tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37971664857836162122024-02-07T01:29:21.726-05:00Spinster JaneThis is what a spinster looks like...Spinster Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07885521019895319562noreply@blogger.comBlogger516125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3797166485783616212.post-3344753697293315182018-12-16T10:07:00.001-05:002018-12-16T10:17:08.714-05:00Out into the light...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2V13p9xnRMDjmcmV2ZZdm2t4m1SYTNNT43wD-nGA2Uwo6seALpIQA1fw3nP7yKva2eco6LPTq0HenVJwFwvrl79CqqKC9S-lcyRZyy9l0J4A5kCL_gASngZ6PdEomTF8rsdKeAlA7ZDSy/s1600/IMG_3580.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="960" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2V13p9xnRMDjmcmV2ZZdm2t4m1SYTNNT43wD-nGA2Uwo6seALpIQA1fw3nP7yKva2eco6LPTq0HenVJwFwvrl79CqqKC9S-lcyRZyy9l0J4A5kCL_gASngZ6PdEomTF8rsdKeAlA7ZDSy/s200/IMG_3580.JPG" width="200" /></a></i></div>
<i>CW: Mental health issues, triggering events.</i> <br />
<br />
Two
days ago I had what is called a triggering event. I don’t need to go
into the details of exactly what the event was – but the result was my
collapsing into a crying, panicked heap, followed by a total emotional
shutdown. From the extreme of panic and fear to absolute emptiness. <br />
<br />
The
rest of the day I felt apart from myself and the world. I was along
for the ride but not really present. If you interacted with me at all
on Friday it was likely obvious that I was not myself. I probably
seemed standoffish, quiet, maybe even grumpy. If you asked me how I was
feeling I either didn’t answer or just said, “Mostly okay…” <br />
<br />
When
I am in this state of shut down I don’t actually know how I feel. I
become like a void; a walking emptiness. I know this is a defense
mechanism. That this comes from being in places where showing emotion
was dangerous, or where being fully present resulted in more harm –
disassociating and leaving myself is safer. It isn’t very practical.
It interferes with my life and relationships. I don’t like it. <br />
<br />
But
I can manage these events. These two stages are, at least,
predictable. I know that the emotions that spew out immediately will
run their course and that shut down will last a few hours. I know that
at some point I will start to feel again, but that is not really a
relief, because then it gets worse. <br />
<br />
What follows the collapse
and the disassociation is two days to a week of panicked, obsessive
thinking. Whatever emotions are attached to the triggering event start
relentlessly swirling around in my brain. Because many of my issues
center on abandonment, it becomes a firework display of rejection and
self-loathing. It fills my mind’s sky horizon to horizon and is too
loud to shut out or turn away from. <br />
<br />
(BOOM!) See, it’s true. You are unloved. <br />
<br />
(Sizzle…crackles) People only pretend to like you. <br />
<br />
(BOOM! Boom! BOOM!) You should remove your horribleness from the world.* <br />
<br />
(Whistle…swirl) Can’t you see you will never be good at anything? <br />
<br />
(KA-BOOM! Pop. Pop. Pop.) You will never be wanted. You suck. You suck. You suck. <br />
<br />
And
then there are the nightmares. These tales spun by my subconscious
appear a day or so later; in full color, with surround sound, even
scents. Dreams in which I walk the world hearing people’s thoughts –
and every imagined judgement. Another in which I discover that all the
good in my life is a lie. There is a recurring one that due to some
unknown offense I am shunned by the town I live in. I’m allowed to
exist there but when I approach people turn away, and no matter how loud
I yell or scream they ignore me. The worst part though is never being
told what it was I did to make them reject me so. <br />
<br />
This emotional
barrage during both my waking and sleeping hours will last for a few
days. I can distract myself from it; and as the days pass it becomes
easier to do. I can zone out to Netflix, I can make art, I can find
friends to hang out with, I can clean, but if I find myself in a quiet
moment – it comes back – so I keep busy in whatever way I can. Eventually, with a few days
and a lot of self-care (get up, make the bed, eat, drink water, move, write,
rest, repeat) it will pass. <br />
<br />
Then, when it has passed and I feel safe enough, I begin the deconstructing process. I ask the necessary questions: <br />
<i><br />What
was the event that set this off? Why was it so bad? Was I already in a
tender place when it happened? What event in my past is this trigger
tied to? What plan can I put in place so that I can respond differently
next time? </i><br />
<br />
I remind myself that this is all process. That I am
here now and that the original event that this trigger is tied to is
long past. I get back to the work of rebuilding myself, shoring up my
self-worth. Reminding myself that I am worthy of being here. That I
will be okay. <br />
<br />
The worst part of this I think are the other
feelings that surround it. For me there is a lot of embarrassment,
shame, and fear surrounding these events. I am embarrassed about feeling
so out of control. There are feelings of shame about not being as good
or together as other people seem. And there is a fear that others will
not understand. That I will be rejected for my brokenness, and that my
damage will be too much. <br />
<br />
I often find I am quite literally
unable to speak of these events; my body rebels and my vocal chords
freeze up. This is why, when I am in crisis, I often have to text people for help because I become incapable of speech. When I see my therapist and talk to her about these latest occurrence my voice
will be a squeak and I will likely be hoarse for several days. <br />
<br />
But
I very much want to share them because it beats back those feelings of
shame and embarrassment. Putting these feelings and events out there is
the medicine I need. It brings them out of the into the light where I
can see them, examine them and remove the fear surrounding them. And
so, because I cannot speak of them, I write instead. <br />
<br />
This is my work. <br />
<br />
<i>*A
note on this – I don’t tend towards suicidal thoughts. I instead have
fantasies of removing myself from the world. The most common story is
one of quitting my life and moving far away, to some forgotten small
town, where I work at a convenience store and fade away into obscurity.
Everything in this fantasy is in shades of gray and sepia. It’s very
drab, predictable, and comforting. So, when I say I want to remove
myself from the world, I mean removing myself from my current place in
it. I don’t mean death. </i><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
If you'd like to support my work and my healing journey, please consider joining my Patreon Page: <a href="https://www.patreon.com/joiegrandboiscreatrix" target="">Joie Grandbois-Creatrix</a>-- Thank you<i> </i></div>
Spinster Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07885521019895319562noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3797166485783616212.post-29269943490134564382018-12-07T12:21:00.001-05:002018-12-07T13:14:05.881-05:00My First Letter to Santa<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH64tDgo7GGlJgRccK1Nrq6ctQAEGvNQEajqQIQIENOWH2cB6QKhszFxKsvIfpc-ZW3eIrDcz7aswLouGNX4WKhUvTcoQRp05C_2C5GwVAL51Y2pXvXok78Yd419Hmj2slWeb9kVvLOko/s1600/Old_Christmas%252C_Illustrated_London_News_24_Dec_1842.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="968" data-original-width="782" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH64tDgo7GGlJgRccK1Nrq6ctQAEGvNQEajqQIQIENOWH2cB6QKhszFxKsvIfpc-ZW3eIrDcz7aswLouGNX4WKhUvTcoQRp05C_2C5GwVAL51Y2pXvXok78Yd419Hmj2slWeb9kVvLOko/s320/Old_Christmas%252C_Illustrated_London_News_24_Dec_1842.jpg" width="257" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">By Unknown - <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=46578762">Illustrated London News, Public Domain</a> </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I still believe in Santa. <br />
<br />
Yes, you read that correctly. I never had that horrible childhood moment that so many people speak of when they learn that Santa is not a real person. <br />
<br />
Like many of us Santa was a part of my childhood. We went through the rituals of pictures with Santa at the mall and leaving cookies and milk out on Christmas Eve (plus carrots for the reindeer). But there were some differences. <br />
<br />
Our presents always came from people in our lives. They were from Mom & Dad, or Gramps, or my aunt, cousins, or friends. Our gifts did not appear on Christmas but were under the tree as soon as they were wrapped. At home we opened our gifts on Christmas Eve and went to my Grampy’s house on Christmas Day for a big dinner. We also never received over the top extravagant gifts, but what gifts were given were carefully chosen for each recipient. There was even one year that we were not going to do gifts at all because we were saving for a down payment on a house. That year my brother and I, thinking that our parents would be sad without presents, pooled our allowances to buy them each some gifts anyway. <br />
<br />
I also don’t recall ever writing a letter to Santa, though I thought of him often. <br />
<br />
For me Santa was this benevolent presence that permeated the season. Santa was the quiet hours in the living room, when the only light was from the fireplace and the Christmas tree lights. Santa was the pretty ice pictures that appeared on my window on cold mornings. Santa was the sound of the wind creaking the trees when I tromped alone through knee high snow in the woods behind the house, and he was the hot chocolate and the feeling of my tingling cold toes returning to life when I came back inside. Santa was there when I would sneak downstairs in the middle of the night to plug in the tree lights, pressing my face against the window so the reflection of the room would disappear, and I could see the snow sparkle with the soft lights of our tree. <br />
<br />
As I became older Santa became the moment of joy on a friend’s face when a perfectly chosen gift was given. Santa was there for every middle of the night, snowy walk, when I had the luck to find streets not yet plowed, and the smile shared when my eyes would meet those of another bundled up adult out walking just because it was so beautiful. Santa was icicles in my cocktail when staying at a friend’s house and we found ourselves out of ice. Santa was the feeling of warmth inside my heart as I wrote out Christmas cards to far away friends, and the excited feeling in my belly each time I opened the mailbox and a card was inside. <br />
<br />
When I imagine Santa, I see an old man who lives in a simple, though slightly cluttered, cottage deep in the woods. He looks like a typical Santa with a full head of bright white hair and a long beard. He is usually wearing a red plaid shirt, and you can see the collar of his long johns peeking up from where the top button is undone. My Santa wears jeans with suspenders and warm wool socks. He is sitting in a comfortable chair by a fire. He is sometimes reading a book, and there is always an orange tabby cat curled up on his lap. A steaming mug of something is nearby. He has everything he needs, and he is content. <br />
<br />
At some point he looks up. He cocks his head to listen. The cat’s ears twitch. She looks up at him with a long slow blink before she rises, stretches, and jumps from his lap. He closes his book, setting it on the small table next to his chair, then makes his way to the door where he takes a heavy long coat from the rack on the wall. He puts it on followed by a fur lined cap, soft leather boots, and mittens. The cat winds around his feet purring. <br />
<br />
In my Santa vision there is always snow piled high, and the light that spills out as he opens the door sparkles on the snow like the lights from my childhood Christmas tree. His boots crunch down the cottage steps and his breath makes clouds in the air. The cat stands in the doorway, preferring to keep her paws dry. <br />
<br />
As he emerges snow begins to gently fall. He walks down the path a bit, just a few steps. He closes his eyes. In my mind he is taking a measurement of how much comfort the world needs. I imagine that because he is content, and has all he needs, his greatest desire is to give some of that comfort away. <br />
<br />
