Weaving

It has been years since I have thought about this blog. I have no idea what made me think about it tonight. Well, that's not entirely true, I know what brought me back here. I have long given up believing in coincidences and randomness. I have way too much experience to believe that we are not given or reminded of exactly what we need when we need it. I needed to be reminded of my story. Where I have been, the work I have done.

I have the most incredible job. It is my privilege to open up a space for stories to be told, to help others find their voice, to help them creative a coherent narrative of where they have been and the experiences they have had. I have the honor of witnessing creation. Creation most often coming out of chaos. Chaos that eventually weaves its self into a story that has a beginning, a middle and an end. And in that end a new beginning.

Stories have power. Stories captivate us, renew us, they teach us where we have been and offer a map for where we can go. Stories distract us, they ease pain. When we feel like we cannot bear the world around us any longer we can escape into a different world. If we are in pain we can find laughter, if we are grieving we can find comfort, if we are overwhelmed we can find solace even for just a little while.

Stories connect us to those who have come before us, they connect us to those around us and the connect us to those who will come after us.

Stories can build us up and tear us to shreds.

We all create stories. Our brains are hard wired to look for patterns to make sense of the world and in those patterns stories emerge. We create stories about our worthiness, our lovability, our cleverness, our stupidity, and our love. We create stories about those we see around us, their worthiness, their lovability, their cleverness, their stupidity and their love. When we don't have all of the information, especially if it is about something scary, we still create a story and often that story is a million times more scary than the actual truth.

We repeat those stories to ourselves so frequently that we forget that they are just that. They are stories and stories can change. However, because we are human and our brains strive for routine and predictability, our brains resist tooth and nail and neuron to hold on to those old stories. We look for any confirmation, real or imagined, to confirm those stories.

If those stories are helpful, if they prove that we are lovable and talented and worthy and seen and valued that's awesome! But because we have a brain stem whose sole focus is to keep us alive, often times those are not the stories that stick with us. In an evolutionary sense, those positive experiences don't keep us alive! Being vigilant against threats is what keeps us from being eaten by wolves or poisoned by sketchy tofu burgers. It's the reason that we can receive 15 glowing statements and one critical statement and what sticks with us is the critical statement.

Our core selves, deep down at the very center of our being we are all born knowing that we are lovable, talented, worthy, seen and valued. The trick is keeping those stories in the midst of all of the negative ones being written as we experience the world. "I'm not good enough." "I'm never going to be able to get my act together." "I'm not important." "I am invisible." "I don't/can't/won't ever make a difference."

The hardest job we have as humans is to find that fine golden thread that runs from the core of our being, the thread that holds the truth of the matter and weave it through all of the bullshit that clouds our bodies.

One of the most powerful stories I can't seem to rewrite is the story of my invisibility and unworthyness. Because this is such a powerful story, at times, I got to extreme lengths to prove it because, even though it feels awful and icky and gross, it's easier than risking failure in something that I desperately want to succeed in (most often relationships). This is where my work is. I desperately want to be seen and loved that often I panic when that wonderful story is told and work to sabotage it (and don't get me wrong I have amazing, wonderful, kind and loving people in my life who do see me and do love me, even when I don't want them to).

Every day, hundreds of times a day, I have to remind myself that, contrary to the part that nagging voice in my head wants me to play, I am weaving a new story. A story that doesn't discount or down play where I have been  but re-weaves those negative messages to look at the whole story not just the part I need to confirm my unworthyness.

We don't need to give up our stories, they are our history, they are our heritage, they connect us, they sustain us and they see us through dark times. What we do need to give up is the instinct to only look for the stories that prove we are not worthy.

We get to choose how we tell our story, maybe the story has a neutral tone, maybe we paint ourselves at the hero or the victim. Don't get me wrong, there are stories where we are genuinely neutral or genuinely the hero or genuinely the victim. Our job is to look for a theme in our stories, especially if we always find ourselves staring in a role that paints us in a negative light. If we change the stories we tell we will change the energy we feel.

