The Monster, My Old Friend

That's a comment I get often. It doesn't surprise me anymore. I know I'm not like anyone else. But what he said next felt like the highest compliment.

"You're fully embodied. I can tell. And that's rare."

I don't take that lightly. Because I know the work it took to get here. I know who I was six years ago. My 40-year-old self would be so proud of who I've become just from that one comment alone.

What he didn't know about my current iteration of embodiment was that I recently had to meet and make friends with the monster that lived inside of me. The one that raged because I didn't trust her. The one that told me no one would love me if they really knew who I was. The one I became to those who needed me to be the villain. The one that tore me down for most of my life — until I finally confronted her. Listened to her. And made friends with her.

Because she is a part of me.

No More Pretending

I was really good at looking strong, trustworthy, and confident. And I wouldn't have told you I was lying — until I realized I was. Until I realized I was pretending. Living in a world of make-believe because I thought I had to.

I've shared about my lifelong struggle with anxiety — having no idea I could live without it. But I haven't shared about the mid-brain trauma I had when I was three, the stress disorder I was diagnosed with at twenty-five, and the utter chaos of spiking my cortisol for so long that it crushed my hormones.

On the outside, I learned how to show the fuck up for myself. I learned how to be at peace with internal crisis mode. Because I didn't know there was another option. I had shit to do and no one else was going to do it.

I wasn't pretending. I was doing the best I could with what I had.

And now I look back at how much of a badass I was and I would go back and high-five the hell out of myself. So proud of my ability to create something from nothing. Overcoming my introversion to become a community leader. Walking in the darkness with a burning map. Every. Single. Day.

Until I had to stop.

Until my internal monster tried to eat me alive.

Until stopping was no longer optional.

I began to see that I was deferring to everyone else for who I was instead of trusting myself. I trusted my most important people — only to find out that they were lying, hiding, and gaslighting me into believing I was a terrible person.

One of them even called my friends and clients and told them I had demons in me.

I didn't fight back. Even through the darkest year of my life. Through hell and back, over and over. Standing on the edge of death numerous times. And I stayed quiet — to protect that people in my life who had zero desire for the truth to come out. So I swallowed mine.

It wasn't until a dear friend said, "I got cancer three times before I finally said something. Don't let that happen to you," that I decided enough was enough.

When Souls Are Kites

Last weekend I flew to Austin to meet up with a global tribe of conscious people. Entrepreneurs gathering to talk about making a difference. Humans creating big impact in the world. A whole bunch of magical beings who didn't know me.

Previous versions of me would have walked into that room with my exhausted nervous system, my defenses up, and a knowing that I would be disliked. Armor on — even if it looked like I was open to all possibilities. Because even the people I loved most weren't being honest with me, so I truly believed something was wrong with me.

But this time was different. I walked in without armor. And I got to be wholly me.

The person who listens. Who sees others for who they really are. Who cuts through the bullshit of the story someone's stuck in. The person who made friends with the monster inside her and lived to tell about it. The one who isn't just surviving anymore.

And I also saw how many people are still where I used to be. Unembodied humans with their souls floating along behind them like kites. Pretending to be fully alive yet surviving every conversation as if their whole life depends on it. Saying they are givers, yet never stop talking about themselves. Asking about you but unable to stay present because they're so deep in their own mess.

I can see it because I have been there. Many many times. My previous versions are just floating around pretending to be okay while their internal world falls to pieces. I know it intimately. Except I didn't know I was in it until I was out. Like so many others.

But who is there to hold the mirror? To hold the light?

The embodied humans who have finally tapped into their truth and have no qualms about sharing it. That's who.

And I'm not saying I'm done. Not by any stretch. I feel like I'm all the way back at the beginning of my journey again. My ego crashing to the ground as if it got dropped from a plane at thirty thousand feet.

Now I sit at the threshold of a new dawn. A new part of myself. One I'm excited to meet — and a little terrified to know is coming through. That it can get better than this.

"It's Okay to Not Be Okay"

Someone said this to me the other day. My response: "What if I'm doing really amazing? Way better than okay? Is that weird?"

People don't know what to do with you when you hit rock bottom but seem to be flying high at the same time. As my mentor used to tell me, "The further you fall, the higher you fly." I didn't realize until recently how true that was.

I was sharing about the insane adventure I've been on this last year with a new friend and they asked, "Do you feel like you're white-knuckling it?"

My response: "No way. My hands are wide open. I'm gripping nothing. My life is all about 'thank you, more please.'"

They didn't know what to say about that.