Super Special Birthday Freebie for my Readers!

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MARK YOUR CALENDERS: On July 28th, for 24 hours EST, I will be offering She Cycles, my ecourse on the menstrual cycle, FOR FREE to anyone on my mailing list!

Why? Because I love you, because I’m grateful you are here supporting my words by reading them. AND because it’s my birthday and I want to give back.

I also, very very sincerely, want this information to touch more and more women’s lives.

Sometimes we must do what our heart asks us to do.

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This will only be for those on my mailing list, which you can lovingly join in the purple box below.

At 12:01am EST on July 28th, I will mail out a coupon code that will wipe the price of the course out to zero. That’s an $84 birthday celebration coupon for you!

If you have taken my course and you have friends who you’d know would like it, OR you have friends who you think would like to take the course alongside you, I’d be honored if you would share a link to this blog post.

Jupiter has moved into Leo and I am pumped for new beginnings. My heart is full and I’d like to share the love. Hello to new menstrual cycle beginnings for you all :)

With love,

falan sig

 

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Full, pregnant and ripe with the untidiness of life

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I have been knee deep in life lately.

Full, pregnant and ripe with the untidiness of all that life is.

I have found myself distanced from this space, too plump to merge my thoughts into words to share.
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Life is simultaneously so brutal and beautiful, isn’t it?

Sometimes I feel like it’s like my dream life. At first look, things seem like a big ole mush of messiness, yet; with openness and reflection you see that something is there; revealing and merging, leading and urging.

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Life is full of endings and beginnings, and over and over again I find myself looking to the heart, the womb and the gut, sourcing these wisdom centers to find my way. And over and over again I find myself briefly lost in the weathered days. Exquisite joy, tears and tears, an aging face and an ageless heart.

That’s all for now.

With the warmest love,

falan sig

 

 

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The trouble with trying to figure things out.

maryoliverlake

I was chatting with Mama friends yesterday afternoon, and one Mama mentioned how she was “trying to figure it out.”

As in figure out what she was going through, and where she wanted to go next.

The desire to figure out our life is so alluring.

Gosh, do I want to figure things out.

I love to plan and prep, and contrive to figure out myself and this world within and around me.

I know control all too well.

Yet, my response to this friend was “maybe you don’t have to figure anything out.”

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You see, our egos like to manipulate our lives by giving ourselves an illusion of control, so that we believe we have it all figured out.

This makes us feel safe, and settles our fears enough to feel like we are in control.

Of course our ego has a purpose; nonetheless, we must hush her sometimes to let our spirits lead.

I think we often forget the sacredness of ourselves. We shove down spirit, as if it’s more comfortable to perceive ourselves as slaves to our demands.

The problem with trying to figure it all out is that we forget that the soul exists. And when we forget that the soul exists we lose our attentiveness.

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It’s our attentiveness that reminds us of our soul, as Mary Oliver tells us.

When I think of attentiveness, my mind skips to the last couple days of my life.

The way my husband loved on me fiercely, lovingly and goofyingly, in the kitchen as we listened to this.

The watching of my kids running wildly down the hiking trail in the thundering, windy rain; my littlest wrapped in her bright pink towel.

The way he woke me in the early morning hours to make love.

The lush greenery that padded the winding mountain roads of our drive.

The late afternoon couch snuggling of my long legged, tired and content kids.

The feeling of the moist grass on my feet, as I snuck out late last night to peek at the full moon.

This very second, where my littlest came running in from outside and thrust her arm under my nose, because she knows how I love the smell of sunshine on her skin.

On an on and on it goes.

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It was attentiveness that nestled these moments in like those darling baby birds above.

These moments happened in the moments when I wasn’t trying to figure anything out.

These were the “strengthening throbs of amazement; the good sweet empathetic pings and swells” that remind me I am much more than I often see myself to be.

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We are surrounded by sacredness.

And, of course, life is a freaking mess sometimes.

And sometimes, nearly every time, there is nothing to figure out.

Sometimes, nearly every time, all we need to do is to let things happen vs. making things happen.

To do the very step that is in front of you, staying there until it’s done; then doing the next step that will so flawlessly unfold.

