The Staggering and Long-Winded Mental Aftermath of Unfollowing Friends on Social Media

At the height of my “I desperately want a baby but don’t see how that can happen” panic a few years back, I unfollowed all my friends with children on instagram. 

Announce your pregnancy? Immediate triggered unfollow! 

Show your adorable children doing adorable things? Immediate triggered unfollow! 

It was the social media equivalent of a tantrum in the grocery store and NOW I’M TOO EMBARRASSED TO RE-FOLLOW MY FRIENDS.

There’s a lot to unpack here, my doves.

My first thought as I started thinking about this, rather than letting my brain skitter away like usual, was “These are not the actions of a mature adult.” 

It’s been years since this happened, these are actual real-life friends, and I’ve just been letting it ride. Letting my mind jump merrily away to something else rather than confront it.

Honestly, I hoped to just have kids and then accidentally delete my account and start over. Yes, that was a real plan.

My second thought: “Be kinder to yourself.” 

It was the right thing for me to do at the time. I would get on Instagram and start sobbing big ugly cry tears. Removing the triggers felt like the only real option in that moment. (I guess the mute button wasn’t around yet? Or I just didn’t know it existed?) (I’ve officially hit Grandma Wants Her Typewriter Back levels of technical savvy over here.) 

My third thought: “Why is this still a thing?”

It became a splinter that moved in and set up house. It didn’t hurt much, but it would jab me every so often. 

It’s probably because this whole issue is a splinter in my soul and I genuinely don’t know what to do about it. 42 isn’t too late for kids, but it’s too late to not be chasing it down with every fiber of my being, a being that’s still concerned about things like paying bills and social media and committed relationships, things I genuinely did not expect to still be an issue into my forties. Hitting your midlife crisis at the same time as (the ninth iteration of ) your I Really Want To Have Kids crisis is inconvenient.

Since I don’t know what to do about the bigger issue (kids), but I do know what to do about the smaller issue (social media), here’s my plan:

Talk about it (hi!), because expressing things is how I move through them, and I haven’t done nearly enough of that in the past few years and it’s definitely affected my general wellbeing and mental health. 

Re-follow my friends. Sure, I may trigger again when confronted with evidence of Family Life, but I am so much better at handling triggers than I was a few years ago. (Not, like, great. But better. Definitely better!) 

The small child in me worries that they’ll be hurt or mad. The grownup in me recognizes that this is not an issue in anyone’s life but mine.  My friends are kind and well-adjusted people who, if they give it any thought at all, will think something along the lines of “I totally get it. You do what you need to do. My loud children will be here whenever you’re ready.” 

I am proud to announce that my reaction to the most recent round of Beautiful New Facebook Babies has triggered more “I can share your obvious joy” than “My fingers are now big and green because I am the Unfollow Hulk.”

Which feels like progress. Good progress, because there’s also a lot to unpack here energetically.

When we react negatively to someone else having what we want, we hold that very thing away from ourselves. When we’re in the sheer cyclone of joy that “this thing that I want exists in the world and someone I love has it”, we’re summoning that thing like we have a wand from Ollivander’s and a solid understanding of the Accio charm. I’m not saying I don’t have kids because I unfollowed some of my favorite humans on social media once and then didn’t know what to do about it after, but it probably didn’t help. 

And that’s okay. We can always clean up our energy and our actions and re-follow and express and be embarrassed and then stop. We can always step back into expecting our desires to show up like we graduated from Hogwarts with honors.

How to Find Joy When The World is a Trash Fire

First things first: remembering that the world is not actually a trash fire.

We still have clean water that we can drink, bathe in, make coffee from. We still have food in the fridge, a roof over your head, something to love - whether that something is a person, a pet, a project, a new Netflix show.

We still have beautiful things to see, whether you can get in your car and go look at them in (masked) person or pour over your pictures or search the internet for stunning pictures other people have taken.

There are always good people in the world, people doing their best to love and make things and rest and take care of others and show up in powerful ways that are for the good of humanity. Those people always exist. If you’re exhausted, you can look for the helpers. If your tank is full, you can be the helper. In whatever way suits you and your disposition. (There are as many ways to help as there are people on this planet.)

It’s easy to get caught up in what’s going on out there, but we have to step back - turn off the news, turn off the twitter, turn off the external voices - for significant periods of time so that our nervous system can calm the F down, so we can take care of ourselves, our people, our pets, our homes. Tend the creative fire. Slow your brain. Give yourself plenty of space to rest and sleep and make nice, nourishing meals. Bonus round: using the cloth napkins reserved for company BECAUSE YOU DESERVE NICE NAPKINS TOO. And also, no one’s really having company right now.

Tending to your joy looks like choosing a thought that feels a little better than the one you’re thinking right now.

Examples:

“The world is a goddamn trash fire.” —> “I have what I need, I see where people are helping, I am going to do whatever I can today to take care of myself.”

“I’m worried about money.” —> “I always have what I need and often have a lot of what I want and I trust that will continue.”

“I’m worried about a loved one’s health.” —> “Everyone has their own journey and who am I to say that their life journey is wrong?”

(I know it’s tempting to punch someone when they use the word “journey” in relation to health, whether it’s yours or a loved one’s, but 1) when my dad died it genuinely helped to remember that he has his own life path and maybe I shouldn’t judge it because it wasn’t what I wanted and 2) you can always use a different word.)

Tending to your joy looks like moving your body, in the fresh air if possible.

This is not a revolutionary concept, but it’s so easy to forget how good it feels to take a walk in the trees, to swing your arms and breathe the chilly air, and feel ideas spring to life while listening to some good music.

