Yes, folks, this is a post about my girly bits. Specifically about my cervix, but my vagina is discussed.

Daddy and Little Brother (and anyone else uninterested in my girly bits), you probably want to stop reading right here. I’m going to be disturbingly frank. Consider yourselves warned.

There’s a good lesson at the end, though. (Tempt, tempt.)

Let’s begin.

My vagina and I are good friends. Unlike most women, I’m rather familiar with how mine looks and feels, inside and out. This has come in handy from time to time, when something is awry – I can catch it before it gets too awry.

You might already know where this is heading, right? Because why would I be talking publicly about my private bits unless I had damn good reason?

Yup.

Last week, I went to the bathroom as usual. When I attempted to reinsert my Diva cup (yes, that means I was in need of the menstrual hut), I found my vaginal cavity blocked.

And promptly freaked the fuck out.

I calmly said to Pace, “Honey, get the flashlight and meet me in the bedroom, stat.” (Calm, because I didn’t want to terrify my son, who was setting up a game nearby.) Pace picked up on the panic in my voice and didn’t waste any time getting to me.

After a while of uncomfortable poking and prodding – and the least sexy photographs of a usually sexy place possible (for science!) – she went off to the computer. She was doing the research, as I am forbidden to google medical issues.

(This is because, once, I sprained my ankle and read an article on how a sprained ankle can lead to death and freaked the fuck out.)

After extensive research, Pace said, “Okay, it looks like your cervix.”

Pardon me?

My cervix?

As in, the thing that’s supposed to be at the other, far away, hard to reach end of my vagina?

It seems to have wandered a bit out of place, don’t you think?

I was, unsurprisingly, still freaking the fuck out. Pace remained extremely calm and helpful and kind, and took excellent care of me. I called friends and they said reassuring and comforting things and gave me good advice. I stayed up way too late because sleeping seemed like a bad idea. I mean, what if my uterus as a whole decided to climb out and run off? Apparently, various bits of me are getting errant ideas! So I fussed and freaked and panicked for hours, then asked the internet what to do.

The internet, in a moment of stunning grace, said, “Everything is going to be alright.”

So I went to bed.

The next morning, I went to the doctor. I managed to find an Ob/Gyn recommended to me my best friend, so at least it was someone I knew by proxy about to shove her fingers up my girly bits rather than some stranger dude in the ER.

I told the doctor about my past (miscarrying and being raped) and that I was extremely terrified, and she thanked me and promised to be extremely gentle and tell me everything before she did anything. I told her the whole story about my bits trying to escape, and she listened (mostly). Then she did prod and poke and I cried a little (because it’s so fucking triggery I can’t help it).

Diagnosis?

Uterine prolapse. In English (or Kyelish), my uterus is, indeed, trying to escape.

And here I thought we were friends.

But seriously, it means my uterus isn’t in the right place and is collapsing. There are lots of things I can do to mitigate the symptoms. I’m going to survive. I’m devastated, and there are some pretty horrible consequences (more on that later), but it’s not going to kill me. It’s not as terrifying, now that I know what’s going on.

But, here’s the thing.

Had I not known my body well, I might’ve missed it until it became life threatening.

Once I made myself get to the doctor, I had to hold firm and make her tell me that my uterus wasn’t going to actually come out. I needed to hear her say it so I could chill (at least a little).

And wow, did I need Pace there to make sure I covered all the things I needed to cover. I was so terrified and freaked out, I knew I’d never remember everything. And then, on the table, on my back, my cervix (trixy trixy cervix) wasn’t as far prolapsed, so there was much discussion before we were able to get her to really understand that there was a very serious problem. Had I not been so familiar with my vagina, I might not have had the knowledge with which to move her to action – and without Pace, I might not have had the emotional strength to keep trying.

Being able to inform your healer of all your symptoms, being able to provide a complete and clear story, is critical. If you can’t tell your healer for whatever reason (like, me choking up from body-triggers), tell someone you love and trust and then ask them to come with you and help. Or write it down before you go – most healers are so delighted to have a complete picture, they’re happy to read it.