This is an awake life, where attentiveness continually reminds you that you too are much more than you often see yourself to be.

With love. Always with love,

falan sig

 

 

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Internet fasting (a week away from the webs) and 8 ideas for internet freedom

mandala

I just finished a 9 day break from the internet.

Last winter I took a break for nearly a month.

Sometimes I question our incestuous relationship with the online world.

This infinite, beautiful gift of the internet. It’s profound, to say the least.

Access to any and every thing - all moments, of every single day - peeks into others lives, the deep thoughts of strangers and friends, medical searches for every pinch, bump & ache, the ability to earn an income from your passion, the ease to share your moment with thousands of others while you’re still in that moment.

Sometimes I worry it never shuts up. The vastness of it, the connection of it, the capabilities of it. Always there. Always available. Always whispering to you that there’s something to check on. Sometimes screaming at you that there’s a priority/emergency to tend to.

It can be a sneaky little effer.

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With our inbox’s full of requests from others and all the social media pings and pongs, we are pushed like a mower through knee deep grass into the lives of others. I question how this affects the quality of our own life. How this sneaks the specialness from the person sitting within touch distance of you. How this interrupts the beauty of the moment because you are focused on capturing it on your iPhone and sharing it to social media.

Our society is no stranger to busying and distracting ourselves. But lying below this busyness, you are full of intuition/messages/clarity rising to the surface but never catching breath because we stay so busy and distracted.

You see, the interweb connection gives us a sense of high and importance. It allows us to idle away time to avoid feelings or to feel busy and accomplished. To procrastinate from dreams and doings.

I don’t believe it though.

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This gorgeous, messy, beautiful life is waiting for you to be more present it. To live it so fully you feel like your heart is fat.

We exist in one noisy, noisy world and we must set boundaries to let what really matters rise to the top of all the clutter we consume.

The internet is amazing, absolutely. But our life is more than that.

We must set boundaries so that the internet can be a tool; not a vortex that accompanies every moment of our day.

Here are 8 tips to set those boundaries. Pick one or two that feel like they could make the most difference for you, and try them out.

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Internet FastA day, a weekend, a week.  Look ahead and watch your schedule closely for a chance to disconnect for a chunk of time. Schedule it in. Put a vacation responder on your email. The space created when the noise dies down, and the urge to “just check something” settles, will be beautiful.

Important before email. Always get to what really matters to you before you go online. Never check your email first thing in morning. Avoid sleeping with your phone by your bed. Make your life more important than a request from someone else or the consumption of everyone’s ideas.

Check email one time a day. Do we really need to check our email more than one time a day. I try to think of it like the good ole fashion “snail mail”. It is a once-a-day delivery. Now there is always a chunk of emails waiting. There always will be. Let them wait ’til tomorrow.

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A second email for everything else. I have three email accounts. A personal email shared with friends. An email for falanstorm.com. And a third email that houses all my newletters/blogs/misc until I can get to them. I check my personal and website email regularly and save the other for when I have time, ideally once a week. I can’t recommend this enough. This works really well if you have an online business and don’t want to miss an order/email from someone – then you can just check that email only. So what if you miss something else. We will never have space to catch it all. Let it go. Miss it. Who cares, really?

No notifications on your phone. I believe people should have your phone number (to call or text) if they want to be able to ping your attention away from this moment in your life. Smartphones amaze me. You can ping the shit out of your life every time you get an email or someone posts something to social media. Turn them off. Check them in your time.

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Capture and share later. If you enjoy sharing pictures on social media, try snapping the picture and then waiting until later to share them. Avoid snapping it and then sharing the moment with everyone while you’re still having the moment.

Sacred Sundays. I treat Sunday’s as a sacred day. I don’t get online at all.

Off by a certain time. Set a time that the internet is inaccessible after a certain hour, making sure to give yourself some internet free space each day.

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You may be thinking, “there’s no way.” But, just maybe, there is. What would it be like to quiet the outside world enough that your inner world takes presidence over it all? We draw so many lines in the sand about what we think we can and can’t do. Maybe that line can be shifted?

