in Islam. While watching it, my beliefs of the loss of Ramadan were confirmed. We can see this loss happening on a grand scale; we rarely see the essence of it between our nations. And this is affecting the translation of it internationally. 

     However, on a small scale, one will always find hints of its fragrance amongst our people.  I used to ignore the angry drivers but love going grocery shopping in Jordan during that month. Having small chats with the merchants, seeing their smiles, hearing Ramadan Mubarak, the call of prayer and the smell of Katayef always warmed my heart. I loved going to iftars when Lent happened at the same time. We used to eat with friends who observed Lent and others who fasted Ramadan. Boy, do I miss the feel of Ramadan and the family! 

   I believe that we need to go to the heart of everything. I love taking from the beauty in all religions, beliefs and ways of life and apply the gems to my life and my understanding of it. There is an abundance of spirituality in all of the books we read. And at the core of all of them, is the strive to improve oneself. We need to return to ourselves! We need to return to the heart! 

My Turtle Pace

 

    The pace at which I'm learning to live in the moment is at the same pace as my skiing- slow and guarded.

I am still trying to forget the trying past and hold on to the cherished memories. 

I am more understanding of the notion that things had to happen, the way they happened, for me to be more aware of my words, my actions, my thoughts and my feelings.

I am discovering that it is a journey that is very hilly and yet, it is giving me exactly what I need to re-learn how to walk upright again. 

I am, and continue to be, a work in progress; absorbing the good, learning from and letting go the bad. 

I am a never finished sculpture. 

And I am grateful for that! 

The REdiscovery

      

                                                                            My Boo

    As I sat there with myself.... away from an eclectic civilization, the social noise, the political disappointments, and my beloved family, I considered my life; the joys, the pains, the hurt, the doubts and self- doubts, but then considered the constructions, the understating, the love (both for self and others), and finally, the light. 

    I was considering ALL of it, when two songs drifted into my speakers; We are the Champions, and Hold On by Sarah McLachlan, - a Canadian artist who is responsible for writing and singing, my favorite song while at Purdue, Building A Mystery. even though, I still have to Google Search how to spell her name.

     Then it all came together for me... I realized, that in my life, I have had many great mentors; my grandfathers, my father, my husband, my children, my brother, my teachers. Each the overseer of educating me on the meaning of life; how to love and be loved, how to live and to struggle, and yet, more importantly, they showed me how to continue showing up to my performances on life's stage, the next- day. 

   There was also my mother, along with my grandmothers, and my sister. Each exhibited how to shine and to shine through, be heard , be respected and to just be oneself

    On this sole and soul journey, I rediscovered what I call "The Quad REs"; REflect, REground,  REcenter and REfocus... It was a journey that I should have taken ages ago, or maybe it had come at the right time,  or better still, I will definitely continue doing in the future? It took me through whirlpools, rapids and calm waters. It allowed me to connect to my core.

   During this REdiscovery, I talked to my parents, my children, my husband and (freaky for you or not) my dear Tata; a representative of the "ancestral world", who visited me in my dreams. They were all with me in that cottage all alone for five days. Each still planting grains, still tending, still present. I was SO grateful!  

    I realized that our stories are never ending, that they will continue to swim through many generations after us, as they did before us. We are here to learn, to guide and most importantly, to grow (just as Gandalf did in The Lord of the Rings). Ha! I love THAT perspective of my life! 

I am grateful and blushing with that realization. IlhamduliLah!

The Reel Trigger

 

 

One of my unfinished pieces

        I just watched one of those finger-flicking-stoppers on those continuous lopsided loops that we get sucked into when we just want to lay down and chill out. It literally stopped my finger from scrolling up. 

        It was about a mother breastfeeding and trying so hard to give her baby alternatives only to succumb to the love of that child like many times before. You could see it in her face after she had surrendered, that she would give the world to this child and fight every battle even if that meant putting a stop to those outside intruders. That video tore my self- condemnation away from my heart strings and began to strum it. 

    T. Guzman, you definitely knew how to take me back to the time that we struggled to get our daughter to use the bottle as I was approaching my first day back at work. I was desperate to get her on the bottle but to no avail. We tried my own milk, powdered milk, and many different kinds of teats. I searched and searched, and heard many pieces of advice. 

