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. 

Memory Lane

I've been taking many, many trips down memory lane in the past few months. Reading old journals, looking at old pictures, and spending just as much time laughing as I have crying. There has been more healing in these trips than I think I can even know in this moment.

I learned and am just starting to understand just how many people fiercely held space for me and believed in my until I could step into that space myself. Many of those conversations that were had are now starting to make sense. I've also written a few emails to those amazing teachers who were, well, amazing.

Going through my high school scrap book I found a page that I had written about several memorable teachers I had the amazing opportunity to learn from and get to know. I graduated 10 years ago and reading these statements tonight, I can still tell you who each was one written about.

I thought I would share that list here.

* One that, on occasion, would walk out the door in the morning with two different shoes on their feet.

* And another teacher who employed the use of square dances to teach their students how chemical bods are formed

* And the teacher how, no matter how boring their subject, could have you rolling on the floor laughing in no time.

* And then there was the one who put their job on the line to see you grow in your faith

* There there are those who challenge, push, stretch and won't settle for what you are but for what you can be

* There are those who danced to the beat of their own drum

* What about those teachers who used they most horrible, most annoying songs to help you learn, that even now, you won't admit that those songs helped

* There are those who, as a student, you pray you don't get, and when you do you sit in fear on the first day only to learn that there is more fun in store than anyone though possible.

* Any what about he one who would let you do almost anything in order to express your creativity

* Of those who say the same phrase so many times you lose count

* Or the teacher who watched you grow from your first day of kindergarten to the day you graduated from high school

* And the teacher who rewarded the class for doing well on a test with a day of blowing things up

* And the teacher who knew so little about your life but could look right at you and speak to your heart, help heal your heart. Who, when they are proud of you their face cannot hide it, but when you mess up it shows too. But no matter how good or bad you do the encouragement in never ending. The teacher who can say more in three minutes than most other could in a 55 minute class period.