I’m a Believer!

Im Free to be Perfectly Balanced

I'm Free to be Perfectly Balanced

Today I am absolutely convinced of the power of intention.  I am finding my comfy spot in what has been, up to this point, a love-hate relationship with it.  I love that I spent December 31st setting intentions for 2009 and that when I reviewed that list on January 31st a significant portion, 9 of 39 actually, of those intentions have already manifested.  I hate that this means that I have wasted a lot of time believing that the outcome of my life was up to someone else.  And I hate that it means that a lot of the mess in my life has been self-induced because I didn’t know any better.  Meh. Water under the bridge — now I know, and it’s on!

In class Sunday (at Institute for Integrative Nutrition, where I’m studying to be a holistic health counselor) we were asked to write down some intentions for the next week.  I set the intention to let go of a relationship that’s standing in the way of another intention — to have the relationship I want.  I specifically set Friday as my target date to have this completed.  Wouldn’t you know that on the bus from NY last night I couldn’t shake the urgency to go ahead and end it.  The email composed itself in my head as the tears streamed down my face.  The knot in my stomach grew tighter and tighter and served as my reminder of how much energy I was sending into this wasteland.  The tears were cleansing — a loss is a loss — but were also mixed with a bit of fear.  I worried that I’d have to lose the entire friendship and not just the part that’s standing in the way of my future. Well, it’s Monday and by 9:00 this morning it was all done.  Finished. Over.  And the friendship remains in tact. Upon re-reading the specific intention I wrote down – it says, “Release “Guy” – while hopefully maintaining the friendship.”  So which would you say was more real, more powerful?  My fear of losing the friendship or the intention to keep it?  This grows curiouser and curiouser and I’m having fun with it all.

And that’s just one example–there are so many more here as I flip through my journal.  Get clear on what you want in life and the Universe delivers.  I can’t tell you how many times I’ve seen this work in my life in the past few months alone — and, if I’m honest, I can see how it worked when I was clear about how miserable my life was as well.  What you give your energy to grows — I’m such a believer!

So my energy is going toward creating the life I want.  It’s happening so fast it’s a little mind boggling.  The number of like-minded people who have come into my world is astounding.  They don’t come close to outnumbering the one’s who think I’m weird — but they definitely out-shine them.  There will always be those who think Lex is off her rocker.  They’ve always been around.  The only difference is that now they don’t affect me — not one single bit.  In fact, they amuse me.  Through it all I dare them, just dare them to try it.  Put more energy into your happiness than you do into your misery and see what happens!

Ah.  Loving life at the moment, Folks.  Loving it immensely.

Im free to do what I want any old time
Im free to do what I want any old time
So love me hold me love me hold me
Im free any old time to get what I want

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From My Journal…

I decided to go back and start reading my old journals. I picked up the first one I got to and this is the first entry. I thought I’d share it. It’s nice to see that I have evolved. Sure many of the things I address here are still works in progress, but I am not the same person entirely who wrote these words. Here’s a peek in to my most intimate world, my journal…

13 April 2006

Today and all this week I have been struggling against an anxiety I’m not sure I can explain. I’m not exactly certain what it is connected to — but I know I have avoided this process– my process–journaling–for working these things out.

On the pages of my journals I am forced to see myself — to hear myself in a way that has proven far superior to the muffled meandering thoughts clamoring about inside of me. Getting them out of me helps — and has helped — yet, I’ve avoided it. I’ve been afraid to see.

Part of it is self-censorship. I am afraid of my journals being subpoenaed by ******’s attorney potentially should we ever seem to make it to court. This fear has held me captive. I’ve been blogging a few thoughts — but on my blog I write for an audience. My journal is for an audience of one –and often I have an invited guest with whom I share my thoughts upon these pages. I’m feeling like I’m doing something detrimental to myself by censoring what has proven so therapeutic and what has gotten me to this point in my healing and personal growth.

Yesterday I had unquestionably one of the best days I’ve had in a long time. The sun was shining. I was in a great mood. I had even decided to lay aside some of my cynicism concerning marriage — realizing that it has never protected me before and it won’t protect me now (from going back) or in the future (from making the same miserable mistake of marrying a jerk). I was at least open again to the possibility (no matter how remote) that perhaps, one day I might marry again. I felt good. It was a good day.

Today started out well, I went to a WOCN meeting and in a room of 6 black women I felt somewhat insignificant and fat. They were both horrible feelings. I felt like I didn’t measure up somehow, like the world didn’t love me and yet, I sat in it. I noticed that I didn’t become chatty and try to prove myself or overpower the conversation. I contributed at times and asked more questions than anything. It was different for me.

I felt like I usually do around black women — like my hair was wrong, my clothes were wrong, my stance on certain issues was wrong. I felt like I was on the fringes, like I didn’t fit. It was a familiar feeling.

And yet, on the way home I was – or back to work, rather — I was listening to Michael Baisden’s show about Stolen Innocence: Rape and Molestation. I listened to 2 stores of child sexual abuse from black women and connected deeply. I knew their story and their pain. I fit. I fit too much. It ached and I didn’t want to listen anymore.

I’m tired of being able to connect with women because of my pain. I hate that being a victim of child sexual abuse is what I most often feel I have in common with other black women. This hurts — I didn’t know this is what I’d be writing about.

I feel like my interests are not always appreciated or understood and like I just don’t fit. What DOES it mean to be a black woman in 2006 and is that even how I want or need to be identified?

