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an end is a new beginning

an end is a new beginning

an end is a new beginning

 

I stuff Danger in his crate, hug my friend whose backyard AirBnB in Chichester I’ve rented for the past week and climb into my car. A soft low mist is hanging over the country roads as I drive towards Newhaven to catch the ferry across the English Channel. It’s romantic, mystical, the perfect picture to leave this island with as I trade it for another.

 

Apprehension of the border crossings ahead leaves me feeling tense. There’s an inner conflict growing within me, as I try to merge the version of myself that I have known from the past who would travel through the most questionable situations with complete grace and trust, and the version of myself now who feels overwhelmed and drained by the unpredictable uncertainty of the everchanging travel rules that make zero sense to me. I want to be cool, chill, at ease… but instead, I’m leaning into the subtle fear and trepidation reminding myself that whatever happens, it will be ok.

 

Boarding the ferry offers a welcome respite from my concerns. They check nothing as I leave the U.K. Even the security guard who is supposed to inspect my car asks me to open the trunk, takes one look and says “That looks very neatly packed, I’m not going to mess it up!” and then advises me to hide the houseplants so that I can smuggle them into France. I have 4 hours to fill and answer emails on the shoddy wifi and manage to press publish on a fun article I write on 13 films and series to inspire entrepreneurial women.

 

On the other end, I slowly roll through passport control prepared with my test and documents where I “on my honour solemnly swear” not to have the C-word and to get out of the country within 24 hours or isolate for 7 days. The 3 men squeezed into a tiny booth are excited to talk to me. As the only young woman amongst 200 pensioners in their mobile homes and 50 cyclists on tour, I imagine I am some respite to their boredom.

 

They look at my car, packed with life-things, the cat crate on the passenger seat and delightedly ask “You finish with UK?”. I assume it’s a rough translation for ‘are you leaving the UK?‘ and smile and nod. They celebrate with looks of glee and French-British rivalry is evident on their faces. They don’t ask me for my papers the I hurriedly had printed and then painstakingly filled out the night before. Nor my negative test. They look at my passport and see that it’s European and then pass me the scanner to scan Danger’s microchip. He’s cleared and they wave me off. After all the government elucidation on the website, I am surprised. I had anticipated an unpleasant inspection and interrogation.

 

I drive out onto the road towards the only hotel I have booked for the 4-day journey ahead and remind myself ‘right side, we are on the right side now’. I am surprised at how natural it feels. The relaxed entry into Europe makes me wonder a few things. One, I wonder if all these ridiculous rules have less to do with a virus and more to do with politics. I’m starting to believe that this pandemic has become a convenient excuse to globally tighten control. Two, I wonder if, since they didn’t ask for my paperwork, I am no longer forced/required to get out of France within 24 hours. Because a 10-hour drive tomorrow to make it out in time is terrorizing. Four hours later I arrive in Orleans. I decide to risk it. I look at the map. It’s a 12-hour drive to the ferry port in Barcelona and book another hotel in France for the next night 6 hours drive away.

 

Two more full days of driving ahead, I have a lot of time to think. I think about how I haven’t been very present with myself nor my life recently. I think about how I’ve been feeling like a body operating on autopilot. I think about how I miss feeling immersed and enchanted by the human experience despite its ebbs and flows, ups and downs. I think about how I used to be able to transcend and override fears and doubts quickly. I think about how I used to pride my ability to be present with things, moments, hours. I think about whether pride is an ego-driven feeling and if it’s spiritually healthy to recognise one’s strengths. I think about the fact that I have concluded that, no matter how consistent and comprehensive your spiritual practices are, they cannot compete with a lifestyle and culture that requires you to be racing forward, geared in the direction of more, more, more all the time. I, at least, cannot be the centred, present, whole I like being in this world.

 

I think about how, when I was at my happiest I had very few things, commitments, nor agendas. It’s one of the reasons I’ve always loved travelling to developing countries. No one holds you to the expectations of your culture and society to ‘pursue validation via success’ when you are in a culture or society that values being present, making food and family connections. Most of all I think about how I miss bathing in my own essence. I’ve been busy/avoiding it/feeling tense/uncomfortable in my own skin. I’m feeling the duality of shame and disappointment in myself, I want to be better than this, while also having compassion and understanding, for a life that has felt hard lately.