He pauses and while taking a breath he opens his arms wide. And somehow, though he is still an old man standing alone in the snow, witnessed only by my mind and the eyes of his imagined cat, part of him begins to grow. It grows, and grows, beyond the wooded glen in which his cottage sits. It grows high above the trees. It grows high enough the lights from other houses, and nearby towns appear. It grows until the curve of the earth can be seen, and then like two great arms spreading wide it expands to all horizons until the whole world is covered. And with another breath, this great, expansive part of him settles over the earth, gently and almost unnoticed. <br />
<br />
And as he nods his head and turns to make his way back to his cozy home, somewhere a little girl is sitting in a living room gazing at the magical light of her family’s tree; some stranger catches the eye of another and takes a moment to smile; a young man out walking in the middle of the night sheds a bit of a happy tear when the crunch of snow beneath his boots turns his mind to a childhood memory; a friend gives another friend the gift of a listening ear and a hug; and maybe somewhere else a few more people decide to reach out to forgotten friends, or give a little more of themselves to help another person in need, or takes a moment to sit in the quiet of nature. <br />
<br />
For me Santa has never been about the things that surround the season. He is instead about those very small, almost unnoticeable moments that we recognize the humanity of another person. He is the essence of those times when we stand in awe of the world around us and find that we feel both small, and deeply connected at the same time. For me he is in the small comforts that cost us almost nothing to give but help another person to feel seen. <br />
<br />
And this year I feel like we need him more than we ever have, at least in my lifetime. So, for the first time in my life I’m penning him a letter…maybe it is more of a prayer. <br />
<br />
<i>Dear Santa, <br /><br />I don’t think I’ve ever written a letter to you before. Perhaps I have but so much time has passed that I’ve forgotten. I do think of you every year though. <br /><br />But if you are there, if you are listening, I’m asking that you help each of us bring a little more love into the world. Please help us to remember that we are all in this together. </i><br />
<br />
<i>And if you do live only in my imagination, if your cozy cottage in the woods exists only in my mind, then I ask that whatever part of me is you, to help me to be a little more forgiving, a little more generous, and a little more loving towards myself and others. The world needs that right now. <br /><br />That is all I need this year, or ever really. <br /><br />Thank you, <br /><br />Joie <br /><br />PS. Please give your beautiful kitty a few scritches behind the ears from me. </i><br />
<br />
Happy Holidays to all of you. May Santa touch all our hearts this year. <br />
<br />
Peace.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
_________________ </div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
If you'd like to support my work and my healing journey, please consider joining my Patreon Page: <a href="https://www.patreon.com/joiegrandboiscreatrix" target="">Joie Grandbois-Creatrix</a>-- <i>Thank you</i> </div>
Joiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11431078463890073934noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3797166485783616212.post-53107929175380216062018-12-03T19:19:00.000-05:002018-12-04T07:12:21.008-05:00Non-binary at 46<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:OfficeDocumentSettings> <o:AllowPNG/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:TrackMoves/> <w:TrackFormatting/> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:DoNotPromoteQF/> <w:LidThemeOther>EN-US</w:LidThemeOther> <w:LidThemeAsian>X-NONE</w:LidThemeAsian> <w:LidThemeComplexScript>X-NONE</w:LidThemeComplexScript> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> <w:SplitPgBreakAndParaMark/> <w:EnableOpenTypeKerning/> <w:DontFlipMirrorIndents/> <w:OverrideTableStyleHps/> </w:Compatibility> <m:mathPr> <m:mathFont m:val="Cambria Math"/> <m:brkBin m:val="before"/> <m:brkBinSub m:val="--"/> <m:smallFrac m:val="off"/> <m:dispDef/> <m:lMargin m:val="0"/> <m:rMargin m:val="0"/> <m:defJc m:val="centerGroup"/> <m:wrapIndent m:val="1440"/> <m:intLim m:val="subSup"/> <m:naryLim m:val="undOvr"/> </m:mathPr></w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" DefUnhideWhenUsed="false"
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">I remember when I was first exposed to the idea of gender being a culturally imposed idea. It was 1993 and I was taking an introduction to women's studies course at USM. That one’s gender was not the same thing as one’s biological sex kind of blew my mind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">I recall having that ah-ha feeling that comes when something you couldn’t quite define before suddenly starts to make sense, "Well that explains a lot of why I don't feel like I always fit in with the idea of what is feminine or woman." At the same time, despite my lifelong beard envy, I didn't feel exactly masculine or male either.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But despite the topic being raised, the discussion 25 years ago still only assumed two genders - man or woman - non-binary or androgyny were not mentioned.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">So, I went on with my life assuming that my discomfort with my identity as a woman had to do with how our culture not only defines but also treats women.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That I didn’t like being one because women were not something our culture valued.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I felt like it was pretty unfair that I had little say in who the world said I was or what my life would be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">I was in my mid-twenties when I came out as bisexual. It wasn’t a surprise to anyone, but it was the first time I named it publicly and it left me with a feeling of being a bit more at home with myself. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I thought maybe this was the thing I’d been needing to say, that naming this might help resolve the issues around who I felt I was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">Through my thirties and into my forties I began to perform, and the stage gave me a chance to do something I’d not felt comfortable doing often in my daily life, explore dressing as a man and presenting the less feminine side of my self to the world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The character I became, P.J. Buster, felt like putting on a new but familiar skin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I often felt more at home as him than I did has myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">Occasionally, I started exploring expressing this off stage too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One day I might be in a skirt and makeup, the next my hair pinned back, with a hat, button down shirt and a tie. Other times I was somewhere in between. The more I did it the more comfortable I felt until it just became part of who I was. Even so, it wasn’t until a few years ago that I first heard the term non-binary. When I did, despite feeling like it made absolute sense to me, despite that same ‘ah-ha’ feeling, I didn’t claim the term as my own.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">To be honest I felt like I was too old.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While many of my younger friends defined their gender in whatever way felt right for them, it seemed to me that, being in my mid-40s, it was a bit too late in the game to say I was something other than what the world assumed I was for 40+ years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I felt had the option been presented to me at 20, I would have said yes, wholeheartedly, but now?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It felt like it was 20 something years too late. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">But then I attended a storytelling event where a woman shared the story of her 80-year old father who finally told the world, “I am a woman and will live the rest of my life as one.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I began to wonder if there were non-binary folks who came to this decision later in life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I did what I always do when I find I’m facing a question I don’t have answer too…I googled it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">Gender in midlife. </span></i></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">I came across many stories of people transitioning from male to female in midlife.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were fewer stories of women transitioning to being men, but they were there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All were about people who felt they’d finally come home to themselves and their stories were told in an uplifting and loving way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I didn’t find much mention of non-binary people, so I decided to get more specific. </span></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">Non-binary at midlife</span></i></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A list of articles came up: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><a href="http://www.rolereboot.org/life/details/2012-05-coming-out-as-genderqueer-at-the-age-of-50">Coming Out as Gender Queer at 50</a> </i>and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><a href="https://www.vox.com/first-person/2018/3/28/17100442/lgbtq-transgender-discrimination-nonbinary-civil-rights">I photograph trans and nonbinary kids. It’s made me rethink my own gender</a> </i>both discussed the same issue I was facing. Could one come out as non-binary at 40, 50, or later?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What is it like to do so?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I identified greatly with Annie Tritt’s words when describing the feelings that came up when she pondered the possibility of how things might have been different had the non-binary identity been available:</span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">“I can’t say how my sense of identity, and my life, would be different if I had grown up in this generation. But I know I wouldn’t be pondering the question. Kids nowadays don’t feel like it’s a big deal to explore your gender. For people of my generation, doing so is much more fraught with anxiety.”</span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">In the end she was unsure about claiming that identity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And wasn’t sure that the leap could be made.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">I am not in that place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For me stating that I am non-binary feels comfortable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It feels like I finally have a word that encompasses what I am.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It feels right, and it feels necessary.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I changed it on Facebook a couple of weeks ago.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It isn’t one of those changes that Facebook announces so no one really noticed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I told a couple of friends. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">I wondered how to tell the rest of the world and decided on this blog post because writing has always been a far more comfortable medium for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So here you go.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">I’m Joie.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m non-binary.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m still unsure on the pronoun thing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">In the end the most important part for me is what I feel inside when I think of my identity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It finally feels right. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">_____________________________ </span></div>
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<center .="" i="">
If you'd like to support my work and my healing journey, please consider joining my Patreon Page: <a href="https://www.patreon.com/joiegrandboiscreatrix" target="">Joie Grandbois-Creatrix</a>-- <i>Thank you.</i>,</center>
Joiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11431078463890073934noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3797166485783616212.post-76259911492759694742018-11-27T15:18:00.000-05:002018-11-27T15:46:20.127-05:00The Truth About My Art...<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Hyperlink"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="FollowedHyperlink"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="22" QFormat="true" Name="Strong"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="20" QFormat="true" Name="Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Document Map"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Plain Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="E-mail Signature"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Top of Form"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Bottom of Form"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Normal (Web)"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Acronym"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Address"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Cite"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Code"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Definition"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Keyboard"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Preformatted"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Sample"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Typewriter"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Variable"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Normal Table"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="annotation subject"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="No List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Outline List 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Outline List 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Outline List 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Simple 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Simple 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Simple 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Classic 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Classic 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Classic 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Classic 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Colorful 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Colorful 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Colorful 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 7"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 8"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 7"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 8"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table 3D effects 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table 3D effects 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table 3D effects 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Contemporary"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Elegant"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Professional"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Subtle 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Subtle 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Web 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Web 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Web 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Balloon Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="Table Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Theme"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" Name="Placeholder Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="1" QFormat="true" Name="No Spacing"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" Name="Revision"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="34" QFormat="true"
Name="List Paragraph"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="29" QFormat="true" Name="Quote"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="30" QFormat="true"
Name="Intense Quote"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="19" QFormat="true"
Name="Subtle Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="21" QFormat="true"
Name="Intense Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="31" QFormat="true"
Name="Subtle Reference"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="32" QFormat="true"
Name="Intense Reference"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="33" QFormat="true" Name="Book Title"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="37" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Bibliography"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" QFormat="true" Name="TOC Heading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="41" Name="Plain Table 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="42" Name="Plain Table 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="43" Name="Plain Table 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="44" Name="Plain Table 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="45" Name="Plain Table 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="40" Name="Grid Table Light"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46" Name="Grid Table 1 Light"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51" Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52" Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46" Name="List Table 1 Light"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="List Table 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="List Table 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="List Table 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="List Table 5 Dark"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51" Name="List Table 6 Colorful"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52" Name="List Table 7 Colorful"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="List Table 1 Light Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="List Table 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="List Table 3 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="List Table 4 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="List Table 5 Dark Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="List Table 6 Colorful Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="List Table 7 Colorful Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="List Table 1 Light Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="List Table 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="List Table 3 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="List Table 4 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="List Table 5 Dark Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="List Table 6 Colorful Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="List Table 7 Colorful Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="List Table 1 Light Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="List Table 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="List Table 3 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="List Table 4 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="List Table 5 Dark Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="List Table 6 Colorful Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="List Table 7 Colorful Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="List Table 1 Light Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="List Table 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="List Table 3 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="List Table 4 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="List Table 5 Dark Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="List Table 6 Colorful Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="List Table 7 Colorful Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="List Table 1 Light Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="List Table 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="List Table 3 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="List Table 4 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="List Table 5 Dark Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="List Table 6 Colorful Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="List Table 7 Colorful Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="List Table 1 Light Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="List Table 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="List Table 3 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="List Table 4 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="List Table 5 Dark Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="List Table 6 Colorful Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="List Table 7 Colorful Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Mention"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Smart Hyperlink"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBhcirWxrG2NOUqsEVxfOWDI4DeR-u5StOrOJOhSIZiPT-pgn_Auxo9hepsojOjl2QQpYk5rWsN0foa4iT1hv6wzYv0VkIfe9Hvm1Rl-k7WwdHvdI45SJL-a8ZqjM5L1FN14DdHMNtIE8/s1600/DCC0434E-9813-47DE-B936-7B85240CC814%255B7937%255D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="1280" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBhcirWxrG2NOUqsEVxfOWDI4DeR-u5StOrOJOhSIZiPT-pgn_Auxo9hepsojOjl2QQpYk5rWsN0foa4iT1hv6wzYv0VkIfe9Hvm1Rl-k7WwdHvdI45SJL-a8ZqjM5L1FN14DdHMNtIE8/s200/DCC0434E-9813-47DE-B936-7B85240CC814%255B7937%255D.JPG" width="200" /></a></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"><i>"I think it's amazing that you make your living as an artist."</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">I cringe a little when I hear those words. I am an artist - that much is true. But...the rest of the truth is that I don't "make a living" making art. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am not a successful artist, at least not in
the way you think I am. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">The truth is that I
have two part-time day jobs - one as a paralegal, and the other as a research
assistant. Neither pays me a glamorous amount of money but they are in subject
areas that matter to me and to which I am happy to give my time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">The truth is that because of depression, anxiety, and other mental health issues I
manage to work about 25 hours a week total. And that most months I make just
enough to cover my bills. And this year most months I've actually ended up in
the hole.<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">The truth is that my
art barely pays for itself. I don't generally make any money after studio fees,
gas, teaching insurance, and all the other things that go along with creating
and teaching. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hope to change that, but
the truth is (again) that when faced with marketing a class/show, or doing what I
need to stay out of The Wallow – wallow prevention wins. It has to...<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">The truth is that the
small amount a few faithful <a href="https://www.patreon.com/joiegrandboiscreatrix">Patreon</a> subscribers send me each month has been my
grocery and cat food money more than once. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can’t express how grateful I am for all three of them (yup, there are only three). <br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">The truth is that I
write about my art, talk about my art, share pictures of my art, A LOT because
it is my art that keeps me from falling completely into a pit of depression and
despair. And maybe because I write a lot about it so much and share it so much people
assume I must be making a living at it...</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">The truth is my art is like air to me. Without it I'm not sure what I'd do...<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">The truth is that art
has saved my life more than once - just as being able to write is giving me
this outlet right now – it has given me a place to put my feelings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To express things I can’t express anywhere else
or by any other means. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">It is in this way that I am a successful artist. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">And I am successful at