I work with the most incredible children who teach me far more than I will ever teach them. They have taught me that I cannot only hold space for their stories to unfold and re-weave, I have to find people who can do that for me as well. I owe it to them to not discredit my own experience by leaving my own stories unchallenged because how can I ask them to do something that I am not willing to do myself.

I am Happy

Dear Family, Friends and the people of Minnesota,

Ever since I was 4 or 5 years old, I knew that there was something different about me, growing up in a small town I did not have a vocabulary to describe what was different. It wasn’t until I was 18 years old and serving on my local church’s pastoral search committee that I finally had words for what I had thought and felt, I was gay. Four years after learning that word, I came out to a very small number of people and a year after that I came out to the world. The name on my college diploma almost guaranteed me a job in the field that I wanted to work in but my personal life, which I refused to live in quietly, guaranteed I would be never be offered a job in that field. That was almost 10 years ago.

10 years ago I was terrified I would lose everything, my family, my friends, my ability to get a job in my chosen field, that I would not find someone to love or to love me back. Some of those fears did come true, I did lose friends and mentors and to avoid rejection or have to “explain myself” I choose to pursue a different career path. 10 years ago, I never expected to be where I am now, happy, with a job that I love and more importantly with a partner (and family) who loves me for exactly who I am.

We are no different from any other couple. Like many other couples, a mutual friend introduced us. We’ve stumbled through our first date, first kiss and every other first that all couples experience with a mix of awkwardness, grace, tears, love and humor. Just like any other human being I would do anything for my partner to protect her, to cheer her up, to defend her, or to take care of her.

The amendment that the people of Minnesota will be voting on in November is to ask the people of Minnesota to legalize discrimination. Minus the pronouns in the above, this story could describe any two people who love each other. I am not asking to be married in your church. What I am asking is for you to put yourself in my shoes. If my partner were to become sick, I may not be allowed to visit her in the hospital, I am not allowed to make medical decisions for her even though I know what she wants because she has told me. If we were to have children together and something happened to my partner I may not be allowed visitation rights let alone custody of our child.

This is not a moral issue. It is a human issue. Please, put yourself in my shoes, how would you feel if you could not visit your husband or wife in the hospital or object to invasive medical care you know that they would not want. How would you feel if you were never allowed to see your children again because legally you have no rights. You may not agree with me, you may think I am damned and going to hell but you know what, love is love.

Gandhi said “I like your Christ, I do not like your Christians, They are nothing like your Christ.” Christ lived a life of love, acceptance, forgiveness and tolerance, not hatred, discrimination, intolerance and segregation.

10 years ago I NEVER thought I would be were I am now. I am happy.

Peace,

Ryanne

The journey continues

When I started therapy last September, I was scared and a bit skeptical. 

I was skeptical because I've done therapy before and it always seemed like such a band-aid fix (which is ironic seeing as I just graduated with my MSW and I am starting a job as a therapist on Monday).  It never really dawned on me until truly this second, but the other times I sought out help was not on my terms but always on the urging of others and the therapists were always chosen by others. 

I was scared because I never really felt challenged and that the change created was not authentic and lasting.

This time was different, totally different. Firstly, it was my idea (well, mostly). Secondly, I got to choose (well, kind of). Last May after a few conversations with my acupuncturist I put it out there to the Universe, help me find a therapist who "gets it." Another case of be careful what you ask for. 

The Universe is not always the most subtle when communicating with me (and I'm not always the most perceptive either), but this was gentle, a whisper. So gentle that I could have pretended not to notice it (at least until it got less gentle and much louder).

Two weeks after I put it out there, we had a guest speaker in class, six weeks after that I meet with her to hear more about her work, and about a month after that we started our sessions together. 

Many, many hours and many journal pages and a few pens were dedicated to my fear of not being able to create change that is lasting or authentic, that I'm wasting my time or worse, her time. I had a hard time drawing a connection between the work I would be doing in therapy and the work I had been doing all along with my acupuncturist.