   Even though we eventually got our daughter to take the bottle,  I always felt a pang of guilt and shame that I somehow did not do it right.  After the the final episode in the series, I would take one of the school's long breaks to pump in the only available windowless storage facility that my husband had found. I would take the last hour off, as per the law, to drive back to my parents' to see and pick up my 3 year old son, breast feed my daughter and then drive back home to prepare for my family. Then the pumping routine would start all over again later that night. You may think that I am complaining. On the contrary, it was a relief. Despite the awkwardness and inconvenience of it all, it was a blessing. Not only was I able to get my daughter's next day rations, I read so many interesting books in the process. But to be honest, it was hard. 

    Before the day's end, I would sink in and enjoy her snuggling in my arms feeding. I loved watching her eyes drift close and then open them up just a little to make sure that I am still there. But then, as soon as I put her in her travel cot, close the door and walk away, something would trigger that shame and guilt feeling that, the next day, she would be feeding a part of the day from the bottle that she was forced to accept.

    Something in that reel made me think that I could have done it differently and just kept that feeling of joy continue to linger. I should not have cared about what was knocking on my self-doubt door. I am realizing now that much of that pressure, was coming from within me and how I expected myself to be. 

    I felt a lot of self- reproach and I needn't have. Those feelings should be stamped as outdated. After watching the reel three consecutive times, I put my hand on my heart and I breathed in deep. When I released my breath, I released the negative feeling with it, "Like the game of curling," my husband would say. I am sure that it will come back knocking from time to time, but at least for now, I understand that I can breathe a sigh of relief knowing that we did the right thing.  

    Frequently, something we see or hear, triggers a feeling or a memory within us. If it is positive, keep it, hold on to it. If it is not, let it go, release it. It does not serve you anymore. Elevate! 

Truly and Authentically

                                                                                                                 My painting on a shirt.    

                 I have always been a proud Arab. A proud Muslim. A proud Jordanian. A proud Iraqi. A proud Palestinian. I have been raised to cherish the ever fading golden strands of our nation. A nation that stretched far and wide and brought with it amazing civilizations, cultures, science, beliefs, architecture, art and law. A history that wrote phenomenal books whose characters were Ibn Batuta Travellers, Ibn Al Haytham mathematicians,  Jaber Ibn Hayyan scientists, Al-Kindi philosophers, Al Mutanabi poets and Al Jahith writers.  A nation that has not been that intensely proud in a long time. 

                I have not been so fiercely proud of being Arab in some time now. I mean, I am not proud of our collective recent history. We Arabs, have lost our guide and our light has dimmed. And I am not here to point fingers at any factors or entities that led to this. This is not a political post. This is a post on the love of a nation. How we stick to family no matter how many sour grapes we had amongst and between us, how we help strangers and are generous, and that beneath our sad faces, you will always find a smiling one ready to give. I love how when we see any Arab in any world country, we would smile big and have a bit of a chitchat. I am proud of that part. 

          And I am also proud of how Arabs, as a whole nation, would light up when ONE of us does well.  Morocco reaching the Quarter Finals at the World Cup has proven that. The viral videos of Arab nations jumping up and down after Achraf Hakimi scored the decisive goal were heartwarming to watch. Along with the smile that broke out on my face, there was a faint glimmer shinning in my heart. It was wonderful to be witness to how we still had sibling feelings towards our neighbour. 

               Having an African Arab country reach the quarter final is a dream come true. And what an epic dream it will be when an African Arab country reaches the semi final.... the final.... or even WIN the World Cup... What an inspiration to African and Arab countries alike! It would be a symbol of our ability to do anything if we guided and supported one another. We can sort ourselves out and take control of our lives. We can focus on what is important and keep our promises to advance together. That is the kind of contagious virus I would like to see spreading amongst us in the Arab World. A virus that other nations would welcome at the borders with open arms instead of lengthy lockdowns. Then I will be truly, holistically and authentically proud to be an Arab.

What is Our Story?

 

    Yesterday evening, we entertained a charming young couple who introduced us to the world of Cabinet of Curiosity by non other than Guillermo Del Toro; whom I now call "the magician."  We watched the finale, even though it was not a series. It was the only one that would help the four of us create a unique experience and 'bond' as they had both watched the previous seven together at home.

    The short movie tells the story of a grieving woman who gently saves two  lost souls and whose freedom, in turn, saves her own soul and the love she shared with her husband. The home, she lived in while studying  the murmurations of starlings, came with mysterious events that she pieced together to free herself. I was unable to shake that sense of understanding and connection; despite having experienced very different life stories and intensities of grief. 

