When one is task oriented and working to deadlines,
the work becomes scripted and static.
Sure there are moments that shine,
but they're in the initial spark of the idea
or reserved for the intro or concluding paragraph.
Never in the middle, in the meat of the piece.
When one is free to write for writing sake,
the work becomes invisible
or even ceases to exist.
When creativity has no bounds
it often flies away.
Outside
moss consumes everything.
Entire branches swallowed down and in.
To extract takes an unearthing you didn’t even know was needed
until the last.bite.left crunched underfoot.
At night
whales swam overhead, a beautiful and terrifying snow globe effect
as tidal waves stacked up on the periphery,
walls of water threatening your wooden stance.
There is beauty and potentiality
in design
intention
in terror.
You just have to keep the forces of nature at bay.
Drawing a circle over a circle over a circle
That’s how Kate Bowler describes anxiety.
I laughed knowingly as I read it out loud
because I know that feeling, that repetitive loop
of thoughts, of sensations
But now my ‘normal’ anxiety loop is piggybacked by the dopamine loop
of what I use to ignore my anxiety –
or what is causing my anxiety.
And as hard as it is to get out of an endless cycle of anxiety,
I worry if I’ll ever be able to escape this other addictive loop.
Last week I shared with you the improved updates to the Chopping Potatoes site and the streamlined subscription process.
Today I have an exciting announcement!
The in-person workshop is back! And we’re taking it to the salon.
Sad to say, I will not be offering mani/pedis – believe me you probably wouldn’t want what I would have to offer.
Before the modern meaning of the word, salons were gatherings of thought, conversation, inventive ideas. And while we are no longer in the Enlightenment, who has more inventive ideas than mothers?
Except what needs attention and creativity more than anything is how to keep our selves from slipping below the surface.
This is why we gather.
Please join me for a combination of reflection, writing, and discussion – all directed toward supporting your SELF.
or scan the code above to register!
Become a paid subscriber to get access to the rest of this post and other exclusive content.
I’m completely convinced that if I talk through an issue or situation thoroughly with a trusted individual or take the time to sit and write it out, I will arrive at the problem or underlying emotion at its core.
Not because I’m a genius. But because I know myself well.
Both my interior movings and motivations and my ability to let the hectic pace of life pull me right along with it, blurring the signposts along the way.
If I moved slower or stopped more frequently, I would see the patterns of programming peeking through. I would be alert to the where and why-for of my feelings, thoughts, and actions. I would be able to stop at the head of a trail instead of barreling straight down it. I could course correct before the wheels locked into the well-rutted tracks.
Having such an epiphany when talking to my therapist today, I put my folded hands to my forehead and sighed, “Ugh, reprogramming is so hard.”
She started tapping her forehead, as if pressing a button with a beep to stop a function, saying, “Yes, I am worthy, I am loved, I can change my conditioning.”
For that’s what it is: social conditioning, programming – call it what you will. It is the patterns our mind has learned and practiced that we think are gospel simply because they are so well traveled.
We can change the paradigm.
We can force reboot, restart, turn off then on again –
and start fresh.
After nearly three years of living with postpartum depression and anxiety and four months less treatment, my mind and heart began to yearn for processing through the written word – as it always has. I should have known I was coming back into myself if I began to get that itch, to set pen to paper and excise those thoughts, soothe those frayed nerves.
I even got the urge to share these thoughts online. Still, the stigma – that keeps many mothers from seeking help at all – gave me pause. Did I want to air my dirty tattered laundry for all the world to see – and judge? The fact that all my secrets would be laid bare became the determining factor. If I was to write my story, I was to own it and post it for all mothers to see that they were not alone in their struggle.
Motherhood – be it ‘typical’ or out-of-the-ordinary, adoptive, biological, or step, mentally fit or ill, of littles, teens, or empty-nested, sought-after or surprised, happy or hard – is a challenging road. As I’ve risen out of the deep depths of environmental, mental, emotional, and hormonal morass, I’ve talked. I’ve sat around tables in the dappled sunlight of backyards, holding cups of coffee long since gone cold or empty, on sidewalks, at kitchen counters, in the unearthly glow of the computer screen late at night, in the darkness of a lone streetlamp that just closed its pool of light. And the more I talked, the more I learned that I wasn’t alone. The more I shared, the more it opened the floodgates of similar experiences and struggles.
There is community in common experiences. There is solace in shared realities. There is strength in vulnerability.
If you’ve read a blog post and thought, yes, that’s exactly how I feel, I’m honored that I’ve given a struggle a voice.
If you’ve joined in a discussion at a workshop and felt, yes, I see a way forward, I am humbled that a question sparked an answer.
If you’ve been yearning for a way to hold space for yourself and fortify or expand that space’s edges, I hope you’ll join our journey with its weekly promptings.
Chopping Potatoes 