Three years ago, I wanted to start seeing an acupuncturist again. I had had success previously with acupuncture to treat my depression and ADHD and with a failed shoulder surgery under my belt I thought it would be a good time to start. My only requirement when I called was I wanted a female practitioner.  (Again, not wanting to start things one at a time, with in one month of each other I started: acupuncture, a new job and graduate school).

I've learned that when I don't put a lot of restrictions or requirements on what I want, I get exactly what I need. I was paired with a healer who is gifted in healing, blatantly honest, willing to share, and deeply caring. Someone who took me under her wing and loves me unconditionally.

We've worked on many levels, creating change so subtle that it is massive. The way we have worked together has not always (rarely) been comfortable, but I always felt safe. I didn't got into the relationship expecting change, I went in wanting to be fixed. Thankfully, she didn't see it that way. Instead of fixing me, she taught me and challenged my perceptions, helping me live my way into change.

When I asked for help finding a therapist who "gets it," that was part of it. The biggest difference, I wanted change. I didn't go into it hoping to be fixed, working with my acupuncturist taught me I wasn't broken.

I'm a big believer in the Universe. She is so much bigger to me than God could ever be. The Universe may open the doors, but it is up to me to walk through, to do the work. When I started this journey I never could have imagined being where I am standing right now.

I have been blessed with so many people who have shown up to teach, support, guide and love me. People to share stories with, to cry with, to laugh until it hurts with. People who help me challenge my perceptions of me, people who have helped me redefine what love is, helping broaden the definition. All of the people are a reflection of me and my belief (though sometimes wavering) that I get to have this.

This journey is about integrating the pieces that were left behind. Finding them, loving them and bringing them with me.

Beginnings

Big is a relative term. I love printing my pictures in the largest size that will fit on my wall, the better to gaze at, the better to get lost and escape reality for a time. But when I first started painting and was faced with the blank page or canvas, big is so much smaller.

Big for this project was just as ambiguous. I didn't want to create something that was so big it was impractical (both in cost and displaying), but bigger that the usual size I paint in in order to push my comfort zone. I knew that I wanted to display the piece when it was finished, but not where everyone could see it but where I could be reminded of how far I've come and the journey that is still unfolding.

This past year has been one of discovering what I wanted and honoring the vision I have, I'm not sure why I thought this journey wouldn't follow me into the art supply store.

I knew I wanted to use acrylic paints and palate knives after an art experience I had with the kids at my internship (which was lead by a wonderful volunteer). I made the mistake of asking what type of paint I should use, it was less of a conversation about paint and more of a decree handed down by the sales person. I spent almost 45 minutes walking up and down the paint isle as I couldn't make up my mind. Do I honor what I wanted to use or do as I was told so it would turn out "right." In the end I decided to give my vision a shot.

Picking out a canvas proved to be tricky as well. After almost an hour of looking at different canvases, comparing them to one another and debating endlessly, I finally decided on a 26x32 canvas. (yep, at this point I've been at the art store almost two hours)

Some how I wanted to combine the "how" and the "goal" sketches that I made back in November. I thought maybe doing the chakras and my outline but that wouldn't give enough color on the canvas. Then I thought about doing colored squares over the entire canvas but that what too neat and orderly. As you can see there are a few areas obviously painted over, I was thinking way too hard. Then I gave up and just painted.

Once I decided to let the colors choose where they were going things happened much faster and more fluidly. The fluidity was what I was hoping for. Creativity and movement that bypassed conscious thought.

I was able to give myself over to the process, adding more color where it was needed. Turning off the judgmental part of my brain, trusting in the moment and that it was right.

This is the final product of the first part of the piece. I stepped backed and immediately loved it, for the first few minutes. Then I became very critical of it. It was difficult to move back into the space of knowing it was perfect so I walked away for a bit. I have moved (mostly) back into a space of perfect (as opposed to perfection) allowing myself to be there without judgment and when the judgment comes in noticing, taking a breath and then returning.

And what would creating be without a little bit of help? 