I say that as I’m planning to skip today’s walk, because its gloomy and it’s the balsamic moon and I haven’t been resting much. (The three or four days right before the new moon is a good time to plan rest and avoid pushing yourself.)

Tending to your joy looks like doing whatever feels fun right now. If fun feels like a stretch, doing whatever feels like a giant wheeze of relief.

When I’m facing down an epic to-do list (I’m learning how to not put so much damn pressure on myself but that cruise liner has been sailing for over forty years so it’s taking some time to turn in the choppy waters), it always helps to scan the list and ask myself “What feels like fun right now?” Or if fun is a stretch, “What can I do easily right now?”

If you need to rest, but you’re so hyped up on internet comments or so wracked with anxiety that the idea of going to sleep feels like asking your car to turn into a unicorn made of jellybeans, scan the options to see what feels best. Watching a Pixar movie? Reading a book? Listening to a meditation? Revisiting your favorite comedy special? Imagining your enemies getting paper cuts? Take whatever rest feels possible.

Tending to your joy looks like turning off anything that needs regular recharging.

We know this. But how often do we do it? I talk about it all the damn time, but it’s fairly rare that I take my phone and laptop and stick them in a closet for 24 hours. But whenever I do, I feel like I’ve been sprinkled with magic fairy dust. It makes it easier to relax, on every level. These days, turning off anything that emits light or has an opinion about the world is better than anti-anxiety medication. I know because I’ve tried both.

Joy can be found in any moment. Rest can be found in any moment. Ease can be found in any moment.

Fine, maybe not when you’re running from a stampeding warthog, but stampeding warthogs are rare enough that I feel comfortable committing that idea to writing.

Honestly, I didn’t really believe it myself until I experienced enough moments of relief and joy and ease in awful circumstances - parent dying, day after a breakup, etc - that I realized it is possible, especially when you have no choice but to surrender everything you think and hope for and understand. That’s when those moments of joy and relief creep in.

Surrendering - surrendering fear, worry, angst, fear, righteous indignation - often looks like choosing the next thought that feels better, the next thing that feels fun. Because doing that means you’re surrendering the old way of being, the way that says Reality Requires Suffering.

Suffering is not required. Surrendering is always possible. Joy can be found in a glass of water, a walk, a remote control. Joy can be found in letting yourself give up on something in favor of something that lights a fire in your blood. Or sounds vaguely better than that other thing.

Sometimes joy comes from committing to one step up from awful. Because if you keep climbing the staircase, you’ll get somewhere good.

Snake Patrol

I have a snake in my abdomen. 

It started out as a gnarly tar monster coiling around in my stomach, holding onto pain.

Yes, finding a multidimensional black tapeworm in your innards is just as much fun as it sounds.

I met my sticky tar snake in a therapy appointment when we were investigating some suppressed feelings, which is a thing you do in therapy and is also just as much fun as it sounds.

As we sat there on zoom, because pandemic appointments, I opened a door over my belly button for the snake to slither out, taking all the heavy blackness with it. I started feeling lighter and lighter and as the black smoke turned to gray fog and eventually dissipated, all that was left was a small silver snake.

My heavy black horror snake was actually this cute little silver snake bloated with suppressed emotion.

Now my little silver snake friend helps me monitor my energy - specifically, how much I’m absorbing from other people. Then he helps me boot it out of my system. I just have to check into my stomach and see what’s there. If it’s a little silver snake curled up in the corner, I’m good. If the silver snake is clouded by fog or storm clouds, I have some stuff to let go of. If the snake is looking black or bloated, it’s time to do some clearing.

Often what feels heavy and overwhelming, like it would be a bad idea to poke with a stick, is simply something that was trying to help us out and got a little lost along the way. Maybe it took on more than it could handle. Maybe it needed some help and got ignored. Maybe it just needed a rest.

Sometimes monsters turn cute when you give them some love and attention.

2020

2020 was the year I slammed head-first into “If you want to have kids in this lifetime, better get on it.” It was the year I learned what codependent means and how not to do it. The year I devoted myself to that memoir, while being consistently mad at myself for not also devoting myself to that novel. It was also the year I learned how to take care of myself in a new way, because insomnia and stress were wearing me down to a nubbin.

2020 was the year I learned to do my own nails. How to live with a partner in a new way. How healing it can be to bask in the sun for an hour or three. It was the year I started cheering small businesses for keeping their doors open, actually applauding them as we drive past.

2020 was a year of big internal shifting that will not be reflected on my tax return. A year I went deeper into lessons I thought I had already learned. The year I had to learn to trust again, after losing faith.

2020 was a year of a lot of things that none of us need explained in a blog post, but we survived and even managed to find bright pockets of joy along the way.

That, my friends, is a major accomplishment and we all deserve a big round of applause. So I’m giving us one.

My Decision To Blog Regularly in 2021 Turned Into An Ode To Pixar

I just finished watching Pixar’s new movie Soul — amazing how quickly my fresh No-TV-Until-Dark resolution met its downfall — and one of the things I loved was how closely some of it mirrors my own other-dimensional journeys. Or visions, I suppose. Because I see this stuff without leaving the comfort of my bedroom — something I have a new appreciation for, after being apprised of the other options. [spoiler alert] 1) falling into a manhole, dying, trying to beat the Great Beyond, ending up in the body of a cat, and eventually proving so inspirational that you get a second chance or 2) being a sign-twirler at the peak of your craft with truly excellent facial hair.

Number 2 would actually be awesome, except I am firm enough in my own gender stereotypes that I don’t personally want facial hair.

