Coming back to me

"Come back, come back, come back to me," I silently plead as I cry on all fours, with elbows supporting me so my hands can cover my head.

I am at a workshop called Heart of Grief into Breath. There are others on the floor, sounding, moving, breathing. I am the only one sobbing. And I am grateful for this release.

It started with me flat on my back, hands on my belly, asking not only my hands to feel my gut, but asking my gut to open up to receiving/perceiving/feeling me. Fourteen years ago I lost 2/3 of my intestine. Yes. Two thirds. Although I miraculously digest and eliminate normally, there was a time when nobody was sure if I would. And although what's left of my intestine is doing an amazing job, I've always thought more about what's missing than what's there. So as I imagine what's beneath my hands, beneath the skin, I hear my remaining intestines remind me that they are still here. I recognize that in this visualization and silent dialogue, I'm essentially having a SomatoEmotional Release session with myself. And it's working. As I listen to what my gut says, I acknowledge that sometimes I am too busy thinking about what I've lost to appreciate what I still have.

With this acknowledgment I feel a shift. The imagery is clearer, and I feel my hands being felt, not just my hands doing the feeling. This is progress. So then I move on to my heart, but someone next to me is making a sound that puts me into fight or flight mode. So I flee. I get up and leave the room for a few minutes.

When I return, I get on all fours, but low to the ground, so my forearms and elbows are supporting me. I let my heart and belly hang. Like a sphynx. I place my hand on my head, on my "exit wound"-- where I imagine myself exiting whenever I leave my body. It's a sometimes tender spot on the upper right side of my head. And as soon as I touch it, I begin to cry. And then I begin calling myself back into myself. "Come back, come back, come back to me."

But it's not until I speak out, having a conversation with myself out loud in a partnered exercise a little bit later, that I feel that distant part of myself come back to me. And what that feels like is a sense of alertness and feeling more fully "here." For the past 24 hours or more, I'd mostly felt heavy and tired. Now I felt light, alert, and more fully present than before.

And as I see those words, "come back to me," I'm reminded of how breathing in helps us come back to ourselves. Earlier yesterday we'd been discussing some people's tendency to lose themselves when in relationship. To sacrifice authenticity for communion. One of the workshop leaders suggested using breath to help ourselves come back to ourselves. Inhale into self, exhale and connect with the other. Inhale, coming back to self. Exhale, extending self to other. Inhale, I see myself. Exhale, I see you too. Inhale, checking back in with self. And so on...

© 2010 Rebecca Clio Gould. All rights reserved.

How to Have Fun

He asked me what I wanted to learn, what I wanted him to teach me. I said I don't know. But as I sat with the question, one word kept coming to mind: fun.

A couple nights later I tell him this as we start our dance. He insists I already know how to have fun. What does he know? I start to insist that I don't, but then he twirls me around. And I smile. I open up to the possibility that I do know how to have fun, that I don't need to be taught this. I consider that it's more a matter of my self-perception. My attitude. A feeling, or lack of feeling. So it may appear to others that I not only know how to have fun but also have a lot of fun, but sometimes I'm not fully allowing myself the freedom to fully enjoy my freedom to fully enjoy. Does that make sense?

As the dance continues, I ask for suggestions of something else to learn, and he suggests exploring more ways to love myself. And that really is just what I need. I'm pretty good at lovin' myself up, to some extent. Now it's time to go deeper. Now it's time to go higher. People always say you can't love others unless you love yourself. Not sure I agree. Sometimes I agree, but sometimes, like tonight, I don't. Sometimes I need the golden rule in reverse: do to myself as I would do to others-- love, accept, encourage, etc. Yes. That sounds right. What would I say to a friend or client or student who felt he or she needed to learn how to have fun? Surely something about releasing fears and shame, being worthy and deserving of fun and all the richness that life has to offer. Surely something about self-love.

I'd also ask, "what is fun? What do you enjoy?" And suddenly, in this moment, as I ask myself those questions, I realize something. Something about semantics. Fun vs. Enjoyment. Although there's plenty that I enjoy doing alone (and enjoy plenty of alone time), it's the sharing of experiences with someone, or somepeople, that makes something really "fun." So I guess the word "fun," for me, implies something about a shared experience. The "fun" that I have when I'm alone, I don't usually refer to it as "fun." Hmmmm.... I wonder if realizing all this will shift something in me, if I'll feel that quality of "fun" even when alone. I certainly can see that happening. Actually, I've seen it, experienced it, in the past. And it does have something to do with self-love. So exploring more ways to love myself most likely will teach me something about fun. Perhaps it just did.

And so goes the dance...

© 2010 Rebecca Clio Gould. All rights reserved.

Deciding Not to Go

Seems I’m getting better at making decisions these days, getting better at not just hearing that initial voice, but listening to it. Trusting it. Learning what it feels like to just know what’s best without a whole lot of second guessing.

Last night I decided not to go to a party, and not to go to dance either. I felt I had to be with my parents. I didn’t know why. But I knew I had to go to their house for dinner. Oh, and Reiki. After spending the past couple of mornings by my friend’s bedside in the hospital, I was feeling the need to receive some healing touch myself, so I enlisted my mom.

