Dancing With Shadows

I grew up in the crown jewel of the deep south, Mobile, AL.  We did many strange things like take ballroom dancing in fifth grade.  Yes, you heard me, fifth grade. It was hands down the most awkward thing I’d experienced until then, and I’ve always felt at home on a dance floor.

This was different though.  Kids from a couple neighboring schools would gather on a Thursday night at 5 o’clock in a big gymnasium at St. Ignatius Catholic church and learn all the old-school couples' dances like the fox trot, waltz, and others I’ve purposely erased from my memory.  The most unbearable part of it wasn’t learning the dances, it was learning the dances with the boys.  They were hyper, smelly, and had no rhythm.  They also thought they were beyond cool.  Ya’ll, it was torture.  My favorite part of the night was when I spotted my mom’s minivan headlights in the carpool line.  She’d swoop in and pick me up and then we’d proceed to Checkers for the long-awaited chocolate milkshake(s).  I had to take the edge off somehow. 

Learning to dance with our shadow, or shameful parts, can feel just as unpleasant.  Oh you’ve got them too, I promise.  They are those parts of us we’d rather not talk about.  In fact, we try desperately to hide them from the world around us.  They are the parts of you that you swear, if someone saw, they’d ultimately reject.  It might cost you their affection—their acceptance.  You'd be exposed…and deemed unloveable. 

For so long, I tried to hide and change the fact that I was a quiet observer as opposed to the popular party girl.  Large groups of girls made me uncomfortable. I absolutely hated summer camp, gossip, and sleep-overs.  I followed southern suit and joined a sorority in college, but it was really more for my mother than for me.  Eventually, I dropped out but nearly died trying to show up and fit in.  I’d much rather hang with my older friend, Liz.  We’d smoke Marlboro lights, listen to Dave Matthews, and talk about evolved things like boys, music, and what we dreamed of doing when we “grew up.”

More recently in my late thirties, I’ve felt shame around not taking the traditional route as a stay-at-home mom.  Instead, I’ve chosen, albeit indirectly, to focus on my career, (or that’s what I tell myself and others). At 39, I may or may not ever be a mother of children. Even though the ballot’s still out, this feels a bit shameful to me.  Regardless, I build up the more admirable, palatable case that, “I’ve chosen to build out other areas of my life.” It feels cleaner—safer.  At the core, however, this is really my shadow part and her name is inadequacy.  I’ve never really cared for her.

What are the shadow parts you’d rather forget about?  Is it depression, body shame, singleness, or even sexual trauma as a child?  If so, I can fully resonate with you.  Guess what?  Just like the smelly boys at ballroom, we’ve got to learn to lean in, let go, and learn to dance with them.  

One of my favorite concepts in self-development is integration.  This feels incredibly expansive and powerful to me.  The less compartmentalized, or fragmented we are, the more integrated and whole we will become.  Just as we are made up of hundreds of different body parts, muscles, and organs, we also have so many different parts of our emotional, relational, and creative beings.  

Oftentimes in therapy sessions with clients, these parts come up.  Take anxiety for example.  Anxiety is an emotion, or part of us that can be immobilizing.  The common misconception is in order to deal with anxiety, we must numb, fix, or run from it.  But anxiety is really just a shadow part of us that needs compassion and understanding just like, say, the creative part of us.  When we stuff our anxiety and try to avoid it, we really just give it more power and as a result, create imbalance.

What might dancing with this anxious shadow look like?  Well, first we must listen to and get to know it.  This allows us to cultivate empathy for that anxious part of us.  After all, she has been working overtime for a while now to keep us performing, staying safe and “on the ball.”  

Shadow work is really a reckoning with parts of ourselves we’ve misjudged for a long time.  The payoff is wholeness—flow.  It’s realizing those parts we’ve been hiding for so long aren’t so terrible after all.  In fact, they end up being the best parts because they are the most loving, consistent teachers.  

That anxious part of you desperately wants you to see her for who she really is: someone who deeply cares about your future yet may go about it clumsily.  She wants you to sit with her, commune with her, and realize the worst thing that can happen isn’t so bad in the end because you have other resilient parts of you that can step in and take over when she needs to sit the next song out.  

Second, simply take a minute and visualize the part of you that you dislike, a lot.  Perhaps you feel guilty about this part or constantly judge her.  What does she look like?  What is she doing?  How does she seem? In the same minute, take one step towards her… then another, and another.  You left her alone a long time ago and she feels abandoned, even scared.  She knows you dislike her but she desperately longs to know you and play on the same team.  She needs you big time.  

