mental-health

Remembering Who We Are

/ Lauri Ann Lumby / 2 Comments

It seems I have forgotten who I am, and in the forgetting, I have become ill.

Beyond my work as an author, writer, spiritual director, and educator, I have another job. For forty-nine weeks of the year, the job is fine – good even. Three weeks of the year, not so much – not because of the job itself, but because of the price to my nervous system. Being a highly sensitive empathic introvert who struggles with the symptoms of C-PTSD, Epstein Barr, kidney disease, and hypothyroid, I’m vulnerable on a normal day. During these three weeks, ones that require much more from me than usual, I find I struggle. To survive these three weeks, I find I only have the bandwidth to show up where I need to be, when I need to be there, and complete the tasks required. After the work is complete all I have left is to go home and “rot” (ie: disassociate, recover).

During those three weeks, I find it impossible to be my normal self. Instead, I find myself being short-tempered, impatient, grumpy, and extra sensitive. Whereas I have done a pretty good job of cultivating detachment and a sense of peaceful ease during normal weeks, for these three weeks – all bets are off.

I don’t like who I become when everything around me ends up being a trigger.

Following those three weeks, I spend as much time as possible doing nothing, hermiting in my cave, resting, sleeping, and trying to return to my so-called normal. A big part of this return to “normal” is trying to remember who I am when my nervous system isn’t being overstimulated by too much sound, vibration, movement, light, and other people’s energies.

Now that those three weeks are over, little by little, I’m starting to remember.

When a task takes so much of our physical, emotional, and mental effort, it is easy to forget who we are REALLY. Getting lost in to-do lists, unexpected emergencies, other people’s emotions, and all the details that go into a monumental creation, it is easy to forget that we are not those tasks. We are not the emergencies. Neither are we other people’s emotions. Even with time to regroup and recover, remembering who we really are beyond these responsibilities is difficult at best.

  • Remembering requires separation. Separation and distance from what made us forget.
  • Remembering demands quiet, stillness, and silence – asking us to enter into that place of calm where our true self resides.
  • Remembering invites a return to routine – the routine out of which our body and soul feel nourished, safe, and supported.
  • Remembering asks us to listen – to listen to the “still-small voice,” that knows our truth and what is important for our Soul’s fulfillment.
  • Remembering is accomplished through practice – practicing the distance, the quiet, the routine, and the listening that support us in calling back all the strands of ourselves we have given away and then replanting them deep into the ground where they can begin (again) to thrive.

This year’s remembering has just begun, but already I’ve been reminded of why I’m really here. Not because of the tasks. Not because of the roles, certificates, or titles. Not because of what I do or how I make a living. I’m here to BE who I am and who I am meant to be and that has a specific symbol that has meaning only to me. If I share it, perhaps you’ll get a glimpse of the calling that will spark your own journey of remembering.

For nearly fifty years, (and many lifetimes), Lauri Ann Lumby has been a student and devote’ of Mary, called Magdalene. From original source material, Lauri has discovered remembered the secret teachings of Jesus, as they were revealed to the Magdalene. Lauri has applied these teachings in her own life and from this has developed a curriculum of practical study for those interested in remembering and embodying the truth of their original nature as Love.

Learn more here.

Being Gentle with Ourselves

/ Lauri Ann Lumby / 1 Comment

It is near impossible to ignore the death throes of the dying empire. We are bombarded with the symptoms every day – often every minute of every day. It is constant and relentless.

What we may forget to heed, however, is the credit we are due for enduring the constant assault on our being – our bodies, minds, and spirits are all suffering from the assault of a world gone mad. Admittedly, “enduring” might be overreach when on most days simply surviving feels like an enormous effort. The fact that you’re reading this, however, tells me that at the very least, you are surviving. Perhaps just by the skin of your teeth – but you’re still here.  That’s the point.

The dying world is not meant to destroy us (though there will be those destroyed by the collapse). It will test and challenge us. In direct opposition to our conditioning, the purpose of the test is not so that we might exert our strength or bolster our will. Instead, the invitation in the face of the dying system is to learn how to be soft. Instead of toughening us, the empire’s collapse is meant to make us more gentle. Gentle with ourselves – and others.

Learning to be gentle starts with ourselves. It begins with a thorough examination of our conditioning and all the ways we were ridiculed, condemned, criticized or rejected for being sensitive, kind, quiet, compassionate, caring, sharing, and gentle. The examination continues by exploring how our conditioning told us how we should be instead: strong, brave, courageous, competitive, tough, bullet-proof, etc. In the world that is dying, we have not been rewarded for being gentle – only for being tough. The new world that we are moving into will reward us for being gentle.

