Meltdown in aisle 2

Today I had a mini meltdown in the supermarket. Ya know when a box of Wheaties kickstarts a waterfall in the cereal aisle something’s not right.
Last night I was on a call with a coaching client, helping her figure out the best way for her to share her voice, her story, her baby who didn’t make it. I told her that I believe we all need to find something productive to pour our love into; The love that is born in us for a baby who isn’t born into a life where we can pour that love onto him or her. For me it is The Muchness.

But I guess I’ve been neglectful of my love of late.

I’ve been Trying to get to the root of that which has been gnawing at my gut. Grief, after a while, has a way of disguising itself in the mundane. The daily grind. The little things.

And there it was. Twin sisters on the box of Wheaties. Nowadays it’s hard to really “get me” in my grief. Most triggers actually make me kinda happy, I’ve learned to see them as a way my girls reach out to me, but today, the damn Wheaties box…. It just made it really clear that I’m not in alignment.

So what now? Not sure. But I need to get back into the swing of things that nourish and feed my soul. Need to get back to love.
(What’d u say? That sounds super cheesy? Well, whatevs.)

Balance Schmalance

“Go with the flow”— thats what they say, right? when you want to find equilibrium, you should roll with life, allow yourself to not hold onto control and take what comes your way with grace, working towards what you want…

but what happens when the “flow” leads you somewhere and then you have no idea how you got there, and ‘there’ isn’t working?

If you’ve been following my blog for some time you know my writing goes in phases- sometimes I write and sometimes I don’t. And when I don’t it’s usually because I’m too busy in my head trying to untangle a puzzle that I know won’t untangle until I start writing… Oy. Because I never know where to start. Where or how to just pop in and pour water on the drought that seems to happen when I stop writing.

There’s been too much in my mind lately and a lot on my plate and I’ve gone into shut-down mode a bit. Uch. I hate that.

So I hear myself say that and then try to back up back into flow. Grace. This is part of my rhythm. (why is that word so damn hard to remember how to spell properly?!?!) “Let yourself be, Tova” I try to say to myself. Don’t beat yourself up.  FEEL what is at the root of this yuck feeling.

Is it the fact that I’ve been wasting hours popping bubbles on my phone to give my brain time to unwind and this very act leads to the self-loathing that I am trying to get away from?

Is it PMS, which is so much worse and pronounced since I’ve started working from home and become hyper aware of ‘me’?

Is it the change of seasons and all the coordination of summer activities which is pulling me from my business responsibilities?

Is it the fact that I don’t want to feel guilty about working while my kids are home, but my kids are home a lot these days, but if I don’t work, I won’t be able to feed them?

Is it that even with all that, I still spend time popping bubbles on my phone?

Is it the fact that I want to be writing here more – that I used to use this place as therapy but now that I have more people in my circle who may read it, I worry that I should always have the right thing to say with the perfect accompanying graphic to go with it? I want to inspire people- I believe that in my soul it’s part of why I’m here, but when I am feeling disconnected, I feel like I’d be phoning it in to write inspiring shit that just feels like a bunch of BS strung together and tied with a glittery bow up top. Seriously, the amount of inspiring shit that’s online is seriously depressing sometimes. One of my huge fears is being one of those cheesy, clichéd “happy people” that make me roll my eyes because their message seems so sugar coated and lame. —fine line to muchness, I’m thinking.

My sister said something really crappy to me yesterday. She didn’t mean to, she’s just sort of built like a 6 year old who feels no responsibility to think about her words in that split second when they travel half-baked between her brain and her mouth. (I assume they start in her brain. It would not take much to convince me otherwise sometimes.) I didn’t even respond because it was so incredibly hurtful that I couldn’t even speak words. And yet I know it wasn’t meant to be hurtful at all. It may have even, in some twisted way, been conceived as a compliment, of sorts. But then, she’s a 40 year old woman. If at this point she can’t see her words from a perspective other than her own does it really pay for me to educate her, or do I just sit with those words, stewing in me…. or do I write them here in the hopes that makes them dissipate into the universe knowing they are off my chest and released from my shoulders. Sometimes that happens. We’ll see if it does this time.

When I step back, I see the things are actually going well overall- I have a class full of participants in my Muchness After Babyloss course and it is one of the most fulfilling things I’ve done in my life to date. The business I’ve started with my husband, earseeds.com is getting off to a great start (though taking all my time, and focus, with the exception of my family and my course)

I’m trying to juggle and balance simultaneously, like an act on Americas Got Talent…. except I’m feeling like this week I’m landing flat on my face with my skirt over my head and my ass hanging out.

—-

There. I broke the silence. Poured water on my drought. What next?

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