life, love

Stay Gold

A Graceful Catastrophe

I wrote a poem a little while ago and one of the lines was something like: I’m only surviving on borrowed hope. I needed other peoples’ visions of the future, of my future, to keep me bobbing along the surface, when I really felt as though I was drowning. Recently, I started to see the cracks forming in the armored shell I wear, and a bit of light has started to seep through. I think that maybe now I’m no longer surviving on borrowed hope, but I may just have some of my own.

This has been a journey. Everything is, though, right?

I moved out of my home 2 years ago. And the trauma bond that had been keeping the attachment to that relationship finally broke about a year ago. I have been in therapy learning about myself, trauma, attachment styles, my childhood, my parents, my experiences, and more – all to understand why. So many “whys.” I’ve also been processing through photography because there’s so much I feel I have to stay silent about from this broken relationship. Since I cannot process with words, I’ve been processing through my art. I mean, the phrase, “a picture is worth a thousand words” is popular for a reason.

Recently, I did a selfie shoot to capture the contradiction I feel within. I am filled with hatred and anger and grief and I’m filled with light and love and joy. To live with such polar opposite feelings has long made me feel absolutely bonkers crazy. I don’t like it and I have struggled to understand how such conflicting emotions can live within me simultaneously. But, whether or not I understand it isn’t the point, I guess, because it’s my real, lived experience regardless of my level of comprehension.

So, I have slowly started to embrace just feeling the crazy. But then something happened a few days after I did this shoot…

I decided to start with my 60 second photoshoot experience to create intentional joy within and to just laugh at myself. I needed the reminder that I am strong, that I am magic…that I am walking sunshine, as my closest friends tell me. I had packed a super fun outfit that I’d never worn that had a bunch of mirrors all over it – it’s like wearing a disco ball. And I also brought my disco ball pillow to throw around, figuring it’d make me laugh at myself (note: it did).

After playing and feeling the release that only laughing can bring, I decided to close out my shoot with something a bit more moody. I’d brought my angel wings, because sometimes I feel like a fallen angel. Sometimes I feel as though I was supposed to be this sweet, innocent, precious being, but life just kept shooting me down.

After I captured what I wanted, I was exhausted. Emotionally spent. I packed up and went home.

It wasn’t until later, when I was creating a reel for social media, that I really thought about what I’d created. I had made a visual representation of what I was feeling inside. I had captured the contradiction.

Smile and dance. Seethe with rage and hate. Stand tall and be fiercely strong. Fall to the floor and scream.

All this lives inside all at once. Pretty much always – though the rage and hatred are feeling a tad more controlled recently.

This photoshoot helped me to embrace the contradictions that I have been fighting against for so, so long. I finally feel as though I have the permission to live in both vibrancy and grayscale. I am someone who is filled with love and compassion and softness and I am also made of hard edges and everything that comes with carrying grief and surviving intense trauma.

A therapist I spoke with recently explained to me that it’s important to name your trauma and that was so validating for me to hear. He spoke of existential trauma, betrayal trauma, and even of a trauma that was so specific in one of his clients that it didn’t fit in any box, so together, they coined their own name for it. This was another significant piece of the puzzle for me and it fell into place around the same time as this photoshoot.

So when looking through the photos from my shoot, I began to see that a whole person existed in each capture. And it helped me begin to accept that I am whole, despite the contradictions, and not shattered because of them.

After having this epiphany, I then went on a short vacation with dear friends. One of my friends has all sorts of tattoos, one of which is “stay gold.” She also creates her own jewelry and has rings with that same phrase stamped on them. I’ve been friends with her for years, have seen the tattoos and the jewelry, and have never been particularly moved by the phrase.

Until now.

For those that have read the book The Outsiders by S.E. Hinton, you understand this phrase. It’s rather famous. But if you don’t know it, the way that I interpret it is, essentially, to not let the heaviness of a burdened past steal your light and joy.

I will never fully heal from my trauma. I don’t believe people ever do. I am forever changed from it. And I am still grieving, for many reasons, and also because I have not fully accepted this truth yet. However, one day those experiences will no longer be crippling. They’ll no longer affect me with the same magnitude they do today. I do believe that. So, this time, when I saw her jewelry, when I picked up the ring that had “stay gold” stamped on it, I felt the energy of that phrase thrill through my body.