Choosing that new world starts today. Give yourself credit for the suffering you have endured in your life thus far. Acknowledge the losses, betrayals, deceptions, and heartbreaks you have suffered. If you have suffered trauma, offer yourself grace when your past traumas are triggered. Give yourself permission to do nothing, to wallow, to “rot” (as Gen Z’s say). If your panic or fear are triggered and your brain goes numb, allow yourself to check out. Be quiet. Be still.  BE NON-Productive (our value is NOT determined by our productivity – as much as we’ve been told otherwise)!  Defy the capitalistic, patriarchal expectations around striving after achievement, seeking to be known or seen. Popularity does not determine our value!  When you’re feeling sad – be sad. Weep, cry, wail, flail. Do whatever you need to do to be present with your feelings and then take a rest. Nap. Sleep. Read. Listen to music. Take a day or three to do absolutely nothing. Hide under the covers. Retreat into your cave. Walk slowly and gently. Be conscious of your breathing and slow it down. Close your eyes and just listen to the quiet of the universe. Meditate. Pray. Be simple with your meals. No one expects you to be Martha Stewart. Say no to invitations. Don’t buy into the shoulds of holidays. Skip the decorations and the pressure.

And more than any of this – be gentle with yourself. Cease from judging your feelings and just accept them as they are. Don’t condemn yourself for your sensitivity – celebrate it. Hold yourself in gently fierce loving care when you feel like you are falling apart. Be compassionate with yourself when you break down or shut down or dissociate. Don’t measure your day by how you are feeling. If it takes you 3 days or a week to get through a trigger response, then that’s exactly what you needed. Celebrate your willingness to give yourself exactly what you need.

Journeying through the collapse of an empire is an experience like no other. As it’s been several hundred years since the most recent collapse of western civilization, we’re entitled to feel burdened and overwhelmed. We also know from the past that it is not the loud or the brave who survived, but those who knew how to move quietly, slowly, even invisibly, and who more than anything, knew how to be loving toward themselves, gentle and caring toward others. Let this be our invitation as we navigate the death throes – that our gentleness be our salvation.

Everything is a Practice

/ Lauri Ann Lumby / Leave a comment

Finding our way along the journey of self-actualization and personal mastery, we eventually come to the realization that everything is a practice. Whereas the early stages of our journey may have put us on the path to setting time aside each day for a dedicated mindfulness, contemplation, or meditation practice, we soon come to find out that our dedicated practice begins to spill out into the everyday experiences of our lives. Soon, everything becomes grist for the mill as we work to heal all within us that separates us from our original nature as love, while continuing to love the pieces that are not yet healed.

For me, this “everything practice” showed up in one extremely subtle and another powerfully obvious way.

I’ll begin with the extremely subtle:  I’ve been noticing in my daily practice an almost undetectable sorrow. It showed itself as a sorrow I could not initially name, but felt very deep and infinitely small. When I reached toward this sorrow, I perceived it as a tiny dot, no bigger than the end of a pencil. As it my practice, I’ve spent this week “working” on that dot of sorrow. Going toward it (instead of away). Pointing to it and “sending” healing. Holding the sorrow and asking what it had to say to me or teach me. The goal of this practice is to simply show up to that sorrow. In my experience, the fruits of this kind of practice eventually lead to healing and release, or alternatively, the revelation of something hiding behind the sorrow that seeks to be known. I’m still working on this piece, but I have gotten a glimpse of the original wound of separation that is just beyond this sorrow. That glimpse nearly gave me a panic attack, but I know that the only way to continue healing that wound is to stay with it.

The powerfully obvious way that everything presented itself as practice arose in a fit of rage. Without boring you with the gory details, suffice it to say that the rage was in the form of ranting resentment over a need for which I had requested support. The support was denied. To be honest, as I write this, I’m still pissed. First – because I rarely ask for help. Second because I should have known better.

