In my dream last night, I received the “Best Goddess” award. Go ahead. Laugh. That title is reserved for celebrities, rock stars and beautiful women in flowing white gowns (meditating next to crystal blue waters with dolphins and diamonds.) I don’t fit.
But in the dream, I was rather excited (and embarrassed) that I’d been in the running with more traditionally goddessy women. Somehow I also knew that, whoa, men had voted, too!
I quickly surmised that it must be an all-around-kinda-goddess. A good cherub. Making a contribution. Trying her best. Clearly the world had changed its definition of a diety! And some part of me AGREED. I’d won. I was goddess material.
Then I woke up.
“Best Goddess?” I think, as I run my fingers through my matted, dirty hair. It reminds me of those little plastic trophies, “Best Sister” or “#1 Mom.”
But who cares, I won! In the dream, I’d felt humbled and happy. And now, sitting there in my very ugly t-shirt, grey sweatpants, bad breath and boobs hanging low, it makes me smile! I’ve arrived. I’ve awarded myself this goofy victory!
There was no voluptuous body or kick-ass looks, lips or limbs. It was just me. The award meant I was fully seen and appreciated. As is. Success.
Then I tell my husband.
He was just crawling out of bed, in all his sleepy glory. Tighty whities. A Breathe-Right strip lifting off his nose. Both of us pale and pasty.
“I won the Best Goddess award in my dream,” I say with a smile and an eye-roll.
Long.
Silence.
After yawning and wiping his crusty eyes, he finally says, “Well, that’s different.”
Cue. Screeching. Brakes.
My previous thrill quickly begins to slip. After more silence, I get up and go to the bathroom so I don’t spurt out any BS. My mind has armored up so fast, it’s frightening. I’m already at war.
For many years, I’ve asked (yelled, begged) my hubby for more compliments. I’m embarrassed to admit it. I get praise from friends, family, clients, even strangers at workshops. But since Bill sees me at my absolute worst, and knows me at my best, compliments from him mean MORE.
In the time it takes me to put the toilet seat down and sit, my BS is ready to FIRE AT BILL. My mind is pissed, blaming him and silently ranting, “This would have been a lovely opportunity to compliment me. FOR ONCE. I know I don’t look like a goddess, but couldn’t you do me the favor of saying something nice!? Something affirming? Anything??” Note: defensive sarcasm is always a sign of hidden BS.
So let’s Byron Katie the crap out of this stinky scenario.
Katie’s “Judge Your Neighbor” worksheet has four questions to ask ourselves, and the all intriguing “turn-around.” (Check out “The Work” here and download the worksheet here.)
- Is it true? (Yes or no. If no, move to 3.)
- Can you absolutely know that it’s true? (Yes or no.)
- How do you react, what happens, when you believe that thought
- Who would you be without the thought?
So I take the first painful belief, “Bill never compliments me” and ask, Is it true? Well, um, (scramble, scramble, argh, sassafrassa…) No. It isn’t totally true. He doesn’t compliment me in the ways I would like. But his actions are very complimentary – deep demonstrations of his love and care.
But-but-but. I don’t want to let go of this! He should change! I NEED COMPLIMENTS! How hard is THAT!?
The ego mind likes to fight, to be right and to PROVE that our thoughts, painful as they might be, are CORRECT, and it’s the other person who should change their behavior! Then the pressure is off of us to change our thoughts. Poor, innocent us.
As I sit on my porcelain thrown, another old belief hits the fan: “He doesn’t see and appreciate my worth. He doesn’t think I’m valuable! He should prove to me that I’ve got a little bit of goddess in me!?”
So my old story, of feeling humiliated and not-enough, because of my dwarfism, has hit the leader-board. “Bill should know my history! He should treat me with tenderness so I don’t have to hurt over this!”
Wow, tall order. I’m shoulding all over him, when in fact, I’m not honoring my old story OR treating myself with tenderness so I don’t have to hurt. When I insist that HE do it, we both end up in the loo.
Hopeless.
Still, my mind continues it’s rioting… “Of all people, Bill should know my old insecurities!” Wait. I should know.
Another turnaround is, “I should know his old insecurities.” He’s told me many times that he feels completely cornered when I come at him, diarrhea of the mouth, INSISTING that he do things MY WAY.
The third question is: How do I react when I believe the thought, “Bill should compliment me,” and he doesn’t do it? I get insulted, hurt and angry. I either corner him with a sh*t ton of words or I shut. him. out.
Oh My Goddess. Not very complimentary.
The forth question is: Who would I be without the thought, “He should compliment me”? (When you’re examining your own BS, close your eyes on this question and imagine the other person’s face.) Well, without my BS I’d just be real and I’d express my vulnerability, without judging him or me. I’d appreciate my devoted Einstein-haired-hubby. I’d love him for all that he is. I’d realize he has complimented me with twenty years of support, marriage, family, love.
