Howl Loud about changing not very nice stories!

Here’s what I have been thinking about lately: stories that speak of inhumanity, that whisper actions of humiliation and fling wide blankets of shame.

Not very nice stories.

And my heart feels them down deep. I have wanted to howl loud all weekend.

But I have not. I remain, well, still. Quiet. Enraged within. Holding it down.
Because damn it, that’s where stories like these are “supposed” to stay. Stuffed.

The story in my narrative closet goes something like this:

• “You always take these things too seriously. Just…let it go.” 
• “Stewing about this is hurting you more than anything. Why are you doing this to yourself?” 
• “With all the good that’s happening in your life, you’re going to focus on this? Don’t bring anyone else down.”

“Talk about the good stuff: Shiloh Sophia McLoud, The Narrative Closet and your Relationship Re-Ignition Program.”

“Just…don’t be so intense about all that other goop.”

Wait. Rewind. “…about all that other shit” - because that’s what it was. Crap.

Dear Heart-Women, I haven’t howled. The very word I use to describe the Bad Ass Feminine Truth Telling work I do, I have not done. I got wrapped back-up in an old story.

I need to get naked. 

To ready the lap of story telling we will be doing this Thursday March 27th at Noon PST with Shiloh Sophia McLoud, the woman who embodies the expansive permission of the feminine heart, I will ROAR!  

Narrative Closet Step One: See the closet of stories.
NC Step Two: Identify the stories hanging there.
NC Step Three: Try them on and see how they fit.

I do not like how these “stuff the anger stories” fit, so I am redesigning a new one.

NC Step Four: Take them off, let them sit and get naked.  HOOOWWWLLL!

My naked heart hurts and is angry. So. Damn. Mad.

I met my now 24 year old nephew standing next to my sister after an interminable wait at the Portland International Airport so many years ago. He was a tiny baby carried in the arms of the last airline attendant coming off the plane that brought him from Japan to the loving open arms of my sis.

24 years later I now saw him sitting behind a glass window waiting…

My valuable, sweet, quiet nephew is a drug addict. He is in prison because he broke the law. That is not the source of my rage. The story that plagues me is not “follow the law” or, “if you break it you pay”.  I understand he earned his consequences.

The story gnawing at my gut is the one that seems to decorate the underside of our collective narrative closet that says “When you blow it, you are broken and will be treated as such.”

This was our first time to see him since he was transferred to a state prison. We had waited 3 months to be cleared and given the okay. From December to March my nephew had no visitors. Not one. We were all waiting to get clearance.

Finally it came. My sister made plans to come from her home in Colorado and even amidst the conflicting information on the website and the unanswered emails and phone messages…she managed to make two appointments for us to see him.

Neither of the appointments she made worked. Three times they changed when we could see him. Finally we got a meeting. Noon. We had been there since early morning. Filled with anticipation and nerves, we went through the heavy metal door as the lock clicked open, taking off shoes, belts and anything else that might buzz. I walked through the metal detector.

BZZZZZZZZZZZ. My sisters’ head flew up. I looked over at the officer. “What can it be? I have nothing left to buzz.”

He then asks the question that stole 40 precious minutes of time, two bras and some deep seated belief that in the end, all humans are valuable and we all believe that.

“Are you wearing an underwire bra?” Yes. We both were.

“Nope. You can’t go in there with one on.” Prepared to strip then and there, the female officer stepped over and loudly gave instructions. “Go to the bathroom and remove the wires. You may not go in without wearing undergarments. Go.”
We ran to the bathroom, threw off our clothes and with a ball point pen struggled, pulled, bent and tried to no avail. These things were not budging.

“What about the truck…is there something in the truck we could use to cut them open?” I asked. So we ran. Half dressed. Across the parking lot. A man we’d seen inside with his wife was walking back to his car when he saw us. “That happened to my wife last weekend”, he said. “Now I had one too many keys on my ring.”

And the clock ticks. In our minds eye we see my nephew, my sisters’ child, waiting…wondering where we are...

We find a box cutter and rip, cut, tear at the fabric. My sister cuts her finger. We laugh almost hysterically. Our hands are shaking so hard I think we are going to seriously injure ourselves or the upholstery.

Finally pulling the wires out, we stand naked by the truck doors desperately trying to get back into broken bras. We run back to the security check. Tick-Tock. Tick-Tock. Sign the agreement voucher. Tick-Tock. Run to the next security check. Tick-Tock. Pass to the next check-in where we see him. In orange. Behind the glass. Waiting.

He sees us. We see him and I think my sister is going to knock down everyone in line ahead of us to get to her boy. But she doesn’t. We behave. We stay quiet. We wait again. This time the guard had to rearrange a table. It took another 3 minutes. I know. I was counting.

Finally. Finally. Friggin Finally we got to go to him. For 20 minutes.

Fire-Wisdom Women - my belly burns with rage for how we practice the story that worth is determined by performance.

My anger is for the mothers and fathers, grandmothers and aunties that waited for hours, walked back and forth to their cars to once again become “right” to go in and see their loved ones. Some never did get in. They left in shame and tears.

I howl for all of them – and for us – for We Can Change Our Stories!

There are no perfect mothers or fathers. Nor are there faultless children. We are in motion, works of art in progress!

I want to write new stories, design tapestries that speak of value, worth & love. Tell stories that BOLDLY affirm the human potential to emerge from pain, abuse and a plot line telling us that unless we are perfect we are nothing, to owning our naked, burning essences of unique beauty that IS within Every. Single. One. Of. Us.

Oh Ya! Uh-huh. That IS right.

I want this for you, lovely, in your life and heart. 

I want this for our communities, so we hold one another up to those stories as we reach for our stars and grasp our abundance!

I want this for all who feel small, demeaned and worthless and for each one of us who have been there.

I want new stories that dazzle! Come along with me and let’s make it so!

Start this Thursday, March 27 at Noon PST. Go here for all the deets! I know you will LOVE the lap of Shiloh Sophia McLoud!

Howl-&-Roar!

Dear Multi-Tasking Wonder Woman!

When was the last time you ROARED? I mean, really let it out; opened up your voice-box, breathed into your diaphragm, clenched the buttocks and let all that is held-in, out? When was the last time you roared without apology, with no explanation or reasons?

Click here to HOWL with a bunch of brilliant women and hang on for a Wild ride!

Dear Beauty-Heart, do you howl much?

I first learned how to roar from the guts of my pain-point when I was a young, naive and idealistic woman living and working in Washington D.C.

Personally, I was lonely. I desperately wanted a lover, an intimate friend who would share dreams while planning how we were going to save the world. I worried it would never happen; that he didn't exist and I would live alone forever without the future I had imagined. I was hungry for physical touch and regularly berated myself, appearance and body that there must be something wrong with me.

Professionally, the pain came from the day-in-and-day-out recognition of an f'd-up system that snagged  people in its net of low expectations. As a Special Assistant to the Secretary of Housing and Urban Development I had a daily lesson in “how to make people feel like shit and make it stick”.

It was my supervisor who taught me how to a) feel the pain and b) let it out.
He would do it in his car on the way home. Scream at the top of his lungs until he was hoarse.

This howling tool was new to me then. I had grown up learning that pain and any anger associated with it, was best served cold, silent and swallowed.  A good loud howl was out of the question.

In my 48 years of gained wisdom I look back on my young twenty-something self to say, “You have sacred permission to go ahead and ROAR! Be honest about your pain. Take off whatever neatly covers it up and expose it!”

Go ahead dear one! Give it a go. ROAR!

• Roar from the hurt in your heart; from the place of the dormant dreams that still haunt your desires. 
• Howl from the cold blanket of terror that wraps around you whenever you think of your kids leaving the house and you alone with your husband. 
• Cry-out from the depths of guilt that rides up onto your chest asking if you made a mistake all those years ago.  
• Release the familiar frustration of wanting physical touch and fiery desire that you had when you were single and is even more intense now. 

Let it out. Howl Loud! 

Click Here for a good HOWL each week beginning Next Thursday, March 20th for a FREE Teleseminar with Bad Ass Howling Women! 

What is it that you can expose, uncover and let out into the universe for sacred reception?

When you howl, you liberate the anger, frustration and guilt crowding your insides and allow the gentle breath of nature to caress and transmute them into another life.

At the same time, you expand the space inside of YOU that can be filled with new ideas, beliefs and ways to speak to and heal your hurts.

You ALREADY hold all the dynamic, naked power you need to step toward freedom from pain. You begin by making space and taking off all the crud and crap that hides it!

And this my gorgeous, sparkling divine goddess, YOU CAN DO! Starting with a Raucous Roar with Other Rambunctious Women Tomorrow!