What I do know, however, is that beyond the ranting and raving (which are appropriate inner responses to our needs not being met) is an old wound showing itself for another layer of healing – the wound of unmet needs. This is a pretty universal wound in that most people can share stories, experiences, conditioning, etc. in which their needs have gone unmet, or been flat-out rejected. Every time we have the courage to ask for help, and it is denied, a part of us feels like it has died. Heap up a lifetime of rejected and unmet needs, and the wound becomes a gaping hole. For myself personally, this is a wound I’ve given much time and attention to in the form of transformational practices. And, just like most everyone else, it’s a wound that still needs love. First, we have to work on healing the wound of rejection. Next, we tackle the wound of unmet needs. Finally, we do the work of meeting our own needs while setting appropriate boundaries around those who, due due to their own unhealed wounds (likely), are unable to be a reciprocal source of support for others.

From the very subtle to the greatest of charged emotions, everything is our self asking to be seen, known, and loved. This love, ultimately, is what our practice is all about.

Ugh!

/ Lauri Ann Lumby / 2 Comments

For the thirty-or-so of you who continue to read my articles, thank you for your patience these past few weeks. In short – this care-giver is all cared out! I know in this I’m not alone.

The past several weeks have been heavy with intensity, anxiety, and dare I say, INSANITY. When I think things just can’t get worse in our world another shoe drops.  Just when I pray, “surely this is the tipping point that will bring the whole house of cards down upon itself,” it is not. It seems instead of wholesale collapse, the empire is dying one mortar chip at a time.

And we are all exhausted from the waiting and weighting. It is heavy work to be a visionary, prophet, lightworker, healer, starborne, starseed, and carer when the only paradigm we have ever known is coming to it’s self-created violent ending. Moreso even than the system itself, we have been bearing, upholding, and supporting those who are finding themselves anxious, frantic, nervous, and worried in the face of a collapse about which they may not even be aware. We have been a source of support for others while desperately trying to be support for ourselves.

For the past several weeks, I have found myself in complete survival mode. Between a world in collapse and some new (not really) health issues that have surfaced, it’s all I can do to get out of bed in the morning – not because I’m depressed – because I am bone weary and soul tired. On my good days, I’m honored when people seek me out for support. On my bad days, I’m sick to death of other people’s shit. (Not everyone’s shit….just those unwilling to tend to their own work.)

Does this make me a bad person? No, it just means I’m tired and as usual, excruciatingly human.

Humans exhaust me. When I’m tired, unwell, impatient, frustrated, and fumbling, I exhaust myself. Again, I know I’m not alone in this. I likely exhaust others. (ha ha).  But seriously, so many who reach out to me speak of their own disgust with themselves.

When the world is turning itself inside out, we can no longer survive as the person we once thought of ourselves as being. As the masks behind which the human-made world are falling away and the evil behind it all is being revealed, our masks also must fall. The masks I have worn are those of perfectionist, good-girl, straight A student, achiever, hard worker, honest, strong, brave, courageous, fiercely independent, and generously loving. Behind these masks, I am these things, but not always. I too am vulnerable, anxious, terrified, jealous, petty, unforgiving, harsh, and the deceit I indulge is that of people pleaser.  “I’m fine,” is a bold-faced lie and while I have love of all humanity, I sometimes wish a violent death upon those I call my enemies – or at the very least – a heaping portion of karmic retribution.

As the world has been collapsing and masks have been torn away, so too have we been forced to admit the full truth of who we are. We can no longer hide behind the expectations of a capitalistic patriarchal society.  Neither can we live under the burden of the driving, striving, and blind ambition favored by our world.

We must live our truth – or die. “Just hanging on” is no longer enough. Instead, we are invited to LET IT ALL GO. Quit trying to fit in. Quit lying to ourselves. Quit trying to be strong. Quit trying to help or care for those unwilling to help themselves. Quit forcing ourselves to take action where no action is needed and where our gifts have been denied. Quit denying the reality of aging and the physical consequences of illness.  Instead, we’re invited to embrace them. (Hollywood, Instagram, etc. beauty standards are simply another part of a world that is dying. Have you seen what is happening to Hollywood actresses? So many of them now look like corpses.  Gross!) Quit pretending we are well when we are not. Quit “faking it to make it.”

And more than anything else:  DARE to love yourself enough to choose what is life-giving for you, even/especially when what is best is to sleep.

And finally, DO NOT forget that if you are one who sees and believes in the hope of a new world, this new world is being born through you. As such, your physical, emotional, mental, and spiritual bodies are hard at work growing and getting ready to birth that new world. Be gentle and loving toward yourself as you would be with a brand new babe. In this birthing, we are fragile and vulnerable. Treat yourself as such!