I’m not perfect with this and you don’t have to be either. It’s about the awareness and mindfulness of how we are spending our lives. Just implementing one or two of these things can hugely shift how you feel about time/stress/busyness. Try one and go forth until your feel the expansiveness and presence of your moments uncluttered with the internet.

A virtual hug,

falan sig

 

 

 

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Three Secrets of your Menstrual Cycle

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It’s no secret that most women, in our society, are not so pleased with the fact that they menstruate.

But what is a secret, amongst the majority of women, is that our menstrual cycle has a much greater purpose than we give it.

As women, we will experience 350 to 500 menstrual cycles in our lifetime. These cycles are actually remarkable inner wisdom that can guide us through the seasons of our bodies, revealing much about our health and well being, emotionally and physically.

There are incredible amounts of wisdom in your menstrual cycle, unveiled through how you feel about your cycle and how you experience your cycle.

The following are just three of these revealers I wanted to share with you.

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Your menstrual cycle requests different rhythms. Each phase of your menstrual cycle is requesting a different rhythm from you. As women, we are not linear beings, who are meant to go, do, and act with vivacious energy all the time. As we move through the different phases of our menstrual cycle, governed by different hormones, we move through different energy levels, moods and needs. The first few days of your period is a time for rest and reflection. The first half of your cycle, the follicular phase, is typically a time for higher energy levels, revved up creativity and a greater sense of understanding of yourself and the world. The second half of your cycle, the luteal phase, is the time when we begin to move inward and withdraw from the world, craving quiet and reflection. PMS is often revealing your current truth (as you’ll read below), and once your period begins it’s time to rest, reflect and calibrate all that wisdom you just received from your premenstrual days.

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PMS is a revealer of truth. PMS can indeed be a bit overwhelming for many women. We often don’t recognize ourselves and feel like chaotic, unstable crazy ladies. Severe PMS may be a sign that you are hormonally or nutritionally imbalanced, and of course that needs to be addressed. However, more typical PMS is actually just a bit of wise in your life. Those few days of sensitivity, emotional diarrhea and confusion can actually be a wonderfully divulging time, letting you know just what needs to change in your life. It’s often the time where the suppressions of yourself are brought to the surface, urging you to rebalance your own truth.

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Your period is little death that creates new space for yourself. When your period begins each month, it is the time to shed the old and make space for the new.  Allowing yourself to rest during the first day or two of your period will allow your intuition to take over, and show you how you can transform that PMS driven wisdom directly in your life. This rest can reveal what action you’re ready to take, allowing the follicular phase to offer you the energy and inspiration needed to implement those changes; ultimately allowing your menstrual cycle to beautifully support the cycle of letting go and implementing new.

A tiny willingness to embrace a new way of seeing your cycle can have profound effects on how you feel about yourself and your body, how you connect with the wisdom being uncovered regularly, and how you begin to shift how you experience your cycle.

To dive deep into menstrual (mind, body, & spirit) health, you can always take the She Cycles Ecourse, created to help you find freedom in your menstrual cycle. This course is packed full of reveals about our cycles and has been rippling loving change in women’s lives, by jump starting amenorrheic cycles, uncovering the truth behind miserable cycles, fostering a true connection with women’s bodies and nature, and sharing all the truths about why we menstruate. Click here to learn more.

With warmth,

Falan 

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The courage of a Mother

photo 1I still remember years ago, when someone I loved said to me, “You’re still Falan.”

I was actually quite insulted that someone would dare suggest that I could be anything but a Mother.

As my littles become big and this body becomes mine again, I see that I am more than a Mother…yet, …

Recently, I had an article of mine published. The article was about the ways women disconnect from themselves. Someone in the comments replied that another way women disconnect from themselves was by, “Identifying ourselves through our relationships with others, ie partner and children.” I replied to her comment, with complete sincerity, thanking her for offering a voice for the women who felt the same. It wasn’t until later that I realized she was likely referring to my own personal BIO where the first thing I state is that I am a Mother.

I am a Mother.

And though it isn’t my complete identity, it is the identity that holds my heart with a visceral grip.