Here’s another turnaround. “I’m hurt and angry at myself because I don’t compliment me.” True. I didn’t even believe in my dream award. “I don’t see and appreciate my worth. I should prove to myself that I’ve got a little bit of goddess in me.” I can’t expect Bill to do what I cannot do.
On my good days, when I feel worthy, I don’t demand it from others. I can give it freely. Easily. To myself and them.
“Uncomfortable feelings are clear reminders that we’ve attached to something that may not be true for us. They are gifts that let us know it’s time to identify the stressful thoughts.” ~Byron Katie
If you find yourself throwing an inner or outer tantrum over what someone else didn’t do, or should do, try the four questions and the turnaround. There’s always something untrue in our own thinking and there’s more we can do for ourselves to find freedom and peace.
If you give a goddess an award, that she doesn’t feel she deserves, look at the cascade of negative thoughts that errupt! I projected the crap onto Bill, and then realized it was in me. It turned into an opportunity to bless the BS. What we need to flush, is up to us.
Another’s opinion can only hurt or help when we believe it’s true. We have the choice to walk down the runway of our soul, in all its spangly splendor, still loving our humble humanness.
Our glory be to goddess, in the highest and hottest. No need to be modest. (Short doesn’t mean squat-ess.)
With consistent self-support, we can turn dung into divine. Doesn’t cost a dime. (Goddesses like to rhyme.)
So go grab your own godling award. I’ll joyfully join you in a heart felt standing-O.
With lotsa love, lights, and applause,
Last week, I fell into a nasty abyss. My reliable defenses searched for a reason, outside myself. It must be the change in seasons. It must be the tragic world events. Then, in the recesses of my mind, I quietly (unknowingly) decided the darkness was somehow my hubby’s fault. I’m admitting this to you because the sooner I share the shame, the longer it stays lifted. (Old BS does not understand the word goodbye!)
I thought it was the best kind of 
It’s his fault!
I thought back on my BS band, which had come out to play. What they wanted was to be hugged, healed, and then relieved of their instruments. Especially those mental drums at midnight. Instead, I’d felt ashamed that they were assembled, at all.
Step away from the remote.
Fear loves drama. Like Sherlock Holmes, she’s always looking for evidence to prove her scary-ass case.
And then there was the time he stole the plastic bag of stinky sour-bread starter and dragged it (leaking) around the entire apartment. That stuff dries 
As the volunteer handed the puppy to Bill, the pup sprang to life, wriggling, waggling and then nibbling on Bill’s beard. Aw! When Bill put him on the floor, he scampered away and then circled back and sat right between Bill’s legs. The volunteer was very impressed. “Sometimes the animals pick the owners. He sure picked you.” 
Time flew by. When our sons joined the family, Norm was their devoted gentle giant, a daily cornerstone of unconditional love. 
And when they stare into our eyes – the love hormone, oxytocin – is released into our blood stream. And theirs. Fur free. 
Be. 
I might have missed the walk in the woods when faeries seemed to send up
Being walled off, though, means I’m separated from the empowering feelings, too. 
“The holiest spot on earth is where an ancient hatred has become a present love.” ~A Course in Miracles 
Good-will is a powerful picket line against reactivity, blame and any walls we’ve built within
I recently shared my story about the 
“Furthermore,” she said, almost giggling, “The doctors won’t be the only ones who will take issue with your nonconformities; you will also be a billboard for bullies, strangers, children & adults who will stare, taunt and mock you. You’ll be a trigger for their own deep fears of separation and rejection.”
Yay! Good news! 
Maybe we all agreed to the crazy ride.
dreamy nights,
As I took a slew of pictures, another angel image, with what looked like big open arms, came up underneath the first brassy gal… see him? Well, what matters most (for me) is my own looking glass. What matters most for you, is your personal spectacles – that’s what will seize the day and make it troubled or triumphant. We always have that choice.
I was recently interviewed, along with 30 others, for an inspiring online video interview series called,
One of our trees, 
And now our treasured Cherry is getting ready to fly away. Poison Ivy is creeping up her trunk, as if she has already been reclaimed by a greater night. Her amber blood oozes out from craggily warrior skin. As I run my hand across her Braille bark, some part of my soul understands the big Book of hers. Her silence craves a home in me.
One Spring, back when my sixteen-year-old was four, the wind was kicking up a perfect petal blizzard. My boy took one look and scampered toward the back door. As he burst outside, the sun simultaneously came out from behind the clouds. I called to him, “the sun came out just as you did!” He yelled back, “yeah, that’s because it didn’t see me before!” Then he ran through Grandma’s pink waterfall, with arms and heart open wide.
Our culture teaches us, and especially burdens our menfolk, with the notion that vulnerability makes us weak. I realize that this is hogwash… but… I still find myself ashamed of my deepest feelings, even though I feel stronger after I’ve acknowledged them. Even though they make me the most real. They deepen my compassion. Our common humanity. They open us up and pull us together, where we belong. As one.