With love,

Lauri

She Said the Thing

/ Lauri Ann Lumby / Leave a comment

The truth of chronic illness

This past week, I had what I thought was going to be a routine session with my acupuncturist and Traditional Chinese Medicine practitioner. It ended up everything but routine as that morning ended up being “one of my bad days” with unexpected and anxiety provoking symptoms. The acupuncture treatment helped ease the symptoms and Megan gave me instructions to follow up with my primary care doctor “just in case” there is more that needs to be explored. (My primary care and I are currently exploring a possible thyroid issue.)

It wasn’t this that made this week’s session remarkable, however, it was the thing Megan said. I’m not going to be able to repeat it verbatim but it was the exact acknowledgement that I needed to hear. In her compassionate seeing, Megan recognized the very real fact that most of the time, I feel like shit. Following that up with the masking that I do to make it through each day despite feeling like shit. I took Megan’s hand in mine and through tears, thanked her for SEEING ME.

Because this is the reality, I do feel like shit pretty much every day. Between Epstein-Barr, permanent vestibular neuritis, panic attack disorder, being a highly sensitive person, neurodivergent, and having polycystic kidney disease, my baseline is somewhere around 50-60%.  I’m tired and cold all the time. I’m always suffering some version of mild vertigo (giddiness). My chronic headaches have been better, but as I write I’m on day 6 of a constant dull ache. I’m on all the medications to manage my kidney disease, and every one comes with their own set of side effects. Ugh.

I don’t write this in search of pity. I share this to reveal the whole truth about chronic illness and to point out that we live in a world that has no real support for the chronically ill. Instead, we’re forced to put on a happy face, go out into the world, work to earn money to pay our bills, grocery shop, exercise, stay fit, eat right, and not complain about the fact that while we are doing all these things to make it in this world, we often feel like complete shit. Pushing through the pain, fatigue, etc. then just makes us feel worse.

The chronically ill are invisible in our world; and yet we make up 60-90% of the American population. This means that every day, 60-90% of the people we encounter are feeling like complete shit while trying to complete the tasks required of them in a capitalistic culture. Other than disability income (which very few qualify for), there are no safety nets. Zero. Zilch. Nadda.

I can’t speak for others who suffer with chronic illness, but for me, I’ve carved out a way to make a living that (somewhat) accommodates for my vulnerabilities. At the same time, it is a constant effort to show up for work. I’m fortunate to have clients who understand if I have to miss a day or reschedule.  Making this choice, however, costs me in real US dollars so I reserve that right only on my worst days. Often I show up even when feeling like I really just need to stay home and do nothing or sleep. I’m also grateful for the unexpected and often miraculous ways that financial support shows up, allowing me to be more gentle, compassionate, and caring toward my fragile body.

And today, I’m especially grateful to Megan Bartelt, L.Ac. Dipl. Ac. for through her words, I am finally feeling seen. 

When Your Demons Come Home to Roost

/ Lauri Ann Lumby / Leave a comment

Letters from Hell #6

Today is a bad day. This has been a difficult weekend. For no (every) reason whatsoever, I have been feeling profoundly sad bordering on depressed. This is a stuck kind of sorrow compounded by a prescription antidepressant that makes it really difficult for me to cry. I feel like I’ve got a 20 ton boulder sitting on my chest, just behind my sternum.

Usually, I know what to do with this kind of sorrow.  I sit with it. I allow myself to feel it. I apply Tonglen or Ho’oponopono to it. This time, neither seem to be budging the load.

I allowed myself a weekend of self-care. I planned for nothing and allowed myself to simply rest. I didn’t much have a choice as I’ve also been feeling the consequences of autumn allergies. To put it bluntly I feel like SH*T. I don’t do well when I’m sick. I tend to fall into judgment, self-loathing, and self-flagellation at the hands of my inner critic who looks an awful lot like the “Shame nun” from Game of Thrones. “Shame.  Shame.  Shame.”

I’m not good at being vulnerable. I feel embarrassed and ashamed. I don’t want to invite anyone into my vulnerability. There is really nothing anyone can say that will make it better when I’m feeling this way. I know I just need to wait it out.

This morning I wrote in my journal.  These are the words that surfaced:

Taking this moment to pause. Suffering fall allergies and the pure exhaustion of a forced life. How much have I forced my self to be and do ____________ instead of just being myself. I’m tired. I feel stuck, but I’m not sure I really care. I’ve worn out my dreams.

I’ve worn out my dreams.

My dreams of a forever love.