I have three children who have embedded themselves into my heart and interwoven their spirits with mine.

I have had two miscarriages that have softened every label I’ve given myself other than Mother.

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For many of us, once we become one, Mother is the one label we cannot, and do not, want to detach ourselves from.

When I found motherhood, I felt like I had fallen into my most meaningful expression of myself.

I am so profoundly moved by the entire act of mothering. Holding body and spirit within our bodies and spirit, and welcoming life through us, is remarkable to me.

Falling into a love that is beyond unconditional. A love that fevers you into a frenzy of protection, nurturing and unbridled worry.

This is my personal story, and this doesn’t mean it isn’t hard.

Damn, is it hard.

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Watching this video recently, I was moved – near the end- when she says she isn’t brave enough to be a Mother.

As a mother, I’ve considered myself selfless, nurturing, loving, raging, exhausted, crazy, devoted and more, but I’m not sure if I’ve ever thought of myself as brave.

But it hit me so completely. How brave we are. How much courage it takes to say yes to guiding a life; to allowing your heart to be gutted open, again and again.

It takes courage to give birth. To trust and surrender to however it turns out.

And what about the courage it takes to face the continual grief of not conceiving a child you so deeply want?

I was chatting with friends recently about getting out of our comfort zones. In reflection, I realize the act of Mothering is both my greatest comfort zone and a continual act of discomfort.

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Years ago a friend of mine had a son born with half of a heart. Six and half years later, he’s still here. Brave and courage define this boy and this mother.

Instagram is the only social media I’m on and I must admit I rarely go through my feeds. Yet, yesterday I caught a glimpse of a beautiful red haired boy and read the caption below the image. This darling boy was playing Frisbee in a front yard and ran out into the street to chase the Frisbee. He was hit by a truck a died. He was three years old.

Courage seems much to small of a word to define the bravery it will take for his Mother (and Father) to face their grief and this world.

I don’t know a Mom who would say that she carried a fear deeper than the one of losing a child. I don’t know a Mom who doesn’t carry this worry with her every day.

I don’t know a Mom who turns the last light out in the house and doesn’t wonder if she really made this day matter. If she really appreciated the love that she shares with these little beings her call her Mama.

I spent all day yesterday carrying the pain of this story with me. As I nursed my daughter to sleep, I held her so close. So close, thinking of how this Mom would give anything to hold her son to sleep one more time.

I stayed up long after everyone went to sleep with the uncontrollable need to read all I could about this family. To donate money. To hold space in my heart for the grief that thousands of people are holding along side of them.

I have my resistance to social media, for sure, but this story – one that social media spread like beautiful wildfire - was a profound act of support. I imagine the support this family is receiving across the nation will not soften their grief, but will strengthen them.

In reading about this family, I came across other similar articles of children getting hit by a car and dying. One, a ten year old boy, in the same day. What about the courage of his Mother? The one racked with grief, and without the support of social media’s many?

I am so wrapped up in making this life meaningful and it is these very stories that remind me why.

That precious boy spent his morning at Disneyland. By evening his spirit went on the greatest adventure of them all, while those who loved him are left to traverse the hollowness of life without him, and find faith that is only understood when we face grief of this weight.

And those of us who are having ordinary days are able to be touched by his story and be reminded of the preciousness of Motherhood and the gift it is to have these borrowed spirits to love. The reminder that life can, and does, change in one fell swoop.

Much much love

falan sig

 

 

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The undoneness of life. Meaning over balance. Everything matters and nothing does.

photo 1You listen to the sounds of morning and gather the tidbits of your dreams before you ever open your eyes. You wake with a stream of thoughts and ideas and a collection of dreams, all asking to be written in the journal that sits by your bed. But snuggled up to you she stares with her big blue morning eyes and you’re called to your day.

You wake and you pull back the curtains to scan the day, already feeling what kind of weather is on the other side.You wash up and brush your teeth. You choose to brush and braid your hair, get dressed and put your feather earrings in (optional, as the day will be spent at home).

Slowly the other two emerge from their rooms with creased eyes and morning around their mouths. You eat an easy breakfast and think about how the day shall be spent.