Don’t let your very private parts go ignored. Our breasts, vaginas, penises (penii?), anuses, and internal reproductive organs get ignored the most because they’re the hardest to talk about when things go awry – but if they malfunction, so does the rest of us.

Whole health is about being entirely healthy. Even our pink squishy bits need to be healthy to help complete our picture.

So, to break it down:

1) Know your body. Become familiar with how you feel on a regular basis, so you can get an early sense of something going wrong.

2) Make sure your whole story is told. Tell it yourself, either to the healer or a friend. Write it down. Get it all out, even things you think are unimportant and unrelated – they might be neither.

3) Ask questions. Even dorky questions. (I asked, “Is my uterus going to fall out?” The obvious answer is no, but I needed to hear it from the doctor.)

4) Make sure you feel informed. If the healer acts like they’ve told you everything, but you don’t feel fully informed, keep prodding for more. They almost always have more.

5) If you’re afraid, go anyway. Take someone you know and trust and feel safe with, to offer you comfort and support.

People, I am utterly, utterly terrified of the ob/gyn. Every time I go, I cry. It shakes me up for days. Ever since I miscarried, being put in stirrups is enough to send me right back to that terrible moment and I’m flooded with fear and despair. It’s not easy. It’s why I avoid regular girly-bit maintenance. But this time, that avoision could have cost me my uterus – or my life.

Knowing our bodies is critical to our health. If we don’t know what “normal” feels like, we can’t know what abnormal feels like.

Hello again! Here’s a taste of what’s been going on lately with our community and around the internets.

How to be telepathic

This is an interesting article about how to avoid the usual error. The upshot is to imagine what the other person would think at some point far away in the future, rather than imagining what they would think right now. When it comes to guessing what others are thinking, our future-guessing is far more accurate (even for now!) than our now-guessing.

Taylor Muse

Our friend Taylor Muse shares his thoughts about religion, music, Daniel Quinn, and the control paradigm. It’s a moving post, and there’s some interesting discussion in the comments. You can read it here.

Idea Catalyst Kit

Our friend Megan at IdeaSchema (you may remember her as the talent behind the book design for The Usual Error, among many other things) has launched a new product called the Idea Catalyst Kit. It’s for entrepreneurs trying to figure out how to come up with a brilliant idea for a successful business, or entrepreneurs who already have brilliant ideas and don’t know what to do with them.

We don’t make any money if you click on these links; our only goal in sharing this with you is to help you get those ideas out of your head and into the world, any way you can. We’ve peeked inside the box, and it’s not just hype — there’s impressively good stuff in there! Megan is high quality. Click and see for yourself!

The Narcissist: A User’s Guide

Our friends Betsy and Lori have written a new e-book: The Narcissist – A User’s Guide. It teaches you how to recognize and deal with narcissists in your life.

What kind of people are we talking about here?

• Friends who sap you of energy.
• Co-workers who make your life miserable.
• Family members who criticize you, incessantly argue with you, and drive you crazy.
• People who demand lots of emotional maintenance but rarely reciprocate.

What they call narcissists, we might label "emotional manipulators", "codependent abusers", or "emotional vampires".

This is very important stuff here. If anyone in your life fits this description, then please give this e-book a read. Think of it as a troubleshooting appendix to The Usual Error.

It’s only 30 pages, but it’s packed with practical wisdom. It’s a great read and it’s also written in a way that’s easy to skim. And best of all, it’s free!

Here’s the link! Narcissist: A User’s Guide

Austin Makes a Book

Austin, TX residents: Check this out, it’s a crowdsourced book! 100 people, 100 pages. Kyeli and I just submitted our page (an essay about the monkeysphere), and now there are only 25 24 pages left. Hmm, since they let Kyeli and me share a page, I guess that makes it 101 people, 100 pages. Off-by-one error. (:

If you live in or around Austin and would like to submit a story, essay, photo, art, or whatever, check out Austin Makes a Book.

Pace and Kyeli are Retreating

How will Pace and Kyeli be spending our Valentine’s Day weekend? At Jen Louden’s Virtual Retreat, that’s how!