    The sense of connection remained with me while preparing for bed. I felt I was just going through the motions without any focus on the automaticity of my actions. I tried to make connections. I tried to connect my stories to that feeling of familiarity. I tried to verbalize the energies floating around in my body and mind. I finally talked to Aaron to make sense of my thoughts. I pointed to the pink wool Point Blanket on our bed and talked about how it probably had such mysterious stories. It was made in the1940s and we bought it off of eBay. I am certain that the family who preowned it must have had a story or two to tell. How I would have loved to connect with them over coffee and discover the secrets this blanket kept woven in its threads. I have always loved old houses and antiques. I believed that they have history, memories and wisdom.

    We each have our separate stories that we want to either share, keep, or protect. We all have memories that either taught us more about some aspect of our inner selves, connected us to people to learn lessons in life school or revealed the intricate and punctual workings of this magical universe. We all have our individual or collective tapestries to dream, design and then create. Each will be always beautiful with its unique knots and colors and each will always be a masterpiece in its own right. 

    

Picking the Perfect Blade

 

   

    Every little blade of grass, particle of odorant and degree of slope that touched my dog's behind had to be perfect for her. If any one of these three did not match her approval standards, she would move on to the next patch of turf. Sometimes, she chose three different spots for each division of her business with the world. She is just a picky little dog who takes her sweet *** time choosing the perfect bed for her body's rejected matter.

    That everyday experience, every morning, noon and night, made me think of how I can spend the best part of the day looking for the perfect atmosphere or condition to make my move and experience life.  I would never fully immerse myself in it. I would be too consumed in the selection process rather than the process itself.

   Looking at Boo, who taught me how one loves unconditionally and with every fiber of their being, gave me time to think of what would happen if I always did that. I would probably sink in life like a jagged rock instead of floating on it, releasing myself to the ebb and flow of life that erode these sharp edges and smooth the rugged bits. 

    If I had to have every blade of grass perfect for me to release what is not mine and what is hurting me, I would not be able to get rid of all the toxicity floating in my system which does not serve me. If I had to stage my surroundings to the ideal conditions before I enjoyed the moment, I would never go beyond the fences of my comforting garden. 

    And so, I would much rather take risks trusting my intuition and jumping in rather than testing the temperature of the water before I do.

However.... having said that.... I am still learning!

I Finally Said It!

 

     It was like the first gulp of air that you drink in after holding your breath underwater for a while. It was like the tingles you get when you experience something for the first time ever. It was like a bolt of lightning. Then that sudden electrifying realization that I should have done this before. 

    I should have sat myself down in front of a mirror a long time ago. I should have inspected every wrinkle, every scar, every freckle. I should have admired them all. I should have looked myself straight in the eyes after they had roamed around my face for a little while and said: "I am a beautiful soul!"  and then whatever it was that came to my mind that I loved about myself. I should have finished the monologue with, "I am gorgeous!" 

    And today, I finally said it! 

    Well, Why not? Right? I deserve it! I deserve to lift myself up if I wanted to. 

    I know I have flaws... and many of them, for sure! But they are my own and I own them. They are my beautiful flaws. They are a part of me and therefore, they are a part of my creation.  

  After patting myself on the back for divulging those words out loud like a prima donna in an Opera, I continued staring into those unrecognizable eyes. They seem familiar and yet, not at all. Do I really know those eyes? or who is behind them? Are they reflecting back at me or are they transparent? Are they a mirror to my soul and life path? Am I proud of the years that I lived and those that shaped me? 

    Then, I pondered why on earth did I have that brain fart so many years ago? It smelled so bad that it clouded my eyes and plugged my ears. I could neither hear the compliments of others nor the tiny encouraging voice inside my head.  It kept me in the darkness until that bolt of lightning jolted my heart today. 

   After a few moments, a switch clicked on and I began to see a spark in those eyes. 

    A smile crept and spoke a foreign language which my heart instantly understood. 

    It said, "I love you!"

It's Time to BE Real Here!

    I woke up this morning feeling refreshed but with a pinch of trepidation. I woke up with a feeling that I was going to be offered a drink concocted with the juice of release mixed with a splash of awe and a hint of anxiety. By the end of the day, my intuition was either manifested or just proved to be correct. 

    A few hours before sunset, my son, went on his first solo adventure of the Fall season.We have had some inconsistent weather lately and one could never accurately predict if we were to have a storm within the hour or not. Despite the lake fully back to its self again, it was quite chilly and windy most of the time. Furthermore, the lake was yet to be fully re-inhabited again. It was not the time of year yet for the lake to wake up from its slumber.  The bells of joyful laughter and busyness have not yet rung and the jetting boats were not in motion. It was totally quiet, serene and breathtaking... soul cleansing, aura scrubbing... and simply healing.