Dreams of becoming a successful writer.

Fantasies of becoming a sought-after teacher.

Herein lies at least one face of this deep sorrow. I’m grieving. I’m grieving the failure of the goals, wishes, and dreams I had for my life and which I pursued with a vengeance. No one can say that I didn’t try (though I know some who will tell me I didn’t try hard enough or in the right way – to them I say, whatever).

Life doesn’t always give us what we want. And when we don’t get what we want, we can be like Sisyphus vainly attempting to roll the boulder up the mountain, killing ourselves in the process, or step aside, letting gravity take the boulder to where it naturally wants to go.

At some point in our lives, we are all faced with a crowd of our unrealized dreams. We can cling to or try to revive these dreams, or we can surrender to the fact that maybe these dreams were never meant to be fulfilled and/or that the journey was the point, and not the destination.

It still makes me mad. I know what my gifts are and on some days it just kills me to know that they are not being utilized.

I grieve this as well.

As the Rolling Stones once said, “You can’t always get what you want, but if you try sometime, you’ll find, you get what you need.” (Hmmm….that might be bullshit too….unless they’re including getting what we need only by the skin of our teeth.)

Being human is hard. Today is one of those days where it feels especially hard. I don’t like feeling sad or vulnerable. I don’t appreciate the demons of self-doubt, personal loathing, or shame that dance around in my head when I’m feeling this way. I also know better than to try to “change my thoughts” (toxic positivity) in an attempt to make the demons go away.

Instead, I sit with the demons. I call each of them forward. And I do my best to LOVE them. Each of them arose out of some kind of need – whether it be the need to belong, the need to believe the lies of perceived authority, or to keep me in compliance with the system, they came as some kind of support. Additionally, they show up to remind me of the deep pain I’m still carrying from trauma I’ve experienced in my life, along with an invitation to tend to yet another deeper layer of that pain that is now ready to be seen, felt, processed and released.

As is always true of the spiritual journey – wash, rinse repeat. So back to the demons I go to hear what they have to offer me in the way of healing this time.

Thank you sirs, may I have another.

Hell Isn’t All Bad

/ Lauri Ann Lumby / Leave a comment

Letters from Hell #4

Living in hell isn’t all bad. Hell definitely has its perks:

  1. Living in hell allows us to clearly see the world humanity has created for itself – one that springs forth out of fear and which seeks after power and control in the hopes of mitigating that fear.
  2. Living in hell shows us daily the consequences of this quest for power – greed, gluttony, and the violence that humanity wields in their never-ending quest for MORE.
  3. Hell has been increasingly peeling back the layers of humanity’s corruption and all the lies that have been cultivated to justify injustice.
  4. Hell allows us to see who people truly are, including the lies they continue to tell themselves so they might benefit from the system hell created.
  5. Hell also shows us who we are not.
  6. Every second of every day, hell shows us the system that allows for its survival, along with how to escape that system – if only we would pay attention.

The doorway into hell is the same path by which we can escape. Humanity, as a collective, is not doomed to an eternity in hell. As individuals, we are not condemned to waiting for everyone else to wake up before we can make our own escape. The steps necessary for our escape are simple:

  1. We willing to see the hell-system for what it is – a system that is based on and manipulates us through fear.
  2. Harness the skills of observation required to identify all the seemingly infinite ways in which the system is attempting to manipulate you through fear (or shame).
  3. When you notice the system attempting to trigger your fear/shame – SAY NO!
  4. Instead of giving into the fear, STOP and turn your gaze inward – what is the fear that is being triggered? Where did you first experience this fear/shame?
  5. Engage in the mindfulness/meditation practices that you have for releasing/healing/transforming that fear.
  6. Wash, rinse, repeat.

As the journey into hell was created by a thousand steps, so too is the journey out. Escaping hell is all about identifying every wound, trauma, fear, and past conditioning that ties us to the system, and then unraveling ourselves from them. The journey out of hell is about healing through heightened awareness, and radical personal accountability. The more we see the ways in which the system controls us, the more power we have for making our escape.

Whereas the cacophony of the system wants us to believe otherwise, hell is not what the majority of humanity wants. At our core, most of us yearn for peace. We long for connection. We ache for compassion and kindness. And we’re driven toward justice. To escape hell, we cannot allow the system to convince us otherwise – for humanity is made of Love and it will ultimately be to Love that we will return.