Just because I have a heavy past that I am still trying to comprehend, doesn’t mean that I should lose the wonder, hope, and childlike joy that lives inside of me. Nothing will take that away from me because I just won’t allow that to happen.

Obviously, I bought the ring. And now I’ll wear it everyday as a reminder to “stay gold.”

life

The Anchor

A Graceful Catastrophe

(This was originally written on June 15, 2024. It’s taken me a while to be ready to release this one.)

My mind swirls and my fingers long to skate across the keyboard, gently tapping out the dance that my thoughts choreograph.

But where do I even begin? It’s been so long since I’ve written. I feel as though I’ve lived countless lives in the time that has passed. And perhaps I have. I am not the same as I once was. For better or for worse, I have changed. Dynamically.

It is quiet in my home now, at 10:15 pm. I miss the sounds of my Chary dog’s breathing, her paws clicking on the floor as she wanders around to stretch her legs or drink some water. I feel the hole that now exists in her absence. She spent almost 17 years with me. And lived multiple lifetimes with me. Only for her to pass away in the most tragic and awful of circumstances while I was away at a photography conference. I am struggling with all the emotions that come with the grief of losing such a faithful companion, on top of the emotions that flood my being for how she passed. It eats away at me, the hole in my heart growing day by day.

I have always struggled with giving grace, as those of you who have been here from the beginning know. I have struggled with forgiveness. And I struggle with accepting the reality that is my life.

These three lessons are what the Universe continues to give me in abundance, so that I may practice them until I have mastered them.

I most definitely have a very long way to go.

Up until very recently, I have countered wrongs that people have done to me with fierce, unapologetic vengeance. If you hurt me, you will also hurt. And it’ll probably be worse for you than it is for me.

But I think I’ve learned that lesson. I no longer care about vengeance. If others wrong me, I now just feel sorrow for them. They are likely so miserable inside. And isn’t that vengeance enough? Knowing just how awful their own internal workings must be? Well, that’s what I have come to embrace. Nothing I do can ever hurt them more than they are already hurting.

So, though I blame others for my Chary baby’s passing, I won’t seek vengeance. Their own internal systems will pay for her loss more than anything I could ever do.

I am not, however, ready to forgive. Nor am I able to fully grasp accepting she is gone. I sometimes hear her whine in the wind, or I wake up in the middle of the night because, in my sleep, I had heard her walking around.

Forgiveness is complex for me. I have discovered that I can only truly, wholly forgive another if I am able to understand them. I couldn’t fully forgive my ex husband for his infidelities in our marriage until I completely understood why he made those choices.

I understand now. I understand infidelity in a whole different light now. And because I understand, I finally have the peace within that comes from letting go of every ounce of anger, hurt, humiliation, and all those other awful feelings that come from being betrayed.

I wonder how people forgive when they lack the understanding of why somebody did what they did?

I wonder how one accepts their reality when they’re in constant shock that this is, in fact, the reality they are living in. I know people who are living in pretty much the worst imaginable reality there could be and they’re not just surviving, they’re thriving, despite the pain that exists.

You know what else confuses me? How is it that I feel absolutely nothing and also absolutely everything all at once? How is that even possible?

I feel a total void most moments of most days. I feel like a zombie, running through the motions, being who I am supposed to be for everybody else, but inside I’m vacant. Well, most of the time.

But then, there are these brief moments that I’m completely UNDONE. I feel EVERYTHING. It washes over me, cold and intense and also, somehow, searing hot, and buries me under the avalanche of emotion. And, man, I am left just EXHAUSTED. Annihilated. Which is all just too much, so then comes the void again, where I fall silent. Because silence is safe. Not feeling is safe. And being safe means surviving.

And that’s one thing I am. A survivor. Despite everything, I survive. Through everything, I survive. For my daughter, I survive.

But, ugh, this way to survival is killing me, too.

The intensity of my emotions is building. It’s getting harder to breathe. I have panic attacks pretty frequently now. I am struggling to stay quiet.

I am struggling.

It’s all becoming too much. Chary passing away in the way that she did is too much to bear. Too much to forgive. Too much to accept.

It has been an anchor pulling me down even deeper. I have been drowning for quite some time – even before I even realized that I was drowning. I am in desperate need of a way to cut this rope, attaching me to the anchor. I need a life preserver. The problem is, I don’t yet have one. I suppose I need to make one for myself.