I’ve never seen my own visions depicted in cartoon form is what I’m saying — and it was just as amazing as you’d expect. I wish a Pixar team could animate the other things in my head, especially the unicorn and peacock parade that shows up when I need some swagger. (Peacocks know how to swagger, if you ever need a boost.)

Here are those It Felt Like Pixar Was Animating The Inside of My Head visions, if you’re curious:

1. When I was young, I asked what god was and the answer I got was that all the people are sparks of light and we all merge back into one great light.

2. When I go in to deal with my fears as an adult, I often find myself in a black space, meeting what look like huge black monsters echoing my own internal negative talk until I deal with them in some manner and they dissolve into black dust.

It was fun to see what felt like the inside of my own head on the screen is what I’m saying.

I also had one of those moments where I thought that if I ever got a real job again, Pixar is the only employer I’d be interested, even though the storywriting and visioning is a job for the top of the totem pole and I don’t have any useful skills that would get me in the door. Having animated movies play in my mind on a regular basis isn’t something you can put on a resume. It’s kind of like saying, “I doodle, so put me in charge of animation. No really it’ll be fine.”

In between eating tacos for lunch and procrastinating sitting back down at my desk, I pondered what about the Pixar ethos resonates with me and how I can shoehorn that into my own life and work, rather than being annoyed that I can’t animate my own brain.

Here’s what I got: I love how the movies are always fun and funny, with an element of pure appreciation for life. But what I love most is what someone once told me is the Pixar devotion to the “fuck you in the heart” moment. Yes to that. I love that moment, in movies, in books, in the rare instances one appears in my actual life unaided by a screen.

As I’m writing this, I’m staring out my office window - the hills are cloaked in mist, grey clouds are moving through and two hawks are suspended over the valley of trees. Watching this with Trent Reznor’s Great Beyond music plays. (Just Us, to be precise.)

It was one of those: What an extraordinary world we live in, what a joy it is to just be alive moments. Since I’m in between fucked-in-the-heart moments, it will do nicely.

Recoding Codependence

In six months, I went from not being sure what the word “codependent” even meant to realizing that unbridled codependence riddled every aspect of my existence.

Here’s what codependence boils down to in my experience: Needing someone else to be okay so that you can be okay.

My codependent tendencies exploded in my face when I moved in with my boyfriend. Sharing a home with a partner will shine a massive search light on any hidden proclivities for Needing Everyone Else To Be In a Great Mood and Also Not Mad At Me Before I Can Feel Safe. Yikes.

Here’s the problem with that: When we put all our power and happiness and wellbeing in the hands of someone else, even someone who loves us, we are as doomed as the Stark family in Game of Thrones.

Because even when that person has our best interests at heart, they have their own life and issues and happiness to attend to - they can’t be on the hook for ours too.

I've spent the last six months wresting all of my relationships from the grip of my codependent patterns and yes, it’s just as much fun as it sounds. Nothing escaped this pattern, not my relationship with my boyfriend, my family, my friends, my business, my clients. I was even being codependent with the universe.

If you’re wondering how codependence with the universe sounds, picture this being shrieked into the infinite starry void:

WHY AREN’T YOU GIVING ME WHAT I NEED? I’M DOING EVERYTHING I CAN, SO MAKE THINGS BETTER ALREADY! COME ON, UNIVERSE!

I’ll say it again: Yikes.

My codependence was flavored with a savior complex, resentment, and more than a few pity parties. Honestly, this has kind of torched my life. Because no one wants to be around that, let me tell you. I didn’t even want to be around it.

Here’s Codependence Zinger #1: It all comes from a good place. (Except maybe all those pity parties. Calm down, Amber.)

We want others to be happy. We want to help and will often do so at the expense of our own wellbeing.

I wanted my boyfriend to be happy, so I bent over backward to tend to his mood, which mostly just pissed both of us off. Our relationship didn’t improve until my mantra became AMBER’S NUMBER ONE! AMBER’S NUMBER ONE! (He gets to be number one too, so it works out.)

Here’s Codependence Zinger #2: Our culture rewards codependence.

We’re praised for putting other people’s happiness above our own. We’re lauded for being responsible and productive human beings, something that's often at the expense of our own health and happiness. This is what Good People do.

My wild ride through the thickets of codependence makes sense: I needed to come into a fuller experience of my own power and my own ability to self-source, without relying on my boyfriend or my friends or my clients or the universe to make me feel better or confident or loved or safe. This is a big part of my work and what I teach, and so I need to be a goddamn master at it. Sometimes when you’re blazing a trail, you get slapped in the face with branches.

Because everything we want and need - safety, confidence, power, abundance, love - comes from within us. Which is both a relief and an annoyance because “you already have everything you need!” (whew, okay) but also “hey! then why doesn’t it feel like it?”

Catching codependent patterns is like unraveling a rainbow sweater by only pulling out the red yarn and leaving the rest of the sweater intact. It’s not easy. I had to get help from someone who knows her way around addiction and codependence. I spent months relentlessly catching my patterns and recoding my brain to recognize myself as worthy of all the attention I was sending outside of myself, learning to fill my own cup so I could give from the overflow rather than being a parched husk of a vessel that’s no good to anyone.

Yes, it’s a lot of work. And I get to keep working on it, so wily codependence doesn’t sneak back in on a technicality.

But the reward is being happy, no matter what’s going on around me. Or at least at peace, if happiness is a bit of a stretch that day. Just because my boyfriend has a bad day doesn’t mean I need to have a bad day or fret for hours about what I’ve done wrong. Just because my business is going through transition doesn’t mean I need to suffer. Just because the world is going through seismic shifts doesn’t mean I need to destroy my mental health.

