The gift of tabula rasa

(Part one.)

This is more letter than anything else.

So, I’m beginning, here.

I don’t know if it’s the warmer weather, the bits of spring in the air, the gorgeous longer days, the new baby grass growing in my yard, the daffodils looking so bright and sunny, the cherry blossoms coming out, but something is shifting deep inside of me.

The first thing I did was chop off all of my hair.

The next: I gave myself the gift of tabula rasa, a blank slate, so that whatever it is could come out, unencumbered from preconceived ideas of how it should look and feel.

This is what came out.

//

The stories I tell, I tell for you and for me, so that they might help and heal and empower us both, so that we can uncover and discover and recover from whatever lies we told ourselves, whatever lies that were told to us.

I’ve been paying too much attention to the things I should do and I ought to do and I really must do, and the only thing all of that ended up doing was muting my voice.

I’ve sat and stared at this blinking cursor so many times over so many days with nothing to show for it but frustration and a simmering sense of disconnectedness underneath that.

So now I’m starting over, starting from not-quite scratch, but close.

If you strip down, what’s left?

If you peel off all the layers, all the lies, all the shoulds, what do you see?

I saw that I needed to trust that I am enough, right now I’m wearing a talisman with those words around my neck.

My thumb traces the indentations on its back – it feels like braille and even when I can’t see it, when I’m not touching it, my fingertips remember how the words I am enough feel, the grooves and valleys. The ridges like fingerprints.

Once you’ve felt it, you can’t not feel it.

Tactilely, I felt those words.
In my heart, I felt those words.

//

There’s this quote from Maya Angelou that just grabs me up every time I see it:

Take a day to heal from the lies you’ve told yourself and the ones that have been told to you.

There are so many lies that can be tied to that feeling of Enoughness. It’s all wrapped up with worth and with value, and it’s easy to internalize that message of Not Enoughness.

A friendship ends, it’s because I’m not funny enough or good enough.
A relationship ends, it’s because I’m not worth enough.
A job opportunity doesn’t work out, it’s because I’m not smart enough or innovative enough.

If you tell yourself these things enough times, it takes on the feeling of Truth. But it’s not, these things were never real, even if they felt that way.

It’s time to let all of this go.
Are you ready?

These are my Truths, for you.

I want you to know that you are worth it, whatever “it” is for you – you are worth your dreams, your friendship, your own love, your hope, your health, your sensuality and sexuality and vitality, taking time for yourself, taking care with yourself, saying no and saying yes, acknowledging your boundaries, saying what is right for you even when or if no one else really gets it.

I want you to really believe and understand you have value that stretches so far beyond a number – any dollar amount, your weight, your debt ratio, your tax bracket, the calories in the piece of cake you ate, how many miles you can run, how much weight you can lift, the amount of leapfrogs or wheels you can do or that you can’t do.

You are enough, exactly as you are inside of this sacred moment.
You are exactly where you need to be inside of this sacred moment.
You are learning the lessons that you need to learn inside of this sacred moment.

//

A few days ago, I asked what does your heart need to hear today?

Today I’m asking you this:
What does your soul need you to affirm inside of this sacred moment?

Find somewhere quiet, take moments of solitude, nestle down with pen and paper or a blank Word document. Get out your mala for meditation. Bring out your art supplies for a vision board. Breathe and listen and breathe and listen.

Then complete this sentence, over and over:

I am…
I am…
I am…

Feel your truths and write them down. Feel them so deeply that you can never not feel them again.

I believe in you,