What is this I’m going through with my hair? Do I really want to be natural or do I just think I should want to be? I never realized how confused I was about my identity as a black woman —

–and then, I shouldn’t be surprised when I’m in the process of trying to unearth identity from beneath the rubble of victimization.

I feel the limbo. I feel the tension, the longing, waiting to see who shall emerge from these ashes.

I long for eyes to see — even if only in small glimpse — who I am, what makes me unique. I’d love to know what others see — not to puff me up. I don’t want to be lied to anymore. I want to know what/who people see when they see me. I long to know my NAME!!!

I went to an interpreting class today and I didn’t get a chance to interpret. I was disappointed. I wanted to be seen. I wanted the affirmation. That’s probably not good. Or is it? I don’t know.

I got an email from ***** today that said just that he was in a meeting and thinking about me. I felt like a million bucks. Is there a day and a time when we are completely convinced of our worth? Does our level of persuasion increase with time?

I believe some good things about myself and that some of the things others have said are true –but I wonder about me sometimes. Things like — why do I read my blog posts over and over again? I am enamored, it seems, of my own voice. Is that narcissistic or am I relishing in the novelty of hearing my own voice? I like to hear my voice in my writing. It somehow makes me seem more real to myself. I become somehow when I hear my own words, my own voice.

I guess in many ways I have been voiceless for a long time. I was without a voice with regard to what I wanted out of life — where my life was going. In my marriage I was doing what ****** wanted — i.e., the church. I would have packed that shit up a long time ago. I was there. I spoke. I believe echoes of my voice came through as I spoke, but I felt stifled — confined. I couldn’t really say what was screaming in my soul. Now I can and I’ve been quite reckless at times, I think. I’ve been really angry — but I’m glad about that. No one really let me be angry about my marriage. God! I kept so much inside. It’s a wonder I’m not ill.

I had not my own voice — but an expected voice in the family. I had a role I was supposed to play and a script to go with it. I was supposed to be obnoxious and cynical to make people laugh. I was supposed to pretend to say what everyone else was thinking — only what we were pretending to think. What a farce. To even feign the unspoken. Wow, truth doubly suppressed.

It’s my new instrument, my voice. I’m enjoying playing with it, tuning it, seeing all it can do. I’m enjoying the feedback. It’s been good for me. Healing. Refreshing.

I like having people respond to me — to Lexi, as she is, where she is at the moment. I want courage to be even freer and not to hold back and self edit as much as I do. I want to say what I really want to say much more often than I have.

I feel the tension leaving my body with every stroke of my pen. I am relaxing. I’m less anxious. I’m writing. It’s healing –it’s me. I’ve never thought of myself as a writer. I guess I never thought I was any good. But which matters most? To be good or to be heard?

Why does it matter that I’m not the best writer ever? I just want my voice to be heard. I don’t need to be the best writer, I am the best instrument to sound my song. No one can play my tune but me. I have a song, it’s mine. It’s mine to sing.

This may prove to be quite a worthwhile exercise after all.

…as long as you don’t answer yourself

I blog because I need to write.  I don’t  claim to be a particularly skilled writer, I just know that written words are the best way for me to see, hear, process what I’m thinking.  Many times, as with the previous post, I’m surprised by what comes out of me when I write.  The pages, these pages serve as a mirror to my Soul. 

I have been feeling drawn to go back and read my old journals from the period in my life when I was gaining strength to take a good look at myself and get honest and naked with myself for the first time.  This is also the period that led to my decision to leave my marriage and to begin this process of re-thinking who I am, what I believe and why I believe I am here.  I am afraid to go back and read these journals.  It wasn’t until two nights ago that I could really articulate why. 

At the risk of sounding like a freak, I journal in two voices.  One is my conscious voice to whomever (God, ex, family, friends) and the other voice speaks to my conscious self in the second person.  So, yeah, I write to myself.  I have always believed that these passages are God’s way of breaking through the distractions and speaking directly to me in black and white so that I can get it.  While those passages have always been deeply comforting and empowering to me, I’ve doubted them often.  “God wouldn’t say that,” I often tell myself.  I judge what I have written and struggle to make the words fit into the box I’d built around the concept I had of God at the time. 

Along this journey I have gotten to know a God who isn’t confined by a box and certainly not by a Bible.  I believe he resides in me and in you and in every created thing.  I still believe this is the voice that speaks to me as a write “to myself”.  I am afraid, though, that I’ll go back and read what I’ve written in the past and feel like something (then or now) is wrong.  I am afraid I will have to choose between that voice and the voice the comforts me today.  I am afraid to see where I was with the distance I have now and I’m not sure why.

(Big parentheses around this whole paragraph…

I really feel a merge of my blogs coming as I write this.  I haven’t said very much here or on Unpacking Faith lately about where this spiritual journey is taking me.  I plan to write about it more, and I will probably just do it here.  I can’t realistically separate myself into 3 divergent paths; after all, they really are one.  It’s almost like I inadvertently created a mind blog (this one), a body blog (Fine Tuning) and a spirit blog (Unpacking Faith).  God forbid I separate my mind from the other two!   

 …close parentheses).

So, I’m not sure why I am afraid to see where I was or who I was then.  I’m not sure what it will make me feel.  I know that it’s obviously something I need to do because the urge is so unrelenting.  I’m going to try to post after I read through them.  It may be stream of consciousness…wouldn’t that be fun!  At the very least, I’m sure it will remind me of parts of my story I’ve yet to tell. 

I’m not sure if You Know Who You Are still reads this, but if you do (and I know I still owe you an email response) I would love to hear you chime in on this one.   

Namaste!