Let's HOWL TOGETHER! 

Tomorrow – Thursday, March 13th – at 12:00pm PST (3:00 EST)

Get Your Roar On! 

• Wherever you are...
• Whatever you are doing...in a meeting, at your desk, transporting kids, in yoga  or on a run...
• HOWL LOUD! 

What form it takes is entirely up to you. Whether an audible cry, a written scribble or silent tears...choose to make it Your Time to Howl and Release!

• Consider where your heart is hurting. 
• What is the source of your anger and short-temper?  
• For what are you longing and why does it seem out of reach? 
• Jot down some notes. Journal. Enter prompting words in your tablet. This is YOUR time to release!

Get out those nifty tech devices and schedule it AND every Thursday through May 8th for an hour of Amazing Women Howling Loud & Getting Naked! Oh ya, you do NOT want to miss this! 

• It's FREE
• It's Your Visionary Women Talking to YOU 
• It has a road-map to heal the wounds of your heart! 
• It ALL STARTS next week with Tori Hartman! Roar with us about all the stories, expectations and crud that gets in your way of LOVING! 

RSVP here for ALL the Juicy, Loud, Bold Goodies! 

Invite your Gorgeous Goddess Circle and be part of “The Narrative Closet - Howl-&-Roar!”

In Fiery-Raised Voice!
AmyJo

Let's DO the Shimmy-Shrug!

I discovered something this week. I wonder if you have ever had this happen? Feel HIT between the eyes by a totally Ka-Zam discovery?!

I realized that an old story I have wanted to change out of my life - one I had long known needed to go but that held on with doggish zeal - (I'm talking slobber, growl and the whole enchilada drooling down and around my life) - was something I CREATED!

Yup. Turns out its my spiritual teeth that have refused to release and my growl that warned me “Don't take me off or give me up because you need me...come on now, what would you do without me?”

Urgh. Enough growling and drooling. Time to HOWL!

Here's the deal. Growing up, I had a messed up relationship with the green-back. My dad was an educated professional who worked constantly. As a pastor he was part of the “Service Professionals” that, after living and working as a pastor myself and oh ya, being married to one, I have officially renamed “The Servant-Professionals.”

But I digress. The long and short of it meant that I grew up with a shortage of dinero around the house and money, or lack thereof, was the source of arguments, anxiety and shame. Wrap all of that up in a divinely ordained package of “We are rich in Christ and that's why you wear hand-me-downs” and I had some pretty nasty money demons living in my closet.

From a variety of people, places and practices I learned the story that:
a) I was not intended to have money
b) Jesus wanted me to serve the poor
c) Wealth took me away from God
d) My duty was to live with less and...on and on.

In my closet of narratives, I would say this story was my “Money Ensemble”; a variety of separate pieces that all together created one big, hairy deal of a smack-down story that told me “I needed to not have money.”

And I learned the story well. Memorized it. Acted it out and MADE IT REAL.

Did you get that Gorgeous Goddess? I...me...thee...this one here...made it my reality.

I somehow believed, where those kind of way-deep-down-gotta-go-digging-for-them beliefs reside, that I needed to not have money.

True, the story was given to me from a variety of sources, and, as a kid it was not my responsibility or ability to stop it. But let's be honest – I am not a kid anymore (well, at least not in mind!) and the past is well, the past. The freedom question is: What do I want now and for my future?

Yes Please! New stories will do nicely!

What an AWESOME discovery! Freedom is at my door knocking – nea - HOWLING for me to OPEN it! And open it I will. Creak, pull and fling wide the door to my Narrative Closet, that subconscious space where I keep these sorts of  ideas and beliefs - and - where I can CLEAN UP!

And there-in lies the KEY!

When we SEE the story...
Recognize it in OUR narrative closet...

Swish-Boom-Bam! YOU have the POWER. 

And THAT is what HIT me over the head this week. I saw a new story in my narrative closet that I hadn't looked at before. Oh, I am no stranger to the wardrobe of money stories I hold. Over the last 5 years I have done a kick-ass job of clearing many of them out and redesigning others so they fit my gorgeous curves.

Yet this week I discovered an accessory to the overall ensemble that has been so subtle, so sly, I hadn't been able to suss it out from the whole. Here it is again: I need to not have money.

Doin' the naked shimmy-shrug! Time to release!

My new mantra: I release my need to not have money.

Put another way: I am grabbing hold of this old, damaging, too-small-for-me story and getting it out of my closet!

Knowing what it looks and feels like (yuck) is the key to getting and keeping it off! When that happens and I feel the old story creeping onto my shoulders it's time to DO THE SHIMMY-SHRUG!

Yup, Wild, Succulent Women it IS true! Moving your body, dancing to the earthy beat of your naked nature is what will Get the Old Stories OFF!

Lovely, Wild Woman - What story do you need to release this week? Which one hides from view while tenaciously biting into your spirit and soul?

Clear out that Clutter! 

And do it with a gorgeous gathering of Goddesses! Join me and seven simply sumptuous women each week  beginning Thursday, March 20th - Noon-1pm PST.

"The Narrative Closet" is a FREE Teleseminar where Tori Hartman, Amy Ahlers, Shiloh Sophia McLoud, Sam Bennett, Christine Kloser, Christine Arylo OH MY!!! AND Susan Ariel Rainbow Kennedy will open the doors of their personal Narrative Closet to share how they've cleared it out and which stories they struggle to keep off!

Click here to RSVP! 

These are hot, spicy women! Don't miss it! Pass it on - grab-a-Goddess and listen! 

Together we will all DO THE SHIMMY-SHRUG! 

Come Out of Your Closet!

Happy Birthday to Me! 

Today is my - Oh yes, uh-huh-got-that-right-48th Birthday! And it got me thinking. What really is the True day of my birth? Which day or moment in my life could that be exactly? 

•  Is it when I learned how to read and everything around me exploded into new dimensions, colors and yet unknown adventures?
• Was it when my body opened-up to totally new desires that sent tingles of electricity careening down my body, heating up my face and thighs?
• Is my birthday when I linked my destiny with that of another to whom I offered my body, heart, spirit and mind?
• Is the real day of my birth when I courageously chose to look at the stories I keep hanging in my Narrative Closet and asked “Do these still fit?”

Dear Sistah-Goddess – what about YOU? What is the real day of your Birth? 

It's easy to celebrate and honor the day we physically left the safe cocoon of our mama's belly. Easy because we were yet uncomplicated and so very genuinely, gorgeously naked. In the truest sense of the word, we were innocent. 

I think we have a misplaced loyalty to innocence. The language of purity gets laid like a blanket over and around us while not far away are the clothes of guilt, shame, sin, contamination and pollution. 

We idealize the state of pure simplicity and use it as a tool to judge and assess. As if once we've left the perfection of infant innocence we are forever struggling to get it back. The sick joke is that in the design of this story, we never can. 

Yuck. How very heavy and burdensome. Good thing it's a lie. Yup. 

As tiny babies we were in fact completely tuned-in to meeting the demands of our self-worth that we naturally claimed, owned and let flow! Yowza!

We howled when hungry, screeched when angry, cooed when content and giggled when tickled. We shit when it was time and spit up when necessary. All of it without apology because instinctively we knew we were worth receiving it. Delicious!

There were no questions of earned worth or measurements of goodness. The TRUE INNOCENCE was in our beautifully-unfettered nakedness; we were yet to be clothed with the stories of “how to be good” or “what it means to be a girl” or “this is the way you should look.”

Since then, your perfect naked self-love got dressed up, covered-over and burdened with stories that have told you what to believe and gave you measuring devices to determine how you – and others – are doing. Ick.

Time to get them OFF. Get Naked. Return to Your original birthday suit and HOWL for Your desires! 

She-Goddesses! This is a CALL to Come Out of Your Narrative Closets and leave the perceived safety of the old stories behind. 

On Thursday, March 20 @ Noon-1pm PST- and every Thursday until May 1- brilliant women will be up to doing just that! 

Each week, for one gloriously spicy hour, Amy Ahlers, Tori Hartman, Susan Ariel Rainbow Kennedy, Sam Bennet, Shiloh Sophia McLoud and more will open the doors of their personal Narrative Closets so YOU can be empowered to open yours!

You do not want to miss this FREE Teleseminar Series that is already burning with the energy of fiery women who are not afraid to play with it!

 Details for registration will be coming to you soon. 

  

• Return to the beautiful insistence of Your first naked day!
• Re-member YOU are the dazzling colors woven into the brilliant playground of the universe that is JUST. FOR. YOU.
• Know again that for no other reason than YOU ARE – you deserve to be fed, loved, cuddled, laughed-with, dressed, kissed-on, held and rocked.