Oh my gosh, this is going to be so good. Jen is such a sweetheart, and we’re doing a bunch of lovely things with Patti Digh, Hiro Boga, Fabeku, and oodles of other shiny people. (:

We’re looking forward to it ridiculous lots. It’ll be like a huge emotional and spiritual sigh. The kind where you breath in deeply, let it out slowly, and you feel like your shoulders relax and sink all the way into the soft bouncy peat bog grass. Or maybe that’s just us. (;

The price goes up by $50 tonight at midnight, so if you feel inspired to join us at the Virtual Retreat, you might want to register soon.

Click here (affiliate link, direct link) to read more, and to see the whole list of interesting and fabulous people!

Recently, a woman flipped out at me for being a Witch. Told me I was going to hell and everything! I was kind of dumbfounded by it, truth be told, and wound up getting the giggles by the time I got safely back in my car.

Sometimes, I forget that there are still people who don’t like that I’m a Witch (or a lesbian or tattooed, etc). I mean, there are people who don’t like that I’m vegetarian, and I forget that all the time.

It’s one of the pros and one of the cons about living my freak life in a freak city in a freak bubble. I forget that the rest of the world isn’t always a freak-safe zone. Then, when Pace and I hold hands, or I go off on a tangent about what my pendant means, or when I ask for no meat, and someone flips out at me, I go all wide-eyed and facepalm and am suddenly and wildly reminded that most of the world thinks I’m a freak – and they mean it in a bad way!

Seriously? Still? We haven’t gotten past that yet?

I mean, Naomi’s been a freak for ages. Bob’s a freak, Seth’s a freak. Even Johnny’s a freak now! All the cool kids are doing it. Why do I still have to have this conversation? Why do I still get these reactions?

Why do other people care about what I do with my own life?

Because it’s threatening. It’s terrifying. I’m a bold, clear example that you can’t control everyone. Not everyone will follow all the rules. I’m loud about it. I’m out about it. I’m occasionally even in-your-face about it, though I’m super nice and loving and compassionate even then.

Being different is a bright bold terrifying reminder that we’re not all controllable, that we’re not all the same. In a world of cookie-cutter wannabes, that’s the scariest wake-up call around.

Over the weekend, we went to a good friend’s birthday party. It was a huge get-together, filled with many people from many walks of life.

One of the many people was a guy I’ve met before through a totally unrelated group. This guy and I had a brief conversation, he made me uncomfortable, and I moved on to talk to people who didn’t make me uncomfortable. I later found out that he’s something of a sexual troll – he gets involved in groups and then tries to make it with as many of the women as possible without anyone finding out. He’s not very good at the no one finding out part, but seems to be fairly successful at the other part. But he’s creepy and sleazy and makes me incredibly uncomfortable.

Seeing him at the party this weekend was pretty hard. I was pleasant to him, because I’m not one to make a scene at a big party. I tried to shake his hand, but he wrestled it into a hug and I found myself hugging him and being really uncomfortable with it.

Later, he was blocking the only path back to my table and the safety of Pace and our friends. I stood and waited for him to move for two or three minutes, but it became obvious that he was oblivious to my plight, so I walked up and said, “Excuse me, I need to get by.”

He shifted – barely – and said, “Be my guest.”

I took a deep breath and started to squeeze past him. I’d barely taken two steps when he stepped toward me, closing off the tiny distance between us and throwing me off balance. I stumbled and kind of bumped into him and instinctively apologized. He grinned a very leering grin and said (in a sleazy supposed-to-be-sexy tone), “Oooh, no problem. You can get even closer than that,” and started to wrap his arms around me to pull me to him.

I just about all-out panicked. I threw up my hands and said, “Uh, no thanks,” and darted past him as fast as possible and scrambled back to my chair. He attempted to make eye contact with me some ten times or more throughout the rest of the party til I got too uncomfortable to stay there any longer, and we left.

In the car, recounting the tale to Pace, she said, “Woah, any time something like that happens, you can tell me and I will punch him in the face right away.”

I giggled, but then I got mad. This guy violated my physical and emotional boundaries, and I didn’t stick up for myself. I let it go and squeaked by and ran off because I didn’t want to cause a scene at a friend’s party – but my friends would want me to defend myself if I needed defending!

