One evening, while going through a very difficult time in my life, I called out to God for relief. In my despair I broke, unable to carry the weight of my suffering anymore, and I reached out to Him to take it away. In the most sincerest of cries, I stated, “My heart is ready to come home”, a recognition of and surrender to my resistance to His participation in my life. This was not a cry for death or some suicidal impulse; it was a cry for life and a longing to truly live.
While exploring the psychology section at a bookstore, this orange book with a strange symbol, entitled Personalty Types, got my attention. Within five minutes of skimming the book, I found my type. As I read the description, I began to cry. What I read was not some list of traits but a description of my interior life—what it felt like to be in my skin.
Two things occurred to me in that moment. First, there is a reason I feel the way I do, and second, if I am one of these personality types,...
I love this time of year. The holidays mark the end of a year and the anticipation of a new one. For me, it’s a time of reflection and a building of excitement for a new beginning.
This year was a year of great transitions in my life. My son entered the military, leaving my nest empty. My best friend moved 5 states away, taking with her the refuge of our long talks while sitting on her sofa sipping tea. And, I finally went to Paris, after a 30 year delay!
Reflecting on the changes this year, I realized something pretty cool. I faced these changes with grace and invitation. I didn’t fight them or resist them, but rather welcomed them with open arms. 2017 taught me change did not have to equal loss. For me, this was a much-needed lesson.
A new year brings with it an opportunity for a rebirth. Though the truth is this rebirth is available in every moment, aka., now; there is something about this line of demarcation that gives it an extra power. It invites u...
When I was about five or six, while on my bicycle, I rode out in front of a moving car. Luckily, the driver slammed on the brakes and came within inches of hitting me. It occurred outside of my great uncle’s home, who happened to be the town’s police chief. He was quite the intimidating figure, even to the most hardened criminal. He witnessed the incident, began yelling at me, and ordered me to go home immediately. I cried all the way home and not wanting my mother to see me so upset, thus making me tell her of my error, I sat in the woods across from my home until I calmed down. That little girl was swimming in shame.
This is the face of my Critic, the intimidating police chief.
The Critic is like my great uncle. It originated from a place of protection, caring, and guiding us when we, like children, are not mature enough to protect ourselves. The primary goal was to keep us safe. But as we mature and grow, the Critic should mature as well; moving from...
We all have a voice running in the background of our minds, interpreting our experiences, and giving us feedback and guidance. At times the voice is kind, and at times horrible. Learning to notice which voice is playing is vital to our health and well being. Let's take a look at them!
Chances are this voice is the one you are most aware of. It follows you around, speaks over your shoulder, whispers awful nothings in your ear, and has one goal—to tear you down. If you have ever said to yourself, “I don’t need enemies as long as I have myself.”, you have an intimate relationship with this voice.
This voice says, “Hey, something’s happening!” and fights to get our attention. Its goal is to help us and awaken us to what needs to change. Sometimes it speaks through a nagging feeling, or a dream. Sometimes it speaks through our body, via aches and pains of all kinds. Sometimes we are aware of it and consciously choose to ignore it because fac...
Walking out of the movie theatre from watching The Notebook, my friend stated, “That was an incredibly romantic movie.” to which I replied, “That movie was horrible. It glorified murder/suicide among the elderly.” “What the hell are you talking about?”, my friend exclaimed. We spent the last two hours taking in the same experience, so how is it we interpreted it so differently? And which perspective was correct?
A few years ago, my sister and I were discussing our mother. She had passed away when we were in our teens and early twenties. We were speaking of our memories and experiences of her and my sister said, “I don’t know who you are talking about. That’s not how I remember her.” How is it we experienced the same mother yet had such different experience of her? Which one of us remembered her correctly?
My friend and I could have become entrenched in our perspectives, arguing that our perspective was the right one. My sister and I could have...