I can't WAIT to be with you on these LIVE-Fun-FUNNY-playful and REAL calls with some of the most brilliant, kick-ass, brave, wisdom-rich women who WANT to give their good stuff to YOU!

Happy Birthday to YOU gorgeous Goddess! See you on the 20^th!

Naked Freedom!

Today I invited someone from my previous life to sit across the table from me and share a meal.

In truth I asked him to share more than food; his ideas about God, sin, guilt and shame too, and not only with me, but my university class as well.

It's been almost ten years since I last saw my former professor, and while the pain and betrayal I experienced in the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America was not associated with him, inviting his theology and teachings still rooted in that doctrine to be on my turf and in my presence, was liberating.

YA-HOO!

Autonomy of forgiveness is important to me; choosing from our inner wisdom what it means to forgive and when we are ready to release the anger, pain and hurt received from the actions of others.

Over the holidays I had numerous dreams filled with characters who had made choices that harmed me. For several nights in a row they appeared, not as the perpetrators of their negative choices, but as normal, even friendly people.

So I tuned-in to my body and asked: Am I ready to release? I heard a full body yes. RELEASE!

Since ritual is in my blood and bones I knew I wanted to ritually honor the release. But how?

Around that time I had been drawing a lot of gorgeous, full, lovely lips. Lips that had, in the middle of their pout, intricate designs of nature; swirls, eyes, feathers, stars, wisps of light. I loved these active, feminine speaking lips. I decided they would be a beautiful gesture of release.

I reproduced them and wrote underneath “Peace and Love in 2014” and signed my name. I meant it.

I put them in envelopes addressed to locations I hoped were still accurate, and released them to the U.S. Postal Service.

And I felt – SPACIOUS! I had sketched, created and sent those Lips in Love of me, letting go of any negative power any one previous act by another had over me. The result was more room for new adventure, risk and giggly, silly, buoyant joy. Oh ya! This affect was in no way dependent on the response or actions of another – it was all me. I had the power. I owned the responsibility.

Sitting in my classroom today with my former Professor and openly discussing our differences while claiming our common ground, was beautiful. Another act of clearing out and making room.

Over lunch I told him about my Spring Teleseminar series “The Narrative Closet" - of course he thought it ROCKED!- where I talk with incredible women visionaries about the closets we all have, filled with stories we have been told about who are, who we ought to be and how the world works. Stories of being wronged hang in their too.

We all have these closets of stories, the very recognition of which is the first step to getting naked and claiming our authentic power. Goose-bumps Galore!

“We have the Power!” and responsibility, to clear the clutter from our narrative closets and make space for new designs that fit who we are and who we want to become. Including those stories we keep hanging around about the old hurts, wounds and deep pains.

What about you? What old story about a hurt do you keep hanging around? Try this: take it out of your narrative closet and try it on. Listen to your body. Pay attention to your wisdom-gut response, the beat of your pulse, the heat in your cheeks. You will know when it's ready to slide from your shoulders. Maybe you are even ready to release it for good.

Either way, you can do a Spirit-Shimmy! A Big-Woop-to-me-Boogie! Because just seeing the closet of stories is the first step into your naked unstoppable power.

Valentine's Day 2014

In honor of the holiday I have never appreciated - even while in the ripe juicy blossoms of love – this Valentines Day Blog will be about…drum roll please….

“How it’s Good to Know You Don’t Want to Die”.

Not very many weeks ago, a member of the faculty at the university where I teach, died. Suddenly. Unexpected. This was not foreseen in any cards or medical reports.

I later learn that it all started with “one of those flu bugs” making the rounds among us. It turned into pneumonia, and, well, he died.

Not five days later, I am hit hard by “one of those flu bugs” and before I could fling the arm of my intellectual critical thinking up to block and deflect it, it happened. The tale of my impending death swirled and spun around me. And. I. Died.

And for one moment I was enveloped in the beautiful darkness of sweet clarity.
“Why did I ever think there was anything more necessary than hanging with my kids?”

“Why would I ever want more than loving with my wild succulent husband?”

“What could ever be so embarrassing…What failure could ever be so big, that I would rather remain quiet, small, unannounced and “safe” – instead of experiencing it?”

And then it was over. It felt like 30 seconds, but I suspect it was more like 10.

10 seconds of PURE Fiery Wisdom.

It is good to know you don’t want to die – and WHY. This 10 second spin into my early death has now lasted weeks. It has become a new tool in my story telling kit. Here’s how it works.

When I was feeling tentative and shy about putting myself out to ask my Shero's and Mentors to play with me on a FREE Teleseminar I am hosting (I am inviting the stars baby!) I reached into the envelope of dark, ready wisdom and brought out the story of my death.

“Would you rather die wrapped in the perceived safety of silence instead of risking the feelings from receiving an “F' No, I don't want to have anything to do with you”? Wouldn't you rather hear “F'No!” than hear nothing at all and die bunched up and small, afraid to have been rejected?”

Whizz. Bam. Boom! And I mean it! The body response I felt to that juxtaposition had kick-back! I landed on my proverbial spiritual back with the same sense of seamless clarity staring down at me.

Of course I didn't want to die not knowing, not risking and not being able to say “I put myself OUT there! I announced my DREAMS! I REACHED for the Moon and Howled!!”

Telling my story this way, there was no question. Immediately: what I had conjured in my mind as fear of rejection became Anticipation of Feeling the Pulse! What had felt like risky behavior to expose my heart and hopes, suddenly morphed into Courageous Tall Bad Ass Power! The actual response from the stars I invited took a back seat. It wasn't the driving force anymore. My reverberating blood flowing vision became FRONT and CENTER!

I am infused with this new story-telling tool. It is not a focus on death. It IS a fresh lens that cuts through all the crap of lies with laser-like precision that does not allow me to hide from my own habit of complicity. Yup. Complicity.

The old stories we wear, the ones we put on every day that say “are you sure you want to ask that? What happens if they say “yes” - can you handle it? Are you ready? Are you really able to do this? Better think twice. Wouldn't it be safer if you waited?” - they remain on us and in our Narrative Closets because we let them.

Ick. That's an uncomfortable truth. I don't like it. And – I LOVE it. It hurts so good. The sweet juice of naked liberation is inside and when you risk starting there – you begin the journey to clear out the clutter and zoom in to the clarity.

The Laser Beam Tool of “I don't want to die because...” holds your deepest loves and desires. It will open up the stuck doors of your Narrative Closet and beckon for you to enter with fierce permission to GO! and look inside.

Take this tool for a spin! Look through that Lens and SEE!

P.S. Keep your EYES PEELED for my delicious FREE Teleseminar “The Narrative Closet!” Guests from the Amazing Amy Ahlers to the Unabashed ColorFULL SARK  and MORE will be joining me!! It all starts Thursday, March 2

Unreasonably Passionate!

When I was little, I was LOUD, lovely and Bold! I laughed BIG, exclaimed fearlessly, cried out emphatically, and spoke with passion and energy. I was FULL of myself and I believed it was ALL beautiful!

That began to shift when the “shush-ing” started. The worst was at the dinner table.
Growing up, dinners were required. We ate at a table-clothed, milk-in-a-pitcher, cloth napkin-ed table with lit candles every night. There were almost no excuses to miss. Dad would be home for the meal and it was the one time each day we came together as a family and had Dad to ourselves. I am heartened that cell phones were yet to be inflicted on us. For almost an hour each night, our family attention was on, well, our family. No interruptions. It was pretty awesome.
Except when I got shushed. I hated it the most when my Dad, trying to get my volume to an “acceptable level” would, in response to my exuberant dialogue, speak slowly and almost inaudibly to me. It was humiliating. I remember feeling like I wanted to screech and scream at the top of my lungs but instead, as my face grew hot with shame, I shut up.
And I learned. My authentic voice was unacceptable and what I needed to do was alter it to “fit” into the parameters given to me.
This is one of the many stories I was told as a child about who I needed to be and what it meant to be a good girl. It didn't change as a young woman or adult, and I worked hard to be small, quiet, unseen and calm, none of which came naturally. The toned-down volume of my authentic self flowed through my veins and I became known as “intense”, interrupted by occasional bursts of laughter that could be heard across the quad. I tried to downsize myself and actually got so good at it, I very nearly agreed to live in the strict confines dictated by that story.
Very. Nearly.

But Hell No. Uh-Uh. Turns out, I LOVE my laugh. And, I discovered, we – you, me, each other, the WORLD – need more willingly intense, unreasonably passionate, wildly dancing to the beat of our own-and-different-drum individuals!!! We need to go for it!

When was the last time you connected with your deep-down-slightly-wild-organically irreverent voice? Have you laughed loudly, danced feverishly, or spoken with passion?