For Support Along the Journey:

2 year training package
Transforming Fears
Self-Awareness
One-on-One support

Letters from Hell #2 – Rest

/ Lauri Ann Lumby / 2 Comments

This morning, my thoughts have turned to rest. Specifically, rest, that it seems I am needing a great deal more of. I never needed rest before – or at least I acted like I didn’t need it. I would work from before dawn to after dusk Monday through Sunday. Weekends were taken up with chores – cooking, cleaning, yardwork, being a mom, etc. etc. etc. There was no time for rest – rather, I rarely took the time.

But now, as we’ve been living in hell, it seems like all I want to do is rest.

I can’t help it. I’m tired. Damn tired.

Living in hell is exhausting. Between “hearing (and feeling) the cries of the world,” the increasing division and violence, and the constant bombardment of traumatic events and chaotic actions, I have very little left to give – to anything – other than survival.

It’s no wonder when the weekend comes all I really feel like doing is sitting at home, reading, napping, and watching TV. I have zero bandwidth (or money) for much else. I don’t want to go anywhere or be by anyone. And please don’t ask me to go somewhere where there will be crowds. I get enough of the energy of people during the week, and I really cannot tolerate any more.

I suspect I’m not alone in this – at least among those who are paying attention. As a healer and an empath, I feel it all  – every person’s emotions, feelings, anxieties, frustration, anger, and fear. I can’t help it. My body is like some kind of processor for all the darkness that is erupting in our world. It comes into me and moves through me. It seems I have no choice in the matter. It’s part of what I’m here to do and be. And trust me, it is not out of pride that I share this – because I would not wish this “job” on anyone.

With no choice in the matter, I do what I must to survive: 

First, my home is my sanctuary. I have created it into a place of refuge and safety. It is my hermitage, my monastery, my cloister. With three-foot-thick concrete walls, it is a fortress in which I feel safe. I am here mostly alone or in the company of loved ones or special clients. To the world, my home is invisible. To be found, you must have been given an invitation.

Second, when I’m not at the job that provides the income I need for basic survival, I’m at home. Except for visits to the yoga studio, running basic errands, visiting my favorite coffee shop, I’m home. At home, I am deeply immersed in my practice – meditation, prayer, reflecting, writing, reading, and praying some more. Increasingly, in prayer is how I spend my time. I need it. The world needs it.

Third, I’ve learned to embrace rest. When I’m tired, I nap. When it’s not a “work day,” I rest. In this also, I find I no longer have a choice. I need it after all the energy it takes to live in this hellscape, to be forced to be out in the world, and to be one of the many witnessing and supporting humanity as it decides its own fate – an eternity in hell, the end of the human race, or if they will finally agree to embrace the opportunity they’ve always been given – which is to be Love.

Letters from Hell #1

/ Lauri Ann Lumby / 2 Comments

Beloved Friends,

I saw a meme yesterday that read:

What if in 2020 we all died and this is hell?

These are the first words that have made any sense of the world in which we are currently living, because beyond all that we see on the surface of things, it sure feels like hell.

For me, my heart is broken over all of it – but mostly over the violent division that seems to currently define our nation, if not the world. It seems everywhere I look the finger of blame is being pointed in the opposite direction from where it should be pointed – away instead of toward, because…..

This hell in which we are living, is one of our own making.

When humanity makes gods of men, looking outside of ourselves for guidance, authority, leadership and direction, this is what we get. A bunch of unqualified, overly loud individuals getting rich off our willingness to give them our power.

In this current version of hell, censorship is king. If the “Emperor” doesn’t like what you say about him, then through money and power, you are silenced. Or, if the Emperor is in need of a martyr, one will be created.

All of this to feed the beast of division. Those in power believing that in dividing the nation, they will gain more power. Strangely, it seems their tactics are working as the powerful few gain increasing wealth as the world falls around their feet. What will be left when they are done? A world of ash where beauty once stood? No wonder they’re looking for a way to settle on Mars.

Many of us have known this was coming, but nothing could have prepared us for how truly awful it really is. The long, slow, excruciatingly painful death of the world built on fear, power, and control. Daily, I plead with the universe, DIE ALREADY!

I’m exhausted for the end of things, hoping that when this is all over (will it ever be over?) humanity will find a way to live in peace. But for the love of God, how long is this going to take?

Physically, emotionally, spiritually, mentally, I’m not sure how much more of this I can take.  I’m not sure how much more any of us can take. We seem to be suffering from a collective sort of PTSD and recent events have only made it worse (thank you Justine Joslyn for this reminder!). 

