Body Image, Colorado, Death, depression, Dharma, Dichotomies, eccentric, Existentialism, Expansion, Faith, Fear, Health Issues, Hinduism, Jail, Mental Health, Micro Non-Fiction, Mindfulness, Non-Fiction, Nostalgia, object, Self Growth, Self Love, Self Reflection, Universiality, Yoga

deity in blue jeans

I’m finally starting to feel myself coming out of the steel-brillo-fuzz of my mind these past few months—the unscheduled deep haze of summer never went away and routine as elusive as a sunset in a snowstorm. I’m embracing the instability and calling it creativity instead. Even though I feel my chest may collapse and I can’t eat—I wonder if I purposely sit in this juicy space longer than I should. My writing gets better, I hone in on the artist. Sorrow is not the enemy—it is the seed. I’m letting go of what I think others might think and doing work from my soul space. Do I still cry so much my eye skin feels like a poor toddlers chapped ass—you know it! But I let myself cry and sob and wail remembering an entire life void of tears. Remembering getting made fun of in jail for crying when I saw my best friend. You stupid pussy, Jennifer. Why don’t you just go cry about it. Stupid bitch. You are fucking retarded. Nope. This ain’t my narrative no mo’.

I’ve been training and delving back into the world of psychology and counseling and remembering what brought me here—the desire to show folks their own ability to change. To show them their worth. To show them they don’t need helping at all but just a reminder of their own divine nature. I’ve been steeped in solution-focused, brief methods as social work has a hard on for anything quick with an immediate result. I don’t mind stopping the bleeding so a family can assess the wound, but sometimes band aids won’t work. I’ve been seeing my own counselor and pretended to have a bad connection via phone as we started our session and she asks “what do you want to be different.” Well, shit, lady. That’s the thing. Nothing. I don’t want anything different, I want acceptance of what is. I want you to sit here and hold space for me as we enter this shadow together. Let me talk about abuse. Let me talk about addiction. Let me talk about love, dead daddy, my anxiety, my successes, my day. I will tell you what I need to. Trust me. I want to trust you.

I wonder if I will continue on in this counseling relationship and begin to reflect on the friends I have sought out during this real dark depression bullshit that came on strong April 2014 after my best friend hung herself.  Some avoid my phone calls and I know they need space. They call back when they are ready and they hear my soul. Some say I’m impaired. These are the ones who are in the field as well, but I wonder if perhaps they have not dealt with their own wounds. Please don’t be fearful of my despair. It is part of me. But because despair is bad, under, dark, other–a power differential is created where because I’m on the struggle bus, I must be less than. I don’t think so but I can’t explain what I need because it isn’t words. Its being. Its silence. Its my dark bowing to your dark. I let my emotions seep out like uncontrolled sweat and some folks really don’t like that body odor. This is where my work lies—feel the things but know we all feel the things. We’ve all been devastated in love. We’ve all lost everything we love in one way or another. We are more together than separate.

I know I like what I do when I think to myself—I want me as a counselor. Not in some weird twisted way, but I like the way I think without judgement or think in the big picture. I want someone smart enough to have my case conceptualization. Someone who is not me and can say “Dude, Jen. This is abuse. You know this. Think about Safe Project. Think about power and control.” Then when I say “if I wasn’t so anxious, clumsy, stupid, slow, mean, ugly, smart, mentally-ill, etc. then he would have loved me” that counselor won’t correct those statements but honor that person who thinks that and figure out how to rewrite that story. Those are some strong words. Those are some deep feelings. Let’s stay in this moment and feel where that comes from. Maybe from being just a little baby girl and not knowing. Maybe from being a big girl and knowing too much. Sit in this space with me until the other words and feelings come. “Dude, Jen. You are amazing. You are all those things you think but more so, you are love. You are loved. You love. This is all, this is everything, this is the end game.” Turns out, we are all our own counselors if we just listen to that tiny yet expansive voice inside.


“You are one thing only. You are a Divine Being. An all-powerful Creator. You are a Deity in jeans and a t-shirt, and within you dwells the infinite wisdom of the ages and the sacred creative force of All that is, will be and ever was.”
― Anthon St. Maarten