Do it this week. Promise yourself to listen...to YOU. The deep-down-inner-fire-before-you-learned-to- “be appropriate” YOU.

This week – make it your mission, your challenge, your playful task - to be gorgeously loud about something you feel deeply about! What is it in this world, in your world, that needs the ring of your particular voice? Is it an injustice that you see? A stand for your own value? An insistence for joy? An open receiving of LOVE and ABUNDANCE? An expression of anger?

Listen for Yourself. Re-member You. You will not be alone – and if you lean in – trust that you will hear my voice joining yours! Yup. I am THAT big!

No More Frozen Super-Powers!

The last day of the first month of 2014 is upon us, and it feels... Frozen!

Over these last hours, days and weeks, I have been dreaming, deciding and dedicating myself to the kind of year I want to have for me and my family. Mentors, guides and Goddesses have patiently, and with vigor, infused me with encouragement, tools and practices to integrate into my business, passions and daily life. All of it intended to get me to where I want to go and be the person I am meant to be!

Ah, the hard part. Where is that again, and who is she?

Smack in the middle of all of this beautifully gritty inner work, my cursed iphone beeps with a text. I have a love-despise-you-demand-too-much relationship with my technology, and text messages are a big part of it. “Mom!” my tech-savvy-loving kids chirp, “You got a text!”

“Okay,” I mumble under my breath, hoping they'll move on and leave me in peace. Under my nose she holds it; that annoying phone attached to the most lovely 11 year old arm that leads to the sweetest and mischievous smile that I adore. “Don't want you to miss it” she says spunk-ily.

I look down at the text and – am – surprised. Happily and pleasantly elated. A text from a former student who was one of those unique ones with whom you build a lasting friendship. His mother had died unexpectedly the year before he was in my university class, and we connected deeply. Since his graduation we have kept in touch; he knows my kids and husband and whenever we are near, we grab a beer together.

Text: “Please tell me you've seen Frozen!”

“Really?” I think, “that's what he wants to know?” Not a huge fan of the Disney “princesses-please-handsome-prince-save-me-movies” I groaned. I had already said there was no way I was going to see what looked like a plot-less, insipid animated film about a goofy snow man. Uh-uh. Nope.

Text back: “Why?” That's all I wrote.

Tick-tock. Beep. I grab the phone.

Text: “Because I thought of you through the ENTIRE movie. You HAVE to see it. I won't tell you why, but trust me and let's talk after. This movie IS YOU!”

Hmmm. A silly, princess Disney movie is me? Harumph. I did trust my former student. He knew me well. There had to be more to it. My kids did want to see it. Alright, it was set. We were going.

I laughed, I cried. Seriously, I did. After the film, I sent a text to my former student.

Text: “Just saw Frozen. You were so right! I am Elsa!”

Tick – not-even-time-for-a-tock. Beep.

Text: “You are SO Elsa!!!”

A few weeks later I am relating this story to my not-blonde hair-stylist (she wanted to be sure I made that clear) who I have know for over a decade. She has witnessed the evolution of my life, belief system and of course, my hair. She knows me. At the “I am Elsa and You are so Elsa” part of the narrative– she laughs quizzically. When I see her a few days later, she jumps in immediately.

“Alright, this has been bothering me ALL weekend. Why on earth would your former student think you were Elsa? I totally do not get it. Please, tell me what he meant! Why are YOU – the energized, social, funny, stage-loving AmyJo - like Elsa?”

Here's why.

Elsa is the symbol of the “good-girl” who is told (and agrees) to suppress, hold back and reduce her great, amazing, incredible and magical super-essence-powers for the comfort of everyone around her. She does it to maintain the system in which she was told was the "right way" to live. If she allowed herself to feel her powers, she was told, and let them freely expand and be used, there would be fear and danger. For the sake of keeping everything in line within the expecatations of the old story, Elsa, as do "good-girls" everywhere, complied. Until she couldn't hold it in any longer. And that's when things get juicy!

Frozen is about anything but! It is a narrative of defrosting and exposing the truth. It is about the prescribed “good-girl” finding her freedom in the love of a good man. Oh wait, sorry. Years of Disney and religious programming. No, no, no. That is NOT how this story ends!

Elsa is released into the FULLness and universe-tingling connection with HER super-powers because of her sisters LOVE! Oh ya! Uh-huh. That's right! Sister LOVE and Sister POWER!

Message: Women - We are sisters one-and-all! We are ALL Anna and we are ALL Elsa! As we openly LOVE each other, AFFIRM and CELEBRATE each others' powers – we are personally released to live in them FULLY! And when we do, we melt away the fear of failure, the anxiety of being good enough and the idea that we need to measure up to the perceived perfection of another. We are FREE to write our own story, claim our super-essence-powers and LOVE the world, our kids, spouses, friends and most poignantly, ourselves.

No more Frozen Dreams or Dormant Powers! Turn up the HEAT of your inner super-essence-powers that are already part of you and experience the soaring melody of the bad ass POWER you already possess AND melt away anything that keeps your from connecting with your inner fiery licks of power!

To quote Elsa, “Let it Go!”

Text: “You are SO Elsa!!”

Transformational Author Inspiration!

Amazing time on retreat in the San Francisco Bay Area, then in Baltimore, Maryland! Now I am just integrating all the amazing learnings and experiences.

The Goal of Getting Good; Comparisons Suck

When was the last time it happened to you? I am gonna go out a limb and guess it was some time this week. At least once. Maybe twice. Perhaps even more than that. I know because it happens to me too. It used to happen more than it does, and still, in all the amazing progress and freedom I have achieved, I run into it. Bam! It hits me square in the face, or more typically for me, in the abs, legs, or bank account.

The more vulnerable I am, the more easily it occurs. Vulnerable in the sense that I am not rooted in the complete truth of my own amazing good core. Vulnerable because I am open to the suggestions that on  my own, as I stand now, I am not enough; not good enough, fit enough, pretty, smart or successful enough.

We are trained to engage in the game. I call it “The Wheel Of MisFortune.” The more we allow ourselves (because we do) to run on that wheel, the faster it spins and the harder it is to get off. The cycle of comparison continues to go round and round, conjuring up a variety of people, aspirations, targets and goals for us to measure ourselves against. The harder we run on the Wheel, the greater the rate of MisFortune, where you and I look at the lives, looks and goodness of another against which we will never win. Ultimately we are exhausted people, pretending to be all that we think we should be, while believing we are none of it.

The reason we do it is simple. Since we were young we have been told a story about what it means to be a good person, an upstanding American, a desirable woman and solid man. Our stories differ slightly depending on religion, culture and traditions, but much of what we have been told is the same. I call these stories our “Shape-Scripters;” powerful narratives that literally shape us. They tell us how we ought to look, behave and think about who we are, and who other people are, and if they are good.

The main theme connecting all of our Shape-Scripter stories is that you and I have to do something other than simply be who we are, to be considered good, desirable, acceptable and whole. On our own, in the skin we were born in and the bodies in which we exist, with the mind we conduct and the spirit we continue to nurture – we are not enough. We need something else from beyond our basic selves to prove our worth and value to the world. We need to be thinner, wealthier and more popular. The cars we drive, the clothes we wear, the restaurants we frequent and the sports we and our children play all contribute to what is assessed and judged on “The Wheel of MisFortune”.

Yuck! Enough already! Time to slow down the Wheel of MisFortune, get off and discover a new way!

You can decide to get off. Here's how to begin. The minute – the moment – the exact second you decide that You Are Good, the wheel will slow and you can turn your attention from others to your Good Core. The more you practice and rehearse owning your Good Core, the less the Wheel turns until you get to a point where it slows enough to get off completely.

I know this is true. I know it works. I have done it myself, coached hundreds to do the same and observe daily how it transforms the lives of my own family and children. It takes practice and commitment to rewrite your Shape Scripter and let go of the memorized idea that on your own you are not good. And it can be done. Are you ready?

Today – for this moment and time – start here. Before you get out of bed and before you go to sleep, say this: I am good and have the power to make more good for myself and others.

That's it. If it's too long, keep it to three words: I am good. I am good. I am good.

It is not sacrilege nor is it hypocritical. (Interested in what Jesus thinks of your Good Core? Find more here). It is perhaps the most authentic truth that can “reveal-utionize” your life!

Take the Journey to Your Good Core!

Flutters to the Tummy

I want to write. I need to. The will to do so is eking out of my fingers that are itching to get words flowing from my mind to the keyboard and on to the screen. It’s been too long; too much time reading of papers written by students and not enough time writing my own.