Who knew that making "ME FIRST" the mantra would fix everything in my life? No, this particular mantra probably isn't the answer for everyone, but if you’re reading this, it may be the answer for you.

ME FIRST GODDAMNIT has upgraded every aspect of my life. It’s healed my relationships, including my relationship with myself and the divine, it’s healing my business, my body, and my relationship with money. It's amplifying my self-esteem and my work in the world, and it just feels better.

Ideally, I’d wrangle up some snappy ending to reward you for making it through this epic number of paragraphs, but I’d rather go make some tea and watch the sunrise, so ME FIRST!

Taking a Stick of Dynamite to Sad Island

Is there a Facebook group for women who want kids but whose partners are terrified-slash-ambivalent-slash-negative about the prospect of small humans? Because I can’t keep breaking up with people over this. But my friends mostly have kids or don't want kids, I end up feeling like I’m on my own sad island and I’ve had about enough of Sad Island for one lifetime.

I used to talk more about being sad. It felt important to be transparent about my feeling status, especially on social media, that bastion of Best Face Forward and My Autumn Decor Is Prettier Than Yours. But then I felt like I was just marinating in misery and it was all I talked about and who wants to be an instagram downer? So I stopped. But then my entire life stopped too. Because if I’m not expressing myself, I’m not happy, and if I’m not happy the mechanics of my existence grind to a halt.

So I’ll cry over baby pictures on Facebook and contemplate blowing up my entire life - again - over this issue and then ultimately decide that’s a terrible idea and go back to whatever I was doing, probably eating grapes or contemplating the nature of cats.

Even though my 42-year-old biological clock wants to set the world on fire over this issue, the rest of me just wants to relax about the whole baby thing. Yeah, I want one. Yeah, I cry when I see pregnant women. But also, I really like free time. I really like my boyfriend. Maybe I can just let life take its course without having to strong-arm it into doing what I want. Maybe I can just focus on other things that make me happy. Like finishing a novel, and contemplating the nature of cats.

The 2020 Pantone Color for Fall is "Smoke"

Petaluma has been filled with smoke since August. I’ve gotten used to breathing it. I’ve also started waking up at 4 a.m. again, which is the time connected with the lungs in Chinese medicine. So I place my hands over my lungs and send them love, I feel them filling up with air I’ve purified through the strength of my not inconsiderable will, and I imagine them filling with gold light.

I also bought some herbal sleep drops that I’m taking three times a day, because there’s hippie and then there’s hippie. (Herbal sleep drops are hippie, filing your lungs with golden light is hippie. In case you were wondering.)

I don’t know how new parents do it. Two weeks of five or six hours of broken sleep a night and I can barely function. And it’s not like I’m also caring for an infant. I’m just … not sleeping. Not sleeping means watching Netflix or reading a book or lying in bed praying for sleep to take me, not feeding a tiny wailing human or praying for sleep to take it.

Despite the hazy, wildfire-filled air, I’m so happy it’s fall. I’m pulling out my sweaters and painting my nails autumnal shades and putting pie spice in my coffee. While my boyfriend yells at the maple leaves that fall on his head, I’m super excited to pull out my furry boots and put them on my feet.

Work feels like it’s shifting, I feel like I’m shifting, but I’m not yet sure what we’re shifting into. I’m doing my best to just exist happily in the mystery and do whatever feels right in the moment, rather than worry about it incessantly as per my usual. The thing I do know: Writing has been feeling like a big focus again, after years of putting all my energy into the channeling / healing / and other intuitive hippie pursuits. Now I just want to write atmospheric novels like Night Circus and Candy Queen and take naps. While this particular pendulum swings wildly back and forth (one month it’s on one side of the spectrum, the next month is the polar opposite), it feels like I’m supposed to be channeling healing and guidance just for me right now, and not so much for everyone else. It feels like I’m meant to be going through my video archives and receiving all the embedded channeling and healing for me, and maybe repurposing what I’ve already created to share with people in a new way. That feels really fun right now. Like my creation is supposed to be sharing stories and experiences rather than channeling.

It feels like I just need to choose what I want and follow it - subtracting worry and over-thinking and weird self-esteem nonsense from the equation. It feels like I’m supposed to fill my cup and let that spill over into the rest of the world, rather than me trying to fix anything for anyone else.

P.S. Out of sheer curiosity, I just checked the official Pantone color for 2020. It’s blue. This feels wildly appropriate psychologically and wildly hopeful politically.

Seven lessons from five years of running an intuitive business

(Said lessons are wildly applicable to all life paths, in case you're wondering why you clicked on this post.)

Eyes on your own paper. 

When I first started, I didn't do it the way anyone else did it. I did things the way I wanted to do them - channel everything on the spot instead of planning? Perfect. Announce multiple things at a time because that's the way they're flowing through my brain? Done. 

I wasn't looking at anyone else, I wasn't doing it the way anyone else was doing it, and it felt so good. Until I started looking at other people's instagram accounts. Until I got onto a few email lists. I stopped focusing on the process that felt best to me and started to feel like I needed to Learn Things From People Who Knew Better Than I. This would have been fine, except that instead of cherry-picking the lessons I needed, I began to doubt the way I was doing things.

We do things differently because we're meant to do things differently. There are people who need things done the way I do them, who need to hear things the way I say them, who need the energy I blaze out. So I get to do it however the hell I want. So do you. 

Charge whatever you need to show up from a place of excitement and nourishment. 

Don't charge the industry standard (whatever that is), don't charge what you think people will pay, charge what you need to do the work you do. Historically, I have been terrible at this. Or, more accurately, I've been great at the excitement but not so hot at the nourishment. Because I want everyone who wants to work with me to be able to. Because I want to help people even if, especially if, money is a challenge. Because money has so often been a challenge for me. 