Now, it wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been. I did emit a weak no and stepped back. There was a time when I would have let him wrap his arms around me and then I would have been silently flipping the fuck out. At least I didn’t do that.

But I still let him get far too close for my comfort. I felt violated. I felt afraid and slightly ashamed. I didn’t even tell Pace til hours later, when we’d left the party – I wasn’t comfortable talking about it until then. I was so upset I was nearly shaking, and I kept it a secret because I felt guilty and afraid.

This is the kind of behavior that leads to rape.

We spend most of our lives learning to sit down and shut up. Learning to demur and take the blame. Learning not to defend ourselves even when directly threatened. Learning that fierce equals violence and violence is bad.

If I’d've hauled off and decked this creep, he could have pressed charges on me – and “he made me feel uncomfortable and violated my boundaries” isn’t seen as a defense.

If I had said something more like, “Dude, I’m gay,” I could have passed off his unwanted overtures as inappropriate – since he knows I’m gay, having been previously informed of such.

If I had said something like, “Back off. You’re making me uncomfortable,” I would have gotten my point very clearly across and probably wouldn’t have had to deal with him making furtive attempts at eye contact for the rest of the party.

But all I could manage was a meek squeak and darting away as fast as possible.

I’m frustrated by that. I’m afraid for myself, because in different circumstances, that could have gone much, much worse.

This is why we talk about fierceness. This is why I write about being raped, why I talk about being violated, why I shine lights into the darkness of my past experiences.

We are sacred. Our boundaries are sacred. Our experiences are sacred. Talking about our experiences, good or bad, brings that light to the darkness. It brings us together when we feel the most alone – because we are never alone. When you stand up for yourself, you stand with all the power of all the people in your community.

Because we’re taught to be meek, because we’re made to feel ashamed, because we often believe we are alone, the only cure is being open, fierce, and banding together to learn and teach and shout from rooftops: regardless of the circumstances, it is never okay for anyone to violate any boundary we hold.

So, there’s this episode of Star Trek: The Next Generation (stay with me on this) wherein Data is working with a scientist (Dr. Marr) to communicate to this giant crystalline entity that killed her son when Data’s brother Lore aided the entity in wiping out an entire colony. Dr. Marr hates Data because she thinks he’s in with the entity, too, since his brother was before. She makes her hatred no secret, insulting and threatening him and being quite cruel – all of which does not affect Data in the slightest, he being an emotionless android and all.

After a while, Dr. Marr realizes that Data is innocent and has the best of intentions to help her, and she comes to him to apologize for being so cruel. She apologizes, but Data reassures her that she didn’t hurt him because he has no feelings to be hurt.

Even knowing that, Dr. Marr apologizes many times. The pain on her face as she recalls her cruelty is obvious – and struck a deep chord within me.

She’s not apologizing to Data, not after the first time. She’s apologizing to herself.

We hurt ourselves when we hurt others.

Even though Dr. Marr couldn’t actually hurt Data, she tried – and in the trying, hurt herself.

We’re not meant for cruelty. We’re not meant for spite. Hatred is really fear, bubbling up and driving us to do and say things our hearts don’t resonate with, if we could hear our hearts over our racing screaming fears.

Deep down, we know we’re all connected – and we feel that connection in our emotions. Emotions are often shared; sadness passes around, joy can brighten others, misery is contagious. And when we’re hurtful to someone, we share in that hurt.

Deep down, we’re all connected. More than that, we’re all bits of the same stuff. Stardust. Spirit. Universal Oneness.

It is all the more important, then, to be kind to ourselves and kind to others.

It’s true. I’m a terrible entrepreneur.

I am terrible at doing things I’m not good at or don’t enjoy, like marketing.

I am terrible at not taking things personally.

I am terrible at working really hard for very long hours.

I’m terrible at working when I don’t want to work.

And I’m terrible, utterly utterly terrible, at pushing through.

All these things are good qualities to have when you’re an entrepreneur. It’s useful to be able to work when you don’t feel like it. It’s important to be able to let things people say roll off you – particularly when you become more successful and/or famous. It’s vital to be able to do things you don’t enjoy – like marketing. When you work for yourself, there’s no one else to do the things you don’t. If you don’t do ‘em, they don’t get done.