a few other things.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">I am successful at is
sharing myself honestly. </span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<i>
</i><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">I am successful at
providing spaces for those who want to explore.</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<i>
</i><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">I am successful at
making art the moves people.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That speaks
to them in some way. </span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<i>
</i><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">I am successful at
connecting people. </span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<i>
</i><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">I am successful at
keeping my head above water though I don’t always understand how. </span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<i>
</i><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">I must be successful
at being alive because I’m still here. </span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">I am becoming more and more successful
at doing the work to heal myself. </span><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">And </span> I do believe that one day, I will be together enough that I will be a more conventionally successful artist. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">R</span><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">ight now my most important creation is myself. </span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">Peace</span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"><i>If you'd like to support my work and my healing journey, please considering joining my Patreon Page: <a href="https://www.patreon.com/joiegrandboiscreatrix" target="">Joie Grandbois-Creatrix</a></i><a href="https://www.patreon.com/joiegrandboiscreatrix"> </a> -- <i>Thank you.</i> </span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"> </span>
<br />
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
</span></div>
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<br /></div>
Joiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11431078463890073934noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3797166485783616212.post-13977715796345470622018-11-25T14:28:00.000-05:002018-11-25T15:04:01.438-05:00864 Emails (or how I never met a self help newsletter I didn't like)<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCLd0xt5jzeyR-AkLWwVybPa4xVJo3L2ElrQCClFIhALpuh-YjAqywhD22a-aiBv4y4-IH7nVRfBFJTEtE3FlogSXxDaS9D3_dKSg9nCQt4TlpjFa34u24QUxgp1IMAwMU6i_GZ5CyVeY/s1600/blogger-image-1051127504.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="480" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCLd0xt5jzeyR-AkLWwVybPa4xVJo3L2ElrQCClFIhALpuh-YjAqywhD22a-aiBv4y4-IH7nVRfBFJTEtE3FlogSXxDaS9D3_dKSg9nCQt4TlpjFa34u24QUxgp1IMAwMU6i_GZ5CyVeY/s200/blogger-image-1051127504.jpg" width="200" /></a><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Share a link to an
online quiz that will help me discover my inner goddess archetype I’ll happily
offer up my email to see the result. </i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Maybe you can tell me
what inner block is holding me back from being my best self – just send me a
link for your free webinar on the five things that hold all women back and I’ll
sign up in a flash.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Better yet, send me an
offer for an online meditation/self-compassion/embodiment/learn-how-to-love-yourself
conference where I can get access to 96 free webinars ALL WEEK LONG.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ll take that, here’s my email address.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thank you very much. </i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Send me something that tells me how you can make me a
better, more whole, more happy human being and I’ll hand over my email address without
a second thought. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some might even call
me a sucker.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I, like most of us, am just looking for some answers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I want to find out why I’m not happy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why I’m not the success I want to be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why I’m not so many other things that I
believe I should be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And if you want to
send me a little hope in my inbox, I’ll take it. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Even though on some level, I know that hope is not the
ultimate goal here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The goal is to get
me to sign up for a workshop, or an online course, or for a women’s spirituality
group, or whatever variation of the happiness promise you have to offer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For only $90-$500 a month I can take your
course, connect with others <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">just like me</i>,
learn to love myself, manifest my dreams, and, yes, yes (if I buy the bonus
package) – I get to be a part of your exclusive Facebook group.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I sign up anyway because hope is a thing
I want to grab on to.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Which is why this morning I found myself staring at a notification
of 864 unread emails.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I scrolled
through my inbox I saw the same addresses over and over again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Many were some variation of spirit this or
that, with subject lines that included everything from astrology to women’s
circles to inner peace; keywords – goals, manifest, Yes!, now, and you too can... </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I decided I’d had enough.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It took me an hour and a half to review my inbox. I wanted
to make sure I wasn’t missing any personal emails buried amongst the self-help hurricane
my inbox had become.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I also wanted to
keep the few I was actually interested in. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the end I unsubscribed from 65 email
newsletters, most of which I’d never bothered to open let alone read, and I stayed
subscribed to 8 that I actually read on a regular basis. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I know there is no easy solution for depression, anxiety, or
self-loathing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is no shortcut to processing
trauma, reprogramming my brain towards healthier coping patterns, or self-acceptance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is all process…process…process…stumble…process…process.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For me it is also a lot of hard work…but it is work I need
to be doing if I want to do more than just exist.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The fewer distractions, the better. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Peace. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<i>If you'd like to support my work and my healing journey, please considering joining my Patreon Page: <a href="https://www.patreon.com/joiegrandboiscreatrix" target="_blank">Joie Grandbois-Creatrix</a></i> -- <i>Thank you.</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Joiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11431078463890073934noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3797166485783616212.post-48856342113637371612018-01-21T07:32:00.001-05:002018-01-21T07:32:11.333-05:00Sunrise<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDO3ywAFJ7LP9C0US5JvACPLd9j1lBEJb89yUBuTSfUvFLh_eyxbv8pFYZ2OG8RernHhaW15nz7zAjpy-ZxV9YYhzeFw_KakMAWy3WoSuTFuBTGjClnRKUb7C_OQDB7oONRuENLOcI8rFl/s1600/blogger-image-483225492.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="479" data-original-width="640" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDO3ywAFJ7LP9C0US5JvACPLd9j1lBEJb89yUBuTSfUvFLh_eyxbv8pFYZ2OG8RernHhaW15nz7zAjpy-ZxV9YYhzeFw_KakMAWy3WoSuTFuBTGjClnRKUb7C_OQDB7oONRuENLOcI8rFl/s320/blogger-image-483225492.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunrise - Portland, ME (2013) - <i>J. Grandbois</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />This morning I noticed the sunrise.<br />
I didn’t take a photo of it,<br />
or seek a deeper meaning in it, <br />or think about what adjectives I might ascribe to it. <br />I just noticed it. <br />And the winter air on my face, <br />and the warm cup of coffee in my hand. <br />And the dark silhouette of the tree, <br />and the frost on the windows of the cars in the parking lot. <br />And the caw, caw, caw, of the crows in distant pine.<br />
This morning<br />
as I leaned against the carriage house door.<br />
<br /><br /><i>- Joie Grandbois, 2018 </i><br /><br /> <br /><br /> <br /><br /> <br />Spinster Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07885521019895319562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3797166485783616212.post-69680663682455804612018-01-17T11:56:00.000-05:002018-01-17T11:56:35.930-05:00My Catastrophic Thinking...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK71ee8vXX-oeelTndrDaei1cmO1JJjkmHECj2eMlw-F83vdm8eMqxcBT8obQbWXJpQCQfsUiKH8lxR1VuWxbyFYSxApQp58shJdyoy-x2MEbSVbJlKr0N7YvFORpxNz_er3xquIznCkkz/s1600/IMG_5479.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK71ee8vXX-oeelTndrDaei1cmO1JJjkmHECj2eMlw-F83vdm8eMqxcBT8obQbWXJpQCQfsUiKH8lxR1VuWxbyFYSxApQp58shJdyoy-x2MEbSVbJlKr0N7YvFORpxNz_er3xquIznCkkz/s200/IMG_5479.JPG" /></a><br />
<i>Content warning: This post includes discussion of extreme anxiety and some of the less than healthy ways I have dealt with in the past. It does reference self harm and substance abuse. </i> <br />
<br />
In the world of "You are not alone..." today I'm pondering my habit of catastrophizing. There was a meme that went around social media not too long ago:<br /> <br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><b>Anxiety Girl - able to jump to the worst conclusion in a single bound! </b></i></div>
<br />
Catastrophic thinking is like that, except I don't just go to one worst conclusion, my brain likes to supply me with a range of catastrophic options - four, five...hey let's go all out! Here are ten horrible scenarios for you to play around with for the next eight hours. Sleep? You think you might sleep? Muahahahahaha, you foolish woman!! Here, have two more horror stories to obsess over.<br /><br />It is exacerbated by the belief that whatever the catastrophe is must also be my fault...somehow. Even if it is quirk of being born - "t<i>his terrible thing would not happen if I didn't exist.</i>" Yes, I recognize this is 100% irrational as my birth is something I really had zero control over, but the thought, however irrational it may be, is still there. And there is this belief that I am inherently flawed and thus I am always one moment, one step away, from causing something awful to happen. <br /><br />I don't find the concept difficult to explain, I think everyone at least once in their life has experienced their thoughts going from zero to disaster in a moment. What is difficult to share is how paralyzing, all consuming, and debilitating it can be when it is happening. Once the thoughts appear they rise to a mental volume that does not allow for other voices to be heard. I find myself unable to focus on other things - important things like, eating, work, school, class planning, writing, painting, etc. It takes over.<br />
<br />
It is also difficult for some to understand just how irrational it can be. An extreme, but true, example...<i> </i><br />
<br />
<i>I'm in a car. I hear a thump in the back. My mind goes right to, "Oh you hit a dog...a cat...a small child...that thump was surely something alive." </i><i> </i><br />
<br />
<i>I stop the car. I see nothing. I do get on my knees in the mud to look beneath it I walk a quarter mile along the road the way I came. Nothing. </i><br />
<br />
<i>I get back into the car and as I do I see the half empty bottle of windshield washer fluid against the back door. Rationally I know the sound was this bottle rolling around the back of the car, but I still roll it into the door four or five times myeslf until I'm fully convinced that is what made the noise. </i><br />
<br />
Other times it is simpler...<br />