Then I burned out so hard I could barely work for a year. Since then, I've had multiple come-to-Jesus moments with myself. Am I serious about doing this work? Am I serious about taking good care of myself? Am I serious about seeing the possibilities and transformation and magic that can happen when huge investments of energy, money, and time are made? Yes, yes, and yes. Yes even when it feels scary.

I made the commitment to myself to raise my prices in October to what nourishes me. (After sitting with that promise for a week, I've decided why wait until October?) Because healers need healers. Coaches need coaches. Women who work a lot need support. If you are in the business of supporting humans (which is every job ever), you need, require, and deserve whatever you need to do that work.

Charge what you need to be paid in order to do the work and show up from a place of excitement and overflow. That number may be uncomfortable. Do it anyway.

Self-care times a million. 

I'm embarrassed to admit this, but as someone who teaches women how to take better care of themselves, to nurture themselves, to treat themselves as sacred, I was often kinda bad at that. Practice what you preach, Amber. 

We're living through a time that calls for maximum self-care. Whatever it takes to keep your own cup filled, do that. No excuses. 

Commitment to self over outcome. 

Focusing on anything external pulls focus from where your true power lives. (Pro tip: Your power lives within you. Here's a little rant on that.) Here are some external things that actually deserve none of your attention: numbers of followers, numbers of likes, numbers in your bank account, things happening the way you wanted. Because they're actually none of your business. External response to your work is not your concern.

Controlling the way things happen in the work as a result of your work is not your job. Continuing to go within, feel the feelings of what you'd like to create, and then taking the next soul-led action - THAT is your job. Focus on shifting your internal experience in the direction that feels good and you can't fail. 

Don't do anything from a place of "I have to do this", do it from a place of "I can't wait to do this, I must do this, I must do this now, sorry dinner dishes you just lost your place in line." 

Why do I work for myself if I post something just because I think I have to? Doing things because you have to do them is terrible and soul-shrinking and we all wanted to leave that behind in elementary school. 

Honestly, everything is optional. Even the things that don't feel optional. You don't HAVE to pay your taxes, you just have to accept the consequences of not paying them. You don't HAVE to stop at that stop sign, you just have to accept the consequences of blowing through it. You don't HAVE to do those dishes, you just have to accept dirty dishes. 

When I do things in my business because I think I have to, they straight up do not work. When I do things from a place of OH MY GOD THIS! THIS IS THE THING RIGHT NOW! it doesn't matter whether it works or not, because I am in my creative genius flow. (Being in that place usually means it does work, but also means I don't feel too bothered either way.) 

Hint: If nothing feels good, nothing feels exciting, it's time to go back and fill your cup. Don't write the thing because you feel like you have to write the thing, go on a walk or watch Harry Potter or do whatever feels like a soul-sigh of relief and keep doing the soul relief things until you feel that inspiration and excitement fire back up. 

Go all in. 

For a long time, I was in the space of "Don't give up." Which is a very different flavor than "Go all in, energy blasters blazing."

Going all in is the energetic transformation that shifts the whole universe in your favor. 

Heal whatever you need to heal to get where you want to go. 

I had to heal an energy of scarcity going back many generations. I had to ground fully into my worth and the worth of this work. I had to heal societal constructs I had sucked up around what it means to be a healer (you have to heal everyone and you have to do it for free) and a woman. I had to heal my own rabid codependence. I had to heal my addiction to emotional drama and struggle and misery and lack. All this work is ongoing. I have to use all the tools I teach and channel more tools weekly to keep myself on track.

Heal your shit. Catch yourself when it bubbles back up and gently remind yourself that we don't do that anymore. 

Being a healer, an intuitive, a channel, a writer, a leader, a teacher, an entrepreneur, a lover of humans is not for the faint of heart. You already know this. But if you aren't quite sure - in this moment - if it's worth the effort, allow me to say: Yes. It's worth it. Keep going. Go all in, if you haven't already. Your soul is yearning for that commitment. 

Love, Amber 

Sensitive Superwoman

My boyfriend finds me sobbing on the couch a lot these days. I need to make a sign that says “MAGIC IN PROGRESS” to put over my face when that happens so he can stop worrying.

Sometimes you have to go deep into the breakdown to get to the magic on the other side.

Because I forget this always, here’s how a lot of my life has gone lately:

I’ll need to cry, I’ll avoid crying. I’ll get all locked up and frustrated and everything in life will slam to a halt and I won’t know why so I’ll get more frustrated and the locks will turn to cement. I’ll finally break down into the serious ugly cry - and a few hours later get a fresh influx of energy, inspiration, and joy.

No matter how many times this happens to me, I’ll insist on forgetting, insist on Not Needing To Feel Things, insist that my sensitivity has gotten better, and then my whole life will turn into an escalator that’s just stairs because the electricity is out. As we all know, that’s super annoying. Who wants to climb stairs when you’re supposed to get a sweet ride to the top?

My sensitivity is my super power. When I let the feels out, the electricity turns back on and everything starts working again. When I insist on ignoring it, life gets real aggravating.

Moral of the story: When life stops and looks at you with exasperation, feel whatever’s clawing at your chest and trying to get out. It helps.

Demanding Spirit Children

One of the things I do is talk to people who aren't exactly on this plane. Like my dad, teachers who died thousands of years ago, and friends' dogs. (Sometimes the dogs are still on this plane, but they don't speak English.)

One of the people I talk to occasionally is my daughter.

Yesterday, she said "Faster."

