Letting go of small

Man, do I want to stay small, hidden, and inconsequential at the moment. Well, sometimes.

Despite my loud mouth, my 'big' energy, and my often intimidating (unintentionally!) ways, I am practically addicted to staying small. Letting go of that smallness, that desire to hide, and the safety of well, playing it safe is really challenging.

And I am doing all sorts of things to keep it going. I'm worrying (great way to stay small, for sure). I'm making up arguments from imaginary people who have not said these things to me ("You can't make money with the B&B," "Writing is not a career, it's a hobby that pays poorly," "You don't look good on video so don't put yourself on YouTube," "Everyone else is craftier, more pleasant, more creative, and has more discipline than you."--the list goes on). I'm creating busywork that doesn't feed/foster my business. I am creating busywork that I can't do/am challenged by, just so I can make excuses about why I can't make money, as a self-employed person.

Ack. I think I solved my problem with why I can't sleep most nights.

But playing small is crazy. And letting go of playing small is one of my claw mark moments.

So no more playing small (declaration!). Part of being a good mom for me is showing K how to do stuff. Not just telling him, or having him watch it on TV or reading it in a book. Part of me leaving my job is about admitting to myself that since family is one of, if not the, top values/priorities in my life, spending more time at work clashes with that value.

I haven't spent a lot of time reflecting on why family is so important to me, but it occurs to me that with  my dad's very early death (cancer/brain tumor at 41, with 4 kids!), it's just about spending as much time as possible with the people I love. Additionally, when my dad was sick, my family got even closer and that really helped us all survive the death, in many ways, in my opinion. So spending more time being available to my family is just something that attracts me to a more flexible schedule.

Running a business is hard work. What makes it worthwhile to me is not just the flexibility, but being able to make an impact in other people's lives. That's a real thing for me. Not just "you're a great person, thanks for being our guest," but more along the lines of "My life will never be the same, you've helped me see how amazing I am, and I want to pass this great feeling on to others." That gets me up in the morning, that's what I think about on my way to bed, and that's what keeps me growing. K needs to know that. He needs to know that I am not choosing to work less, but I am choosing to work differently and that difference is aimed at being the change I want to see in the world.

This is deep stuff for a 1 year old, but I plan on discussing it later (like when he's 3...ha!) with him because I can't make him do stuff (get into college, get a good job, etc), but I can involve him in why we choose what we choose. What led us to the choices, who is impacted by those choices, etc. Most of the time, when people talk about living in poverty or struggling, they don't dwell on that. They mention it, say it was hard, and then say that they never felt a lack of love. I am not planning on poverty (I'm playing bigger!), but I don't want to worry about that. I want K to see that we are consciously making these choices. Also, I want him to see that I am not worried, that I have faith in the path ahead, and that I see this departure as a definite opportunity to see just how big I can get.

Ah, the letting go that's a big deal--the job

Letting go of work. "Good" work.

Okay, I didn't want to write about this (there seems to be a lot of that on this blog, maybe THAT should've been my blog name!)...because I have feelings and assumptions about what it looks like to let go of a job that's provided so much for us. In fact, even when I wanted to let it go before, I found that I couldn't talk about it to people who didn't have jobs. They would've thought I was crazy.

On paper, the job rocks, I get it. But strangely, just like I might not have gone on a date with my husband if I just saw him "on paper,"  I don't live and die by things on paper. Resumes, job descriptions, dating profiles, company manifestos, etc. 'On paper' doesn't describe the feelings I have, or the eye contact between humans or skip in my heart or the way I like awake at night thinking about the amazing-ness of the universe. I can't capture that on paper (to my dismay).

Looking at this job, I can't compare the sheer glee at the sight of my son in the morning, when I get him out of bed, with a few more hours of pay. That goes away when the job increases its hours. No money makes the disappearance of that moment worth it. I already did it today to come in early to work. I didn't get to see my son's little face. The little person I worked so hard to create, protect, guide, and love...and yes, I know there will be times when I want to get out of the house, but that will be my CHOICE and that's the difference.

Also, letting go has always been a personal thing...it's about my choice and my "other" choices. When I choose K over FT work, I am choosing a lifetime of K (his happiness, bondedness, his reflection on work for money vs. family time, etc.). I can't guarantee that we can all sit around a dinner table every night, but I can choose to have the mornings free or lunches or whole days off...and in the end, money doesn't trump my kids. Money doesn't trump my kids. It also doesn't trump my marriage. When money starts to trump things that I consider THE MOST IMPORTANT THINGS TO ME, then I am traveling down a slippery slope.

I see career parents, and it seems to work for them. They have made peace. But I don't want to make peace that way. It's not peace, actually. Not my peace, anyway. I don't like having to choose money or family...that seems silly (enter philosophical/political argument here)...but I choose my values. Those will prevail. I need them to.

