Pen and paper processing

March 25, 2017

Dear Cherished Heart,
In my last counselling session my mental health advisor spoke to me about my “parts”. When I get overwhelmed by feelings, it is usually because one or more parts are highly activated and giving me all kinds of not-so-true messages.

What she suggested is that I “parent” my parts. What do they need from me? 

To the perfectionist – I see you and your desire to be the best you can be, but this is a road fraught with confusion, and trial and error. Even though you are 51 years old it is OK to make a mistake. When you make a mistake it is an opportunity for learning, and readjusting your sails.

To the wounded – Remember you are an emotionally sensitive being. Feeling sad and-yes-brokenhearted is the path to healing. There is no shortcut. But not everything need to be painted with the brush of sadness. Stop and smell the roses. Really. I know it’s cliché, but it is one thing you can wilfully do to get through this. Practice gratitude. Every. Day.

To the critic- Fuck off! I got this. I get it, you don’t see your way through all this lawyering, all this financial rigmarole, or all this separating. It is pretty uncertain. But I am good enough already-so please stop telling me I can’t do this or that. I can. You are clouding my thoughts with your nay-saying;  I need you to sit in the next room and talk to yourself so I can get some clarity. OK? Good.

In summary:
Be your best-mistakes and all.
Practice gratitude-every day.
I am good enough already. Seek opportunities and people who make this evident.

It is very hard work.

I do love pen on paper at times Cherished Heart. It gives me more than I realized I had.

Yours truly,

Mona Lott


Composting Death

IMG_7024March 23, 2017

Dear Cherished Heart,

I have suffered an emotional death. That sounds so melodramatic. And no such thing even exists. I have not died, for I still  breath. But . . .

If you could see me—really see me—you would see a hole right through my chest. How can that be explained?

The day we got married was filled with sunshine, love, laughter, and promise. Something inside of me opened up to a soul-filled kind of love. I leaned in. I am on a search for that blessed day, the one where we created affirmations of love and authenticity, and an intention to be together for a lifetime. Our people filled the pews and cheered for us as Handel’s Hornpipe, Water Music Suite,  danced on a breeze.  Hornpipe for God’s sake: optimism amidst playful banter.

But what was my point Cherished Heart?

Oh yeah. Living and dying simultaneously. Waking. Cooking. Driving. Crying. Walking. Loving. Eating. Aching. Washing. Buying. Petting. Playing. Flailing. Talking. Listening. Smiling.

Can I not curl into a ball on a feather-bed and sleep until the edges of the pain have softened?

Can I not be held up by others and shuffled through life like cattle in a chute—moving to a rhythm outside of myself?

Can pen and paper not manifest a set of agreements that are fair to all, and written with kindness and lingering admiration?

Can I let go and float wherever the current is meant to take me?

How can emotional death compost and support growth, when I am rooted to it?

When will the weight of it ease up? I am strong but weary.

Who am I outside of this grief and felled marriage?

Beside my writing chair sits a solid wood table holding the accoutrements of writing. Coffee. Candle. Cross. Cards. I had pulled a card earlier, which I immediately disregarded as bullshit.

I’m taking a second look.

You can recover from anything. You can heal from anything. There is nothing that has fundamentally damaged your spirit, your will, and your heart, no matter how broken those parts of you feel at times. They have only ever been broken to heal stronger. They have not been broken beyond repair, and never will be. You are breaking out of something, rising above it, trying to transcend a pattern within yourself, or one in relation to another person— and you will succeed. Focus on your integrity and truth. Be yourself. If you have forgotten who that is, don’t worry—that true self has not gone away, and never will.  It is ready and waiting to rise up, in original gorgeousness and glory, and be alive. It is never too late for you.” Wild Kuan Yin, Alana Fairchild

It is with utmost relief that I learn I am not going to die or be permanently broken by this experience. My soul will compost my pain, and that is a slow process indeed.

Yours Truly,

Mona Lott