I just hope I can finish making it in time.

life

Ahem…

A Graceful Catastrophe

(Originally written in early January, 2026 but I wasn’t ready to post until today.)

Excuse me while I clear my throat and test my voice in this space once again. It’s been so long since I’ve felt capable of writing. So much of my life is now lived in silence and I feel stifled. I feel as though I cannot tell my story. Not yet, at least. And, so, this writing voice has been quiet in my head.

But lately, I’ve been thinking more about writing. It’s like this little annoying whisper in the dark corners of my mind. And so, here I am, wondering what will spill from my mind and through my fingers and into this space.

I recently had a birthday. I guess I can start there. It was my first birthday in a long while that I truly enjoyed. So many of my past birthdays have had a cloud over them, sometimes partially blocking the sun, sometimes leaving me in the middle of a violent storm. But this birthday was filled with radiant sunshine.

People have asked me what made this birthday so special and it took me a while to understand what it was about this year that made it feel so different. The conclusion I finally arrived at was this: I find birthdays extremely special. To age is a gift. It’s a privilege. I had the incredible fortune of turning 45 in December and I’m ever so grateful for that. In the past, however, I feel like the people in my life didn’t match this same energy and excitement and the energy I received felt rather like it was a chore or burden to make my birthday special. But this year, I was with my mini-me, who also loves birthdays and gets excited about the celebration. My energy was received, and matched. The day was perfect and I felt truly celebrated and loved in each encounter I had with others.

So, this birthday felt extra meaningful and special. And that energy kind of spread through my mind and body, making me believe this year will be extra meaningful and special.

And it’s also just so incredibly heavy. It feels like every day, there’s a new awful story that I’m hearing from either my friends dealing with huge, scary, frustrating problems or from strangers on my phone, talking about the tragedies in our communities and the shocking news of what is happening around our country.

Which leads me to being absolutely forced to learn how to live with duality. I’ve never been able to process conflicting emotions at the same time. I live in the black and white. I live in clarity. I absolutely detest confusion and have no tolerance for the gray areas. I’m either feeling happiness or sadness – never both. How does that even work??

Well, there’s no choice now but to figure it out. And I am. I haven’t yet watched the movie Everything Everywhere All at Once but, man, that title is like the title of my life right now. I feel everything constantly. And it makes me feel crazy, to be perfectly honest. I feel happy while also feeling intense anger inside of me. I feel chronic sadness and also feel a deep void and nothingness within. I feel like I walk along a fine line between sanity and utter collapse most days, all with a smile on my face. And apparently, feeling a variety of emotions at the same time is not only normal, it’s healthy! So, I’m learning how to grieve, heal, and feel through each day, while trying to function as a mom, a creative, a business owner, a friend…

It’s exhausting.

And some days, I don’t manage it well. And other days, I make it my job to distract myself from everything I’m thinking and feeling because I just cannot. And then, there are the days where I somehow manage to process a tiny fraction of my emotions. I know there’s a long road ahead of me still. And not being able to process out loud is difficult for me, as I am a verbal processor. So, everything just kind of stays jumbled and a mess.

But I’m finally making peace with that. I’m a mess and it isn’t surprising, given my story. So, I’m learning to give myself grace to feel everything, and nothing, all at once.

life, love

Love in this life?

A Graceful Catastrophe

On Feb. 28, 2021, I wrote a blog by this title, minus the question mark. I’ve lived a bit more life since I wrote that hopeful little piece and the way I think of love has changed once again.

At that point in my life, I always thought of love in a romantic sense. With a forever partner. And I always thought that that specific kind of love had evaded me, since I always seemed to have problems with romantic love.

What I have since discovered is that I actually have experienced that rich, beautiful, loyal, unconditional love I had always been chasing and felt I’d never received because, well, the choices I made in men and the choices those men made. I had just been looking for it in the wrong places and ignoring the love that I had been cloaked in for years.

That darling, special love is the love I experience with my closest friends. They’re always judgment free zones, they ask questions and push me to be a better version of myself, they’re my biggest cheerleaders, and the ones that support me unconditionally. I was so focused on romantic love and felt its absence soooo intensely that I completely ignored the greatest love of all.

My closest friends have witnessed pretty much all the versions of me and have never once done anything other than celebrate each me that’s ever existed. I’ve never been too much for them and I’ve never had to shrink myself for them. Their words have been writing me love letters for decades and their actions have backed up each and every one of their sentences.