    Remembering ALL of this, launched my emotions to full Mamamode. "Take a life jacket.... and a flash light.... and some food... some water!" My anxiety hit the roof and I was desperately trying hard to keep it under control. The poor boy kept running up and down the steps until he drew the line on the raincoat.  There was no way I could persuade him to go back and get it.  He kept pointing at the sky saying that it was a clear day and in my head I wanted to yell "Have you seen the weather two days ago? It was S N O W I N G!!!!"  (The last bit being said in slow motion).

    I pleaded for him to stay close and somewhere I could see him or at least behind the closest island for me to get to him quickly. I was unable to win that battle.

    After he pointed out that time was running out and that he was anxiously waiting for the weather to be this beautiful for him to get out, I relented. I relented on one condition, he had to wait for me to pray and surround him and his sister, cleaning her riding boots close by, with Reiki Healing. 

    The moment I realized that it was finally time for me to be real, face the inevitable and release control was the moment he wrapped his arms around my shoulders. For a split second I felt myself in a Harry Potter Movie where the magic all began. It was as if I was teleported through my son's 16 years, 5 months and 26 days with a flick of two magic wands. The intense feeling of motherhood rose up through me like a storm. Intense clouds of love embraced me. I cherished this soul and he will always be a part of me. But I knew too that I could not keep him with me forever. I could not protect him from all the unpredictables out there. 

    When he released me, told me that he will be ok, that he will come back before sunset and that he loved me, I realized that the ticking clock to LG hour is slowly but most definitely approaching; the hour of Letting Go! 

    That mixed drink sure tasted bitter sweet. I was not quite sure how to process the flavor. I was not sure if I enjoyed it or not. It was a flavor that I will have to acquire with patience and lots of love. However, I came to that awakening with a sense of understanding that letting go did not mean that the adventures were over but that things will be different and never ever boring. 

ps. And by the way, a mother's warning always has some truth to it... It was so windy that he had to paddle backwards a very very long way. He was a gentleman and texted me a few times to let me know what was happening and were he was. His last massage before he came into view was, "Guess who's back?" 

Getting In Touch with My Shadow: STEP 1

 

https://www.forbes.com/sites/forbescoachescouncil/2020/12/08/dont-fear-your-own-shadow/

    I know that I am putting myself and hanging my dirty sheets out for all to see. I am also fully aware that working with my shadow should be a quiet, internal and intense process. However, I always feel that talking it out with others helps me process the information that I am learning about myself better. Since I am in a secluded forest, I do not get to see anyone or speak to my friends often. I feel that writing about the journey will help me push through this struggle and this learning process. I am grateful for an audience who is comfortable to share their view of my self discovery. Writing to an audience will also help me be more courageously honest and more authentic with myself. No more lip service. It is time to make it real. I cannot deny my shadow. I cannot be oblivious to it either.   I cannot chicken out.

    I have known about what a shadow is for some time now but I was never able to discover mine nor its shape nor size. A very cherished person in my life has been pointing it out often lately and I am beginning to witness how cruel and mean I can be through their eyes. I was always told that I was a good person, that I cared about people, that I am sincere and genuine and is a good friend. 

    And yes, I can be all of those but I can also unconsciously deliver to you a word that would spin your head and make you wonder who in God's name is standing before you. Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde much? Watching a conversation unfold and go on an unexpected course downhill, pushed me to take some time to discover myself and this stranger within me. The part of me that is so pushed down and hidden that I was unaware she even existed. I knew I had a shadow, well, because everyone has, but I was oblivious as how she came out and revealed herself. 

    SO I went searching... Google of course, and found this website that also used the J & H reference 😜. I am hoping that it will guide me through this voyage into an unknown part of me. I do not want to be disconnected anymore. I want to be mindful and aware of every part of me in order to progress as a human and continue on a path that serves me and others. I hope that reading my journey will help others.

STEP 1: Identifying an Aspect of My Shadow

"How can I be substantial if I do not cast a shadow? 

I must have a dark side also if I am to be whole." 

Carl Jung

    I am positive that I have more than one aspect of my shadow that I need to be in touch with. However, one aspect that is truly affecting my relationship with loved ones is my ability to, and total comfort with, striking back whenever I feel a sense of threat or insecurity no matter how founded or unfounded it was. I use words that I do not think through and that would throw daggers at the person standing before me. I react in ways that I regret seconds later. Many times I am unaware of the effect my choice of words has on others and many times I do. Both ways cause damage and scaring. 

