Love Your Mess

You know that part of you that you hate?
I’m talking about that part—that f-ing part—that does that humiliating thing that you never, ever want to do again. Much less let anyone else see. That part of you that you suppress, stomp down, shout out, try to exercise or eat away. That part of you that makes you cringe.

I see you out there, saying, “Whoa Bridge, I don’t ‘hate’ any part of me, that’s pretty strong language there girl! I do my work, I understand I have my great points and not-so-great aspects, but hate? Naw.”

That’s what I would’ve said too. And then I had an up close and extremely personal meeting with my shadow side.

The shadow part of me needs. She needs to be loved, validated, adored. Others cannot give her enough of what she needs. She’s clingy, graspy, jealous, and scared to death. To be honest, she’s a little cray-cray. I was not a fan. Who the hell was this crazy bitch who showed up and how did she take over my mind? I kept saying, “This is not me! I am not like this!” I railed against my shadow self. I fought her, berated her, tried to “work” her away, and tried to have others love me enough to make her go away. But the shadow me is a super scrappy fighter and she would not be ignored any longer. She turned up the volume of her fear and pain until I felt so awful that I was forced to… surrender.

I finally stopped fighting and looked within myself. And then I saw her. She was  a scared and shaking little girl. Me.

Oh god. I was so mean to her! When I looked within and saw that scared little girl who needed, I was filled with compassion and tenderness. She needed from me. No one could give her what she wanted until I went first. All the loathing evaporated. How could I hate her? I love her. What’s not to love? She’s adorable, vulnerable, and I totally get her. I asked her what she wanted from me. She wanted a hug. I gave her one. She wanted me to hold her hand. I did. She wanted me to pay attention to her, love her, adore her. I told her I do and I will. She wanted me to play with her, to have fun, be joyful. I promised I would. I sat outside with her in her favorite place for three hours. Sat and breathed and cried and stayed with her. She was happy. And for the first time in quite a while, so was I.

After that day, I feel a deep peace, groundedness and connectedness within myself that I’ve never felt. And while I’ve felt shaky at times since then, I haven’t lost this sense of being deeply tethered within myself. Making this deep connection healed something that felt broken within me. I feel whole. And now when I feel that feeling of need, if I remember to go in and comfort that little part of me, I meet the need. I don’t do it perfectly, and that’s ok too. It’s a messy process.

I must admit, there was is also the snarky part of me that was is saying, “Really? Inner child? We’re going to bring back 90′s self-help now?!? I’m going to have to tell people that the key to deeply loving themselves is connecting with their inner child? Seriously?” In a word, yes.

There is so much talk about self love. In my book The Groove Kitchen, I talk about self love and care as an attitude, not an activity. That’s a layer of it—showing yourself love by making yourself a priority, taking care of your body/mind/spirit, doing your own work, etc… is all crucial. But what I’ve learned (am learning) is that there’s an inner layer. Deep self love is about shining the light on your shadow side, those parts of you that you hate and resist, and meeting that small little you there and loving him or her. Seeing your own vulnerability and embracing it. Being willing to be messy and loving your messiest parts. Saying to yourself, yes, this is (part of) me. And yes, I am (sometimes) like this.

How to get started connecting with your inner child*:

Step 1: Connect with Your Body
Sit comfortably in a place where you feel safe and will be undisturbed for 5-15 minutes. Feel your feet on the floor, wiggle them if you like. Feel your booty in the chair, your back against it. Take at least 3 deep breaths into your belly, in and out. Breathe until you feel your body start to calm, your breath moving in and out through your stomach and chest, mouth and nose.

Step 2: Make Friends with Your Inner Child
Feel into the center of your body—your heart/solar plexus area—and see if you can picture, imagine, feel or see your inner child. How old is he or she? What does she or he look like? What are they doing? What are they wearing? Where are they? As little or as much detail comes and in whatever form is great. Don’t put pressure on yourself.

Step 3: Comfort Your Inner Child
If you are in the throws of a shadow attack, your inner child will be upset. Ask them what they would like from you. If it feels ok for you, give it to them. There’s no real structure to this part, just be with your inner child and provide comfort and compassion. You can talk or not talk with them, it’s all up to you. Note: If the messages from your child sound critical or blaming, that is not your inner child! That is your mind—your inner critic—creeping in. Thank your mind for its point-of-view and gently return being there with your inner child. Stay for as little or as long as feels good.

Letting myself be messy, embracing my inner child—basically doing everything I’ve ever scoffed at or resisted—is setting me free. Love what you resist. Bless your mess. I’ll be right there with you, cheering you on.

* It’s ok if you’re not ready. Just remember this process the next time your shadow rears its foofy little head.

(Shadows are much less scary when I think of their heads being foofy. Plus, foofy is a fun word and my inner child likes it.)

Abandon Safety

Abandon the safety of your small life. Be willing to be broken open. It has gifts for you—this life—soul lessons to be learned. Be afraid and dive—that is real courage. Find yourself in the depths.

Abandon the safety of the shore, the shallow end, your silly water wings. Let yourself sink into your own heart. Break through the icy crust of hurt and defense, and into the clear pool of your deep desire.

Let go of the edge and plunge.

Turning the Corner

One day, after the heartache, The Maybe, the tears, and the anguish…

You turn the corner.

And it all looks different.

You can breathe more deeply, your future looks bright, you start to dream again.

You understand that thing–that ass-kicking thing that was so hard–happened for you and not to you.

And you begin to walk the new path.