This is why I am the luckiest girl in the world, because I have Pace.

But that’s not my point today. Today, I’m talking about being a terrible entrepreneur.

Lots of things put me down for the count. Uterus acting up? No work. Friendship troubles? No work. Heartache? No work.

I’m incredibly bad at working when I’m not doing well.

The good side is, I’m good at doing well. I’m doing well a huge percentage of the time! That’s awesome – both for me and for work.

The bad side is, when I’m not doing well, neither is my blog. We’ll sit in silence and stare at each other for long periods of time (the cursor always blinks first). When my emotions are tangled, so are my fingers, and I can’t write. I get knotted up. I get tongue- and finger-tied.

My heart is too sensitive for such things.

I started out trying to learn how to toughen up. I wanted to desensitize so I could push myself harder, be more hardcore, so I could knock things off my to-do lists, so I could squeeze creativity out of myself regardless of how I’m feeling.

But how violent! How untrue to myself I was being! I’m sensitive. The more I learn about myself, the more true to my heart I am, the more sensitive I become.

And you know what? I love the way I am.

I’m still learning how to be effective and sensitive. There are ways, and I will find them. I don’t have to box myself or whip myself to be successful – quite the contrary. The more I box myself, the worse I feel, and the less I am able to get done!

Being true to myself is, by far, the most important part of my path.

In his new book Linchpin, Seth Godin convinces you to become a linchpin — someone who’s indispensible. How do you do that? By being a freak and a revolutionary.

I’m not even kidding.

Seth doesn’t use those exact words, but this book is about the Freak Revolution. It’s about how we can revolutionize the job culture and thereby the world.

Be a freak (what Seth would call a heretic) because the old way of doing things is broken. The freaks are the only ones who are willing to break the rules and step outside the box.

Be a revolutionary (what Seth would call a leader) because no one is going to tell you what to do. There is no map. It’s up to you to step up and change the world.

Like we’ve been saying. (:

p.20

There’s a revolution going on, baby, and things ain’t never gonna be the same. It used to be that you could make a good living being told what to do (control paradigm), but in the new world of work, it’s all about creativity and authentic human interactions (connection paradigm).

It reminds me of all those sci-fi stories about the future economies that arise after all our basic and comfort needs are trivially met by a workforce of robot drones. What do those sci-fi economies value? Art. Delivering unique creativity. The future is closer than you might have thought.

It also reminds me of Atlas Shrugged 2: One Hour Later. (:

p.46

Public school teaches you to conform and obey. Seth doesn’t talk explicitly about homeschooling or unschooling, but we’re on the same page when it comes to our opinions of public school.

p.158

Gifts build connection. Gifts build tribes. A gift freely given is rooted in connection. A “gift” with expectation of reciprocation is rooted in control.

p.138

Mark Silver says that everything is going to be okay.

Seth Godin says that “No, everything is not going to be okay.”

I completely and wholeheartedly agree with both of them.

As with most things, it depends on what you mean by “okay”.

Seth is right that you can’t depend on physical or material safety. Seth is also right that you can’t depend on emotional safety, unless you’re perfectly armored or perfectly enlightened.

But Mark is right that you can depend on spiritual safety. If you know that you are Loved, if you know that your Self is far more than your circumstances, if you know that there is love available even here… then you know, deep in your heart, that everything will be okay, no matter what.

Yes, you might face hardship. Yes, your project might fail. Yes, people might be cruel to you.

Yes, there is love available even here.

p.106

Well, I’ll be! Seth Godin is talking about the triple soul! He labels Higher Self daemon, and Fetch lizard brain. He only mentions Talking Self implicitly (as the part of us that strives to bridge the two other parts) but it’s fascinating to see it from a different perspective.

pp.32,175-178

I’m always amazed by Seth’s talent for brevity with impact. He summarizes four entire chapters of The Usual Error in four pages. The usual error, it’s not all about me, the lollipop, and part of rephrasing things positively — the part that talks about how “I can’t” is a cop-out. We can always come up with excuses to limit ourselves and make ourselves feel comfortable and safe, but don’t fool yourself into thinking it’s anything but your own choice.

pp.31,105,116,129

Real art requires imperfectionism. Delegate wholeheartedly. Always have exactly one mid-boss. Seek out discomfort. No one actually knows what to do. “I’ll do what I love later” never works. Accept that you might step on a snake.