It is good to read the voices of others. To hear the vocabulary chosen by someone you know only as student, yet who share some of their deepest thoughts, questions and hopes. It is an exercise in listening – even as it’s done apart – physically away from the speaker. Writing gives room to mull over the sentiments and ideas expressed; space we don’t find when we are face-to-face.

Reading the work of others feeds my writing spirit and after a while, it demands something of me. Requires I stand to attention and give into the urge to be the one putting down the thoughts swirling in my mind that can flutter down into my heart, spirit and sometime, stomach.

When the wings of thought reach my tummy, they can transform into the proverbial butterflies of unknown anxieties, or, those I know too well. Those narratives of old stories I have learned since childhood: you know, the ones memorized growing up, the “old tapes” my parents would call them. The phrases that sometime echo unwittingly from my brain and move effortlessly to finally morph into the fear in my gut. The “you can’t really do this” or the “it will never happen for you” followed up by the “did you really think it could?” sentiments that play and rewind, play and rewind.

I was asked recently, if I were to write a new story for myself, what would it be? The idea was to replace the old that doesn’t work. I thought about it a lot. Again. It’s not a new concept, this rewriting my narrative that tells me who I am. In truth I have done more editing of my learned story than most: having moved from an ordained pastor to an avowed atheist who continues to find beauty and meaning in ritual, litany and spirit work. I have changed plenty. And still, I ponder the question because I find that those old routines and systems can be dogged. They come alive at moments when I am most anticipating something good: a new opportunity, a completed goal, an affirmation from an unexpected place. That’s when the terrible growling of the historic negatives rise up from the deep place of old, their ugly melody reverberating in my ears.

So I wrote it down, my new story. The one I was going to be telling with bold confidence in place of the other. It went something like this: I attract abundance. Good things happen to me. People are drawn to me. I am a powerfully positive presence. I impact whatever I do with intellect, grace and energy. I am capable, experienced and highly qualified. People want me on their team. I am strong: in body, in mind and in spirit. I am a people person. I easily build relationships. I am adventurous; risks are worth taking.

As I read back over it, my eyes moved to the writing in the upper left hand corner of the page. It said simply “New Story”. I closed my eyes and breathed deep. Something was off. It wasn’t right. I knew what it was. Turning my pencil on end, I rubbed the eraser over the word “new” and wrote in bold, strong letters “MY”. My story. This is my story and it has always been my story, how I have lived and experienced the world.

The truth is I don’t need a new story. The one I have lived consistently throughout my life is more than enough. I merely need to reclaim it. Reclaim it from the realities of the world and from what honest and open living does as we grow and learn. Experiences can have the affect of altering our perception of self, of trying to replace our own voice with another, and sometimes the shouts from the surrounding world can be harsh and loud. Too often, it is the words and narratives of others who shape the story we tell ourselves about what we are capable of and how we interact. In truth, however, those can only continue as my story, if I concur.

And I do not.

My story is about an incredible woman with a rich, diverse life that has experienced the most amazing acts of human good and progress and endured the harm inflicted by the insecure, threatened and awkwardly powerful. The result is a wise, skilled, authentic woman who is all those good things of strength, capacity, brilliance, energy and charisma, wrapped in the most elegant blanket of knowledge and experience.

Waiting for affirmation of this from others is often where the old flutters turn into anxious butterflies. So don’t. Don’t wait. There is no reason for it. The trappings of societal proof that our story is real is one of the big lies we think we need to have to authenticate our story. And here is the good, FULL news: our story about who we are, how we live, what we are capable of, and how we want to offer the fullness of ourselves to the world, stand true as long as we say it does.

It does not matter if we have a twitter following the likes of Ashton Kutcher or Facebook traffic that shoot off the graphs. It does not change our story if we get the job, are invited to speak or sell thousands more books. Our story is ours to own, to claim and to live FULLY into. No. Matter. What.

That is worth writing about! Write your story. Reread it often. Listen to the words you chose to describe your power and knowledge, the discoveries you have made and the joys and hurts you have experienced. Be bold in telling it like it is: with all of what has given you the complex, complicated, beautiful, dynamic and wise person you are. Take the space your written story gives you to ponder the character you have developed in you – and Celebrate It Now!
<a href="http://www.hypersmash.com">HyperSmash.com</a>

Mom's Day Fun

This Mother’s Day I celebrate and hopefully say good-bye to, what has been, a Season of Lice; little critters that climbed onto the heads of the blond-haired beauties who share my DNA but none of my dark hues.

It all began when one of my 10 year old twins began complaining about an itchy scalp. Oblivious, I looked through her head, saw nothing and queried her about rinsing out shampoo and conditioner fully. I wasn’t even thinking of lice. That happened to “those other people” who I never considered being among their number. My daughter rededicated herself to rigorous hair-rinsing and the problem was solved. Or so I thought.

Days later driving home from school, the same 10 year old twin said, “Mom, Cynthia told me I had bugs in my hair.”  Slightly perturbed at such audacious words from a young fifth grader, I remained steadfastly ignorant and on to home we went.

As I began putting away bags, backpacks and sweaters, my other twin decided to play gorilla and was intently searching through her sisters’ scalp. The high pitched scream was the first interruption signaling the disruption to come.

“Agh! Oh my god! Mom! Mom! Mom! Bugs are crawling all over her head!”

She was doing the creeped-out –squiggly dance while at the same time shouting at the top of her lungs. The twin with the crawling scalp screamed as well. Mayhem ensued.

Running into the living room I shouted “Stop the screaming! Oh, my gosh,” I lectured, “Do not scream about this,” I repeated several times. There was no cause to bellow, I reasoned, it wouldn’t help anything. I walked over to the now whimpering long haired blond and applied fingers to hair. Pulling away the layers of golden strands, I saw, OH MY GOSH, massive amounts of moving bugs!

I screamed! “Agh! Oh my god! Oh my god!” I screeched, louder than both daughters, who now began to wail. Abandoning any modicum of calm, I yelled to my 13 year old son “bring the ipad! Look up lice! Get me some pictures of lice!” He did and we quickly understood that our day had shifted irrevocably. What we didn’t yet understand was that so would the next two weeks, and on into repeat performances for the next few months.

Moving my fingers through the jungle of her thick hair, I tried to smash, pull or otherwise decimate the nasty little critters while my son read aloud from the CDC website. When he got to “the way they live is by feeding on the blood of the host” my daughter screamed, jerked her head up and away from my hands, catapulting the precariously perched Kleenex full of the culprits into the air and all over the hardwood floor. And so it began.

My husband and I spent the next 4 and-a-half hours shampooing, rinsing and pulling small metal combs from the base of the hair shaft through long lengths of hair that inevitably got caught backwards into the comb. Tangles yanked at our daughters’ scalps (yes, both had the little buggers), and cries and whimpers accompanied the exploits of Alicia Silverstone in Clueless, which we played for distraction. After hours of this intimate, painful, but necessary action, I took one look at my son and said to my husband, “Shave him”.

I have decided that lice are a life lesson. So much of what their presence brings can be applied to a variety of realities that we encounter.

-          Be flexible. Always. Living in a strict routine that speaks of safety and control is a false net of security. It simply does not exist; not in pensions, portfolios, jobs, organizations, memberships, friendships and even marriages. We cannot predict what is going to come at us each day. This uncertainty can be as exciting and full of unknown positives as much as it can bring lice and other unwanted events.

-          Interruptions can offer new perspectives. My kids changed their routine entirely because of the lice. They slept downstairs in make-shift beds and loved every minute of it. It felt like a two week long slumber party. They took on greater responsibility, stripping their beds each day and learning how to start their daily load of laundry. For days they were gentler with one another, carefully checking each other’s heads and assuring that they were “clean”. 

-          Upturning what had previously been static creates a sense of dynamism that we can too easily forget is inspiring and edifying. Lice require a life change: every sheet, pillowcase, linen, towel, hoodie and stuffed animal has to be dealt with. Linens washed and dried every day, stuffed animals bagged and stowed in the garage. The bedrooms stripped bare. In doing all of these chores, we realized how much we had. The kids were reminded of the comforts they had and my husband and I, of the years of love represented by each stuffed creature. Our static routine was no longer, and there was a different level of energy that we shared.

-          Those cultural no-no’s that cause us to feel ashamed and can morph into fears of whispers behind our backs are straw figures. The worry we assign to what other people think, and our good inner power we give away when we do, is a waste of time and energy. Life happens to all of us. The specifics of how it plays out are as much a mystery of unpredictable events as what we think we can make happen. Live your life and don’t worry about the others.

-          When faced with a situation that seems embarrassing, don’t be. Stand tall in your own story and if it carries with it a societal shame card, throw out that deck and make your own. What we fear whispered about us, is often something many people experience. Since our Season of Lice, I have encountered numerous people who’ve had the same story to tell, including Amy Ahlers (Best Selling author of “Big Fat Lies”) and Sheryl Sandberg, COO of Facebook and “Lean In” author.