Your mind is filled with words waiting to be written, which you are only recently learning to embrace as a need. You’ve promised yourself morning writing time; yet, the sunshine beckons you to go outside, especially since you can sense rain on its way.

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You see the dishes in the sink, think about the drool marks on the pillows and remind yourself that your underwear stash is running low. Your finances are waiting to be tended, you need to call the long, long list of dentists and your email inbox’s are full of requests from others, and sweet little notes of love that you want to take time to fully appreciate.

You are planning to buy a house this Spring and you think you probably should give some effort to that today.

You think of the dozens of things your home is asking you to do.

You really want nothing more than to hold your kids so tightly to your body that they’ll stop getting taller and older.

You really want nothing more than to make love all day or to spend the entire day out upon the earth.

You have those worries that are asking to be nursed and you secretly desire to catch up on your reading pile or the latest episodes of Call the Midwife.

Your wanderlust is asking you to pack bags for your family and hit the road for the weekend.

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Your kids priorities ask of you. “Mama, Mama”.

You know this evening your husbands priorities will ask of you. “Honey, Honey”.

Your body feels limber and stiff along side each other, and you know you’re craving active.

Sometime during all this it’s been lunch time and you’re back in the kitchen again. More dirty dishes.

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You scan the kitchen and pull together meal plans and shopping lists.

It’s dinner time. More dirty dishes.

Now the sink and counters and kitchen table are full of requests for you.

The evening weaves through the layers of family and love.

You savor the late hours with the light of the lamp, and a journal, book and pens.

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You forgot to wash your underwear, so you sleep without any. Good for the vagina, of course.

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Sometimes, the days flow so beautifully it’s as if spirit is lovingly guiding so that, when you get to the end of the day, you feel like everything that matters to you got a piece of you.

On days like this you almost feel like balance is existing alongside hope. But only the hope is real.

Sometimes, the days feel like a dripping wound up wash cloth, and you wonder how the heck its gonna unravel its wet self, wipe off your to-do list and give a piece of your heart to all that matters to you.

We can get so tangled up in the runaway list of things that need tended, and everyday I am reminded how everything matters and yet, nothing does.

Life can shift in one fell swoop and for this reason we must learn an acceptance of the undoneness of life and to seek meaning over balance.

To carve in every ounce of sacredness, adventure and love that you can, and to remember that today, tomorrow and the memories of yesterday are molded by meaning, tickled with tediousness, and traversed on the edges of yourself, what’s possible, what you fear and what you dream.

With love,

falan sig

 

 

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The layers, years, struggles and love of marriage

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I stand at the window and watch her guide him into the van.

A few months ago he had a stroke and I remember watching her run toward the door with a mournful and anguished wail trailing behind her.

Our neighbors, in their late 50′s; married for years, I imagine, with all the struggles and love of marriage. And now a profound expression of this interwoven struggle and love.

An expression of love that reminds me what a blessing it is to have someone to share your life with that would see you through the inevitable curveballs of a life lived.

I tear up every time she helps him into the van and closes the door behind him, like a child.

A layer of love not yet traversed before. And this layer is so deep.

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I know I’ve wrote of love here many times before; yet, there always seems more to say.

It seems love has been the greatest growth of my life.

I met him so young and followed a love that intuition had the reigns of.

It wasn’t lust and it wasn’t immature.

When we made the decision to marry just months after we met, at 18, I didn’t really understand what that would look like long term.

Thankfully he did, or I would have given up far too many times.

For years I looked for ways out. Not because love wasn’t there. But because things were hard.

No one told me marriage was hard. Of course the examples in my life weren’t sugar coated, with the edges of life buffed smooth, but you don’t really see the truth of what marriage means when you’re that young. Somehow you think it’s just those examples.

Of course, love itself isn’t hard. What is hard is navigating the world with our egos and attachments, our ideals and our burdens.

Marriage is hard. Really effing hard.

Love is easy, love is whole, love is always there. It’s the hardening of our hearts and the upkeep of our life and the disappointments of our expectations that stop the flow of love like a kink in a water hose.

What a tremendous act of faith, love, and commitment to say I will share this life with you through it all.