<i> </i><br />
<i>My boss says she wants to talk to me. My brain kicks into action and tells me that I am surely about to be fired. How will I pay my rent? How will I feed the cats? In a few short seconds my mind takes me from happily employed to homeless and alone, and feeling the shame of my former friends seeing me dirty and begging on the street. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>It turns out she wanted to give me a raise...</i><br />
<br />
It is like gas lighting myself. It is crazy making. <i> </i><br />
<br />
I have not always dealt with this well. I have self medicated with wine, bad television, and various sleep aids. These are actually an improvement as many years ago I would cut myself for release. I stopped that when I discovered that I could put an elastic around my wrist and flick it over and over until the pain of the sting was stronger than my horrible thinking. There have been times when I would have done just about anything to quiet the screaming going on in my head. <br />
<br />
Today, there are other things I do. I try to remind myself that most of what happens in life is beyond my control and even if the worst thing does happen there is nothing I can do about it. I breathe. I reach out to the one or two trusted friends who I know won't dismiss my feelings. I look back to other times and remind myself that the worst case almost never happens, and then tell my mental monster to shut up with it chimes in with, "But wait a minute...remember that ONE TIME..."<br />
<br />
It comes and goes, and the past few weeks it has been back full force. I have turned to wine more than once to quiet my mind. I know it is likely to get worse before it gets better so I've made the decision to start therapy again just to deal with this particular issue. I would encourage anyone who deals with this level of anxiety to seek help. I know from past experience life does not need to feel like I am living in the midst of a never ending personal apocalypse. <br />
<br />
I believe it will get better. Spinster Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07885521019895319562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3797166485783616212.post-36577787682496099042018-01-14T22:09:00.002-05:002018-01-14T22:09:50.641-05:00My Tiny Heart<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
Dirty tear streaked face; sticks in her hair.<br />
My Tiny Heart lives in a cave.<br />
She loves food and eats with her hands. <br />She digs holes in the dirt to bury her feet. <br />When she is alone she dances. <br />When she is not, she watches. <br />
<br />My Tiny Heart speaks in sounds <br />Moans <br />Cries <br />Screeches <br />Sighs <br />Giggles <br />A quiet hum of a tune you must stretch your ears to hear. <br /><br />She will smile so brightly when you tell her she is smart. <br />Or pretty. <br />Or that you caught her dancing and it made you want to dance too. <br /><br />And on the turn of a moment <br />She will push you out of the cave door. <br />Chase you out with ash and rocks. <br /> Run into the dark until all you can <br />see are two wide eyes that never blink. <br /><br />She’d claw off her own skin <br />right down to the bone <br />to find the flaw she knows must be buried there. <br /><br />I wait, and pretend I do not see her there hiding in the cave dark. <br />I leave her warm blankets <br />And soft hugs wrapped in pretty paper. <br />I hum every happy song I can think of <br />And when she screams I hold her in my arms until <br />the rage, and fear, and loneliness is tired out of her. <br /><br /> My Tiny Heart <br />Child heart. <br />Overflowing emotional wild heart. <br />Does not know how to ask for what she wants. <br /><br /> I tell her I will not leave her. <br /> I tell her she is as beautiful when she screams <br />as she is when she dances.<br /><br />
<i>- Joie Grandbois, 2018</i>Joiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11431078463890073934noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3797166485783616212.post-3683796416995282702017-08-03T22:40:00.002-04:002017-08-03T22:40:42.021-04:00Ordinary Day<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Today was a busy day. I think busy days are ordinary days for most of us. We live lives packs pretty full from rising to bed. <br />
<br />
Mine began at 6:00AM and included working both of my jobs, working on an email newsletter, a nap, feeding myself, teaching a dance class, an episode of RHONY and being interviewed on a radio program to help promote the <a href="http://www.paganunity.org/pagan-unity-day/" target="_blank">2017 Pagan Unity Day.</a><br />
<br />
I'm tired. And I have a bit of headache. <br />
<br />
I've another ordinary day tomorrow!<br />
<br />
<br />Spinster Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07885521019895319562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3797166485783616212.post-1015200975415598672017-08-02T07:28:00.000-04:002017-08-02T07:28:43.588-04:00Ordinary Emotions<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I awoke this morning feeling...<br />
<br />
...anxious<br />
...a little sad<br />
...self doubt<br />
...hopeful<br />
<br />
The anxiety is in part due to a very full plate in the coming weeks and I'm definitely worried about getting things done (and done well). I'm also anxious about a close friendship that has hit some bumps and I'm not totally clear where things stand with this person. The sadness and self doubt are leftovers from the reemergence some old pain and hurts that I'm still healing from. The hope is because unlike many other days, today I can identify what it is that I'm feeling and why. <br />
<br />
When I went to bed last night I was feeling pretty good. My day had a bumpy start but I managed to stay focused on work. I had lunch with a friend, taught a dance class and hung out with other friends after. I went to bed feeling fairly content and grateful for the people in my life. I feel like I slept fairly well. I don't recall my dreams from last night.<br />
<br />
I got up, wiped sleepy bits from my eyes, fed the cats (dealt with a momentary hissing match - they are still adjusting), said good morning to my housemate, made coffee and, yes, took a moment to write my thoughts in my journal - which definitely helped with the hopeful part.<br />
<br />
And now I'll go on with my day, feeling what I'm feeling. Spinster Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07885521019895319562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3797166485783616212.post-39196309039513673872017-08-01T07:28:00.000-04:002017-08-01T07:28:41.433-04:00Ordinary Morning<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I have a fantasy morning routine in which I wake up with the sun feeling alert and rested. I have a glass of water before putting on my walking shoes and heading out of the house for a morning stroll. My walk takes me past some beautiful place by the sea, or through a field of blooming wildflowers.<br />
<br />
When I arrive home I meditate, after which I brew a fresh cup of some fantastic roast of coffee. I sit and write in my journal, noting the flowers I saw on my walk or thoughts that came to me during my meditation. I'll probably make a few lists of things I want to do that day. I'll check the time and to my delight, I've a few minutes to spare for a bit of yoga.<br />
<br />
The key word here is FANTASY. <br />
<br />
My mornings do start early; I try to get up two hours before I have to start work (today that means 6:00AM as I'll log into work at 8:00). I feed the cats, and then peruse Facebook on my phone while waiting for the kettle to boil. The coffee part is mostly right as I do buy at least decent coffee and I make it by the cup in a small french press. At some point I'll realize I've become lost down an internet rabbit hole and I've only 15 minutes left to get dressed and make a second cup of coffee. If I'm lucky, and I plan ahead, I may find time to write in my journal. <br />
<br />
Lately there is about a 50/50 chance that after I feed the cats, I'll go back to bed, forget to set the alarm and find myself waking up ten minutes before work begins. <br />
<br />
Every once in a while, when the stars align properly or I'm in the midst of a period of dedicated self improvement, I'll have my coffee, read the news, write in my journal, get dressed and upon looking at the clock realize that I actually do have ten or so minutes to spare for meditation. <br />
<br />
After which I of course pat myself on the back for having such a well organized morning routine.<br />
<br />
What is your ordinary morning?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Spinster Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07885521019895319562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3797166485783616212.post-49459018165565242782017-07-31T17:31:00.001-04:002017-07-31T17:36:48.778-04:0030 Days of Ordinary<div class="vk_ans" style="margin-bottom: 0px;">
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<br /><span style="font-size: x-large;">or·di·nar·y</span><br /><br />ˈôrdnˌerē/</div>
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<br /><i>adjective</i><br /><br />1. with no special or distinctive features; normal. (<a href="http://www.dictionary.com/browse/ordinary">courtesy of dictionary.com</a>) <br /><br /><br />It could be an act of resistance against the sort of life society says I should be living these days. <br /><br />Maybe it is a reaction to the "just-so tousled hair, profile facing a horizon of ocean/mountains/trees, tagged with a quote about living an authentic life" photos that seem to fill my Instagram and Facebook feed lately.<br /><br />Perhaps it is in response to comments that have come my way recently that lead me to recognize that the way others perceive my life to be is so wildly different from what it actually is (thank you social media). </div>
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<br /><i>(I really, really hope it is not some subconscious, sideways humble brag...OMGoodness, look how damn NORMAL I am!!!)<br /><br /> Okay...um...let's just assume your motives are 99% noble and actually get to the point. </i><br /><br /> I have long been an advocate for honesty in social media. If you are having a shitty day you should feel absolutely free to say just that. If you really put a lot of work into accomplishing a long desired goal, brag away! And people do. In fact my social media feeds seem to be exercises in extremes that waver between "the world is falling apart" and "I LOOOOOOOOOVE my friends!!! MUAH!" <br /><br /> And I'm just as guilty. When I post at all these days, what I have I put out there has become a carefully cultivated garden of outrage, how I keep my shit together, and hey, hope y'all have a happy, happy day - thankful to be alive, with long, long periods of silence and cat pictures. <br /><br /> If it isn't carefully thought out, edited, and filtered it isn't shared. I find myself, despite my best efforts, creating a very careful presentation of my life...even when talking about the not so great stuff. Even my sad days have to be perfectly sad or I don't share them!<br /><br />What it is missing is the day to day. <br /><br />What is missing is the ordinary. <br /><br /> So here is where I announce my idea, my project, 30 Days of Ordinary. Each day I am going to write about or share a photo of something ordinary from my life. I'm not totally sure what that means yet, but I've a few rules I'm setting for myself. <br /><br /> 1. Photos must be unedited (not filters, or color changes, etc) and when I take them I'm allowed two attempts. <br /><br /> 2. Ordinary does not mean boring. I can write about said above extremes or something that I find exciting, but it has to be honest. I'm not allowed to embellish or edit to make things look 'not so bad' or 'not so good.'<br /><br /> 3. Performance photos are not allowed unless it's process oriented. Performance is a step outside of the ordinary and I tend to do myself up to hide imperfections, but practice photos are fine. <br /><br /> So here we go. Thirty days of ordinary...<br /><br /><i><br />NOTE: I lay no claim to 30 Days of Ordinary. If you wish to do your own 30 Days of Ordinary feel free! I'll be sharing photos on Instagram (@spinsterjane) with the hashtag #30daysofordinary. I'd love to see more!</i><br /><br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /><br /><br /><br /> <br /><br /></div>