-          Ultimately  we are not in control, AND, we are made of tougher stuff than we think! 

Thank you, Season of Lice, and Good-bye!

Happy Mother’s Day!

Name Your Label and Live It

Jason Collins is gay, Black and an NBA Pro. After reading his heartfelt, touching article, it seems as though the only label he wants to be known for is the last one.

Words of wisdom, Mr. Collins. As the world weighs in on his choice to “out himself” publicly, he will need all of his FULL strength to maintain it. Already I have read a variety of commentaries lambasting Collins. He made a big deal out of something that ought to be private, seemed to describe himself as “the other kind of gay man” and doesn’t deserve the title of “courageous” because he waited until his career was safe to do it. As long as the story remains in our immediate pop-culture view finders (which we all know won’t be long; short attention span, we Americans), people from a variety of different perspectives will try to foist their idea of what label Mr. Collins ought to accept and they will do so with zealous entitlement.

When I was a pastor, I preached about the importance of naming. Names have deep meaning in scripture and can be powerful clues to the interior message of a text. In the Old Testament story (Numbers 12:1-16) where Miriam was made a leper for her questioning of Moses, while Aaron, her partner in crime, got away clean, her name became a map to a deeper truth. Miriam means bitter, strong, and rebellion, each of which she employed in her interaction with her brother Moses, but not in the traditional telling of her story. Miriam’s name was a key that helped me unlock the power of who she was, as well as the patriarchal preferentiality of the Bible. The take I had on this ancient story was so unique that I earned a top grade from a notably hard professor, thanks to Miriam’s name.

Names are revealing. A few weeks ago I experienced what it was like to be screeched at via email. A former member of my congregation and non-profit had replied to an email in which I had asked why she chose to no longer support the work I was doing, as it continued the good work that she had enjoyed for years. The first sentence of her reply was “You spelled my name wrong AGAIN!! Even though I SIGNED it correctly in the email!!! You, who always said names were so important, spelled it WRONG!” She was right, I had and she was right too, that it was a name I routinely spelled wrong. And yet, there was more going on in that verbal assault than the importance of leaving out or putting in a silent “e”. This time it wasn’t the misspelled name that was the clue, but rather the written temper tantrum around it.

Names inform our identity. They are the manifestation of the invisible umbilical chord that literally connected us to our parents and still does to our heritage, DNA and shared narrative. Yet it isn’t in the spelled name that the story is told, but rather the context in which the name was given and lived-out. Our names expose where we came from, our family systems, how we handle conflict, love and anger and how we were taught to think, believe and relate with others. 

Names are different but similar to labels. Most of us don’t name ourselves any more than we choose the family in which we are born or the belief system or structure of that family. Sometimes we choose labels; usually they are thrust, propelled or thrown over and on us. I was born into Lutheran Christianity. I did not choose that label, even as I became an adult in the church and sought ordination. I would be hard pressed to claim an independent, free-thinking choice of Lutheran Christianity. I was raised in it, taught it from my first day on this earth and breathed it every moment of each day. Choice would mean that I knowingly decided this was my system of belief and faith of preference, on my own through deliberation and study. My narrative doesn’t come close to these criteria. I inherited the belief. And still, in accepting the label, I told a story to anyone who met me, which would then be wrapped up in whatever their name and history informed how they would associate with my label. Phew. Complicated stuff, and when acted out unconsciously, becomes divisive and irresponsible.

We use names and labels as a way to avoid taking responsibility for our grown-up, mature, adult identity.  Both offer us loads of excuses as to why we are the way we are, why our lives turned out how they did, why we run with a certain group or pledge allegiance to another. Labels are a lazy way to shun personal responsibility for the consequences that accompany our memberships and loyalty to groups, organizations, faiths and institutions. They are easy routes to cutting off going down the road of introspection that gives us the power to both love ourselves as well as declare our weaknesses.

Last week while I was speaking to a group of women about the role religion plays in the on-going inequity of women in society, a woman interrupted and said, “But you’re an atheist, right?” If I agreed I was an atheist, my talk would have been more comfortable for her because “atheist” told a story that meant my knowledge, intellect and understanding were not valid, especially when applied to a religious critique. To get me to agree that my label was “atheist” meant she could have distanced herself from the hard reality that the church she loved and the system it perpetuated, devalued women, even today. It was easier to label me than take responsibility for her identity.

My former congregational member used her anger over a misspelled name to distance herself from owning her choices and claiming her identity. It was easier to spew anger at me over a silent “e” than it was to openly admit a change of opinion and place.

Living full of yourself is responsible living. It is growing up. It is to live consciously, fully awake and aware; thinking and choosing who we intend to be and how we will live, relate and believe. To live full is to claim your right to write your history and future, knowingly choose your labels, determine your systems of ordering and take responsibility for the realities that come from it. 

When we agree that our voices alone will label who we are, we can no longer blame or eschew the consequences of those labels and names onto another.

Mr. Collins did right by himself. He chose the time and process for how his news of his sexuality would be known. The “Gay” label is still very much under scrutiny in our world and nation, especially in the machismo arena of sports. It was smart, wise and yes, courageous for Mr. Collins to take control over the information. It is, after all, his life and he is the only one who gets to decide what labels actually fit him. If he wants to primarily celebrate his prowess as NBA Pro that kicks serious fouling ass, that is his FULL prerogative. As a responsible, mature adult living FULLY into himself, he gets to choose and reap the benefits and consequences.

Just like you and me. Live Full!

Religion's Male Preference: Let's Be Honest

Bravo to Sheryl Sandberg risking to live Full of Herself!

I am proud of the controversy stirred up by her best selling book “Lean In”. If you’ve seen her famous TED talk, you’ll recognize much of the book. It expands from those points and offers pages of well researched studies and statistics.

I am so pleased about the fray the book has pulled from the mythic tapestry we have laid over the subject of gender equity. We need some messiness around the topic of what it is honestly like for women in the work force, and in the structures and traditions of our society.  For too long young women, middle-aged and older, have ignored the reality that today, still, in 2013, women are less valued than men. It’s time we talk about it, even when we don’t want to.

This is not a new idea. In fact, it’s knowledge we’ve had and swept under the rug by the very gender stuck with getting rid of dirt we don’t want to see: women. In agreeing to do the clean up for Patriarchy, women have ourselves to blame for being stuck with our hand on the broom handle: and not because we can hop on it and fly away.

In reality, our wings have been clipped, to keep women solidly on the ground of undervalue and underachievement and we have been part of making it happen.

In 1991, after I returned from serving 23 months in the United States Peace Corps, I accepted a job at my alma mater, a university in northwest Washington as Director of Student Activities. Among the speakers we hired during that time was Naomi Wolf, author of the then famous “Beauty Myth”.

As Ms. Wolf sat around a lunch table with me, female faculty and students, she told us about her next project: Women in Leadership and the lack of young women college students who wanted it. Traveling the nation, speaking and listening to women, she was shocked and dismayed to discover that the majority of women had little to no desire to put themselves out as leaders.

I listened with rapt attention. I nearly had to sit on my hands so that I wouldn’t jump up screaming “I want to! I want to lead! I’ve wanted to be President since grade school! I want to be that leader! I have always wanted to be the leader! I do! I do! I do!”

I did and I didn’t. I was President of my university student body; I was a Peace Corps Volunteer in West Africa; I worked in the Clinton Administration; I became an ordained woman pastor. In all these professional roles I reached for justice, founded organizations that sought equality and changed the governing rules of institutions. I have been a leader; strong, smart, assertive, demanding, committed and charismatic. And I have been crucified for it, by men and women alike.

I was first told I had been crucified on the altar of religious patriarchy while living as an intern in Jerusalem. My American supervisor was a frightening, small and insecure man who despised me the minute he greeted me and my husband at the airport. As months went by it became clear that not only would he not be one of the supportive male mentors Sandberg had throughout her career, but the opposite. His goal was to tear me down. Because of his blatant misogynist actions, I was removed from my position in Israel. As one woman said, “You’re being crucified for being a strong, smart woman who refused to take shit.” 

Through my ten plus years as an ordained pastor, I learned that there is a religiosity of male preference and female diminution; God ordained the hierarchy of men over women. This moves the discussion beyond Sandberg’s assumptions, stereotypes and traditions and into a far more complicated source of the inequity: the divine. God, via Bible and other religious holy books, is understood as elevating men and placing women under their rule, while at the same time warning of women’s sexual prowess and a need to be governed, directed and protected by men. As a result, if a woman pastor is outspoken, ambitious, assertive and insists on remaining a woman, being the powerful woman leader “Lean In” hopes for, becomes a religious struggle.