My daughter isn't even conceived yet and she's already demanding. That better not be what she says to me when I'm making her a smoothie or we'll be having a discussion.

Now, most adults with their feet firmly planted in reality would say that I don't have any business having a baby right now, for a variety of reasons. Many of those reasons I agree with, at least when I'm pretending to be an adult with firmly-planted reality feet.

But if we all stuck to what we think is possible, realistic, and responsible - what society has trained us to do and believe - nobody would ever get anything done, whether extraordinary or magically ordinary.

Maybe if we focus on what we really want, life rearranges around us to support it.

Just because we’ve been trained to belief that things must be done a certain way doesn’t mean there isn’t a whole universe of expansive possibilities, new ways to get what we really want, what would make our souls happy.

It’s not that I could never be happy without biological children. Life without children is great. Free time, travel, sleep, reading a novel cover to cover, parties with friends without securing a babysitter.

But I know that if I don’t at least try, no matter what the circumstances of my life, I will never forgive myself. I need to go after this desire as best I can and surrender the ultimate outcome to god/universe/flying spaghetti monster/whoever is up there. And trust that by devoting myself to this, my life will rearrange to support it in surprising ways.

All I know is that I can’t keep putting up barriers around what I really want. Because there is always a way. There’s always a way to have what you truly want, even if it doesn’t look the way you planned.

Hanging out with somebody else’s daughter.

On Waking Up at 4 in the Morning

Every morning I wake up at 4 a.m., which is terrible and has to stop.

Because I’m me, I googled what Chinese medicine had to say about waking up at such an aggravating hour.

Chinese medicine says that waking up at 4 a.m. is terrible and has to stop.

But it also says that waking up between 3 and 5 in the morning is often due to an imbalance in the lungs, which is related to feelings of grief and sadness that haven’t been dealt with.

Grief was my number one feeling state in my thirties and I was hoping my forties would bring the prevalence of a different emotion, preferably joy or satisfaction, but I would honestly take any other emotion. Anger. Annoyance. Ennui.

Suggestions include breathing exercises, meditation or yoga to improve lung capacity, counseling to deal with your grief, and journaling about your emotions before bed each night.

None of those things sound appealing, probably because I’m suppressing a lot of grief. But I also want to get enough sleep to be able to function like a normal human.

I didn’t know organs could get exhausted, but it seems they do. My poor lungs are so tired. I just want to feed my lungs chicken soup and put them down for a nap.

Moral of the story: Our bodies have a deep wisdom and will give us guidance, if we're willing to listen.

So I either need to deal with my grief or resign myself to being exhausted and cranky for all time.

Work To Do

Nothing like a global pandemic, human hooliganism, and rampant uncertainty to make you feel powerless. While also reminding us that all we can ever do is pay attention to this moment, and do our best to positively effect moments to come.

Questions I keep asking myself:

1. How can I take care of myself in this moment?

2. How can I help today?

This is what we can do now: Take some small action to either help ourselves or help others, while remembering that helping yourself helps others and helping others helps you. (Well-played, universe!)

Big change wants to happen. Big change in the world and big change for each of us individually.

I’ve been feeling the big change breathing down my neck for years - especially around the summer solstice. For some reason late June is always when I take a good hard look at my life - and occasionally blow something sky high.

Right now, it feels like everything in my life is up for grabs. Where I live, who I spend my time with, what my life will look like from here. It’s unsettling, but it also forces me to do my work. Spend time really checking in to see where my soul wants me to go from here, heal anything left unresolved so the same patterns don’t keep repeating, take care of my health - mental, physical, emotional, and energetic - so I have the ability and strength to do whatever needs to be done.

I have a lot of work to do. The world has a lot of work to do.

It can be hard to do that kind of work when we’re all so tired. So self-care has become more important than ever, just when it feels the least possible or the most selfish. But that is when devoted self-care becomes imperative. Resting, taking time for yourself, time to do whatever nurtures you and makes you happy. This is on longer optional. Because 2020 is not letting up and we need to meet it as best we can from a space of being filled to the brim, not depleted AF.

We need to trust ourselves and trust the course of our lives. Which, again, feels like one of the hardest things to do, especially now.

So this is my new mantra, one that I may need to tattoo on my forearm so I don’t keep forgetting:

Things To Remember:

Breakdowns are not to be feared. Today’s breakdown leads to tomorrow’s epic productivity and general satisfaction.

(Here’s looking at you, Wednesday morning.)

I’m allowed to do things that feel good and stop doing things that don’t.

(Like Facebook. Why am I still doing something that? My god, why?)

Read books on paper.

(It feels so much better. Like an actual, physical sensation of betterness. Kindle is great for $3 romance novels but the experience of reading on my phone is like the difference between reading Facebook and talking to a good friend in person.)

Eat some goddamn vegetables, Amber.

(You have energy when you do that, and energy is something you greatly enjoy.)

Don’t be lazy about exercise.

(I know it’s tempting but don’t.)

Water helps everything.

(When in doubt, drink some, shower in some, sit in some, go to the beach and listen to some.)

Pause and appreciate what you have as often as you can.

(Petting the cats, drinking the coffee, listening to the fountain, basking in the sun, staring at the oak trees, reading next to the man. Notice it, appreciate it, be in it.)

Joy Is Knocking On the Door

Yesterday afternoon, I wrote up a business plan.

Yesterday evening, I wrote “FUCK THIS” across the whole thing in blue felt tip marker.

One of my themes lately is doing things because I think I should, not because they bring me any particular joy. 