We tell ourselves stories in which we play the part of the hero: the iPhone effect. This particularly amuses me because I thought the iPhone effect was inspired by a post Seth wrote, but it wasn’t. And now he finally writes about it in Linchpin.

Growth can be painful. You may lose friends and loved ones. But you will gain new ones. (This, on page 31, was the first point in the book when I cried. The way Seth talks about this is so kind and compassionate.)

p.236

“The result of getting back in touch with our pre-commercial selves will actually create a post-commercial world that feeds us, enriches us, and gives us the stability we’ve been seeking for so long.”

Yes, that quote is from Linchpin. Doesn’t it remind you of something that could have been written by Daniel Quinn in Beyond Civilization?

pp.59,71,108,234-236

The control-based job culture sucks your soul.

People are starving for authentic connection.

It all comes down to fear and love.

Be an edgewalker. Break the rules.

Change the world.

Shift the paradigm.

Despite the fact that it’s only January, I hereby give Linchpin my Best Book of 2010 Award.

Go.

Read it.

Then live it.

Zappos understands what their customers want. They get it.

I’ve bought several things from them. They offer free shipping on everything, both to you and return shipping if you need to return something. They have 24/7 customer service, via email or phones. They let you keep things up to 365 days before returning them (they do have to be in brand-new condition, but still!).

But all that is just window dressing, the frosting on the cake.

Yesterday, I bought a purse from them. They upgraded my shipping to overnight – for free – so it got here today. I tried it out, decided it’s too tall (I’m insanely picky), and started the return process. They said if I opted to take store credit, they’d give me free overnight shipping on my next purchase as well. Since my next purchase was to be immediate (my second choice of purse), I went for that. The site said that once UPS informed them that the package was on its way back, they’d credit my account.

But then I checked on my second choice purse, and found that there were only three left. Not wanting it to go away before getting my credit, I decided to give them a call and see what we could do – expecting them to politely tell me there wasn’t anything they could do, so sorry, good luck!

Not only did I get the nicest customer service rep ever, and not only did he talk to me about silly movies and music and how much we both love Austin, he immediately switched my credit around, ordered the second purse, had it overnighted, and credited my card the $5 difference, with only one very polite request for me to drop the first purse in the mail at my earliest convenience. Wham, bam, done in three minutes.

Holy shit.

This is excellent customer service. Above and beyond. They’ve always been good to me via email, and this was the first time I’ve talked to a rep on the phone. He was so nice to me, I actually felt a little sad that I never had to call them before.

Not your typical feeling after dealing with customer service.

So what have I done? I’ve talked up the company to all my friends. I gush about them constantly. I’ve bought from them multiple times. And now I’ve written a post in my public blog, singing their praises.

And when I discovered that their prices are a little higher than other sites? I didn’t even care. I’m willing to pay a lot more for the guarantee of excellent, dependable customer service. And I’m willing to bet I’m not the only one who feels that way.

Yeah, I’d say Zappos gets it.

In Ireland, the “I don’t drink” issue comes up more often than in America. Drinking is part of the Irish national culture. In fact, Ireland ranks #4 in the world for alcohol consumption per capita. (America ranks 43rd. The top three are Uganda (!), Luxembourg, and the Czech Republic.)

Usually, I say “No thanks, I don’t drink,” and that’s that. But this time, I was met with a curious and interested “How come?” from two friends, and the answer turned out to be far more interesting than I expected.

Here’s how the conversation went.

(Notice how my friends mostly played the roles of cardboard cutout dogs.)

I stopped drinking 4 years ago because it felt like a Good Thing To Do.

If that’s the case, then my image of a spiritual role model isn’t really my image at all — it’s hers.

How about I completely ditch that old stale guru image that wasn’t really mine at all. How about I think about my own spiritual path, Pace’s path, the Pace of the present, and see what I feel called to?