The phone call came towards the end of dinner. My mom came back to the table with teary eyes and said that her dad had just passed away. I was a bit shocked. After all, I had just made that big decision to go see him, to hop on a plane on Monday. But I was also feeling grateful. Grateful that I had listened to my gut about being at my parents’ house that night. Grateful that I had decided to go to Florida, even though now it was too late….

And last night I felt really clear that I wouldn’t be getting on that plane on Monday. I felt it was best for me to stay home now. To be with my mom since she can’t leave town and go to the funeral. To be here for me too. It just felt like the best thing to do. I knew that I had to stay, just as strongly as I had known that I needed to go.

This morning I woke up with some questioning, but it didn’t last long. As soon as I heard myself talking to my aunt and then my friend about it, I realized that there was no need to think it over any longer. I knew. I know. So I’ve decided not to go.


© 2010 Rebecca Clio Gould. All rights reserved.

Deciding to Go

Last weekend my grandfather went into hospice. When I heard the news, I knew I had to go see him. So I called my grandmother to check in with her. She advised me not to go.
“I hate to tell you not to come, Becky. I really do. Because I love you, and I would love to see you, but it’s not a good time. Wait until things get better.”
But as she told me a little bit about how my grandfather was doing, I realized it wasn’t going to get better, and so I called her on that.
“You’re telling me to wait for a better time to come, but--”
“I think the time has passed,” she said.
“Well then, I want to come now,” I said.
“I really think you’ll be upset when you see him. I really think it’s better for you to remember him as he was, Becky.”
I told her I’d sit with that, that maybe she was right. Perhaps there was some wisdom in her words. After all, in that same phone call she did spout of plenty of positive words of wisdom, encouraging me to live life to the fullest, that now is the time to go out there and do things, to take risks. She encouraged me to leave Anacortes, to live in Seattle, to focus on my writing. So for the next few days I sat with her words. I questioned my impulse to visit.
Did I really need to go? Why go? Out of guilt? No. Out of obligation? No. But it took me a few days to remember the clarity of that original need to go, when I had first heard the news. And what was fueling that desire, that crystal clear “I’ve gotta go,” was love. As I remembered this I also remembered the importance of making decisions that are love-based, rather than fear-based.
The only reasons for not going to visit my grandfather were fear based: should I really cancel my clients and classes? How will that affect my clients and students? What if it is more upsetting than I can imagine? What if I am better off remembering him as he was, and not seeing him how he is now? (but I still will remember him as he was, and I’m already imagining him as he is now, so what’s the difference? ) What if I don’t like staying with my aunt and uncle? What if the negativity and stress of my relatives affects me negatively? Is this going to be draining for me? Etcetera, etcetera, bullshit. What a bunch of fear-based bullshit.
What matters most is love. As I drove down from Anacortes to Seattle yesterday, I realized that there was no need to sit with this question any longer. It was time to do what I knew was right. No more worrying about what my clients or students would think or feel about me canceling on them. No more worrying about if going would actually be bad for me. As soon as I got to Seattle, I would buy my ticket and cancel all my appointments and classes for the next week or two. And so that’s exactly what I did. And what a relief it is to embrace this freedom I have to leave for a week of two, rather than feel enslaved. Oooooh, just might have to write about this whole freedom/enslavement thing in more depth some time.....But for now, this is all.

© 2010 Rebecca Clio Gould. All rights reserved.

So Hard to Ask

The Note I posted on Facebook this morning:

It's always been hard for me to ask for help. It's actually easier for me to ask for help with things like emotional support, processing, bodywork, etc, than things like moving furniture, hanging a mirror or painting on the wall, putting together an outfit, etc. Silly. But true. And last week I was faced with confronting this challenge. I needed help moving furniture, and I couldn't put it off any longer. [Gulp.] May not sound like a big deal to you, but it was a big deal for me, both the asking and the receiving..... I didn't grow up with parents who asked friends or community for help, so I didn't have that as a model. I'm also seeing now that there are issues of control/fear and self-worth that make asking for help a challenge.

So when I sent out an email to a dozen guys in Seattle the other day, asking if anyone could help move a bed for me, that was really hard for me. Sending out an email to new and old friends and acquaintances, and even to exes, was less scary than calling or emailing just a few directly, but it was still scary. So thanks to all of you who were on that email list, even if only as a sort of buffer! ;)

Now, why was it so scary? In addition to what I mentioned above: Not wanting to inconvenience anyone. Not wanting anyone to get hurt while helping me. And afraid of NOT getting the help I was asking for-- perhaps that was the scariest of all.

But within just a few minutes of sending that email, my phone rang. Heronemo, who I had just met last weekend, was ready and eager to help. And then an email from Kerry came in a few minutes later. And then Adrian, and Scott, and Dave, and Bruce. And John Blunt, who I had just met briefly a couple of months ago, offering his van?! Wow! I felt so relieved. Loved. Supported. Trusting. Relieved. Yes, relief came up a lot. And gratitude.

So much gratitude both for the actual physical help, and also for what this was teaching me and how it was helping me grow. I also received some feedback that my email and how it all unfolded was useful and healing not just to me but for others. What a gift. That email went out on Wednesday. Heronemo and Kerry used John's van on Friday to move the bed. And although it started off "so hard" it was actually all "so easy." So thank you, thank you, thank you. I am happy to have a bed in my new place, not just to sleep in, but also to serve as a reminder of friends and community and that it's more than ok to ask for help.


© 2010 Rebecca Clio Gould. All rights reserved.