    The disturbing thing about being aware of and working through this, is that I used to always tell  my students the story of the father who asked his child to hammer nails into a wooden board and then asked him to pull them out. The holes remain as visual scars to show that no matter how sorry you are for the words you dished out, the hurt you caused will not heal over. 

    I used to pride myself in being this caring person to all, this friend who listened to others and lent a supportive hand. When beneath it all, the volcano was dormant just waiting to react to triggers. My triggers are insecurity, being wronged, disrespected, hurt and mistrusted. I immediately feel that I need to defend myself, explain myself and protect myself. The triggers may not even be real or founded. It is just a sense I get in my body and I am off. 

    I always feel that I need to protect myself from being hurt. I always feel that if there was a conflict, that a part of me is being attacked. I always feel that I need to put on that helmet and lift up my thorny shield. It is a reaction to some childhood trauma that I have suppressed and have not dealt with completely. I constantly feel that I need to preserve my heart, my mind, my being.... and that is when my shadow comes out and takes center stage. So how do I control it? I guess I have to make friends with the fact that I can be cruel. That is the only way. 

    That was not easy to write and put online for everyone to see BUT it is something that I need to be aware of if I want to have more meaningful relationships in my life. It is essential for me to become a better version of myself and to work with my shadow and learn. 

    

The Struggle

 

    

   Many times in my 49 years, I have pondered my feelings and thoughts and the spinning cycle that life has put them through. Many times I was unable to pick out the one emotion that described, with some accuracy, what my body and mind are feeling about a certain situation. MOST of the time, they end up arguing about which thought I should be heeding and which feeling I should own. They refuse to ease up like a rooster and a hen always squabbling about which worm to pick and which one to ignore. Many times I felt like the outsider looking in at this boxing rink watching the two fight it out. At other times, I felt like the child stuck in the middle of a custody battle being pulled left and right while standing still. 

    When I am struggling, I can feel that something is off, in my mind, in my body. It will come across in all parts of myself and it is difficult to shake it off. I try my best to mask it or fake it but the struggle ends up breaking me. It ends up shadowing my true self, my core.  Many times, my battery is so out of charge that I have no energy to trudge forward. Many times, I force myself to keep digging through the piles of negative junk that obscure my path ahead and many times, I lose the battle and sink. 

    The issue is that I know that I cannot remain stuck where I am as that will continue to pull me down deeper and deeper into the dark, lonely crevasse. I know that I need to crawl out of the cave that engulfs me and bask in the light of the sun that heals me.  

    And so, I promise myself that I will put one foot in front of the other no matter how crooked the trail I made looks like behind me. I will remind myself that the path ahead is what matters. I will remind myself that I must push forward for those that I love. I will push forward. I will be a role model. 

Expectations? There should be none.

 

  

      Expectations? There should be none..... Or that is what I hope since expectations, throughout my life, have brought me nothing but disappointment. Expecting certain outcomes, certain behaviors and feelings or certain events to occur have never transpired and my expected reactions have never been gratified. It is like going to your favorite ice-cream shop only to find that they are out of your favorite flavor. Or signing up for a course expecting it to provide you with enlightenment, only to come out with less understanding than you had before. And that my friends, only left me feeling discouraged, empty and just flat. 

    As the saying goes, "Expectations are premeditated resentment." Knowing this, though, didn't stop me from continuing the battle and expecting what should not be expected. I expected this and that and the other. Sometimes it worked, which got me expecting even more. Much like gambling where winning is just around the corner. I also thought that excitement is the twin sister of expectations and if I ever parted ways with the latter, only a sense of blah! would remain. 

    But alas, I am approaching 50 now and times have changed. I am finding out that I cannot keep purposefully fizzling out and breaking my heart. I cannot continue shoving sadness down my own throat no matter how many spoons full of sugar I took. Disappointment will always taste bitter.  

      My attitude towards expecting things have changed and after much deliberation and self- help books, I have decided to part ways with Expectations. However, similar to a bad break up, I find myself ebbing and flowing on an endless beach from time to time; still holding on to wisps of hope that one or two of my expectations may transpire. But I know that the fork in the path is fast approaching and I must take the left one. 

The chains that bind me will soon loosen and release me. I just do not want the sense of excitement to depart with it.  I am hopeful.