I guess those vows, “through thick an thin, through sickness and health…” are really meant for something.

Funny thing is, we didn’t even share vows. It was as simple as a heart understanding that the love we had was so real.  

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Love is like the beautiful and bright, fresh colors of paint. And marriage is sometimes like mixing them all together until it appears like mud.

As two fiery souls we have had our fair share of uncontrolled flames.

As two passionate people we literally have wrestling/snuggle/tender biting/laughing fests to calm the chaos of our tremendous love.

Over the years there has been laughter until loss of breath, tears until dehydration, and screams until weakness.

I remember the youthfulness of our love. Me with my hip hanging low pants, half shirt, flat belly, wild red hair, and a cigarette or doobie between my fingers. Him with his plaid shirt, khaki pants, loafer shoes, and cool presence of refusing to be cool.

I remember stenciling on his bum with permanent marker. I remember the joy of running through the college campus in the rain.

I remember the awe I felt that he hadn’t been tainted by the pull of teenage wild expression.

I remember his acceptance of my wild self, even though we were entirely different in how we lived our lives.

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I remember not being able to go to sleep without climbing on top of him, cornering his neck with my face, and drifting off in the presence of deep love. I remember how uncomfortable this made him, but how he allowed it anyway.

It seemed like no time before there were kids cornering our necks with their faces, and we were dancing the role of parenthood. Where we were navigating the unconceivable love you hold for your family, the baggage of the past that dumps its shit when you become a parent, and the pressure of the roles you become as you move from one-to-two-to-family.

Marriage is a smaller expression of life itself. A journey with growing pains along the way that are meant to shave away the nonessential so you can find more of what really matters.

But if you make it, if you don’t give up, if you let yourself be humbled and led by the love that lives beneath than you will reach a love that is so profound. A love I cannot find words for.

It’s like adding fresh squirts and coats of beautiful, bright, and fresh paint to your love again.

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It’s recommitting to each other over and over again, as you become the next versions of yourself.

It’s the greatest act of vulnerability.

It is a love so unlike the unconditional love of being a mother. It is love that involves choice.

That is magic.

With a heart full of love,

falan sig

 

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A few (short-n-sweet) words on worth

photo 2 (2)I’ve been thinking much about worth lately. Recently reading Reveal moistened my already palatable taste buds into thinking even more about it.

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In Googling the definition of worth, one part is: the level at which someone or something deserves to be valued or rated.

Deserves to be valued?

I’m so unsettled by this…

Deserves?

How can we feel anything but unsettled when we hear this, as there is nowhere for such bull to settle.

How do we deserve to be valued? Isn’t that absurd? The concept of deserving to be worthy.

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We were born enough and we remain enough.

Yes, life is messy and we are too.

We are blood and flesh, spirit and heart, pain and love.

We radiate our truth and forget it within minutes.

We shine and trip. We steady and grasp.

We find home and lose our way.

We are light and dark.

We exist in this intersection of beauty and pain that life is.

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Could we possibly look to nature and wonder if one blossom deserves to be valued more than another? Of course not.

What we forget is that we, ourselves, our nature. We are a unique expression of the beauty in this world and this existence, and we birth and die and shine and wilt through the seasons of our own life.

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“We acknowledge our inherent worth and the voice of Divine Love inside of us. It starts with a look of unfaltering love. It starts by allowing our love to reach where it never has before – to our humanity, to the broken places within. We stand up for who we are. And we give up trying to prove our worth. That’s a burden we were never meant to carry. We don’t become worthy of love at some point; love is a gift that comes with being. We recognize that it was always ours to claim.” – Meggan Watterson

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So much warmth,

falan sig

 

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The truth. It was never really anxiety.

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I am breaking.

Shattering in a way that I know I’ll be rebuilt into something much more beautiful, strong, and honest to where I am now.

I feel like I’m standing at the edge of the ocean and the waves keep pulling the sand from beneath my feet. I feel invigorated by the wind bringing the changes, yet; feel immobile by the mud holding me there.

I want nothing more than to pull my clothes from my damp skin and bare myself to the elements. To be polished with the salt water. To be set back on the soft sand as the sun sets.