Now, when I hear a love song on the radio, I think of the friendships I have in abundance, those people who define what love truly is and how it is supposed to feel. They know how to love me, how to support me, and how to encourage me. When I go silent and retreat because life is just too heavy to be able to lift the weight from me, they patiently wait for me. And when I come back, they welcome me back as though I’d never gone missing and no beats were skipped.

True love is sitting with my bestie in her living room while we’re each on our phones doing our own thing because simply breathing the same air and sharing the same space is enough. She demands nothing from me, and I return that same sentiment. True love is knowing how much music and lyrics touch my heart and receiving a random song on a random day, because my bestie thought of me. True love is showing up for an event for my bestie and barely even talking to her because she’s busy hosting, yet we still feel the love between one another, without a single spoken word.

True love is listening to my drama and asking me questions and leaning in with curiosity and when I say that I just don’t know and lack understanding and clarity, they say that’s okay and remind me it’s a normal space to be in, all while being free of judgments and their opinions.

I have experienced an abundance of true love in this life. It’s always been there, I just didn’t realize it was defined in this way. Once I shifted and started listening to love songs through the lens of friendship, I practically melted.

Love in this life? Yeah, I have it. Wholly, deeply, completely. And, man, am I lucky.

life

fear is nonsense

A Graceful Catastrophe

The other day I wrote about how I couldn’t possibly wrap my head around the idea that I am an artist. To me, the power that that word holds is simply magical. The people I have given the title of “Artist” are truly magical beings who are masters at their craft.

And then, out of the blue, someone whom I hadn’t seen in over 6 months, excitedly sat down with me and, seeming rather sad while she said I hadn’t emailed any more of my photography to her. She’s been waiting to see me to see my work again. As she was speaking to me, she referred to me as an artist. Now, she hadn’t read my blog or understood the rabbit hole of thought after thought I’d been diving down recently. She just spoke from her heart. And she said that what I do moves her. She said when she sees my photographs, something within her actually pulsates and she is drawn into the photo.

She said that about me. About my work. It took everything to fight back the tears that were forming. She spoke about ME with this almost reverent tone. She thought of me and my work how I think about other artists. And it was all completely unsolicited, which, for me, adds incredible value to the way I can absorb it as truth.

So, perhaps I was struggling with referring to myself as an artist because of the fear behind the power of that word. If I am an artist, that carries more pressure and more weight. If I am an artist, then I have a certain expectation to live up to (self-imposed, of course).

But, I am realizing that that is nonsense.

And…to at least one other person, what I do does evoke a sense of magic and wonder in her. I mean, to hear this woman talk about my work was exactly the way I have spoken about people I look at with wide-eyed wonder regarding their craft.

I don’t think she’ll ever quite understand what she did for me, but I think it’s quite likely I’ll carry that conversation in my heart for the rest of my days. And whenever I doubt my own magic, I’ll recall her eyes and her tone, along with her words, as she spoke to me.

Thank you, Leslie, for being so genuine and for sharing your unfiltered enthusiasm about me – as an artist. Because now I do believe I carry that title.

I am an artist.

May we all know a “Leslie” who can remind us of the magic that we carry within, especially when we can’t see it for ourselves…

life

Imposter

A Graceful Catastrophe

So…one little word sent me down a rabbit hole in my mind this morning.

A dear friend of mine referred to me as an artist. And, oh, man… Did my brain go NUTS at that word! Like, me?! An “artist?” Nope. Definitely not me…

Artists are, like, GODS to me! Uber talented geniuses. Voices of angels. Hands with power and grace. Eyes that see the world in a way I could only DREAM OF seeing it. I’ve always wished I could be “an artist.” (Are you reading this with as much reverence as I say it in my mind? I mean, picture the skies parting, the angels singing, the sunbeams all directly shining upon the word, “artist.” That is the tone in which I hear and see that word.)

Artists are obviously up on a pedestal for me. I always wanted to be one but never felt I had the necessary skills or natural gifts to be one. I have always felt like an outsider, and completely incapable, when it comes to creating “art.” (Do you hear the angels singing??)

And yet, here I am. Pursuing a profession filled with artists. Like, REAL ARTISTS. The pure magic that some of these photographers create evokes chills within me. My mouth literally drops open and I’m just left either speechless or with one word…how?

