Truth grows wings

last night, my wings grew a little bit because i spoke my truth. 

recently i have been dealing with what radical t calls "the childhood event." and as i work my way through this event, and my shame around it, i often wonder if i am just crazy, or if it was really my fault, or if i made the whole thing up in the first place. 

so i decided to take a leap of faith, an impulsive one actually, and i emailed one of the people who was around during "the childhood event" and i asked some questions that i needed answers to. 

i wasn't expecting a response. but i got one. 

i spoke my truth. and i was validated. and heard. and the validation made my wings grow a little bit. 

i feel lighter this morning. i feel unburdened. 

when i first met nosy nora, she used to say that it was like someone else was living my life; like i wasn't participating in my own life. i feel like it is MY life now. 

sharing my story, speaking my truth, is freeing me from the heaviness that i carry around. 

so i decided that i wanted to share another story with you. another truth. because speaking my story makes me strong each day. 

this time it is about foxes. 

The summer I was 17, I was dating a woman who was 21. It was new and exciting and confusing. I was in the woods writing in my journal and thinking about my life and feeling confused. And I looked up and there was a fox staring at me. And I just knew that it was going to be ok.

Then in grade 12, I was on the bus going to school and I was thinking about school and feeling confused and unsure about my education choices and if I should think about changing high schools ... and a fox trotted down Bloor street! And again, I just knew.

There were a few other significant sightings over those few years. But the most significant was in relation to my best friend Gigi (who this blog is named after).

I was at her house and I told Gigi about the importance of foxes in my life. She teased me and said that squirrels were her special animal because she sees them all the time. I went home and as I walked in the door, the phone was ringing. It was Gigi. She said there was a fox in her backyard with a squirrel in its mouth.

We laughed and laughed.

And 2 days later, Gigi died.

A week after her death, I was at her house in her sister's room. Her Dad was in Gigi's room and he suddenly called out "hey, have you ever seen a fox?" Her sister knew the fox story so we looked at each other and our jaws dropped. We ran to the bedroom and her mom joined us there.

The 4 of us stood at the window, crying, holding each other and watching this fox who just sat in the yard staring back at us.

It was moving and healing and there are no words to describe it.

i continue to see foxes at significant moments in my life. most recently i saw a fully intact dead fox on the side of the road. i cried and cried and CRIED. and i emailed Gigi's sister and told her about it. her response was touching:

Maybe the penetrating gaze of that intact dead fox on the driver's side on the highway yesterday, was a mirror to you: not a message that doom and gloom awaits you, but that it's time for your soul to finally rise up from the damaged (metaphorical) carcass that houses it and become the most fully alive, most vibrant and whole vibrational entity that it can be. It's your time to become whole, Kira, that's what the dead fox symbolizes for me.

i like to think that she is right. that in order for me to morph into a butterfly from this diapause state that i am in, to become the most vibrant and whole entity that i can be, i need to continue to tell my story, to speak my truth, and to heal. 

NOTE: please keep in mind that i am NOT endorsing the speaking of your own truth. i think that it's important to do it, but if you don't have a strong support system, then hold off. i only had the courage to do it, because i have a therapist, nosy nora, and because i know that i will have her support as i work through the aftermath of having my say - the aftermath of addressing "the childhood event" with a person who was there and who was able to validate me. if you have your own "childhood event" i strongly recommend you find yourself a therapist. if money is an issue, there are many affordable ways to access therapy in your city. toronto has several walk-in therapy clinics, as well as social workers and community agencies that offer free counseling. and i am sure there are some places in your own cities. 

and if you are thinking about your "childhood event" and you need a distraction, DS suggests this sarcastic video called "Everything is Awesome" click here to watch. 

be kind to yourself,

xoxo

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stories

i want to write about stories:

the stories we tell ourselves, the stories we tell our families, the stories we we tell our friends, the stories we tell the world ...

DS mentioned something he learned about memories, and how each time we tell a memory, we change a little piece of the memory. and that the most pure memories are the ones we can't remember. 

i think it is more than that. i think that we tell our stories for so many different reasons. 

the stories we tell the world, are the stories that make us look good. we aren't going to tell the world that we are mean, and angry, and selfish. we edit our stories to make us sound like the good little people we want to be. 

the stories we tell our families are edited. we leave out the shame. 

to our friends, we tell stories that cast us in various lights; trying to balance our shame, our truth, our joy, our sadness ... 

and then there are the stories that we tell ourselves. these are the stories that our inner critic narrates inside our heads. and although we believe that all the other stories we tell are the altered stories ... it's the stories we tell ourselves that are the most distorted. 

the inner critic in my head is an on-going monologue ... more like a diatribe - a forceful and bitter attack against myself. my inner critic is mean, angry, shaming, loud, nasty, and doesn't know how to be quiet and listen. my inner critic is debilitating.

http://audacium.com/i-thought-my-inner-critic-superego-was-bigger-than-yours/

when i tell myself a story, or retell a story to myself, the inner critic takes over and analyses everything and then tells myself that i was stupid, or embarrassing, or worthless, and therefore i AM stupid, and embarrassing, and worthless. 

so what do we DO with our inner critic? how do we stop her from ranting and raving inside the very core of ourselves? Zed and i talked about the inner critic yesterday (welcome to being quoted in the blog!). Zed suggested that perhaps the inner critic needs to be killed. She thought perhaps drowned. and we agreed that drowning her with ice cream, and chocolate, and chips, and candy, and french fries, and done nothing except make me fat. 

so i decided to ask Zed about her inner critic ... who is this voice? why is it so mean? and how do you silence this voice?

my inner critic? well she isn't as loud as she used to be. growing up, i was always the 'smart one.' i never thought i had much talent in anything. my middle sister was amazing at everything. i felt like i wasn't good enough. BUT ... that all changed as i got older and i realised that looks and beauty are fleeting, and it's what counts on the inside. i had many anxieties about new situations. like, you wont get that job, you're not qualified ... blah, blah, blah ... i could go on ... the inner critic is like this pimple on your face that is massive. sometimes you can cover it with your hair or make up, and sometimes it's out there for the whole world to see and you can't do anything about it. mine is like a tiny red mark on my forehead - there, but no one really notices it. 

so the inner critic lives in all of us. the question is how to silence her. is it with therapy? is it with medication? is it with mediation? is it with hate or with love? 

Zed said that her husband sees something in her that she didn't see "for the longest time." so now when her inner critic is speaking, quietly, she smothers her with a pillow. maybe being loved fully and deeply quiets the inner critic. maybe it is love that is smothering her, and not a pillow at all. 

AG, on the other hand, tries to listen to the inner critic. like she's a little girl who has something to say. and that she needs to be listened to, and treated with compassion, and given what she needs. and by discovering that, she can be quieted. 

i try to listen past the anger and hurt of the inner critic. but she is so loud. so persistent. and so mean. 

the stories we tell ourselves are not all lies. they are distorted versions of the truth that make us feel safe in the familiar. it is safe for me to tell myself that i am undeserving. it is safe for me to tell myself  that i am not good enough. or that i am just not enough. it is safe, because if i changed the narrative ... if i began to tell myself that i am good, or smart, or worthy, or enough ... if i began to have a voice in my head telling me that i am deserving ... well that would just be crazy! i would start to think that i deserved things. i would start to want things. i would start to ASK for things. and that would be such an enormous shift in my reality, that i don't even know what that would look like and it is terrifying. 

i am "leaning into" the terror ... how do you quiet YOUR inner critic? use the contact form on the right to tell me your story, or leave your comment for others to read. because, after all, sharing your stories is what frees us from the loneliness and the silence. 

xoxo

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