Reframing the oatmeal to bring you joy is always a possibility - even if that doesn’t make it taste like a fresh chocolate croissant - but it takes some effort. If you’ve let the joy drain out of you for so long that you don’t really remember what joy feels like or why you should make that effort, you’re screwed. (Meaning, I've screwed myself over a bit.)

So I’ve been thinking about joy and how to have some.

One of the things I've noticed about joy is that it’s like working out. You can’t just target your arms and do a bunch of weight lifting and expect your arms to look amazing. You still have to eat nutritious things and do cardio and work on your whole physical self before you get to have amazing arms. Unless you’re 23 and can thrive on pizza and tequila shots and still look amazing, in which case don’t talk to me.

You can’t just say “Hey, I want joy.” You have to target your whole emotional body. You have to feel all the things. Now, this is for those of us who habitually repress. Joy can be one of the easiest things in the world - just look at a happy baby. But if joy is hard to find, you’re probably a feelings represser like me.

After my dad's death, I went through a few years of enforced feelings because none of my well-honed repression techniques were working any more. Anger and frustration joined the grief standby of crying on the floor. The up side of my dad’s death was that joy came more easily, because all feelings came more easily.

But I don’t think that means that having joy requires a whole lot of grief. Joy just asks you to feel all your feelings, not just the fun ones.

Babies can be little joy machines - and they haven’t had to plow through deaths and breakups and getting fired and whatever else life likes throwing you as an adult. Babies find joy in flinging oatmeal onto the walls. Babies find joy in yanking the dog’s fur.

Sure, babies can be jerks and some of that joy comes at the expense of the caretaker who has to scrub the oatmeal off the wall and the dog who has to hide under furniture until the yank stops smarting, but joy is joy.

Babies get that kind of joy because 1) someone else will clean up for them and 2) they’re taking care of their whole emotional selves. If a baby is unhappy, you will know. Everyone in earshot will know. They aren’t repressing anything, they don’t know how. So as often as they shriek with utter abandon in the grocery store, they’re just as often beaming out instantaneous and effervescent joy.

It's time for joy again. Because joy is necessary for humans - and it can fuel all the other things that need to happen too, the ones like job-hunting and weed-pulling and tough-conversation-having that don't necessarily scream "Hey, this will bring you deep and abiding joy!" but will ultimately make your life better. 

We don't even need to make it that complicated. Because, hey, meeting a new tree brings me great joy:

Joy is Holding a Baby Goat

Someone once told me, “You really understand pain.” 

What a terrible tag line.

While I would argue that every human on this earth has a more thorough understanding of pain than they’d like, this is still true. Pain and I have been bunkmates on a fairly regular basis.

We could say that those who understand pain understand joy on a deeper level, but do we really want that to be true? Can’t joy just show up without needing a PhD in Ouch first?

Here’s a new world belief I would like to instill:

JOY HAS NO PREREQUISITES.

Doesn’t that sound nice? Can I call myself god and make it so? [Poof! It is done. You’re welcome, world.]

My real problem with pain is that sometimes I take a nice snack of pain and turn it into a multi-course meal of suffering. I need to stop doing that. Pain, fine. No one gets through life without some pain. But suffering is a more self-inflicted syndrome and I for one call bullshit on suffering.

I stopped writing for awhile, because I worried that I was getting whiny, what with all this pain and suffering and who wants to read that? But then my soul started shriveling up from lack of verbal expression and that’s not a good look on anyone.

Apparently, I would rather whine than let my soul shrivel. Or declare myself god and prescribe joy that doesn’t require an equal balance of suffering.

Or maybe I’m just thinking about this too hard, because clearly the only thing joy requires is a baby goat.

Here’s me and a baby goat in Half Moon Bay awhile back. It fell asleep in my arms. Best thing ever.

Lap Tiger

My boyfriend went to a pet psychic, because that’s what we do in this house. 

He was concerned that Cosmo, our boy cat, was beating up on his sister Sera. They’re siblings, born to a stray cat on the property around the time my boyfriend and I got together. They make little chirping sounds and enjoy eating rodents and watching TV with us. Sera is especially fond of Jamie Oliver’s cooking show.

According to the psychic, Cosmo has always been a dog in the past - most recently a German Shepherd - and was just rough-housing with his sister because that’s how he enjoys interacting. But Sera was acting traumatized because she’s used to being at the top of the food chain. She’s always been a big cat, like a lynx or a lion, and being harassed by a nine-pound domesticated house pet is a real comedown for her.

All this explains why Cosmo follows us around to beg for attention while Sera is weird about being touched and her main hobby is racing out of the room to hide under a large piece of furniture.

Despite her skittishness, I’ve started calling her my lap tiger. Proud queen of the household who occasionally deigns to sit near me.

What To Do About Self-Doubt

I wanted to say “What to do about crippling, soul-sucking, anxiety-ridden self-doubt” but that seemed overly dramatic. But also not a bad description of where my self-esteem has been lately.

So I’m in a steady process of rebuilding my trust in myself and recalibrating my health - mental, physical, and emotional. Which has become quite a task, I don’t mind telling you.

I read French Women Don’t Get Fat and now we’re eating insane amounts of vegetables and whatever delicious meat is on sale at the market, plus a croissant on Saturday mornings because pastry is crucial to any French diet. I’m making sure I move my meat suit - either up the hill in the back of the house or through a yoga video or with those weights I always glare at. I’m trying to catch myself when I retrace my steps into the land of regret or stray toward the horizon of “oh my god, what’s going to happen next”. I’m not allowed to guilt myself or beat myself up or otherwise be a silent jerk.

Daily Trust Exercises (#DTE) have been instituted. That hash tag doesn’t represent some social media community of fellow trust brethren, it’s so I don’t have to write out all three words on every to-do list I write. Without that hashtag I would’ve already quit.