I love being a woman. I love my red lipstick, high platform shoes and pencil skirts. I like my curvaceous body and long, dark curly hair. As a pastor, I didn’t want to tone down or reject my sexuality. I enjoyed the power of my sharp mind and charisma and my easy ability to speak, motivate and inspire. I was and am a natural leader and the young woman who could barely contain herself in the presence of Naomi Wolf didn’t contain it as a pastor, which led to the end of my leading in organized religion.

In the church there were not male colleagues who gave me a hand up or encouraged my voice. There were not women who joined me in my quest to create an equal place for honest female leadership in the church or in exploring gender neutral language and naming of the divine. In the church, the type of powerful woman I was and would not reduce, was not welcomed. The divinely ordained teaching that women are beneath men is ingrained deep in our collective psyche and is the root of all the weedy blossoms of gender inequity. 

“Lean In” nudges up to the truth that most women who do want to be leaders don’t often make it, but it never fully digs down deep as to why. Religion is not mentioned once as a part of the problem. Sandberg gets a lot right in “Lean In” and still, there is much she does not even broach. Finally, it needs to be said that women do want to lead. There are other women, young, middle and old, who like me, can barely contain our desire to do so. The reality is, however, that the “right timing” or “well placed mentors” along the career route that Sandberg experienced, are rare. For many of us who are in male dominated professions, being a strong woman leader can be the death knoll of our very intention to do so. Simply wanting to be the woman leader is not enough to make it happen, and not only because of conflicts between motherhood and marriage, but because of the deeply seeded belief that women should not rise so high.

We need this book. We need this discussion. We need to disagree, feel uncomfortable and courageously look at our complicity in the reality of what “Lean In” reminds us: women are not equally valued, do not have equal opportunity or choice. Together we need to unearth the roots of Patriarchy, face the truth of religion’s role in it, and move forward to replant the ground of our practices with seeds of balance and equity.

Living Like It's Your Last

I don’t know if it’s because I am an avid, fairly serious runner, but the terrible events of Monday in Boston have reached in to my gut and yanked, pulled and jostled me. I am deeply sad.  I am angry. I am consumed with a blankness of incomprehension. Searching through the reason of my intellect I cannot locate anything that makes sense. There is no seeming pay-off for this random act of terror. It stands without any philosophical undergirding or idea that might, even in its terrible wrongness, at the very least, give some sort of explanation to the standing query of “why?”

What happened Monday in Boston is simply and profoundly, ugly. It is meanness at its most sincere; literally ripping apart the lives and bodies of people gathered to run, cheer and challenge. For no apparent reason, life was harshly interrupted.

So yesterday when I received an urgent text from my husband that one of our 10 year old daughters needed me to take her to the doc, that she had had an accident, I reacted from the anger and sadness I felt about the Boston event. I was amped for a sudden, surprising happening that could change our life forever.

It didn’t. She had tripped and fell hard into a tree root that hurt her elbow. She will be fine (exhale). She will run again. She will laugh and she will be whole.

We will never know when those unexpected occurrences that change our life or end it, will be. We don’t know. It is out of our control. In that knowledge is total and complete Full-dom! Fullness of absolute freedom to live with outrageous passion, energy, and full-tilt for this thing we call life.

When my dad was sick and in his final weeks of life, we talked about the idea of living everyday as if it were your last. We laughed a little and scoffed more because we agreed that if we were to actually do that, we would disregard much of what we do and replace it with what we love and enjoy most. “If I were to live like it was my last day,” I had said, “I would never go into work again”.

But wait, maybe it’s not so silly. Looking back to that talk almost two years ago, I had been in a job I disliked that produced heaps of stress in a toxic environment. It was not a place that nurtured the fullness of my professional capacity and worse yet, it depleted me in every way.  If it really was my last day living, no way would I keep working in that awful place. Even more, as I walked confidently out the door, I would have said what I thought without couching it in safe, inoffensive language.  

That is what I ought to have done. It would have been the right, healthy decision. I didn’t do it because I had been caught up in the perceived sense of safety and the idea that my fullness, my good self, was defined by my work and career. I was unwilling to walk away from a position beneath my wisdom and capacity and move instead into my own, good, fully capable self because I was not living full of me. Instead I was filled up with societal expectations and the unstable voices of others who, in their lack of full living, sought to reduce me in mine. 

Living full of yourself is trusting in you. It is taking the risk of listening to your good wisdom and experience, to your gut, your hopes and your needs more than any other.

The question, “If this were my last day, what would I be doing?” can serve as a Full-dom check: Am I living fully into who I honestly am and truly want to be? Am I filled up with my desires, loves and hopes? Am I using my full self to fill up the world with beauty, justice and joy? If the answer is yes, than celebrate! If there are any “no’s” than good, honest reflection is in order.

Knowing that any day could be our last, that life is unexpected and in reality, operates largely outside of our control, is a deep breathe of fresh, healing and invigorating air. It releases us to eschew all that holds us down and back in our lives. Actually, it nearly demands it.

“Stop!” truth says. “Stop spending this precious life being mean to yourself. Stop telling yourself “I can’t, I’m not enough”. Stop allowing voices of others to determine how you think about yourself. Stop giving in to expectations that are limiting to you. Stop yielding and get out there! Fly! Be Free! Stretch those arms wide and reach BIG! Reach for your full, big, unique self and fill up with the beauty of who you are and the truth that this world is here to explore, to love and to mend. Get those legs moving and run! Run into the fullness of possibility and do not take no for an answer.”

Life is yours to command, until it isn’t. And then, my darling lovely dear, it is too late. Now… today… it is not.

Awake and Aware: Guns, Schools and Violence

Conscious living is a choice, albeit one that many people in our culture choose not to make. To live consciously is to live awake and aware. It is to engage with the happenings, events, choices and questions that take us beyond the confines of our own personal crib.

When you intentionally seek information that is not directly about what’s happening in your home, your day-to-day life, your relationships and finances, you are living aware. When you decide that the world is complex, big and filled with nuances, ideas and truths that sometimes contradict one another and require an open mind to digest, then you are living awake.

Living awake and aware is one critical aspect of living full of your good self. First, to choose to live full of yourself is to disregard the traditional teaching that to do so is wrong. I can hear the voices echo in my mind and memories. “You are too full of yourself young lady!”

My great work is to loosen our cultural knee-jerk agreement with this idea: that living full of yourself is somehow bad, wrong, sinful, prideful and arrogant.

No it isn’t.

Living full of yourself is exactly what we ought to be working toward and teaching, empowering and assisting our children to do. It’s what the world needs: more women (and men) who claim and affirm their good, unique, powerful skills, intellect, and insight and who use it to make more space for everyone to flourish.

Conscious-Checks are good for the full-soul and the truth that the world is bigger than what we see and touch each day. Conscious-Checks encourage us to apply the Fullness of all that we are to the betterment of our world, society and community.

Conscious-Check for April 15th (no, not taxes) is an appeal to apply the fullness of your mind, reason and compassion to the issue of guns, education and violence.

My kids love the TV show Glee. Since we do not watch television during the week, it is a ritual to record it and watch it together on Friday or Saturday night. Last Saturday the program began with a warning that this segment would include violence in schools. After checking in with my kids and establishing ground rules (the pause button gets to be pushed whenever someone needs to stop), we proceeded. Most of the show was typical Glee – love, friendship, music and quirky side-stories – until a gun-shot rang through the halls. Until the students clamored for safety and huddled in corners. Until close-ups of terrified faces filled our TV screen. Until one character was shown standing on top of a toilet seat silently crying to herself, alone and afraid.

My kids cried. They hid their eyes. We hit pause. We talked. They shared how afraid they were of that happening in their school, of the truth that the shooting in Connecticut was still on their minds. They didn’t understand why adults loved guns so much. We talked about hunting, about their grandpa who hunted pheasants, about our beloved neighbor who is an avid hunter. “I still hate guns,” one twin stated. “All of them."  “Why do they have to be so easy to get” the other asked?
“Why,” my 13 year old wanted to know, “can’t President Obama protect us from these things?”

Why indeed?

Living in fear of guns in our schools does not create space and opportunity for our children to become full of their good intellect, responsibility and care for the world. Watching the leaders of our nation not negotiate, not discuss and not find ways to eliminate the easy access to assault weapons, is not demonstrating the fullness of what it means to lead for the sake of the whole. 