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Spinster Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07885521019895319562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3797166485783616212.post-30016461048123187532017-07-03T08:37:00.000-04:002017-07-03T08:37:58.466-04:00Wait...it's been how long???<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Five months (almost). This has to be the longest pause in blogging that I've taken since starting Spinster Jane six years ago. It wasn't an intentional break. There was no, "Time to focus on other things for a bit. See you in six months!"<br />
<br />
I've logged in several times. I've even started a few posts, but nothing came together enough to be completed and published. I would stare at the screen, hands hovering above the keyboard, hoping something would come. I even made a few posts to the SJ Facebook page promising some sort of post...soon....soon...soon.<br />
<br />
Soon...five months soon.<br />
<br />
My greatest creative nemesis has always been my own head. Most often it gets in the way by questioning the validity of my talent or slipping in a bit of self doubt (who are YOU to call yourself an artist???) There are also those long stretches of ruminative, navel gazing; wrapping myself up in my own shadows. And crazy making obsessive thoughts that simmer beneath the surface of my thoughts, just waiting for the right cue to take over my mental stage where they derail my creative efforts for days. <br />
<br />
This was deeper though. There were events this past winter that brought me face to face with one of my deepest fears - that of abandonment. It shook me, leaving my emotional foundation cracked. I turned inward...and stayed there. <br />
<br />
Months have passed, work has been done. I'm turning outward more; it's time to look to come back to life...Spinster Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07885521019895319562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3797166485783616212.post-65338968077864807682017-02-07T13:21:00.003-05:002017-02-07T13:24:55.630-05:00Aggressive Body Love<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Like many women I struggle with body image. I have times I look in the mirror and I don't like that I see silver hairs on my head and tiny lines at the corner of my eyes. I don't like the soft spots that have appeared or the cellulite that dimples my thighs. <br />
<br />
I look in the mirror and my emotions can run from resignation to sadness to outright disgust. It does not take long for my mind to start berating me on how I should have used more sunscreen, quit smoking sooner, had fewer sips of wine and worked out more. Because the fact that I don't look 20 at 45 must somehow be my fault.<br />
<br />
I have spent more than one evening researching Botox, calculating how many treatments I could afford to get in one year and, with my limited budget, just what spots would I have done. The answer is always my forehead because those worry lines between my eyes age me more than anything.<br />
<br />
And then I get angry. I become angry first at myself for succumbing to the idea the my self-worth is somehow directly related to how youthful I look. And then I add a bit of shame because as a woman facing the prospect of being "of a certain age" I should be trying my best to model the behavior of self acceptance for those young women soon to face that same mirror. And then I become angry that we live in a culture in which women over 40 are practically invisible; where we are ignored into silence. <br />
<br />
Unless of course by some chance we manage, by knife, needle, luck or circumstance, to look "good for our age." Those of us who escape the adjective of old are rewarded with praise for not falling prey to time and our DNA, as though youth is an accomplishment. <br />
<br />
And aging, a failing of character.<br />
<br />
I once again walk to the mirror where my eyes see nothing different, but my heart, my gut screams at me to not accept this vision of myself that my culture has laid upon me. <br />
<br />
I look in the mirror and my eyes see nothing different, but I refuse to let that matter.<br />
<br />
I will look in the mirror and eyes see nothing different, but I will love what I see if only to be contrary to the rules you have placed upon me. I will set my own standard just to spite you.<br />
<br />
I look in the mirror and my eyes see nothing different but I swear to myself that I will choose my own measurement for beautiful.<br />
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And I will tell everyone woman I meet that she is beautiful too. And it will be the truth.<br />
<br />Joiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11431078463890073934noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3797166485783616212.post-75386524682322938902017-02-01T07:57:00.001-05:002017-02-01T07:57:21.729-05:00Happy Birthday<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<i>"I'd be happy to live till 80 as long as I was comfortable and in good health. Mind you, ask me again on the eve of my 80th birthday. Even so, I hope we don't all start living to be 120. I'm not sure I'd cope with another 60 years."</i> - Bonnie Tyler<br />
<br />
Today marks 45 years of my riding Earth around the sun. The most recent circuit has been a tough one; for me and my country. At times it felt as though the entire planet was shaking.<br />
<br />
I've no idea what lays ahead for any of us but I am grateful that whatever happens, I am not facing it alone. <br />
<br />
So today on my birthday I want to express to all of my friends that I am thankful that our particular meandering life paths have brought us together and I am glad to be walking with you.Spinster Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07885521019895319562noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3797166485783616212.post-6281298844848088502017-01-31T09:31:00.002-05:002017-01-31T09:31:46.161-05:00Five Hundred and Two<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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de·spair - dəˈsper/ - noun 1. the complete loss or absence of hope.<br />
<br />
"driven to despair, he throws himself under a train"<br />
<br />
synonyms:<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><i>hopelessness, disheartenment, discouragement, desperation, distress, anguish, unhappiness;</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Sometime last week I published my 500th blog post. Normally in a blogger's world this would be a significant event. It means that there were 500 thoughts I felt valuable enough to share with the world. It means well more than 500 hours of my life had been spent writing these posts. It was some time in mid-January that I noticed the number approaching; the count was 497 that day. Oh, I thought, I'll have to do something special to mark it...<br />
<br />
And then January 20th happened.<br />
<br />
Blog posts 500 (<a href="http://www.spinsterjane.com/2017/01/pink.html" target="_blank">Pink</a>) and 501 (<a href="http://www.spinsterjane.com/2017/01/self-care-in-tough-tiimes.html" target="_blank">Self Care in Tough Times</a>) were written and published without noting their numerical significance. It seems like a small thing to go unnoted. It makes sense that with all that has occurred in the United States since Donald Trump's inauguration that something only personally significant to me went uncelebrated. But, it is yet one more sign at how things have changed and of how other things have become more important.<br />
<br />
My concern for my friends, my neighbors, and my community have filled my mind this past week and a half. It was not that I had a conversation with myself about how I shouldn't note this milestone when there are far greater issues before me. No. It was that those issues so occupied my mind that the thought of what to do about my 500th post simply never came back into my mind. <br />
<br />
The truth is that I am deeply afraid. I'm afraid in a way I have not been since I was about 11 years old and found out about the existence of nuclear weapons and the cold war. I would lay awake at night listening to planes flying overhead, wondering if, should a nuclear war begin, I would be able to hear a missile approaching or if I would just vaporize in my sleep, never knowing what had happened. Laying there in the dark I felt powerless. I also felt a deep sense of unfairness, that there were people in the world who had the power to decide the fate of millions. People who did not know me, or my family, or my neighbors. People who could, with the push of a button, condemn the world to death.<br />
<br />
This realization changed my life, it changed me. This inherent wrongness made me want to do whatever I could to bring about a more peaceful world. It was during this time that I wrote my first letter to a politician. I became an activist.<br />
<br />
In the intervening 40 plus years my activism has ebbed and flowed. I have written letters. I have voted. I have boycotted. I have marched. I have organized. I have spoken out. I have crashed and burnt out. I have angrily turned away in frustration. I've fought always the desire to hide, and have, at times found myself wishing that I could go back to ignorance because to not know would be far less painful.<br />
<br />
But however dark times have been I have never truly despaired. At least not deeply or for very long. There has always, always been a reason to have some hope. Whatever awfulness human beings are capable of there have always been people willing to stand up for what is right. Even now, when we face a very real threat to the foundations of what really does make America great, a time when it would be far easier to tap into one of the millions of distractions and turn away, we are choosing not to.<br />
<br />
Today, instead of marking the 501 posts that have come before, I am looking ahead. Today, I am stating that I am not willing to give into despair. I will continue to act, to speak out and to look towards hope. <br />
<br />Spinster Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07885521019895319562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3797166485783616212.post-38305459051875490962017-01-26T07:38:00.000-05:002017-01-26T07:38:27.876-05:00Self Care in Tough Tiimes<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<i>“Caring for myself is not self-indulgence, it is self-preservation, and that is an act of political warfare.” </i>― Audre Lorde<br />
<br />
Self care has <strike>not always</strike> never been a habit that is easy for me to maintain. I could delve into all of the possible reasons why this is the case...but that is a long and depressing list; one that really isn't the point of this post. No, the point of this post is that somehow, over the past week, it has become a easier to make it a priority.<br />
<br />
There is no denying that our country is in a very troubled place right now. Many of us, myself included, are very angry at the actions of the new administration and fearful of what they will do next. Their actions are harming our friends, families and communities in very real ways. We are faced with the decision of what to do about it. Take a stand or hide our heads in the sand and pray it all goes away. <br />
<br />
I have struggled with depression, anxiety and other issues for a number of years. I call these things my monsters and I imagine them living in dark little caves of discontent inside my mind. Even when they retreat into their particular corner of darkness I am always aware that they are there, waiting to emerge again. Unfortunately, right when they emerge, right when I should be stepping up the self care, I more often than not step into a place of "let's pretend this is not happening and it will just go away."<br />
<br />
Maybe it is because this monster is outside my head and thus more concrete, or maybe it is the fact that the actions that have been taken in the past few days are impacting those I care about deeply and I, like many women, so conditioned to being a caretaker, am kicking into Mama Bear mode, or perhaps I remember the extreme burnout and crash I suffered from when I was more actively involved in the peace movement, but I find myself feeling a determination that I've not felt when it comes to facing my own inner struggles.<br />
<br />
More surprisingly what has come a long with that is a recognition of how important it is to take care of myself in order to be ready to do whatever needs to be done. Suddenly getting enough sleep is really, really important. Eating well and making sure I get adequate water is now a priority. I have even made a written list of all the things I can do other than self-medicate and I find myself actually making use of it. <br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>(I know, I know - there is a whole discussion here about why I am not able to do this for myself but I can when it is of benefit to someone else...)</i><br />