 

There is a moment, in a hotel room in the south of France when the pain back pain from my recent injury wakes me. I turn to see that it’s 1.30 am… and I breathe into the area, massage it and work on it the way my physical therapist and osteopaths have taught me, consciously thinking words of healing, release and learning when suddenly the pain subsides, and my left hip relaxes back down to its normal position for the first time in weeks. The body always holds the score. While I still can’t intellectually make full sense of it all, I know this injury is here to teach me something big and meaningful and necessary.

 

France is beautiful. I take all the no-toll roads. The idea of having to stop the car and run around to the other side every time I need to pay at a toll booth impales me. Id’ rather drive an extra hour here and there and see the scenery. Small cute villages, sunflower fields and windmills, a palace of dreams softly glide past. On the third day of my drive, I go up into the Pyrenees to cross the border into Spain. I need to wee but I decide to wait for one of those cute French roadside rest stops. Three hours later I’m still waiting and desperate and nearly at the top. I finally pull over on the side of the road, skip out into some bushes and pray that my wild wee will go unseen. Back in the car I’m so overcome with relief I miss the exit to Spain and drive into the tiny shiny shopping mall, liquor store and petrol station bespeckled tax-haven Andorra by mistake.

 

20-minutes down the mountains on the other side I see a Spanish flag and assume I must have crossed into Spain. Eventually, two men in uniform on the ragged edge of a road wave me down and I roll to a stop. I pull my passport out but they just ask me where I’m going and where I’ve come from and tell me to have a good trip. At the outskirts of Barcelona, I stop. I haven’t eaten all day and I run into a shop and buy a cheap sandwich. I’m relieved and exhausted. The final part of my journey, an overnight ferry to Mallorca, is a few hours away.

 

Danger is an absolute angel the entire way. Happily snoozing in his crate in the car without complaints, exploring the new spaces and demanding cuddles when we arrive in the hotel rooms. Until we get on the ferry. We have a cabin to ourselves but the engine is loud and the motion unfamiliar so he panics and tries to escape into a hole in the cabin wall. Finally, he settles in the little round port window where he can watch the water down below. Neither of us have much rest. I book a pet-friendly hotel 20 minutes out of Palma while I look for our new home for the next few weeks.

 

Exhausted, bleary-eyed I arrive at the hotel at 6 in the morning. Check-in is not until 2 pm but I hopefully ask if we can have a room early. They tell me to bring my bags in and then wait for a couple of hours. I ask if I should leave my cat in the car or bring him in too. “Cat?! We don’t accept cats.” the receptionist responds. I had emailed them two days earlier to check and received a response saying they accept pets up to 5 kg. Danger is 6.5 kg but no one is actually going to weigh him to check. I show them the email. “We have to wait for management to come in to ask,” I tell them I’ll be back soon and go find my car. I sit down in the driver’s seat, close the door and cry. I’ve reached my limit. I know everything will be ok, but I have no more capacity for anything.

 

Half an hour later, armed with a list of hotels that will accept us, I walk back into the reception. “It’s fine”, I tell them, “I’ve found another place”. It’s next door. An expensive resort hotel with a private beach, spa and sauna. I walk in and they get us settled by 9 am. Danger loves manifesting the best life for us, always. I have some breakfast at the breakfast bar, take a nap, and go straight into a full day of calls with private clients.

 

The first four days are full of work commitments. Between working and sleeping and trying to recover my energy from my injury, all the changes, and the long drive I have zero time to explore this new place I hope to call home. I struggle with the fact that I feel so exhausted and depleted. I should be happy. It’s warm. The sun is shining. I can swim in the sea. But I have no capacity for feeling pleasure right now. All I can think about is getting through this week, and letting my body rest and heal.

 

I start to feel some kind of reemerging. I’ve been here a week. My body is brimming with stagnant emotions that need to be cleared. No amount of shaking and meditating and journaling is shifting it. My mind keeps going to really dark places, filled with insecurity and self-doubt. I find it hard to respond to texts, kind words from friends, or do anything that extends beyond the most necessary. I know this is not who I am, but a response to how my body is feeling. I need help. I go see a craniosacral therapist. Her touch is tender, nurturing, subtle. She confirms that my body is completely depleted and full of sadness, anger… The next day I spend the entire day crying in the car while I try to understand this island, look at some potential apartments, and get an idea of where I might want to live. I’m releasing so much. It’s not pretty but it’s necessary. I need time to rest/cry/feel/read/process. Time that I don’t have right now.