So I am letting "The Job" go. And I feel lighter. I feel more congruent. I still feel a bit scared, but I don't want to let too much fear in, because that will crowd out my faith, confidence, and ultimate excitement about a new adventure.

I know I am meant for greatness. K knows, too. So this is where we start.

Letting go of thought patterns

Getting shit stolen has a whole host of things that come with it, above and beyond the actual loss, violation, and annoyance at getting it back or getting new stuff. For me, the reminder to listen to, and heed, my intuition has been at the forefront.

I've had accurate and responsive intuition for years. In fact, when all else points to me being paranoid, suspicious, and crazy, a few more minutes, questions, facts and experiences always (ALWAYS) verify that my hunch is/was right. I have a knack for hearing those messages clearly. While I don't always act on the intuition I get, the messages are always clear, simple, and easy to hear.

The robbery is no different. I knew it was coming or I knew how to avoid it months (years?) before it happened. After all, it happened before. And there were steps we took, but we could've and should've done more.

But I digress. Back to intuition. Being a mom comes with a whole new set of listening tools regarding intuition. Now there's this OTHER person who is clearly communicating (if I'm paying attention) and interacting with my world. And I pride myself on being able to hear those messages. Again though, I'm not amazing at heeding the messages, but I try really hard since K's downfall can usually be avoided if I do listen to my intuition.

So I'm getting better about listening to him (regarding the non-verbal stuff...he's getting more and more verbally clear too), and now I need to sharpen the blade of discernment in my own life, with my business, my communication skills, my social life, etc.

Trust is also a big part of letting go. Jumping off the cliff is not a good metaphor for "trusting." Intuition isn't a guess. It's not blind, in the traditional sense. It's not about crossing my fingers and hoping. Intuition is a clear message. When I trust my intuition, it's not a 50/50 chance sort of thing. It's a sure (100%) thing. I get a message, I heed it, I avoid pitfalls. Even when I heed the message and "something goes wrong," I know deep down (not that deep, actually) that really, in the end, it's working out for the best. I know that because I don't feel angry, worried, abandoned. Sure, I might feel put off or a bit surprised, but those are different. The calm comes over me in ways that I couldn't predict.

Heeding my intuition is the most challenging part, but it becomes a habit or a pattern if I allow it to. And at this point, with everything that has happened, it's about time for me to let go of some outdated thought patterns (especially regarding money and security) and start trusting the messages coming through.

I'm excited to see how things will shift (they already are shifting...)

Crap. Letting go is really hard

I know, the title doesn't make you want to read it.

I can't promise that this will be an uplifting post, but if you like honesty, then keep reading.

As you've probably been gathering from my other posts, the whole reason I started this blog and named it "Mama Lets Go" is because this is a key point (read: recurring) in my life, that has been heightened by my entering motherhood.

This past week, my letting go has been harsh. We were robbed and our computers, TV, camera and other things were stolen.

I don't care about the stuff itself...but I had pictures on those computers. I had records of my time with J in Italy, Germany, our house remodels, our fun times before baby and all my labor pics were on those computers. Ugh. Talk about the heaviness of loss. I'm sentimental to a degree, but I guess I have always loved having pics to go through. And they are GONE.

I'm sick to my stomach thinking about it. My MO these days is to carry on and not hangout in the sadness and mourning of that loss. That shit is hard not to do. Several friends have offered pics and I am thankful. But I guess the letting go is something deeper...it lies in what things represent. It's also about listening to my intuition about backing things up, saving the images off site, etc. UGH.

I have nothing profound to say about all of this. I'm not there yet. But I have learned several lessons. I have learned about what's important to me (PICTURES! RECORDED MEMORIES!), and I have learned that I get clear messages and I should heed those messages. I am rarely that surprised about what happens to me...Most of the time, I had several thoughts about what might happen before it does and I choose my actions after those "hunches." My intuition is really good. *Really* good. I should trust it more. And it gives me really helpful/clear hints, tips, ideas, and actions. I'll write on that later.

I still cry when I think about the pictures, about years of time and photos I can't show K and I can't reminisce through when I get older. I know time will heal. I'm open to it.

The grace of letting go

Sawyer passed away yesterday. He was 18 days old. I never got to meet him.

But a friend, who I only know through Facebook, is friends with Sawyer's family, and she asked us to pray for him. And sometimes I feel like my prayers aren't eloquent enough or powerful enough. I have a feeling that I should strengthen my prayer muscle (that's my heart, right?) more, so that when the big guns are needed, like in this case with Baby Sawyer, that I can swoop down with my Spiritual Strength and make everything better (wait, that's not my job, that's Spirit's job, isn't it?).