We can do better. We can help our kids discover their full, good, strong character and express their opinions to their leaders. We can role model the behavior of a fully involved citizen and call our congressperson, senator and the white house to urge passage of strict gun regulation. We can write a telephone script with our kids and help them call too. We can open this discussion up among our peers, colleagues and families. If we can’t pass stricter gun laws, at least we can make sure the issue of gun violence and easily obtainable guns is not allowed to disappear or be ignored. We need to fully keep the conversation going. No matter what.

Is Living Full of Yourself a Sin?

One of my female students asked me yesterday, "Isn't living full our yourself bad? I mean, I was taught not to prideful or arrogant. When I hear "Living Full of Yourself", that's not a positive.

I agree. The idea of being filled up with the good of your own good self has been preached, taught and directed as negative, a sin.

In Greek "sin" is "hamartia", which literally means "to miss the mark". When pleasing God, following God's law and living in a way that meets God's expectations is the mark, anything we do that takes us away from that is considered sinful. I suppose in that sense, if one believe that our whole being, our thinking, feeling, smelling, tasting and touching selves ought to live for one being only, God, then I guess getting filled up with our own good self could be missing the mark.

But wait! If you do believe in God and wish to follow God's ways, it is God who gave you life, right? God who made you who you are, yes? I grew up seeing different versions of the "God don't make no junk" poster around the homes of fellow Christians. If God is your creator, the one who gave you all of your unique blessings, skills, intellect and quirks, than wouldn't God want you to be filled up with them?

If you do not believe in God, or are working your way beyond traditional belief, roadblocks remain. In the habits and traditions of society, we come to understand that women ought to live for everyone else. We are the caretakers, the nurturers, the ones who sacrifice. Society and religion together give women limited roles that define us, telling us who we can and cannot be. To be filled up with our feminine characteristics, sexuality, intellect and power is not the kind of woman our culture promotes and greets.

It's true, even if we don't want it to be. Women, we are often our worst enemy! We judge and poke at other women, especially those who grow into power or seem to be living beyond what a "good woman or girl" are supposed to.

To live full of ourselves means a lot of things. It means first believing in your inherent worth and value. That right now, in this moment of reading these words, you know and claim you are good. Beyond good, you are of value. You are worth being around, listening to, laughing with and learning about. Right now, without any other voice affirming it, without any other entity agreeing, you are amazing.

From there, from that precipice, the juicy, explosive, sweet energy that is uniquely women's, flows out and down from our center, opening up more and more space for love, ideas, problem solving, playfulness, affirming and arousing sex, and ultimately a deep connection with the divine.

Living Full of Ourselves is the opposite of bad, negative arrogance. As my student decided to name it: Women Full of Themselves Positive Pride. And so much more!

Living Full of Ourselves!

When I was little I dreamed big, fat, unruly dreams. Do you remember those? I know you had them too: those wandering fantasies that led us into great adventures and allowed us to dance in the fullness of our hopes. Those dreams where there were no limiting interruptions of “You want to do what?” or whispers that warned of failure and looking silly or insipid. No, when we were young, we were yet undamaged by the conditioning of our culture. We were still pleasantly full of ourselves.

I recall that little girl and your little girl too, and I invite her to be present again. We need her freedom, her complete willingness to believe in the possibility of everything and the way in which she so profoundly believed in all of her! It’s time for women to affirm and be full of ourselves!

When did it happen? When did we learn that being full of ourselves was prideful and bad? That somehow being full of ourselves challenged the idea that we could love, honor, hear and follow the direction of another? That being full of ourselves meant that we had no ability to allow space for another?

How wrong those ideas are. Being full of yourself is the surest way to giving space and freedom to another. Being full of your good core self gives you the confidence to open up to the good core of another and will be the energizing dynamic that assists the flourishing of others. When we are full of ourselves we are honestly able to engage all the good qualities that are unique to who we are, and see those that are particular in another.

Being full of ourselves is the deepest, most profound connection to the divine within you and to the energy of all that is around us. Becoming Full of Ourselves is the way to loving your body, your mind and your spirit. It is the way to connection with your sisters, lovers, mothers and friends. It is the practice of breathing big, expanding arch ways of opportunity that beckon you to adventure, to new ideas, deepening old loves and knowing yourself more lovingly than ever before.

Follow me on this new way and find out how to Become a Woman who is Full of Herself!

Conscious-ness is a Choice

It’s happened to me since I was in high school. At least that’s when I first began to really notice it: the rolling eyes, shaking heads and sometimes, the blatant arm reaching out to turn up the volume, drowning out my words. I care about what’s happening in our community, state, nation and world. I always have and I naively thought that as I grew up, gained in numbers and maturity, advanced into adulthood, that others would too.

How wrong I was. Even when I worked in D.C. in the Clinton Administration, the after-hours conversation was almost always focused on gossip, who was sleeping with whom, how it was benefitting their career and how else we could find our way to the top of the heap. It was pure power and the yearning for it that drove that crowd. I was disgusted and disillusioned.  My quest continued.

“There must be a group of people, an organization, an institution that cares about the world”, I hoped, “about what’s happening to people, the poor, the disenfranchised, the gender inequities.” I turned to my church (the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America) and spent 4 years in graduate school earning a Masters of Divinity (ya, I know… 4 years for a Masters! Don’t get me started) and became an ordained pastor.

I reasoned it this way. Having grown up in the church, I had taken a particular interest in Jesus and his focus on justice, equal distribution of wealth and his actions to even things out. I had come to know a radical Jesus, and so, I thought, the church could be the avenue through which consciousness, awareness and action can take place.

Wrong again. Really wrong. Members of the congregations where I was pastor did not want to engage their faith, their music, their pews, church or parking lot with the realities of the world. They did not want to hear Jesus, God, Bible or spirituality connected to what was going on in the newspaper, on the radio or TV in anyway. There were a few exceptions, but overall, the message was strong and clear. “Preach what people want to hear” and “Make me feel good about myself and my life”. Period. End of discussion.

It is work to live conscious. It is critical to live conscious for the benefit of our world, our nation, our communities and for our sons and daughters. Living in a bubble of our own making does not give us the information, challenge or wonder we need to progress, move forward and improve our society and world.  

I stand in the same place I did so long ago in high school. Eyes continue to roll when I speak about what I most care about: women valuing themselves from inside their own good core. Women don’t want to be Conscious about the realities facing women today as much as men want to pretend its all better and everything is fine. I disagree with both approaches. It is more urgent than ever for women to choose to live Conscious.

In an earlier blog I wrote about how we are obsessed with being busy. “Busy-busy-busy” we buzz as we move through the motions of our day. We hum it to confirm that we are living right, good and correct. The busier we are the better we must be doing. What is the saying we love to quote? “Idle hands are the devils tools?” So we buzz from one task to another while patting ourselves on the back.

To pretend that the chores, errands and responsibilities of our daily lives excuse us from interacting with the issues that face our society, particularly those concerning the equity of and opportunities for, women, means to live ostrich-esque; burying our mind deep in the proverbial sand.

We need to wake up. Consciousness is a Choice. It is discipline. It is the willingess to face truths that are ugly, uncomfortable or hard to hear. Like the fact that “According to Pentagon research, a quarter of all women who join the military are sexually assaulted during their careers.” Like the fact that rape remains the number one under-reported crime in America. Like the reality that women still make less than men do for the same work. Like the truth that the majority of our religions are male-centered with a male deity watching over, giving blessings and discerning prayers.

Like, like, like…. Obviously there is much more that could be said. The number of women and girls who struggle with an eating disorder, the studies that continue to find young women are still not raising their hands to ask questions in any sort of equal ratio to boys, and so it goes.

It’s not necessarily fun to be Conscious. When we choose Consciousness, it complicates our lives. It makes it messy. We can feel overwhelmed and impotent.

Wrong. We can make a difference. Simply by choosing to be Conscious, you are making a change in the environment of apathetic complicity. Simply by opening your mind to hear the realities that face women today, you are taking up space in the matter and requiring the truth to be told.

I think the need for Conscious Action is more urgent now than ever before. I believe that for all the progress made on other justice and equality issues, the rights for women and progress toward gender equality has turned backward and lessened over the last two decades. I want to change this. I want to be honest about the truth that we live in a system that does not equate the presence, power, worth and value of women with that of men.

I believe in a new vision; a new way for women to discover and rediscover, reawaken and shake-open their inner good-core, sexy-power and authentic beauty.

I see a movement of feminine energy that is dynamic; that arouses a sense of wonder, intellect and connection beyond our selves.

I see a new way to gather, to connect, network with each other and the world.

I hear words of ritual, appeals for hopes, desires, safety and calm that are feminine centered, gender neutral, said in poetry, music or as daily mantras.

I want to rewrite, reshape and reform the world of spirituality for women, to women and with women.

A Conscious, Feminine Centered Way of Living in Spirit, Mind and Body.

Join Me in the Movement.