Forgive me, reader, for I have sinned. It's been four weeks since my last blog confession.
I haven't written for over a month, yet my life has been busier and crazier than ever before. Since my last blog on July 27th, my husband (our household's primary breadwinner) quit his fancy-schmancy corporate job to work full-time at our publishing and public speaking business, Serious Mojo Publications. Within a week of him quitting, we decided to make another huge change and move across country from Florida to Minnesota. Subsequently, after four weeks of hell, we arrived in the 26-foot U-Haul outside our rented home in Minneapolis. Each day, I thought to myself, "I need to blog! I need to blog! I need to blog!". But I never did.
I kept telling myself that my inability to write was because the story was too big, there were too many details to share, and that blogging about major life changing events as they occur was too time-consuming.
Yeah, right. That wasn't it at all! That was just some bullshit excuse I created in my own head to avoid the obvious: I was afraid.
Any entry I would have made would have undoubtedly been peppered with words of fear, panic, doubt, agitation, exhaustion, and anxiety. As an inspirational writer and speaker, I felt like I would have jilted my readers (and been seen as a whimpering ninny) by showing my unattractive, unconscious self that has emerged center stage. I couldn't bring myself to describe my tumultuous journey, even though that is precisely what I do for a living. There were always other, "more important" things to do -- packing, finding a house, cleaning, moving, and settling in. I had a million things to do, but writing had not become one of them. I abandoned who I was, all for the sake of the next completed task.
Now, when everything is nearly complete, I am stuck in the muck of writer's block, or to be more precise, writer's fear. I am petrified that my career won't be able to support my family, nervous that our house in Florida won't rent, upset that I have allowed my body to go to pot, anxious about the status of a major publisher reviewing the second edition of my book, and overwhelmed by the work I have waiting for me. Even more importantly, I have been deathly afraid that, after a month-long hiatus from writing, the words will no longer come. Will the literary gods strip away my snazzy wordsmithing chops from lack of usage?? I am supposed to be the Bringer of the Mojo, yet I feel like I have morphed into the handmaiden of victimhood. Ugh. I am so very small right now.
My mantra over the last several weeks has been, "This too shall pass". I keep telling myself that everything will work out exactly as it should because Michael and I are following the signs that Spirit has sent our way. In my quiet moments (of which there have been precious few), I KNOW that Michael quitting his job and our move to Minnesota are exactly what needs to happen for my speaking career to flourish and my book to gain national acclaim. Yet, I sit here twiddling my thumbs, moving knickknacks, shopping at Target, endlessly surfing Facebook for the next distraction, and waiting, wishing, hoping that I can turn the corner towards balance and joy.
Where, or where, have my balance and joy gone? Did I leave them in a box in our garage in Florida? Are they permanent fixtures in my meditation room in the Sunshine State?
I am constantly trying to cocoon myself in trust before the tsunami of fear threatens to overtake me. Visions of food stamps and blank screens dance in my head. Will I be ever be able to resume my writing? Will my calendar remain empty? Will I continue to spiral down the darkness where inspiration is lost forever?? Needless to say, I am in the midst of a full-blown freakout.
Sometimes we forget that everything is temporary. When we are in difficult periods in our lives, it often seems like the challenges will never end. I recall the agony of losing my mother and fearing that I'd never be able to get back to a place of happiness. Of course, my grief, like all pain, lessened over time. But, as we all know, pain makes us feel like we are stuck in molasses on a cold, wintry night. It is so damn hard to see the light that is flickering in the distance, calling us forward. We often resort to self-medication to get us through the dark hours. Personally, I have chosen unhealthy food as my propofol of choice. I have consumed massive amounts of Dairy Queen, pizza, Wendy's, Waffle House, Starbucks, and all manner of artery-clogging, pimple-creating culinary creations. Somehow the sweet and salty goodness found in no-no foods has given me the artificial fuel I needed to slog through the emotional molasses. The result, of course, is the reappearance of my fat pants, an explosion of zits on my face, and the hint of a second chin. Oh joy.
Ironically, if I were to conduct a counseling session with a client in a similar situation, I would encourage her to do two simple things: joyfully move her body and meditate more frequently. I know from personal history as well as professional experience that getting into one's body and getting right with Spirit are the two biggest methods towards healing and empowerment. I KNOW this. In my head. Yet, the hoop remains on the floor and the Reese's Peanut Butter Cup Blizzard continues to regularly enter my pie hole.
It isn't about knowing what's best for us; it's about DOING what's best for us. Those are two very different things. I know I should have kept up with my yoga practice and found time to regularly meditate, but I didn't. Instead, I ate crappy food and neglected my spiritual practice. Oops. Shit happens.
Unfortunately, getting back on the horse is never fun. Our tastebuds cry out for the sugary deliciousness of our edible anesthetics. Our bodies grown and wheeze when they are asked to perform in any other way other than to schlep boxes. Our self-esteem gets perpetually stuck in low gear. But, if we don't get right back on the horse, we'll stay firmly planted on the ground, bitching and complaining about how friggin' hard everything is.
Thankfully, I am just about ready to let go of my self-generated victimhood. Just about, but not quite.
I have decided to take baby steps back to the land of the Mojo. I've made a salad for lunch today instead of shoveling in Chipotle. I am planning on doing some gentle yoga later in our new meditation room. Maybe I'll even sign up for a local hooping class! I know my fat pants will not immediately go away, nor will my complexion magically clear up. But, I do know that writing to you today, dear reader, has helped me a great deal. It was the perfect boost I needed to get my rapidly-expanding tushie back in the saddle of life.
Thanks for your patience. Thanks for your understanding. Thanks for being there. I missed you.