 

Many parts of Mallorca are starting to close down for the winter. I don’t want to be isolated and lonely and decide I need to stay closer to Palma at least for my first 6 months while I find my feet, and narrow my search to 3 specific areas that give me good vibes when I’m in them, 10-15 minutes out of the capital. I look at more apartments. There’s one I like. It has a balcony with sea views, cute cafes nearby, and feels warm and welcoming. They offer to furnish it from IKEA for me. I negotiate a 100 Euro monthly reduction from the asking price and ask them if they would allow me to give them my preferences for the furniture. They agree. I have a home. We move in next week.

not on your timeline

not on your timeline

not on your timeline

 

It’s Sunday as I stand on a London Overground train between Hackney and Dalston, sardined by the most people than I have been in two years, my nose safely tucked into my own armpit to escape the humid wet-dog smell emanating in the carriage. I smile to myself about both being in such intimate proximity of other humans and the fact that, if things had gone to plan, I would have at that moment, been 1,222 kilometres south racing through France and into Spain in Punto-baby on a 24-hour visa.

 

But “not on your timeline,” the universe said.

 

At the start of September, I do something out of character. I sit down and plan my trip to Mallorca. I write down dates and book ferries and hotels and mentally start packing my things. This is kind of fun, I think, I get why some people love planning. And that’s it. I feel ready.

 

A few days later I receive a call from the lady whose flat I’m subletting. She tells me she is going to come to Brighton for 10 days to organise and pack some of her things, clean the flat, and handle the handover to a friend of mine that I’ve arranged to take over the sublet. Great! I say. Where are you going to stay? I am shocked and outraged as she tells me that she expects me to sleep in the living room while she takes my bed and bedroom.

 

The conversation intensifies as I tell her that does not work for me and she refuses to look into alternative arrangements. After half an hour of back and forth, I end the discussion and feel my body fill with holy rage. My boundaries are being crossed and I am quietly furious. I want to know what my rights are and contact Citizens Advice where someone assures me that she has no right to request to stay in my flat while I am living in it. They send me legal documents that I forward to her in an email with a calm and formal statement that she is welcome to access the flat at agreed-upon times but may not stay there. She does not reply.

 

I am unaccustomed to having to take legal action and hold such strong boundaries. My body feels tense and apprehensive at this new experience. I know I am doing the right thing and also rewiring the parts of me that would have once allowed me to be subjected to such overextensions. I feel it in that quiet place inside that shows me the way.

 

Halfway through September, I take Danger to the vet for his Animal Health Certificate required for international travel. Inside, we wait 45 minutes until she sees us and then tells me that she can’t do the health certificate because his rabies vaccine isn’t compliant with the brand they accept. You’ll need to get another vaccine and then have to wait an additional 21 days before you can travel. She says. I look at her with disbelief. We are leaving in 10 days. We have ferries booked. We have nowhere to live. She looks sorry in that polite way that British people do, big ‘it’s not my fault’ eyes. She gives Danger new rabies shot and as the chemicals hit his bloodstream he wets and shits himself. Poor baby. We both have a nervous system collapse and drive back home.

 

It takes me a few hours to collect myself and self-regulate through reframing the situation, rest, handing it all over to the Universe and taking tangible steps to accept these changes. I cancel all our hotel bookings, reschedule the vet appointment and the ferries across the  English Channel and the Balearic Sea. I also take to Instagram and ask my community for help. I need a place to stay for two weeks until I can attempt my trip again. Within 24 hours Danger and I are generously re-homed. I feel deeply grateful and so supported.

 

Twelve days before my move-out date from Brighton I hear back from the lady I have been subletting from. An excessively long, emotionally charged email lamenting me for not allowing her to stay in the flat and accusing me of having destroyed it and inviting strange people to live in it. It’s so ironic. I think to myself. The flat is cleaner and nicer than it was when I moved in and she’s suggesting that I’ve turned it into an opium den. It’s ridiculous. This woman is clearly mentally unstable. Again, I go to Citizen’s Advice who advocate that I acquire written accounts from my neighbours who have visited the flat and see who comes in and out, to affirm that her suggestions are untrue. As advised, I respond shortly and formally with legal statements.

 

A week later, she replies, again trying to assert her control and dominance with a novel-length email that I skim-read to learn that she will no longer come. She requests peace and time to do an inventory of her things before she returns my £1,000 rental deposit and requires me to give the keys to her friend who will then give them to my friend, instead of me giving them to my friend myself. Fine. I’ll give her to the end of the year. I have all the legal documents ready including information that she is receiving government benefits while being out of the country and will destroy her if she tries anything. My fury with her disrespect and lack of common sense is high.