I know I am at the beginning of my journey and the feedback I have received from my clients has been incredibly validating. I am in no way putting myself down, here. So I hope you don’t misunderstand me. I feel as though I am a connector and a creator. And I do believe I am pretty successful in what I am doing. My clients are happy and I am thrilled at being able to do what I do as my profession. To be able to create an experience for others where they feel seen, understood, and heard and then to have physical proof in the form of beautiful, raw photos that will remind them – for as long as they keep those photos – of exactly who they are, is incredibly fun and fulfilling. And I don’t take what I do lightly. It is with immense gratitude and respect that I do this work.

And, at the same time, I don’t feel as though what I am doing qualifies me as an “artist.” Creator? Yes. But, geez… I have put so much power into the word “artist” that I don’t know that I’ll ever consider myself one.

And I never realized that until now. Until I was referred to as an artist. Isn’t that interesting?

Obviously I have always believed words have power (this whole blog space is proof of that). For me, words are everything: I cannot process my own world without processing through words, I attach such incredible value to words that they take on a life of their own, and that phrase, “sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me,” uhh, pure lies. Physical pain is absolutely nothing compared to the pain I have felt from nasty words slung my way. Nothing hurts me worse than words. Nothing can soothe me more than words. And nothing can make me feel more loved than beautiful words.

Which, then, makes sense of why I attached so much power to the word, “artist” so long ago. In middle school, I SO wanted to take an art class. But, I couldn’t, because I was in band. And the way the schedule was prevented me from being able to do both. I think it was then that I started to make the distinction between “artists” and me. I would never be an artist because how does one become something without ever having the opportunity to pursue it? To learn it? It became this untouchable fantasy, something I could never be because it didn’t fit in my schedule. I could never be one of “them.” And then the same was true for high school. And then I just pursued academics, starting college classes as soon as I could drive to the local community college. I sped through undergrad and my master’s. There was no time to try to pursue “fluff.” Or to explore it. I was on a mission. And I could never be an artist, anyway, so why in the world should I slow down to ever even try to explore art?

sigh….

So, here I am. In my 40’s and finally have an opportunity to explore art. To help turn my clients into art and see themselves as wondrous beings that are filled with magic.

I wholeheartedly see my clients as exquisite pieces of art. Because they are.

But how dare I claim the title of “artist!” That title is for the geniuses who have been exploring art since they were children. They have lived it and breathed it since they were children. I just don’t fit in that category. I have wanted to be an artist for as long as I can remember, but have never had that natural talent. Even my stick figures are questionable. (it’s okay to laugh…I am)

So, what is an artist to you? How do you define it? The power of words in my mind make me unable to wrap my head around allowing myself that title. I am in awe of artists: singers, painters, those who can draw, so many photographers I now know – artists are pure, exceptional magic. Artists are gods to me, on a level I could only dream of one day joining.

I am a creator. And I say that with the utmost respect to myself and to what I do.

Again…I am not in any way putting myself down. I am at the very beginning of my journey as a creator and am proud of where I am. It just struck me in a way I couldn’t have anticipated it would when I was referred to as an artist.

To call myself an artist feels as though I’m an imposter. A fraud. I know many artists. I know their work. And I am nowhere in that same category.

I wonder how I will feel about the title, “artist” in another 5 years. I wonder if now that I am finally afforded the ability to pursue learning an art if I’ll ever consider myself an Artist?

I suppose only time will tell…

How about you? Is there anything you’ve ever wanted to be but never felt you could ever be? I’d love to hear your stories and/or perspective!

life

5 years ago, and a lifetime

A Graceful Catastrophe

A Facebook memory popped up today that made my blood run cold. I literally got goosebumps as I read the words and remembered who I was 5 years ago.

There was a list of something that, man, I wish I knew what it was now, but apparently a good bit of that list resonated with me. And so, without any hesitation or understanding of what I was publicly saying, I wrote those words, and posted my thoughts.

I had no trust in my own capacity and freely told that to my FB community without understanding exactly how vulnerable that whole post was. (Now, I post super vulnerable and raw blogs with the full realization that that is exactly what I am doing.) And you know what is even crazier? I only JUST had that lack of self trust epiphany a few months ago in therapy. I had no idea that I’ve been living this life completely ignoring my internal voice because I didn’t trust it. *woah*

At least now I’m self aware and can work at regaining trust in my own self again – after decades of it being lost. And that’s probably why this memory stopped me cold today.