I wrote to Sawyer telling him of everything he should stick around for:

Dear Sawyer, I don't know you. And your picture is sweeter than anything. And here's what I have to say to you. If I could be there in the hospital with you, giving your family a break, I would hold you fiercely, but gently, I would sing to you with my okay voice, songs that make me happy and dance-y (katy perry seems too topical, but sometimes it's perfect music)...and when no one was looking, I would dance with you too, so you could get in touch with your rhythm and feel the beat inside your own heart. I would tell you about the stuff that's worth seeing (Grand Canyon, Eiffel Tower, and the Scottish Highlands) so you would know that it's worth fighting for. I would tell you about all the weird things that have happened to me and how I have made them part of my life, how they have made me stronger, and how I am able to share with others so they too can feel like they belong here. I would tell you that you belong here. I know you have it in you. I know that your spirit is strong strong strong. I join you today, in your room, dancing to Katy Perry, and sharing all the beautiful things in life that make it worthwhile.

But Sawyer did not survive, despite a very strong fight. His passing is heartbreaking. I cannot imagine what it is to lose a child. I can barely say goodbye to K, which I do EVERYDAY, when he is cared for by others. My heart is aching.

And then I read what Sawyer's mom wrote:

"I am not mad at God. I am only hurting. We will never understand here on earth. I thank God for all his blessings and will always give him the Glory. Sawyer was used to touch so many people and all the praying that went on was just so amazing. Thank you everyone for each time you prayed. God has his plan and I am his child therefore I Will hold my child again."

I am humbled. Sawyer lived 18 whole days, and never met most of the hundreds of people who now know him, and in that short time, all those people turned to Spirit/God. If ever there was an act to be most proud of or most concerned with, it's helping people turn to Spirit, in my opinion. And Sawyer's short life was not without Depth. He reached me. Me, who has a hard time praying, a hard time listening to the news, and an extremely hard time hearing about death. And I turned to God. My prayer wasn't elaborate or eloquent, I just asked to one day meet Sawyer in person. I won't meet him physically, but I have already met Sawyer's spirit, and that was transformational all on its own.

Letting go is immense. It's a huge thing, that is done over and over and over again. Letting go is best friends with change. I can't control either of them. They just happen.

I am grateful for the chance to be in Sawyer's life, however short, as well as a witness to his family's amazing grace.

Asking for help

Before K, I didn't like asking for help. I figured it out by myself. I found ways around needing people. I didn't like to show what I thought was weakness for not being able to take care of myself.

Starting with the simple act of making K, I needed support and help. And I wasn't able to power through on my own. (okay, enough of the innuendo!). I needed to get off the island of DIY and swim over to the mainland, where people hung out together, supported each other, and didn't judge me for my weakness (heck, they didn't even consider it weakness--what?!?).

And that lesson has come back to me again and again in motherhood. When I go all "island," I end up alone, starving, sad, and...well, that's plenty, for me.

Mamas get a ton of hormones and permanent changes when we get pregnant and have babies. Couldn't one of those changes be that we gain the ability to ask for help more easily? I'm putting in my request to evolution.

Before I had K I was told by many people, regarding my lack of help-asking, "Don't say no for me." Whoa. I always think I am saving someone from having to reject me or keeping them from feeling guilty when they don't want to help but can't say no. But I am learning, as someone who likes to help a LOT, that when I don't get asked, then I can't flex my helper muscle. And then I use it incorrectly and end up being not as helpful anyway. But if you ask, and I can help without compromising my own priorities, then I want to...I don't want to know that mamas are at home, under a pile of kids, feeling lonely, unsupported, hungry, unwashed, and desperate. Even if it's doing laundry, I want to be of service. And if I can't help when you ask, keep asking.

So I'm letting go of my secret apartment on the island, and I'm looking for a new, permanent home, on the mainland, with all of you. I hope you'll join me, if you don't already live there.

Consistent and constant practice

I want what I write to be SO. As in, "so be it" and "it shall be done." Like letting go. I want my writing of letting go to be the letting go.

Sigh.

It's not.

A meeting that I wasn't worried about when I agreed to attend it now has me worrying. I don't like secrecy or having things revealed to me in a group setting. Maybe I should've been a journalist. Regardless, what seems innocent about 3 hours ago now has me making up elaborate plans, steeling myself for emotional blows, and planning for my retreat (and I don't mean the relaxing kind).

Ugh. On reflecting though, before having K, I would've been sweating right now. I would've called someone to talk me down. I would've actually been crying and feeling sorry for myself.

But as I went to drop the mail at the post office, I realized, quite frankly, that whatever happens in that meeting in over a week (just enough time to drive myself crazy, if I wanted to), is 1) meant to be 2) doesn't involve my son being taken away or my husband leaving me 3) is completely out of my control. And that means I can choose to worry about it, but in the end, I will achieve nothing from that worry. Worry doesn't make me stronger, more prepared, funnier, more creative, more resourceful, or pleasant to be around.

So even though I'm not that good at letting go, despite my blog title, I really don't have space in my life to worry about this. I have a family to love, a body to cherish, a mind to revel in, a city to explore, and more than enough abundance all around me.