 

I spend a week packing and cleaning until on the final day my lower back aches so badly I have to lie down in between washing the floors. I promise to book an appointment with an Osteopath as soon as I have arrived in my temporary home in London, the house of a friend of mine that is empty for a week while she is away. They are fully booked on Saturday and I have plans to see my friend on Sunday, the day I find myself in a fully packed overground train, and walking on the Heath for so many hours I have to support my back with my arm on the way home…

 

On Monday morning I find myself on an osteotherapy table in my bra and leggings underneath the gentle warm hands of one of the most attractive men I have ever seen.

 

He tells me that the acute back pain isn’t actually structural but rather a physiological response to the internal organs on my left (feminine) side contracting so tightly to protect themselves that they have pulled my spine and posture out of alignment. He asks me if I’ve been eating anything differently which may have cause inflammation but I instantly know it’s not physical. It’s emotional.

 

My finely-tuned super-sensitive system has been slammed with abnormal emotional challenges all month long and this is how it has responded. By curling into a fetus position within my own body. He spends an hour working through the tight muscles between my organs in my stomach, hips and back.

 

I feel relief and release and watch his gentle face concentrate on his work. Tall, dark and handsome, I wonder if it would be inappropriate to ask him to marry me. Come back in a week. He says afterwards. I’m leaving on Friday. I smile back regretfully. And you’re never coming back? His right eyebrow arches quizzically. Probably not. I laugh. At least not until after winter. I leave feeling much lightened and saunter across East London to meet up with a friend who jubilantly reveals that she’s pregnant. I cry, in part because I am genuinely so happy for her, but also because the emotional release from the opening of my cramped-in organs has begun. I find myself in tears from the smallest things for the rest of the day.

 

A full day of sitting down with private clients leaves me feeling stiff and sore. I book another osteotherapy appointment at another clinic, 90 miles from London, in the town I will spend the remainder of my extended time in the UK for the following week. A sleepless night of progressing aches and pains in my stomach and back bleeds into another full day of private clients. Moving, walking, bending shoots crippling pain through the left side of my body.

 

My movements begin to resemble those of Gollum as the gurgling protests in my stomach and acute pain that even seldom-used painkillers don’t offer respite to. By mid-afternoon the way I feel alarms me so much I call the osteopathy clinic seeking comfort. The girl who answers the phone looks at my file and assures me that it is expected that I would be unable to do anything but rest for up to a week as extraordinarily deep work had been done. I wish he would have told me.

 

I cancel the rest of my calls and the next-day yoga retreat that I had been given as a PR gift. Disappointed I find the only position that I can be comfortable in, lying down flat and straight like a sardine with my head propped up. From this place, I can watch films, type on my laptop and drink tea.

 

The next day, today, I just lie there and type. I type email after email until every email I’ve needed or wanted to write has been written. I write this. I pack up my life once more. Tomorrow we are moving to a new town. One we’ve never been to before. With a lighthouse and sandy beaches and an Osteopath who tells me to meet him outside of the rugby club that houses his clinic.

 

The month of September has been an extreme rollercoaster of tests from the Universe, recalibration, growth and healing. Landing me in this position here, right now. I know there are many gifts and lessons for me to learn. Lessons around flexibility and flow, around having humour when things change. Lessons around having a strong backbone and supporting myself when someone tests my boundaries, a sign of my growth and evolution as a human, woman.

 

It awes me how, over and over again, the body shows me that human existence is one interconnected system: thoughts, emotions, experiences, food, actions… everything you do impacts the whole. It’s a classic example of my reticular activating system in action. And if we zoom out and apply that same perspective on the world at large, there’s no question why the planet is facing the difficulties it is right now.

 

 

Photo by my delightful Brighton neighbour Fern Edwards.

 

finding HOME…

finding HOME…

finding HOME...

 

The truth is that, with all my Earthly wandering and wondering, my deepest longing is to find is a place I can call ‘home’. The concept of having a home, feeling at home, and ‘home’ as a safe space has always been challenging for me. It’s one of the wounds I have to unravel in this lifetime rooted in a childhood where ‘home’ was a place I wanted to continuously escape. 