<br />
Of course it has barely been a week since this administration stepped into power and I could crash and burn some day down the road, but that would mean that they have won, and that is not something I am willing to let happen. <br />
<br />
What are you doing to keep your head together and your strength up during these times?Joiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11431078463890073934noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3797166485783616212.post-4797865112166175222017-01-22T09:21:00.000-05:002017-01-22T19:07:32.191-05:00Pink<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiofIVTdBpmRxDCaE510fKoheOg9CSyMgWrDKj0n2tcKsriPsCc7gBosD_kyrwvh-uLayhY-3FnYkw4JEDeM9yCsFeHLEKzmktpjY4H_4vBxJ5NItY6HeztODeVJhQDys_E8ix5ZNxiBIA/s1600/IMG_5429.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="85" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiofIVTdBpmRxDCaE510fKoheOg9CSyMgWrDKj0n2tcKsriPsCc7gBosD_kyrwvh-uLayhY-3FnYkw4JEDeM9yCsFeHLEKzmktpjY4H_4vBxJ5NItY6HeztODeVJhQDys_E8ix5ZNxiBIA/s400/IMG_5429.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Women's March - Portland, Maine </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
For much of my life I pretty much avoided any association with the color pink. To me the color pink represented a femininity that I did not want to be a part of. Pink represented passivity and weakness. It was too cute, to soft, too...(yes, I'm going to say it)...it was too girly.<br />
<br />
In 2002 I began to be involved in the peace movement. Leading up to the Iraq war some of the bravest acts of civil disobedience that I witnessed were done by <a href="http://www.codepink.org/">Code Pink</a>, a group of women activists founded by <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Medea_Benjamin">Medea Benjamin</a> who were willing to put their bodies on the line for what they believed. With their hot pink banners, clothing and signs, they were also some of the most visible among a sea of other activists.<br />
<br />
In 2004 I attended the March for Women's Lives in Washington D.C and found myself in a sea of pink; 600,000 or so people with pink shirts, pink signs, pink hats. It was worn by women and men alike, all of whom where there for the purpose of making their voices heard on women's issues.<br />
<br />
My view of pink began to change. <br />
<br />
I began to recognize that for all of my life pink meant someone else was defining for me what it meant to be female. To wear pink, to like pink, meant that I was in agreement with that definition.<br />
<br />
These thousands, upon thousands of women activists who I have witnessed and met did not fit into any predefined mold of what it meant to be a woman. Instead they were defining for themselves what it meant to be a woman, to be female. And what did many of them choose to represent that power to decide for one's self what it means to be a woman? The color pink. <br />
<br />
They claimed it, owned it and turned it into a visual call to arms. <br />
<br />
Yesterday, when I marched with 10,000 other people in my home city of Portland, Maine, pink was once again dominant, on signs, in clothing and the now familiar pink pussy hats. Photos of marches across the world were also dominated by the color and the hat. <br />
<br />
I have seen comments on social media about how pink pussy hats won't change the world. And they are right, on their own neither the hats nor the color changes anything, but the power behind what these things represent does.<br />
<br />
Yesterday that power was out in force around the globe.<br />
<br />
<br />Joiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11431078463890073934noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3797166485783616212.post-46155128850215490482017-01-17T10:44:00.001-05:002017-01-17T10:46:43.904-05:00You have no power over me...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<i>"Through dangers untold. And hardships unnumbered. I have fought my way here to the castle; beyond the goblin city, to take back the child that you have stolen. My will is as strong as yours, and my kingdom as great...you have no power over me..."</i><br />
<br />
- Sarah to the Goblin King, Labyrinth<br />
<br />
<br />
Late last week I experienced what is called a triggering event. I won't be sharing the event here, but I will share that it led to extremes of anxiety and self loathing. Human interaction became extremely difficult because everything in me wanted to shut down and go into hiding. My emotions were very close to the surface and I found myself in that terribly uncomfortable place of crying in public on more than one occasion. I spent much of the weekend self medicating and binging on Netflix. Many of my healthier coping mechanisms went right out the window <br />
<br />
<i>"Hostess. Frito-Lay. Hersheys. Red, red wine. Won't you come join me at my little party of self loathing? Let's sit together and dwell on all of my flaws shall we?"</i><br />
<br />
This of course led to that horrible cycle of self talk in which I berate myself for not dealing with the situation well, which leads to more not so healthy coping mechanisms, and thus more beating myself up over how poorly I am managing this....and...<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>"Welcome friend, you managed to bypass The Wallow and dive head on into The Pit - here's a cozy black hole of despair to hang out it - you aren't likely leaving anytime soon so let's get you nice and comfortable...."</i><br />
<br />
Monday finally rolled around (thank you three day weekend) and I managed to climb my way out of The Pit. I got it together enough to go for a walk. I made sure to hydrate and rest. I wrote in my journal about the event and my response to it. It was there that I wrote how I was so tired of the events of my past continuing to have power over me.<br />
<br />
I paused in my writing. It seemed such a simple revelation. Past events, traumas, hurts, loss - all of these things impact how we relate to the world. Long after the event has passed it continues to have power over us. They events linger in our minds, waiting for some action, or scent, or sound, or whatever to bring them raging back to the surface with all of their caravans of unresolved emotions, snatching us up to be unwilling passengers. But they don't have to...<br />
<br />
I know it is not just a matter of saying it. Unlike Sarah, by uttering the words I won't be instantly whisked away to a land of high self-esteem and solidly healthy coping mechanisms. The next time some monster triggering event comes along it is quite likely my brain will accept its offer of an express ticket to The Pit, but when I come out, as today, I'll still be doing the work. And so there is hope that maybe one of these times I'll recognize the creature for what it is and maybe, finally, I'll look it in the eye...<br />
<br />
"You have no power over me..." <br />
<br />
<br />Joiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11431078463890073934noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3797166485783616212.post-11014173206023820272017-01-08T15:20:00.001-05:002017-01-08T15:26:44.675-05:00Musings on Regret<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<i>"Make the most of your regrets; never smother your sorrow, but tend and cherish it till it comes to have a separate and integral interest. To regret deeply is to live afresh."</i> - Henry David Thoreau<br />
<br />
Before I go any further, I want to ask folks to please refrain from telling me, or anyone else who might express similar feelings, how useless, pointless or irrelevant regret is. Regret may indeed be all or some of those things, but saying such to someone who expresses that this is the emotion that they are feeling is at the least inconsiderate and worse, totally invalidating. And when someone is sharing their pain generally what they need is someone to listen and not give advice - at least not unless it is asked for.<br />
<br />
I am sure that there is some evolutionary psychologist out there who has made the attempt to explain why humans feel regret. They might say it is akin to guilt, that it helps us to figure out those things that take away from our tribe's ability to survive. Regret makes us feel bad because we did something that isn't beneficial or helpful or that furthers the good future of our particular group or family. When you feel bad about something you are less likely to repeat the action. <br />
<br />
Regret, though, can also be about all of the things we never dared, the things we set aside in order to do something that society deemed better or more safe or that we just found made us less afraid. Regret can be so deeply personal, and it is usually fueled by hindsight. Which might be why so many say it is a useless feeling because a big reason why we regret certain decisions is because we now know how the choices we made turned out.<br />
<br />
And if those choices turned out not so great, well the other choice...it must surely have been better.<br />
<br />
We only have a certain number of years allotted to us. The path we choose can take decades to play out and when we realize that perhaps it was not the best choice to have made, we have fewer decades remaining ahead than we have behind us. I am quite sure that more than one midlife crisis has been fueled by such realizations.<br />
<br />
We should have a national holiday for regret, where everyone is allowed to openly grieve for the roads not taken, the loves not pursued, the joys left behind. We would line up and process past an open and empty casket; a wake for all of our unspoken poor choices. Candles would be lit for each forgotten dream and flowers laid at the foot of the statue of an angel who looks over their shoulder weeping with one foot raised ready to step ahead into the future anyway. <br />
<br />
Later, over a feast of food and drink, we'd share the stories of how we thought things might have turned out. We'd admonish all of the children who have been allowed to stay up late to hear the tales to listen to their hearts, to care more, live more, love more. And later, as we make our way to slumber, we'd wonder how many listened.<br />
<br />
I think most of us eventually learn to live with the choices we have made. We learn to carry, as best we can, whatever regret, sadness and grief come our way and keep walking ahead anyway. We learn to enjoy the moments of peace or happiness that we find because we know how fleeting they can be. <br />
<br />
Perhaps that is the lesson in regret, not to learn to not repeat past mistakes, but instead to appreciate and cherish the times when we, despite all of our human flaws, actually get it right.Spinster Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07885521019895319562noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3797166485783616212.post-31091842344117757022017-01-04T08:28:00.000-05:002017-01-04T08:28:19.678-05:00The Doldrums<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span id="goog_2052243241"></span>The Doldrums. <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Doldrums" target="_blank">Wikipedia</a> defines it as, "a colloquial expression derived from historical maritime usage, which refers to those parts of the Atlantic Ocean and the Pacific Ocean affected by the Intertropical Convergence Zone, a low-pressure area around the equator where the prevailing winds are calm. The doldrums are also noted for calm periods when the winds disappear altogether, trapping sail-powered boats for periods of days or weeks."<br />
<br />
It is also my happy place. Well, as happy of a place as I have any way.<br />
<br />
I have been working with my therapist on how to deal with those moments when I find myself in an emotional state that has become overwhelming. Sometimes this is anxiety, but more often than not lately, the past year anyway, it is a deep sadness and profound sense of self loathing. When the spiral down into this state becomes a direct, uncontrollable plummet to <i>the-world-sucks-I-suck-nothing-is-ever-going-to-improve-because-I-am-rotten-unworthy-and-I-deserve-nothing-good-let's-just-dwell-forever-in-the-land-of-Shitsville.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