And that’s what I did. I threw away my old envisioning of “The Right Way” to do spirituality. I threw away my guru-based “shoulds”. I meditated on what spiritual path I feel called to. I listened to my heart.

This is what my heart said.

“Yo, rest-of-Pace. Here’s the skinny. Our spiritual path is to seek reunion with Source. As for alcohol, it’s kind of a crutch, but at least it gets you out of your head and into me. It’s totally fine for practice, but it isn’t a long-term solution or anything. Also, I love you.”

The next day, I drank a pint of Guinness in an Irish pub and thoroughly enjoyed it. I got surprisingly tipsy; apparently 4 years of no drinking lowers one’s tolerance!

So I guess a more accurate title would have been “A teetotaler changes her mind and drinks a pint of Guinness”, but hey, Irish Guinness is pretty darn good, so I don’t mind the implication. (:

The moral of the story

The simplest way to personal growth is to Ask yourself why.

Don’t count on your two curious friends to ask you why. Ask yourself. Write down your answer, if it helps you to work it out. Question. Examine. Journal.

Simply asking yourself why can get you out of a years-long rut.

Think of one thing you might be doing because of someone else’s reasons, or because of old stale reasons.

Ask yourself why.

As a young girl, I had a garden.

There were flowers and weeds, but that’s okay because I liked weeds, and birds and worms and probably some bugs, the nice, non-freaky ones, like butterflies and lady bugs and rolly pollies, definitely a unicorn and a dragon and lots of faeries, and there was a well that the garden drew water from, and everything grew all nice and happy.

But then, as a young adult, I accidentally and ignorantly broke ground and shared the well that watered my garden with a poisoned water supply. My flowers started dying, the weeds choking to death, the creatures leaving. It suffered serious neglect. I didn’t know that I could fix it, much less how, so I abandoned the garden and watched it die and mourned my loss.

A few years ago, I suddenly figured out that I had the power to heal the garden. I went crazy, pulling weeds (the non-okay ones), tilling the soil, planting seeds, hanging bird feeders, the works. But I didn’t clean the water; I didn’t stop the poison.

I repaired the garden, but it was still drawing on a poisoned well.

This resulted in a slow-growing garden with dim, weak flowers and frightened, hesitant creatures. Lots of set-backs and frustrations, to no avail.

After some time and many, many sessions of trial and error, I repaired the ground and stopped the flow of poison into my well. Suddenly, my flowers were growing fast and bright, creatures returned, the soil darkened, my roots thickened!

I built a thick brick wall, some twenty feet high and twenty feet deep, to protect the new and fragile garden. I pulled all the weeds, even the ones that were probably harmless, because the garden is new and fresh and fragile, and who knows what might damage it? So much damage was done in the past to this tiny octagon of land, I have to take drastic measures to keep it safe. No well-water here, only water I test first and make sure is safe. The garden flourished, but only within the confines of my wall, and only a small few can see the growth for fear of more poison.

After all, it was my fault the poison killed my garden in the first place, and I can’t protect the garden without being on constant vigil for future attacks.

But wait.

It’s not my fault. The water was poisoned. Though I suspected it, I was young and afraid – and for a long time, ignorant of how to cure it. I certainly blamed myself and hated myself for enduring the poison, lost faith in myself and stopped trusting myself, and I became so afraid of poison that I built a wall so high all I could see was the blue sky above.

But what if I took down the wall? What if I trusted the land to guide me? What if, instead of blame, I thank the old worn tired land for all the hard work and suffering, and let it grow as it wishes? What if I simply move on and let go? After all, I know the land nearby is drawing on poisoned water, and as long as I stay here, the threat of poison is high.

Somewhere along the way, I lost faith in myself, in Spirit, in the universe, and took up the task of directing myself and protecting myself. I stopped letting go, stopped trusting, stopped listening. I built walls to protect myself because I didn’t trust Spirit to protect me. I didn’t trust the messages I was receiving because I didn’t trust myself.

When I found trust in myself, I was able to take the walls down. I could trust that I would be led to either heal the poisoned well or to move to new land – and if I trusted myself, I could trust Spirit, I could trust my intuition, and I would know what to do.

But only if the walls came down.

What walls can you take down?