 

I’ve found ‘home’ within of myself. I feel so anchored and safe and supported as a human being in the world which makes it easy to flit around. My body is my first and primary home. And I’ve created many ‘homes’ for myself.

 

Slowly and slowly… my time in each place is extending as my nervous system is recalibrating into deep relaxation… and I am finding myself yearning and longing for a sense of having landed in a place that holds my body and trinkets and love.

 

More recently, two years in Mexico. And now 18 months in Brighton. It’s been sweet, this little home of mine. Safe, gentle, calm, easy. But the blood in my veins and the marrow in my bones is begging me to continue inquiring. This is not it. I hear the winds say.

 

At the close of September before the cold weather drapes us in its shrouded darkness again, I am away once more, seeking a place that fits like the glass slipper in Cinderella.

 

I’m manifesting landing in a place that has:

≋ tall pine and eucalyptus trees, sweet grass and wildflower meadows, rich dark soil, salty ocean waves and spray ~ where there are more sunny warm days than there are cold ones

≋ people with an inclusive narrative that recognise and assume their own growth and healing being as important as the work they do in the world ~ where community, creativity, joy and play are valued as much as individual productivity and prosperity

≋ a culture that affirms and supports the rapid evolution of the living being that is life, breath by breath, through its laws, structures and measures ~ where we can grow together 

 

Maybe that place I’m looking for is not one place. Maybe it is scattered like a splintered society across many cultures and places. Maybe that’s why I move around finding pieces that I like and holding them close until it’s time to go again. Maybe it’s that what I’m looking for doesn’t exist yet and I’m willing it into being with my seeking. 

 

Maybe is ok. 

 

Maybe is enough. For now. 

 

I am giving myself 3 months to allow life to guide me to the place and spaces I’m meant to be in.

 

Acceptance will lead us through.

Acceptance will lead us through.

Acceptance will lead us through by Vienda Maria

Our hope to circumvent heartbreak in adulthood is beautifully and ironically child-like; heartbreak is as inescapable and inevitable as breathing, a part and a parcel of every path, asking for its due in every sincere course an individual takes, it may be that there may be not only no real life without the raw revelation of heartbreak but no single path we can take within a life that will allow us to escape without having that imaginative organ we call the heart, broken by what it holds and then has to let go. David Whyte

Each person’s experience of life last year was different. For some, it went on almost as usual. For others’s life screeched to a shocking halt. Some found a comfortable balance point to navigate their way through it. Other’s deeply grieved their past life, or the loss of loved ones, and had to learn to let it all go.

I received a lot of questions asking how to accept the grief and loss that comes from letting go and how to keep moving. How to stay grounded and remember that life is beautiful and this time is just a phase.

Heartbreak and the certain grief that accompanies all types of loss are inevitable in life. Sooner or later in larger and smaller ways, we all have to face the vulnerable fragility of ourselves. Over and over again.

There are those who think they can escape it. They build impenetrable invisible walls. They opt-out of real intimacy and cautiously skim the surface of life avoiding the depth that can bring the deepest love, joy, loss and pain. But in avoiding they also miss out on living.

There is a simple answer.

Acceptance.

The very nature of life is that we do not always understand, or see why things are happening or where they are leading us. Acceptance brings us the peace to take back control. To remember that life is beautiful and this is just a phase and that we are not victims of circumstance. We have choices.

We have the choice to change our perspective to one the emboldens our courage and our willingness to feel the full spectrum of life. Without avoiding. Without running away. Without playing the victim.

As the serenity prayer aptly says:

Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can and the wisdom to know the difference.

Can we believe that this is happening for us?
Can we sit in the unknown and trust?
Can we have patience?
Can we surrender?

Can we then move forward when, and only when, life opens its doors to the next unfolding and invites us into its mystery? Then, can we say yes?

There is a reactive desire to jump ahead, past the grief, the pain, the challenges, the weirdness. We are pleasure-seeking beings after all. We want to speed through it instead of letting it sink in. We have fears that the grief will be too great to hold. That is will drown us. That we will get stuck here.

In the haste to move on quickly to the place where things feel sweeter, we look for ways to reinvent ourselves, to become new, to escape without having fully realised the gifts of our depth of feelings. Inevitably life will find a way to lead us back until we have fully surrendered to it. Until finally, in suffering, we find profound acceptance and transcend it.

Acceptance will lead us through.

One day this too shall pass. In the meantime, life is happening, hours, days, weeks, months are unfolding.