The Truth

Hello readers! Here’s an update to The Maybe post–I promised I would keep you apprised.

Here’s what I learned about my time in The Maybe:

I knew exactly what I wanted.

It scared the living hell of out me.

I was living in The Maybe because I was not ready for The Truth.

There’s nothing bad about living in The Maybe, it’s necessary. It’s like standing at the top of the high dive before taking the plunge. Except you have no idea you’re on a high dive and you certainly don’t think you’re going to plunge. You’re more like, “Gee, it’s kinda windy and wobbly up here, and why the hell am I wearing a swimsuit?” You know you’re on the edge of something big, but you have no clue what it is.

The Maybe is the precursor to The Truth.

The Truth is the scary-yet-deeply-resonant thing right there in front of you that you don’t want to see. Maybe you’ve tried to make it go away. Maybe you’ve told yourself you were confused. Maybe you told yourself you shouldn’t have that thing. Maybe you said it’s not this thing–certainly not!–it’s this much easier-to-digest and socially acceptable thing over here. It’s most certainly not that wild thing–because if it is, there’s gonna be a shitstorm.

The Truth means big, scary changes.

The Truth sometimes means tears and heartbreak.

At the very least The Truth means much gnashing of teeth and sleepless nights.

The Truth is big, it’s disruptive, and it’s gonna bring all your crap up.

The Truth means not everyone is going to agree with or like you. Guaranteed.

The Truth is gnarly.

The Truth is not the easy way out.

By now you’re saying why the hell would I ever choose The Truth? Because.

The Truth also means deep joy and fulfillment.

The Truth means living authentically.

The Truth is full-on living.

The Truth means answering the call of who you are and what you’re supposed to do in the world.

The Truth is freedom.

When I stopped resisting The Maybe, The Truth became apparent. A note here for the gentle reader who might be quaking in her shoes: Just because you tell yourself The Truth does not mean you have to do a darn thing about it. Or that acting on your Truth looks like you think. What comes after telling yourself The Truth are The Insights; your marching orders for living your Truth. We try to access The Insights before we acknowledge The Truth–we want to know how before we know exactly what. In my experience it doesn’t work that way. You have to leap before you can know what the water feels like. I’m here to tell you, the water feels divine. And while it’s not always easy, I’m swimming just fine.

PS

My truth involved a hummingbird tattoo.

Thanks to Suzy from Two Birds Tattoo, Seattle.

Africa and The Maybe

Many of you know I recently had the extreme privilege of joining Martha Beck and twelve fabulous men and women for this year’s African STAR. It was amazing. Life-changing. Transformative. We saw leopards mating, need I say more?

Leopard foreplay...

Here’s what I thought would happen before I left:
I’ve been working on revamping my coaching practice and figuring out “what’s next” for me. I’ve met with some really cool experts who have helped me flesh out messaging and ideas, and even though it’s been hard work (Big clue alert! While a business revamp can be a big project, it shouldn’t feel like hard work. I wasn’t feeling the flow with it.) I felt like I was in the home stretch. I figured I would go to Africa, it would all gel and I would come home energized (after a day to recover from jet lag of course!), inspired and ready to LAUNCH my new COACHING PRACTICE. Dun, dun DUN!

The Universe, as played by Africa with a supporting cast of wild animals,  was like, “HA!”

Hyenas say "Ha!"

This is what actually happened:
I’m about an hour into the first leg of the flight and I’m talking to Martha about my FUTURE COACHING PRACTICE! (dun, dun, DUN!) And I realize what I was creating was not it at all. Sure, parts of what I created are it. But the whole, nope, too small. Huh.

Hippo says, "Ha!"

So I’m on the plane to Africa and I joke to Martha that I know less now than I did before I left the ground. But, I say confidently, I’m sure it will all come together in Africa!

Lioness says, "Ha!" (Well she's totally saying "Ha!" inside.)

It didn’t.

I went to Africa searching for inspiration and answers, and I got Maybe.

I didn’t know what I was experiencing could be called “The Maybe” until one of my fellow STARlings sent me this post from Mastin Kipp of Thedailylove.com called “Can You Live In The Maybe?” In it, he says,

Instead of demanding what we want and wanting it now, can we ask The Uni-verse for what we want, and then let go? Can we rest in the peace of the moment knowing we are provided for and that the perfect thing, which is probably better than what we asked for in the first place, will show up?

I am not a fan of The Maybe. I think The Maybe can bite it. Yet here I am. I’ve been here before, but this Maybe feels big. And it’s being stubbornly Maybe-ish about the whole thing.

I seem to be constitutionally incapable of applying my mind to the problem of “what next” and coming up with an answer that inspires me. That’s because it’s not a mind thing. I’m finally learning that all the real things are soul things, and I can’t think my way through them. I have to be and feel my way through. Which is living in The Maybe. To do like Mastin says, to truly learn to let go–as opposed to kinda sorta not really letting go–to be here now and to do whatever feels good in this moment. What feels good in the moment are things like talking to friends, attempting to connect to my body and emotions (I resist this a lot, it’s ok), sitting outside, doing fun things like going to comedy shows, trying stand-up paddling, and taking a running class.

I’m doing this because I have faith. Faith that the Maybe can imagine a hell of a lot bigger and cooler than I can. Faith that now is not the time to gallop forward. Faith that I can relax, give up the reins, and let the universe drive for a while.

I’m going to take a shot at deeply trusting The Maybe.

I’ll let you know how it goes.