Emotions are for movement!

If a strong, intense emotional landmark arises, see it as a launching pad to take you higher.

Welcome the movement after years, decades, lifetimes of stagnation.

This can be hard when it relates to trauma. Our instinct is to shy away from the overwhelming sensations associated with pain. Our mind wants to convince us that we must stop feeling it at all costs or we will never stop feeling it. Not true.

Instead think of it as a balloon that is popped. The initial sound might startle or frighten but the release is immediate and swift. Poof, gone! Drive the intensity in your favor. Instead of letting it take you in loops round and round (the same old story) let it be a momentum to take you up and out of the old stale story. “That was what my body held, but it is no more, especially after this very intense release!”

Time doesn’t heal—love does! Meet yourself with love and a willingness to see it from a higher perspective. That makes so much difference!

Things are feeling a little…intense

How are you doing? If you feel anything like I do today then you might be feeling the pressure that 2020 keeps laying on thick! We get it, 2020, you are shaking us awake and won’t go away until we FULLY embody the lessons that this year has to offer. PHEW. Breathe in, breathe out!

I was listening to a video the other day and the person shared the story of an initiate who said to her teacher: “Ok teacher, I’m ready to be done suffering.” That’s how I personally feel! Are you ready to be done suffering? Joy is our birthright! But it won’t be given to us. Neither will freedom. It must be claimed!

I used to view freedom as almost like a bubble of nothing bad every happening but my view has shifted. I’m working on freedom being that I can hold that space in myself that is pure love no matter WHAT surfaces or appears around me! I’ve been working a lot with a teaching that my teacher Magdala Ramirez brought forth (she talks about it on her website and talks about it a little bit in her podcast this week, too.). It’s the idea that we have two hearts — once connected to source, an endless cup pouring love!!–and another smaller heart that is connected to all the pain and suffering we’ve experienced in this lifetime and others. When we hook into that little heart we get stuck. It cuts us off from our own divine nature. However when we tap into that large heart, well, everything changes. The wisdom of the multiverse becomes available to us and we can heal ourselves.

Yesterday I was reading something about the astrology of this coming year (ahem, pretty intense) and all of suddenly felt a whoosh of panic. A tightness in my chest. I was able to observe it and not become it or become swept up in it. I spoke to this part of myself that reared its head: I love you, you are ok, I got this. That was the big heart pouring love into the little heart.

Right now we are being challenged to step into the big heart that we all have. It’s hard. The more potent the emotional trigger the harder it can be to “unlock” from whatever pops up. But we also have so much assistance available to help us through it. For me, I’m taking it moment by moment, tapping into the love I AM, and finding freedom even in the midst of all this commotion.

Just Follow the Joy on Facebook & Instagram for more joy and inspiration!

Facing Anger (And Reluctantly Admitting My Husband Was Right)

Every window in my house is currently steamed up. (No, it’s not what you think! Jeesh, don’t make me blush.) The reason? I live in Florida. It is summer. The humidity is higher than Donald Trump’s bangs.

thedonald
high hair, high humidity. (photo source)
I just returned home to this heat from 

vacation in the cool, humidity-free Northeast. No matter. I am loving the all-consuming stickiness.

At last: the outside world is matching my inside world.

As vacation ended and some unpleasant realities of life creeped back into my consciousness, anger began seeping out in all the ways that Oprah would advise against. Projecting onto my husband. Snapping at my daughter. Scowling about towels left on the floor and muttering loudly under my breath.  A tiny voice within squeaked, hmm you seem pretty CHARGED UP about this…perhaps something else? To which my ego (angrily) replied, NO! Really, I  AM this angry over my husband whining about needing a nap after he slept ten hours last night! (Yes this really happened. Normally I would I would chuckle and lovingly mock him and tell him to shut his pie hole. I would not be full of PRIMAL RAGE.)

I was full of PRIMAL RAGE.

Primal_rage-cast
Who knew? A google search for “primal rage”returns this fantastic image from an early ’90s video game.
I’ll spare you the details of the who and what that led to my anger. It isn’t necessary. What I will share is how surprised I have been at the depth and fierceness of the anger—and my unwillingness to simply name it for what it was.

Why, I wondered later, is it so hard for me to just say, “I AM ANGRY AT X AND I NEED TO JUST SAY IT OUT LOUD!”

Many wise souls have pointed out how resisting what is is the source of our suffering. Certainly it was the source of the suffering between my husband and myself, as he threw his hands up and said, “Whoa, why are you so upset with ME? I know this isn’t about me, this is about x! Stop projecting!”

He even predicted that ten minutes later I would be back, apologizing, and admitting he was right.

Damn it, I hate when he is right.

I think it all has to do with anger being a secondary emotion.

I read the term “secondary emotion” for the first time a year or two ago. I had this major “AHA” moment. I had been lumping anger as an emotion with all the rest. Turns out, anger is special. It is just the first layer of a delicious cake of emotions. Perhaps it is the crispy charred caramel bit atop a Crème brûlée. You have to poke through it to get to the creamy, smooth center, the meat of the thing.

5162877165_a3ec5b89b3_z
If only anger tasted as delicious. Image source.
Which, in my case, turned out to be sadness. So. Much. Sadness. Once I finally admitted to my husband that he was right (sigh), that I was not actually angry at him, I crept into a spare bedroom and wrote a little. The tears started flowing and they wouldn’t stop. Streams and streams of tears. I hadn’t cried like this in a very long time. I let it run its course but it took an awfully long time for my eyes to dry up.

No wonder I was hiding behind the anger. Who wants to unearth all that hurt and sadness?

I’d love to carry my metaphor forward about the dessert and crème brûlée, something trite about how sweet it is to finally break through all the flavors and eat the gooey custard middle. But that is not the case. There is nothing fun or delicious about resisting anger, feeling anger, and then crying for twenty minutes.

For me, the closest I can come to that happy ending is through my writing, which always helps me unpack what I’m feeling and find some self-compassion in the process. Not as tasty as a French dessert, but I’ll take it.