Can we live in the present and embrace the moment?

Not ready.

Not ready.
 
When I was 15 I went on a long overseas trip for the first time entirely on my own. I had signed up to be a foreign exchange student in the States for one year. I boarded the plane snotty-nosed and big, red eyes rimmed with tears and a knot in my stomach.
 
I was not ready.
 
That year ended up being the happiest time of life so far and formed my independence and sense of self in a way that is immeasurable.
 
When I was 23 I attended my first-ever electronic music festival. I was resistant and didn’t want to go and thought it would be full of weirdos and absolutely, definitely not for me. My boyfriend at the time promised me we would leave after 1 day if I truly hated it.
 
I was not ready.
 
At that music festival, I got to know the producers of the festival and other producers of other music festivals and all sorts of fascinating, inspiring, incredible people that I admired who hired me based on my personality and skills and ended up making music festivals my career for 5 years.
 
When I was 28 I wrote my first few blog posts. One day I decided to share one on Facebook. I was shaking and started to get all hot and prickly inside as my finger hovered over the ‘post’ button. I took a deep breath, clicked the button and then quickly closed the computer, terrified of what people would say and walked away.
 
I was not ready.
 
After that, it became easier and easier to share and to post and to write and after 2 years of writing and sharing I had a popular blog with over 10,000 readers every month.
 
When I was 30 I desperately wanted to turn my blog into a business. I came across a course called BSchool which promised me all the answers and thought about whether to take it or not for an entire month until 10 minutes before enrolment closed for the year. Sweating with fear I assembled all my resources and courage and paid the $2,000 even though it made me feel nauseous.
 
I was not ready.
 
That investment lead me to creating an online business that has allowed me to give my gifts to the world on my terms and has supported me on every level, especially financially across the past (almost) 7 years.
 
When I was 33 I bought a van to travel along the East Coast of Australia. I didn’t know anything about cars (I still don’t) or how to make my #vanlife fantasy reality but I pooled all my resources together and followed my heart, even though…
 
I was not ready.
 
Two weeks later my van blew up, but I fell in love and my entire life trajectory changed in the most wonderful and unexpected ways, that I am so grateful for today.
 
When I was 36, heart-broken, sick, confused and torn apart, I booked a flight to a town in Mexico that I had never heard of, knew no-one in and arrived there the next day with a suitcase filled with hope.
 
I was not ready.
 
That town became my home for two years where I tended to my heart, healed and grew. It was a safe container that held me in tender ways nowhere else had before and gave me everything I didn’t even know I needed.
 
I’ve noticed something interesting…
 
The very best things that have happened to me were the things I did when I wasn’t ready. The things that shook me and tore at me and made me feel the biggest feelings and pushed me and stretched me and scared me and lit a flame of hope in my heart and big dreams in my imagination…
 
Those things gave me the most, beyond my wildest dreams, even though…
 
I was not ready.
 
Don’t hold back, waiting to be ready. It will never arrive.
 
Even if you’re not ready.
 

strengthening my resolve — a personal update

strengthening my resolve — a personal update
 
It’s the early morning after the winter solstice and I’m sitting in bed with a homemade almond latte and a breakfast tray balanced on my bed holding the laptop keys as I tap away. Last night I lit 3 white candles and made 3 wishes: 1 for love, 1 for abundance, 1 for creativity. I let them burn until I went to sleep.
 
The veils are thin, we say at these times, meaning that the space between the physical and non-physical world is lessened. We can touch the things we cannot see.
 
Ever since I was a child I knew the world was full of extraordinary things that we couldn’t explain. As an adult, I’m privileged to experience many of them. The last few months have been full of them.
 
Which is not to say that it’s all been glorious days full of sunshine and joy. I won’t lie, the turbulent emotions I’ve felt the past 6 months have been really hard to navigate. I want to be better at it but it’s been ugly and messy and some days I just want to stay in bed and cry not do anything. Not because things are ‘bad’ but because I am outgrowing my old shell and sensitive and easily feel overwhelmed by it all.
 

 

 
I recently watched an interview with Jane Fonda about how she healed from bulimia where she quoted Tomas Jefferson “revolution begins in the muscles”. In the past 2 months, I’ve learned that here’s something so empowering to being physically strong. I hired a personal trainer when I returned from the UK and have been training with him 3 times a week since October. He’s a gentle soul with a cheeky grin when he’s about to make me do some extra-hard.
 