I know my PTSD is triggered. I feel vulnerable, raw, and highly emotional. My head hurts. I feel the physical effects of cortisol raging through my body producing flu-like symptoms. My heart hurts. I am finding it hard to breathe. I don’t want to go anywhere or do anything. Yesterday, it was all I could do to sit on my couch and pray.

And when I’m at work, I feel broken and flawed. I feel like I’m doing everything wrong and that everything I’m doing is a mistake. I feel unqualified for a job for which I am, in truth, overqualified. I feel ashamed in my imperfection.

This is not me. At least, this isn’t normal me. This is me under panic and in a heightened state of activation. I am finding it hard to focus. I am doomscrolling for something – anything to make me feel safe.  I know better than this – but I can’t help myself.

I feel desperate – desperate for a moment to breathe, a moment to feel safe, a moment of peace in which the world isn’t suddenly exploding with some new tragic or devastating news. I hate it here.

But just when I’m ready to completely give up on humanity, wishing and hoping for this all to be over, I am reminded by the wisdom of youth, in this case my daughter. Yesterday I texted her, “The world just needs to end already.” This was her heart-wrenching, wise response:

“I want the world to get better. There’s still stuff I wanna do.”

UGH!  Knife to the heart! A knife to my heart that broke me wide open. In her wise words, my daughter spoke what we all want:

We want the world to be better. We want it to be better for ourselves, but even more so, for our children and our children’s children. For these, we must hang on to hope – cling to it even. With these words, I will leave you with this:

With the deepest love,

Lauri

Being Soft

/ Lauri Ann Lumby / Leave a comment

For my entire life, I have been hard. I have worked hard. In school, I studied hard. I have been hard on myself by creating high expectations of myself. I have been hard on others by projecting the expectations I have for myself on them. I have tended to a strict moral code. I have been a master of discipline, persistence, tenacity, and work ethic. I hold myself to the highest of integrity – while expecting others to do the same. I have been hard on my physical, emotional, and mental self by forcing my body into my own dysmorphic idea of “perfect weight and size,” by stuffing my emotions (don’t let them see you cry), by covering deep hurt with rage and unmet needs with resentment. I love deeply, but when wronged, the ax falls. Because of life’s many heartbreaks and betrayals, I have built a shield of armor around me in an effort to keep myself safe.

All this hardness has given me the illusion of being safe and made me feel like I was meeting society’s expectations of achievement.

We are conditioned, after all, that we are only valued based on what we achieve.

Straight A students are lauded by parents, teachers and other authority figures (while being despised by their fellow students for being a smarty pants and a showoff). Valedictorians get into good schools and receive scholarships. Those who earn a doctoral degree secure positions of prestige at universities. Skinny girls are more loved and popular than those with curves.

Right!?

WRONG!

If there is anything that life has taught me, it is this:

Our value has absolutely nothing to do with how we look, what we do, or what we have achieved. Instead, our value is intrinsic in our very being.

As the prophet Isaiah quoted Source as saying:

You are precious and glorious in my sight, and I love you. (Isaiah 43: 4)

As I have increasingly come to understand this and have done the work of healing the wounds within me that have then allowed the Love within me to be more fully known, what has been hard in me has become more soft. I no longer seek after a size 6 body (menopause took care of ever thinking that would once again be a possibility). Instead, I’m working on accepting a curvaceous post-menopausal form. I’m no longer seeking after achievement, recognition, or fame. Instead, I’ve learned to embrace the gift of invisibility along with the precious few who can actually see me. I’ve come to understand that my work in the world is mostly done on invisible planes and what is done in this world, is meant for a rare and precious few. I’m still disciplined as I find I do better with a structure of some sort in place, but I’m also more flexible with my time and can even embrace DOING NOTHING (gasp!). I’m more forgiving of myself and of others (though the betrayal rule remains in place – betray me or take advantage of my generosity and I reserve the right to sever that connection). My heart is wide but fragile. I reserve the right to protect it as I see fit.

Being soft is also a mindset. Instead of walking like an elephant through the world, can I move more gently? Instead of always hurrying, can I begin to slow down? Instead of punishing myself with all of my conditioned shoulds (I should be able to drive when and where I want. I should go outside. I should take a walk. I should…..), can I be more kind in my expectations of self and allow myself to simply be?

After a life of being hard, I think it’s time I embrace being soft.