When, in a recent session, I was asked to close my eyes and imagine a place that made me feel calm. My mind went right to the middle of the Atlantic; specifically the Doldrums (yes, there is some irony here...). It is a part of the sea where the swells and long and low, and the air can be utterly still. There is no land in sight. Just open sky and a massive, infinite expanse of blue water. There is also a sense of surrender, because when you are in this place, you are thousands of miles from anywhere and if something were to happen, you have only the resources at hand to deal with it.<br />
<br />
For someone who has control issues this has the potential to be quite terrifying. But for me, floating along on a ship through the middle of the Atlantic there was also a deep feeling of letting go; a peacefulness that I, one who is ever watchful for the next catastrophe, had not experienced before. I'm not sure I recognized it at the time, but when asked to take my mind to the place that brought me the most peace, something inside of me certainly did.<br />
<br />
I've spent a lot of time in the Doldrums this past week. Taking my mind to that peaceful place on the sea, taking lots of deep breaths, trying, trying, trying to recenter and remind myself that the only thing I have any control over is me. Joiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11431078463890073934noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3797166485783616212.post-41371709087374751412016-12-31T21:19:00.000-05:002016-12-31T21:34:57.899-05:00Happy New Year<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy3HyK9kjSV5oxE-5QYAWzcUnmul_NxhSXlowbENQbBsF9WbJGr2c2R7p69apd_Hm_XTGLT2-k7WY3aDj_PMsDt615ztj_5cVBwqJKxGTtgZLiql8BKK6tl3RN6BP4HXYLsNo6wxTnwEp6/s1600/IMG_5270.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy3HyK9kjSV5oxE-5QYAWzcUnmul_NxhSXlowbENQbBsF9WbJGr2c2R7p69apd_Hm_XTGLT2-k7WY3aDj_PMsDt615ztj_5cVBwqJKxGTtgZLiql8BKK6tl3RN6BP4HXYLsNo6wxTnwEp6/s200/IMG_5270.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A cat and her teddy - because<br />
we all need to have a bit of a smile.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I'm pretty sure that there is nothing I could write here that would do 2016 justice. There are bloggers far more talented than I who stand a much better chance of adequately summarizing the crash and burn roller coaster ride that was 2016. If you were to travel back in time to December 31, 2015 and tell me where we would be on this day a year later...<br />
<br />
...well the truth is I'm not sure how I'd react. I might think you were fucking with me, but there would be a part of me that would want to believe you really did travel back in time to send me a message, and then I'd think about the consequences of what you'd just said...and how if you really did travel back than your prediction might also be true as well. But I'd likely dismiss that as just fantasy because the possibility of that happening was so ludicrous. And I'd go back to believing you were just some weirdo trying to mess with my head.<br />
<br />
And then ten months and eight days later I'd have found out what you said was true. <br />
<br />
I'm not sure my wonder of learning that time travel was real would have been enough to overcome the feelings of despair I faced in early November. My own fear and that of my friends, neighbors and community members was far too present and besides, you Mr. or Ms. time traveler, are now long gone and we remain here, having to live with the outcome. If I thought of you at all, it would probably have been with resentment.<br />
<br />
But maybe at some point I'd have started to wonder why you came back to New Year's Eve 2015, and why, of all people, did you choose to speak to me? Did you do so because I could make a difference? Or maybe something went wrong? I don't know how this time travel thing works. You could have meant to appear at the door of some great hero of might and media who would save us all, but for whatever reason you appeared to me.<br />
<br />
And if it wasn't a mistake, just what the hell was I supposed to do about it? I mean you are from the future - you must have known I'd have dismissed your claims. Was that it? Was I not supposed to figure it out until now? Is there something I'm supposed to do?<br />
<br />
I'd go over ever word you said to me in our encounter for some hint of what my next step was supposed to be. I'd probably bring in a few friends who, though skeptical, love the idea of a puzzle and so help me to figure out the solution. And then...somehow, we'd have a crazy adventure, with many trials and, only after almost losing everything, we'd save the day?<br />
<br />
I'm not sure I'd wish that were the case. I don't know how I would react to such an unfolding of events. To have the burden of saving the world resting squarely on my shoulders. The responsibility of being that sort of hero seems far too overwhelming. <br />
<br />
But here we are, all of us, being called upon to be heroes. Because the fate of the world, or at least those we love, really does rest with all of us. We have to make sure that decency, love, equality, truth, remain something that is still alive in our hearts, our homes and our neighborhoods. <br />
<br />
Together, we need to express our outrage and our fears. We need to stand up to shout and sit to listen. We must hold each other up and provide each other with space for rest. We must make sure our fellow humans are fed, sheltered and warm. We must try to be the people we imagine heroes to be.<br />
<br />
I wish there was a singular hero, someone to come set things right. There is instead just us. Us. And the responsibility isn't any less, though it is, thankfully, shared. Spinster Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07885521019895319562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3797166485783616212.post-29553697874475321272016-12-29T22:44:00.000-05:002016-12-29T22:44:09.439-05:00New Moon<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I did an entire month of blogging daily and then...stopped for nearly a month. <br />
<br />
When I finished that last post in November I felt like I could have written daily for another 30 days. It had become habit, or so I thought. Instead a day, two days, a week tick tokked by without a single blog post. <br />
<br />
I could give you 50 reasons why, okay maybe 10 or 5...<br />
<br />
1. I'm processing a mess of old shit that keeps cycling back into my life. You know that sort of stuff that you know you will likely have to deal with for the rest of your life and the only solace seems to be that it gets just a tiny bit easier to face every time.<br />
<br />
2. Reason number one triggered a <i>deeepressssive episooooode</i> which left me shuffling through mental goo for a solid three weeks. It took me the first two to figure let go of the "Oh, I can manage this. Nothing to see here," attitude and I finally sought help...and YAY, therapy!<br />
<br />
3. It's winter. It's dark by like 4:30 and my brain seems to be on the same cycle as the sun. <br />
<br />
4. I've had a couple of weeks where I've had no real obligations other than the day jobs and feeding the cat. It has been rather nice. The days where I have had a thought about maybe writing a blog post it was quickly followed by the thought, "Well, maybe later today...or not ever."<br />
<br />
5. I'm really, really, really freaking tired. So I've been giving myself permission to stop doing things when I have used up the small amount of energy I seem to have right now. <br />
<br />
Today though I wanted to write. The new moon seemed as good a day as any to start clickety clacking words out again. So here I am. Hello, how are you?<br />
<br />
I suppose you can expect an end of the year post soon. <br />
<br />
<br />Spinster Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07885521019895319562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3797166485783616212.post-37879749633573526602016-11-30T21:03:00.001-05:002016-11-30T21:03:57.682-05:00Day 30: A word...or four<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It is the last day of NaBloPoMo and I'll be using the final prompt of the month for today's post:<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>"Have you chosen a word of the year for yourself for 2017? What is it? If not, what words would you consider?"</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
A couple of years ago I set an intention for the year. I don't recall what it was. I might have done it at the beginning of 2016, but unless I wrote it in my journal (which I'm too lazy to get up and retrieve from its shelf), I don't recall that either. Maybe a word, one simple word, will be easier than a full on intention. <br />
<br />
What words would I consider for 2017? <br />
<br />
Hope comes to mind first. I think we are going to need it. I think we will need to remind ourselves that somewhere ahead of us in this dark tunnel is a light. I think we will need to remember that there is an generation coming up whose values are more progressive and open than any before. We will make progress.<br />
<br />
Work. Work because there is going to be so much of it that must be done. I expect difficult times; that we will need to take a stand over and over and over again. I expect moments of exhaustion, but the work will be done because there really isn't any other option. <br />
<br />
Community. Do I need to explain this one? I can say this for the election results, it has brought people together. I have seen and experienced friends reaching out to each other in concrete ways (you know, beyond the usual social media likes and virtual hugs). I sent of a few dozen holiday cards this week, something I've not done in years, because I wanted to connect in a more real way. We will need to continue to come together, to support one another, and to love one another.<br />
<br />
Finally, I'd pick joy, because even in the toughest of times we need to celebrate the high moments. We need to share cake on birthdays, spontaneous picnics and potluck dinners (yes, my joy often involves food). Even gloomy old me has to smile once in a while. <br />
<br />
Hope. Work. Community. Joy.<br />
<br />
There are my words for 2017. Somehow I think this coming year's words will be more difficult to forget.<br />
<br />Spinster Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07885521019895319562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3797166485783616212.post-91368617052492505932016-11-29T22:49:00.001-05:002016-11-29T23:05:01.443-05:00Day 29: One to go...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Tomorrow will mark the end of this year's NaBloPoMo. Assuming that I write a post tomorrow, it will be the first time I've successfully completed it in the month of November when the rest of the blogosphere is participating. I have usually done it in the month of December when I was on break from school.<br />
<br />
I enjoy blogging. Writing has always been one of my primary tools for processing emotions, change, and significant life events and this month was full of such events. On the upside this made for a lot of available blog fodder and I rarely found myself drawing a blank as to what to write about. In fact I was more likely to have a need to write about something I didn't want to yet share, than I was to have a desire to share and found I had no topic to write about.<br />
<br />
This month my blog contained far more personal emotional expression than it usually does. This was, I think, a good exercise for me because I often tend to keep painful things close - usually out of shame, embarrassment or simply not wanting to seem a bother. But the events of the past several weeks were overwhelming and I actually found myself unable to contain them. I was grateful to have this forum as well as my friends and family as support. <br />
<br />
I discovered too that my writing did not benefit just me. Several people shared their feelings on what I wrote. Through comments, emails and a few face to face conversations, people shared what resonated with them and expressed that my experience helped them in some way. They felt a little more connected, a little less alone.<br />
<br />
I can't really ask for a better compliment than that. Connection and understanding are things we all need and if this blog provides some of that in even a small way it is worth the time and effort I put into it.<br />
<br />
I've one more post to go. Thank you for taking the time to read these posts, for sharing them and commenting on them. Thank you for connecting. <br />
<br />
Peace.Spinster Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07885521019895319562noreply@blogger.com0