Much like with running, I had lots of stories in my head that lifting weights wasn’t for me. And I also knew I wanted to challenge myself and my body in a new way. After a month, I noticed some big differences. How much more at home in my body I felt. How much less I fought with food. How much stronger my immune system felt. How much easier it was to hold my boundaries. How much stronger I was, not just physically, but emotionally. Bonus: how toned my arms and bum suddenly were.
 
I have a feeling that lifting weights has become a direct accompaniment and reflection of the inner growth I have and continue to move through. In order to hold more of all the good things I have been manifesting lately, I’ve had to expand my ability to meet those things within my physical body. As without so within. I am becoming stronger in every way.
 

 
By some strange set of circumstances that can only be explained as kismet, I found myself in the office of a medium one November afternoon. A small Asian man with an American accent in his mid-40’s sat down opposite me with an open pad and paper and closed his eyes. I closed mine. A few minutes in a voice entered my thoughts. There is a feminine energy coming through, gentle, nurturing. Stop it Vienda, I thought. Let him do his job.
 
A few seconds later I open my eyes. He’s randomly scribbling shapes, lines, squiggles on his pad and says “There is a feminine energy coming through, gentle, nurturing. She feels like she comes from your mother’s line. She says she’s your grandmother.” He started sharing information from her as he channelled my Austrian Oma that no-one else could know, saying phrases and words that only she would say. Then another soul joins her. My Italian Papa comes through and tells me the intimate details of his death. The things I have never know but always wondered about. He calls me by all those familiar endearments I hold close to my heart and tears start to pour from my eyes feeling a combination of relief and love.
 
They leave me with a remarkable sense of closeness and promises that, with my permission, they want to take up more presence in my life. So many things from my childhood are explained and confirmed, apologies made, recognition given for the challenges I endured, and confirmation around what I am moving towards into the future.
 
For 3 weeks afterwards, I am left with a sense that I am mourning them in a way I never had been able to before. I am mourning the person I had to become to make it on my own, and I am mourning the person I am leaving behind now as I become more whole and clear in who I am and what I am here to do than ever.
 

 
Last week I went to see a clairvoyant channel an alien with messages for our planet. She said:

  • The world stage may get even more hectic. You need to take care of yourself more than ever to stay grounded and centred in your body.
  • Make self-care, rest and nourishing, strengthening and moving your body a priority to you can navigate these times. Don’t be afraid to take a day off when you feel you need to. Honour yourself in this way.
  • You must let go of the old stories, narratives and not make excuses. Reliving the past and re-hashing old memories isn’t going to serve you anymore.
  • You need to feel all your emotions fully. It is time to tear down the walls you have created to protect your heart and truly feel all of it.
  • Make sure you lead with the heart and make all your decisions from the wisdom and intelligence of your heart and body. The mind is here to do the hearts work. Allow your heart to command the way. The poles are shifting and entering us diagonally directly through the heart now. This is the only way forward.
  • We are at the leading edge of a new way on earth, a new consciousness. When we reach 51% consciousness we will tip over and everything will change. Be prepared. It will be akin to an energetic apocalypse.

 
I never used to do go see mediums of intuitives or clairvoyants. Not because I’m not a believer but because I didn’t feel the need for external input or validation. I prefer to listen to my own intuitive insights over others. But recently I’ve been led in this direction and it’s a confirmation and strengthening my resolve around leading with love and letting spirit guide me and being ok with things not making any sense for my mind.
 
So much magic happens when I let go of the steering wheel and this year has expanded me like none ever before. I feel like I’m preparing for the future. After 18 months of cutting my hair short, I’m letting it grow. It feels significant. My hair speaks volumes to what I am keeping and cutting out of my life. In October I started straightening my slowly-crowding teeth and loving the results which will be final in February.  I’m getting stronger physically, emotionally, mentally. I’m working on 3 big, exciting projects including plannher and a rebrand for next year. The uncertainty of Brexit is encouraging deeper trust than ever as I take steps to return to the UK in March to make it my permanent home, the god’s willing. Everything is shifting.
 
It’s time to take a break. Low-key RSI in my right wrist from using my phone too much is a powerful reminder that all things require time off to bloom and grow which is exactly my intention. For the next two weeks, I’m deleting IG off my phone. I already did that with FB a month ago. And absorbing myself in laughter, sunshine, indulgent novels and beach time.
 
Until 2020, loves.

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