Libby Kitty 

Inspiration

I love to create. I had a wonderful Grandpa who could look at something and build it. I had a Grandma who taught me to bake and sew and garden. Both of my grandmas, two women, who always looked the other way regardless of the size of the mess made I made. A mom who bought me Legos and a father who gave me my first set of tools when I was two.

I have taught myself how to hand bind books and how build picture frames and cut mats and glass. I take pictures, play with clay or paper mache or just plain build. But before this year I would not have thought to turn to drawing or painting as a way to create because I always got the message in all of my 2-D art classes that I was not a "good" artist.

Thankfully, I finally got the message of "process not product." There were days I could not wait to get home and draw something with craypas or colored pencils or paint with watercolor. Like I said earlier, my journal and I are not friends right now so the message of "process not product" came at an opportune time.

The idea (before I realized it really was an idea) for this piece came from as series of three drawings that I did in the middle of November.

I was hurting and created the first piece. I showed it to two wonderful and wise healers and both told me, in no uncertain terms, that that could not be the last picture that I drew.

"Draw two more" one said, "and if it's easier draw the last one, the goal, first and then fill in the middle, the how." Amazingly, the "how" came easy, as soon as I had imagined what the end, what my goal was. I honestly cannot remember which one I drew first.

The end, the goal, came easily. Well the idea for the goal came easily: colorful, orderly and bold. It took awhile to convince myself that colorful was okay. I love bright colors, I make and wear tie dye on a regular basis, my rain jacket it bright orange, I never wear plain white shirts unless they are layered with something (usually) obscenely bright. Even so, it was difficult to color this as brightly as I wanted to.

The "how" remained a pencil sketch for a long time. An outline of a person with all these pieces surrounding her. Little, big, whole and broken pieces waiting to be integrated into the whole. Slowly, one piece at a time I began to outline the figures. Sometimes I could only bring myself to color only one piece a sitting, other times two pieces, swirling in, ready to be integrated.

Holy crazy scary.

Looking at this picture it was like finding last piece of the puzzle. I realized while looking at this picture that the work is really just beginning. The last three years have been a journey of discovery, finding pieces of myself that have been left along the way.

This is the next step on my journey, to live my way into wholeness. 

First, a bit of background

Before we get to far into this journey together, you might be wondering why am I posting about this journey in the first place. First, it's a way for me to record the process. My journal and I are not friends right now so I'm all about alternatives. The hit counter says other people visit, and I've shared the link with many, but I don't think much about that when I'm writing. Secondly, it's all about sharing stories, taking away one more brick in the wall that separates us in the global sense. One of my favorite quotes says that "friendships are born out of the moment when one person says to another: 'what! you too? I thought I was the only one.'" Maybe, for someone, that will happen here. 

This insane, amazing, hard, crazy, beautiful, rocky, incredible healing journey started three years ago playing kick ball with some kids at camp. I rounded third base, tripped and came crashing down on my left shoulder. The first thought I had was "Okay Universe, I am listening." Little did I know then that the Universe took me seriously and opened more doors that I could imagine to teach, help, support, guide, and most of all to love me while I learned. 


98% of the time I could not be more grateful for this journey. The other 2% I get pissed and cry and yell and get really crabby, but I always, usually sooner (as opposed to later) return to gratitude. 


This year has been one of many endings and many more beginnings. Those of you who know me well know that I do not like to start things one at a time, I prefer to start things in multiples. This tendancy was especially evident in the last nine months. Instead of easing into my last year of graduate school I jumped in head first. Externally, I started life without anti-depressants, my clinical research paper, an internship, therapy, and a sacred feminine group. Internally, I kicked up the intensity and the pace on healing. 


So here begins the creation. 

An invitation

Back in September someone, whom then I only respected, suggested that I create a piece of art, she saw it as being big, a mixed media piece and I looked at her and thought she was nuts (and truth be told, I probably told her she was nuts). I had just started my last year of grad school and I was about to start my huge clinical research paper so creating was not high on my priority list. 

Nine months later, not only do I still respect this person but I have grown to deeply trust her, and here I sit creating a big piece of art. 

So if your interested or just curious, I invite you to follow the process as things unfold.