My first #DTE was “Get all your crap out of the hall, Amber.” After going through every single thing I own and deciding whether or not to keep it, I had a freshly re-organized office (bliss), an accidental capsule wardrobe (no more guilt over all those things I never wear), and a hall full of the random detritus I needed to get rid of post-cull. After staring at the hall o’ junk for a week, I decided that Day Number One of Amber Rebuilds Her Trust In Herself was going to feature getting all my shit out of that damn hall. And I did. (Mostly.)

Since my trust in myself would’ve plummeted straight into a fiery pit if I made it contingent on day-long escapades into Things I’ve Been Avoiding, I’ve made the subsequent #DTEs more manageable.

Currently, my daily “do the thing you say you’ll do when you say you’ll do it so you can trust yourself again” is meditation. Not my usual agenda-ridden meditation of “I want an answer to this question” or “make me feel better about this thing” or “tell me what my next business idea is and also how it will make money” because all that just stresses me out, which is contrary to the general theory and principle of meditation. Instead, my #DTE requires returning to meditation 1.0, aka Chill The Fuck Out And Let Your Brain Stop For a Hot Second.

I’m not very good at it.

But being good at it isn’t the point. Doing it is the point.

Slowly and surely, I’m learning to trust myself again. Trust myself to not be a flaming jerk to myself, trusting myself to do what I say I’ll do, trusting myself to do the things that help.

Taking Each Moment As It Comes

I’m sitting on our freshly-planted grass and hoping a bee doesn’t land on me. I like bees, I just don’t like them anywhere near my skin with their stingers.

Sonoma County just re-opened its beaches for properly social distant activities and this excites me even more than the buttermilk I bought for Saturday’s pancakes. Sand and sea keeps me sane and showers and rubbing salt all over my skin haven’t been sufficient.

I was off the internet for almost a full month to make some big life decisions. Getting off social media helped a whole lot more than expected. I love social media, but sometimes it’s like taking a cheese grater to my soul.

(If the internet drives you crazy too, here’s something that will help.)

In the midst of those big life decisions, I had to get very present. Sometimes that’s the only way to curb the anxiety spiral. Be fully in each moment as it’s happening, and trust the future to take care of itself.

Taking each moment as it comes is practically a requirement when the world is spinning enthusiastically off its axis. It soothes the nervous system to just notice what’s going on around you - the sound of the sprinkler hitting the grass, the smell of barbecue, the cat hiding in a flower pot to better stalk rodents. From that point of peace, we have a better connection to the small voice that knows what’s next, and can guide us there.

No mouse is safe.

Climbing Off the Struggle Bus

This morning I was crying in bed, something that happens a lot, which could mean many things, but I like to think it means I’m listening to my therapist when he said “You need to cry every day.” He later added, “You need to be with a man who lets you cry on his shoulder,” which seems reasonable and I try to keep that in mind whenever the To Be With Or Not To Be With question presents itself.

So I was following my therapist’s wellness advice this morning and crying in bed on my boyfriend’s shoulder because I felt so overwhelmed.

Our two cats had long since vacated the premises (because I sneezed which, at this point in our collective history, means I’m either going to die or infect the world with coronavirus so I guess we can forgive the cats for fleeing), so it was just me, my tears, my boyfriend, his shoulder, and the posed question:

“What’s below the tears, overwhelm, and worry?”

After a lot of talk about money and work, and do we mean enough money to buy an island or enough to not worry about bills or food and also maybe get a massage every so often? (I seemed to come down on the side of the island and he came down on the side of Less Worry), I finally got to a nice tangled knot that needed unraveling.

Turns out, my ego and identity are based on struggle.

If I’m not struggling, I won’t exist.

All the things that make me a worthy human, all the things that make me me, require sacrifice and struggle. Writing, helping, making enough money to live where I want to live and do what I want to do - my brain has made it all very hard. Practically impossible. Certainly not going to happen any time soon. Which means that I am not me because I am struggling, but I can’t be me without the struggle.

If that doesn’t make any sense, don’t worry. Screwy belief systems rarely make sense in the bright light of day. What seems so pressing and real when it’s suppressed suddenly seems ridiculous when it becomes conscious.

So let’s just let the main point sink in for a moment: If I’m not struggling, I won’t exist.

Yes, that right there is belief system designed to result in a crappy life tied up in a bow.

It was kind of a lot for a Tuesday morning before coffee.

So I made coffee and climbed back in bed with my notebook and made a bunch of lists, which is the appropriate response to profound epiphanies like YOU WILL BE A SHELL OF A HUMAN UNLESS YOU ARE SUFFERING ALWAYS.

Ultimately, I decided that I need to treat my ego and her need to make us both miserable so that she can stay alive like a friend. A misguided friend, but one who has your best interests at heart even if she calls your boyfriend to break up with him for you and then calls your boss demanding to be fired. She meant well, she just wanted to save you pain, but she went about it in an ill-conceived manner.

Me and my ego sat at the beach for awhile (the beach in my head, not a real beach, because real beaches are closed right now so humanity can stay alive?) and we came to a new understanding. She can insist that suffering is vital and necessary and I can remind her that there are other options and maybe we can find them together.

She seems to like that. There’s a lot in the spiritual community about transcending your ego and wrestling it to the ground or eradicating it completely, but that seems to be missing the point. Your ego is just another part of you. You don’t have to let her run the show (stop it, Amber), but letting her speak her piece and then reminding her that there are other ways, ways that will make everyone happier, allows a wholeness and a gentleness that we all need right now.