I still hesitate when listening to my gut. I still completely disregard that little voice. But now it’s quite transparent what I am doing and I can learn how to adjust my mindset and rebuild trust in myself again. Which is pretty cool, I think…to be able to understand I have an area of growth and I can choose to actually better myself through it…

You know, I haven’t written in ages. My life has changed dynamically from when I first started writing here. My ex and I have grown to be very close friends and I adore his partner – she’s a great mom and I’m grateful for her influence in my daughter’s life. What a 180!

And I have changed – so much. I went to Greece (I’m sure I wrote about this experience in an earlier blog), alone, just over a year after I’d written that fear laden Facebook post. I flew there to attend a private photography workshop (so I could learn how to use my camera) with 2 complete strangers, who were both men. And after I learned all the things from them, I spent 2 or 3 days in Athens all by myself. And on my very first day in Greece, with those two strangers (now turned good friends), I got a tattoo with the words, “strong, capable, enough.”

Because I was. I am. I always have been.

Others may not always treat me in ways that make me feel that I am strong, capable, or enough for them but I’m pretty sure it’s because I haven’t been strong, capable, or enough for myself – as is obvious in my old post.

But, little by little, I’m getting there. I’m more self aware now than ever in my life, and that’s got to count for something, right?

I am now a photographer as my profession, which brings my trip to Greece full circle. I’m just starting out, really, and attended my first photography conference just about 3 weeks ago. I went alone and without knowing a single soul. And there wasn’t any part of me that was afraid in any way. I was SO excited.

Me. The girl who was afraid of the outdoors after dark. Who was afraid of going to the grocery store, and who would never, ever dream of trusting herself to her own safety.

And, wow. Just wow. What happened in those 4 days changed me. Like, not just mentally, with everything I learned, and not just emotionally, with everyone I met, but on a true soul level. The me who was me on September 9 is no longer the me that is sitting here today. It was THAT dynamic.

Every single thing that happened during that conference helped me to grow. I respond to situations differently now than I would have before, had I experienced the same exact situation. I know how the old me would have responded. And I rather like how the new me is responding.

This new me values herself in a way that feels subtle on the outside (for now), but is churning, growing slowly, much like a wildfire, deep within. I feel this spark that was ignited there and it’s growing and, I’ve got to say, I’m really liking it.

It’s funny how pivotal moments to my whole “soul being” have occurred around photography. First in Greece, and now this past conference. The people in this industry are truly something special…and the connection was immediate and wild and beautiful and intense and unimaginable. Truly.

If I were still that woman (I want to say girl) from 5 years ago, I never would have gone to Greece and met 2 incredibly exceptional men who unbeknownst to any of us, jump started the career I am in today.

If I were still that woman from 5 years ago, I never would have been brave enough or ambitious enough to participate in a photography conference in another state and with absolutely no existing connection, no anchor, nobody to “keep me safe.”

That is one thing that has changed, thankfully. I feel entirely and perfectly capable of keeping my own self safe in public. I may still have trust issues with my internal voice, but there is NOTHING stopping me from diving head first into new experiences. Especially ones that will help me grow on multiple levels. Before, fear controlled so much of my life, but now, I am just so excited to see what growth occurs over the next 5 years from experiences created by being strong, capable, and enough…

And you! Well, I’ll leave you with this. If you are living in fear and doubt, to the extent that you avoid actually living a remarkable life – like I was – I invite you to do something that you would consider brave (just keep it safe, obviously). It may be something tiny to an outsider, but start showing yourself exactly who you are. You never know what kind of wildfire that small spark could ignite.

The lesson for myself in all this? I am, in fact, strong, capable, and enough. If for nobody else but myself.

And that is more than enough.

life

Man Up

A Graceful Catastrophe

Hello, my dear readers! I’m back to introduce you to a new adventure! I am starting a new business – Body Issues. It’s a photography business focusing on all things MAN!

We live in a society plagued with masculine toxicity (the idea that any deviation from stereotypical manliness is “wrong.”) Men, I see you. I am here to bring you out of the shadows and work to break the stereotypes with you. You, afterall, are human, too. You are filled with emotions and thoughts and vulnerabilities! And you deserve to be noticed.

Welcome to Body Issues! Here is a blog that will be featured on my new website bodyissues.me. It isn’t quite ready to launch yet, but it’s coming! Keep checking.