It was never really anxiety. I’ve only ever experienced acute anxiety that calms itself as the situations settles. And of course it wasn’t dehydration. I only vomited twice.

I feel an unsteadiness in sharing this, but feel I must. For all the women who read my words, someone may feel comforted by my experience.

What began with a tummy bug seemed to extend out into lingering symptoms, and I tried desparately to identify what my body was going through.

All the basic tests were ran, but confusion was held all around. I was relieved to be deemed a healthy lady, but so scared and frustrated that I felt so far from healthy.

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I was experiencing so many crazy and uncharacteristic symptoms.

Headaches, tingling on my scalp, dizziness, fogginess, a night sweat (never a fever this whole time), extremely cold, heart racing wildly, hysterical sobbing episodes so overwhelming and cleansing (like nothing I had ever experienced. They felt dripping heavy with grief and ended with a tremendous relief), unbelievable exhaustion, digestive oddities, very strong intuitive messages, an urge to write more, 5 lbs weight loss (I’m already so very thin), extreme introversion, skin eruptions, waking lots during the night (two nights with nearly no sleep and waking rested anyhow), shaking, chest heaviness, dream states, very sensitive to sounds, smells and touch, craving nature (and would literally feel very ungrounded until I went outside), rising anger (craving primal screams of release), craving sacred and beauty, very distinct food preferences of either protein or fresh fruit, and an odd relief that my soul was fiercely uncovering herself.

These are the fragments of the bigger story I was living.

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I was scared.

I wanted to label myself so desperately. It was paralyzing to be experiencing so much, so many, so fully, and yet, have no diagnosis.

I kept intuiting that my heart racing was an opening of my heart. I have been praying for forgiveness and letting go. And it was obvious by the tremendous release I’d feel after the sobbing episodes that something profoundly cleansing was happening.

Chatting with my sister-in-law one evening, I was sharing with her some of the subtle but concrete intuitive experiences I had recently had. She said, “maybe it’s part of what you’re going through.”

I went home that night and the word Awakening came to me. I wrote it down and moved on with the night.

The next afternoon I was online handling finances and Google Spiritual Awakening came strongly to me.

I did.

I sat sobbing with immense relief that I was reading nearly all my symptoms together in one place.

But then I thought, “what the fuck do I do with this?” Oh dear, this is all rather “out there”. And I’m “out there” enough. And I pride myself on being down-to-earth.

After over a month of these symptoms my honey came home one Tuesday from work and said, “you seem like yourself today.” It felt good to feel like myself, but even better to have it witnessed. That night I decided to meet up with friends, as I had been skipping out on a ton of social stuff. I got into the car and literally had to roll down the windows my energy felt so big. Sitting in the parking lot, hesitant to go in, I was trying to contain my energy, as it felt rather intimidating to feel so vast. They commented on my glow (was I pregnant, they wondered?), and coming home that evening I was vibrating with excess and unfamiliar energy.

I felt scared to share any of this experience with anyone but my honey.

But with time I am understanding my truth and feel ready to share it.

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Here is the truth:

This is the longest I’ve gone without a pregnancy/birth/breastfeeding/nurturing-a-little-one in my entire adulthood. I have been breastfeeding, pregnant, or both for 12 years, and though I am down to one nursing session a day, it’s as if my body is becoming mine again.

My body is becoming my own territory.

I am awakening. This is an awakening of myself. To myself. This is me shedding all that isn’t aligned with who I am becoming in this next expression and phase of myself.

This is me awakening to my spirit.

It feels quite beautiful to be in the midst of a transformation.

It feels quite overwhelming.

I am craving alone like I’ve never experienced, and like I would never give myself permission for.

I feel myself clinging tightly to the old and familiar. I feel myself sabotaging the fullness of this experience.

I feel myself wanting so badly for the fullness of this to be lived.

I feel myself rushed to close the door of this room.

I feel myself wanting to explore every detail of the room.

I feel myself finding my way and lost at the same time.

I feel a trust and an uncertainty in each hand.

With a trusting heart,

falan sig

 

 

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