As always – so much love to you all.

“Men don’t have feelings.”

“Men CAN’T show their feelings.”

“Man Up!”

Right?

Ugh…..

No!

Society has made it so difficult for men to be human. Men are not allowed to be vulnerable. It’s a sign of weakness. Men are taught that. Man up. Bury your feelings. Oh, and you’re incapable of being a good father without your child’s mom’s influence and help.

During divorce, so many men are told they won’t be able to make it. How are they going to work and manage taking care of their children? They lose custody. They’re told by their ex-wives, the courts, and so many others that they can’t. They aren’t capable. So they start to believe it. But these men can’t feel their feelings. They have to bury them. They have to man up. Nobody sees the weight of the loss. The weight of the pain from the perceived failure.

But men are walking around everyday with this immense hurt and sadness and frustration and guilt and so many other heavy feelings. They’re weighted down from so many moments that have hurt them but they haven’t had a safe space to take time to process these feelings. Men are not encouraged to talk about their emotions. In fact, men are encouraged to stifle all this pain and just keep taking care of everything and everyone else. With no regard to taking care of their own self. Self-love, self-care…sadly, it’s not a widely accepted thing for men.

We live in a society of toxic masculinity. It isn’t safe for a man to exhibit any quality that isn’t stereotypically “man.” But it’s time we change that!

Men are human. They have feelings. They feel failures and sadness and guilt just like many women do. They just aren’t “allowed” to talk about it. And they rarely give themselves permission to feel these heavy emotions.

But here, at Body Issues, and especially during your photo shoot, permission is granted!

Be free. Be vulnerable. Be you.

I see you and I feel your pain. I believe you are amazing fathers and caregivers, professionals, and workout enthusiasts, and humans just doing the very best you can. The way you work so hard to keep all your identities in balance is admirable and should be celebrated!

So, book a shoot and let’s work together to break those toxic stereotypes. Let’s redefine the “Man Up!” concept and show the world exactly what men are made of! I can’t wait to work with you!

life

731 Days

A Graceful Catastrophe

731 days. That’s a big number. That’s a whole lot of time. 17,544 hours.

2 years.

It’s been 2 years since I found out that my ex had cheated on me. Some of you may be thinking to yourself, “Oh, my goodness, get over it already.”

But you see, I am. That is not the point of this blog. This is an anniversary date. One that will always be remembered, but there is no more pain, hurt, or grief attached to it. This is merely a moment I am using to pause and to reflect.

Just like I would on my birthday. Or any other milestone anniversary.

You’d think that a lot of lessons could be learned in over a million minutes. 1,052,640 minutes to be exact.

And it’s true. I have learned a lot. And at the same time, I have been just as naïve as ever. I believed what was told to me…which I am learning is just about the dumbest thing. Nobody tells the truth. Nobody is completely raw, vulnerable, or truly authentic. We are human and we will always protect ourselves first. And people always have something to hide, thoughts they are unwilling to voice.

Today, a song lyric popped into my head. 

"...the day the music died."

That’s today.

The music died today. Today I realized that “truth” is a figment of my imagination. “Truth” is only as valid as the belief system of the person delivering it. It’s all to be taken with a grain of salt. It’s all based on perspective. One person’s “truth” is based on how s/he perceives the world. There is no such thing as “truth,” really. How naïve of me to have believed that people are able to ever be fully honest with others – especially if they cannot be fully honest with themselves. Some pain is too devastating to face. So you lie to be able to live.

Then, in some rare flashes, when a truth is screaming to surface, it becomes impossible to stifle even a moment longer. It’s funny what comes to light after being suppressed for so long. It’s funny how people lie to themselves in order to live in this imaginary world they’ve convinced themselves is reality.

It’s funny how I’ve continuously lied to myself in order to live in a world I desperately wanted to believe in.

But life is no fairytale. I know this better than I wish I did. I have been continuously lying to myself to construct a world I hoped existed. I convinced myself it did. I truly believed it did.

I listened to the song (it’s American Pie by Don McLean, if you didn’t recognize the lyric earlier) on my drive home – twice. It’s a long song, about 7.5 minutes. Another lyric popped out, “Do you recall what was revealed the day the music died?”

A lot was revealed 2 years ago. A great deal more was revealed today. Actually, today probably symbolizes more to me now than that moment I received the email 2 years ago.

All I can do is continue to reflect, continue making the difficult choice to grow. Though, my perspective today is vastly different than it was even yesterday. Experiences change us. Time does, too.

I’m finally beginning to see the world as it is, rather than as I’d hoped it was.

I’m at the point, after 2 years of growth and reflection and experiences and pain and trauma, of just truly abandoning anything I believed to be a self-truth, and simply breathing in and out and being. Nothing really matters – and I don’t say this with sadness, but with logic. In the long run, nothing really has the weight on it that we initially perceived.

Edward Zander’s quote has been my mantra for the last 2 years. “It’s never as good as it feels, and it’s never as bad as it seems.”

2 years ago, I learned the back half of that quote. Now, I’m learning the first half.

In the end, it never feels good for very long. It doesn’t feel terrible for very long either. It just is.

Over a million minutes gone and so much time spent reflecting and growing. As we all know, there is no comfort in growth. And as I know, I’ve been uncomfortable for far too much of my life. I’m ready for comfort. I am ready to be comforted.

And I hate St. Patrick’s Day, it is truly the most uncomfortable of all days.

life, love

Love in this Life

A Graceful Catastrophe

“Sometimes you get the love you want, sometimes you get the love you need.”

-Author Unknown, found on a wall inside Inxpot, Keystone, CO

Maybe love isn’t what this hopeless romantic had always thought it was. I grew up with this vision of what true love looked like, and, of course, it was shaped by love stories I devoured in both novels and movies. I wanted to be swept off my feet by somebody who just understood exactly how to make me happy and speak to my heart the moment he looked into my eyes. If he’s my soulmate, shouldn’t he already know everything about me? Shouldn’t it be that he’d never hurt me? Wouldn’t it be eternal bliss, every second that ticked by after meeting him?

I honestly believed that incredibly unrealistic version of true love. Damn those love stories, creating a world that’s honestly only fit for fantasy. And poor guy who would ever fall in love with me – what kinds of shit expectations are those?!

A friend told me last week, after reading my last blog, laced with words born from pain and jaded discontent, that she thought love between two people was far more like two circles, separate at first, slowly coming closer together until they begin to overlap.

Over the past week, after thinking, processing, mulling things over, journaling, and talking with others, I’ve decided that I did, in fact, have it all wrong.

True love is when the other person understands they’ve hurt you and they break down in the middle of a very public place because they’re overwhelmed by the understanding of the extent of that hurt.

True love is not only understanding how the other needs to be treated in order to feel love, but actually leaving their comfort zone and putting in the intention and effort to make sure the other feels loved in their own language.

True love is thinking of the other first, and sometimes even sacrificing to put their happiness above your own.

True love is including the other into your own world, shedding walls and baggage, in order to be completely raw and vulnerable – which is probably the most terrifying thing in the world to do.

My soulmate is the one willing to put in the work. The one who decides to study me like I am a course he wants to ace.

This. This is true love. It takes work. And ever so much understanding. And grace. And, did I mention work? It isn’t easy. It isn’t effortless. And to have that expectation is foolish. And then it leads to frustration and disappointment.

The better you understand how someone ticks, the better you can love them. And that is the true beauty of love, I think. To see my partner mold to my needs because he’s learned who I am, and how I am…that’s a thing of beauty.

Soulmates decide to grow together, to lean in on one another. It isn’t that one will never hurt the other, but that when they do, it’s seen as an opportunity to deepen the love. It’s a lesson then learned, where layers of old pain can be shed, and the soul is bared.

Love is realizing you want to be so transparent that your partner is capable of seeing all of you – the good, the bad, the beautiful, and the ugly – and you don’t run away from that, despite how scary it is, because you know you can trust them with every bit of you, past, present, and future.

Soulmates don’t give up on each other. True love doesn’t turn away from each other. No matter how ugly it gets. Because these types of partners consistently choose one another and understand that together, they can conquer any challenge.

I’ve weathered quite the storms in my life – and again rode some rocky waves quite recently that once again left me jaded. I’ve waited to receive the love I’d always hoped I’d one day feel, and honestly had begun to lose hope it could exist.

And you know, perhaps the love I’d always dreamed of having, that effortless and immediate love I thought could exist, is actually best left for the fairytales. This may not be the love I’d always wanted, but maybe that’s because this is the love I’ve always needed.

Inxpot, Keystone, CO