If this feels completely terrifying, it should.  Your brain is freaking out because it has no idea what it’s doing.  Hang in there though, this is perhaps the most life-giving work you’ve ever done.  Dancing with strangers or smelly boys is probably not on your bucket list. But I bet I know what is…

To be loved…fully.

Love & Gratitude,

Katie

Reaction Formation

Back in May, I attended an Enneagram retreat led by Ian Cron, author, Enneagram Jedi, songwriter, priest, and therapist. (Yeah, he’s a real bump on a log.) It’s taken me nearly a month to fully unpack it… SO good. I consider myself an Enneagram enthusiast. I’m no expert, yet I’m eager to grow that base of knowledge because I still feel, after a decade of self-study and implementation, it is the most powerful tool for self-understanding and transformation we have. Ian took around forty of us deeper into the tool over the course of two and a half days, and I’m beyond grateful for the new and powerful insight gleaned.

One of the many golden nuggets I walked away with was the above Victor Frankl quote. It kills me. I sincerely believe that most of our perceived problems would dissolve if we cultivated, or grew, that space between what life throws at us and how we respond. Let’s stop right there. Even just the word “respond” is generous. I tend to default to cruise-control living more days than not, reacting out of emotion instead of responding out of presence. Why? Because the space between the stimulus and response is so stinking small! What is not so small, however, is the old ego blaring at full-volume when I live like this. 

For example, let’s look at a scenario we can all relate to—traffic. If you live in a large-ish city like Nashville (especially in the last 2-3 years), chances are, you have been tweaked by traffic. One of my absolute biggest pet peeves is when I’m stopped at a four-way stop and instead of obeying traffic laws, people try to be sweet and “let you go” when it’s not your turn. I’m all for southern charm and hospitality, but somebody’s going to get hurt if we all play nice instead of following the basic order.

This happened the other day. A well-meaning lady in a heavy black sedan with red lipstick and statement earrings sat across from me at a four-way stop. It was her turn to go. She flashed a toothy grin my way and waved her hand for me to go. I mean come ON. I played along but rolled my eyes and may have even shrugged my shoulders very dramatically. Small space alert! I reacted out of frustration instead of responding from curiosity and openness. Ew.

I was also asleep in trans, living out of a really crappy story that read something like this, “Why are people so lame? She should see traffic laws (and life for that matter) the way I do.”  

Zero compassion. Zero patience. Bags of judgement.  

Sure, anger was at the surface. But guess what was really going on underneath that jagged reaction? The real underlying story was fear. It went something like this, “Things won’t work out unless I try to control them.”  

Do you have a particular narrative that gets you into trouble?

Here’s some good news: the thing that separates us as humans from animals is the ability to make up stories. We’ve also been given the glorious gift of imagination in order to write them well. Guess what we need in order to write good and truthful stories? We need space. Why? Because we write best out of stillness, not chaos. Also, because reactionary, fear-based living will drive us mad (and others away). 

If you and I are courageous enough to sit in that space, feel our feelings, and simply observe the moment at hand, we have stepped out of ego— the need for control—and into the freedom of essence. By essence, I’m referring to the loving, open, and authentic “true self.”

From that space, you create meaning, thought, feeling, and action that is powerful beyond belief. This is the space where you get to use your God-given gift to write really compelling stories.

This all sounds so lovely and airy-fairy, but how do we grow that space and find our freedom— our power? 

Meditation is the most effective tool I’ve found to cultivate the inner observer, or witness, we all have, yet tend to neglect. Any mindful awareness exercise or guided breathing and meditation allow us to relate to our thoughts and experiences in a softer, more open way. Most importantly, it broadens the space and cushions the fall when life throws us the inevitable curveballs.  

Yes, it feels boring, uncomfortable, and frustrating at first, but after a while, you will start to crave it. If you’d like to deepen your own practice or learn more, I’d recommend a guided meditation app such as Headspace or Calm.

We are spirit beings living in a physical world. It’s time we tend to that pure, loving part of us in order to create some distance between how we experience the world and how we respond. Your imagination is your MVP here. Break it open. Look around. Make a home.

Stay awhile.

“The opposite of home is not distance, but forgetfulness.”
- Elie Wiesel

Love & Gratitude,
Katie

Failure School: All the Things You Never Learned

I just googled the definition of “failure.” Here’s the most comprehensive and concise meaning I found: “The omission of expected or required action.” Sounds pretty benign, right? So matter of fact?

The brand of fear I’ve experienced along the way as it pertains to failure has been a far cry from this bland “omission” situation. Quite the contrary, it’s been a crippling and immobilizing force that has stunted growth, joy, and relationships. In fact, I imagine you’ve bought into a similar lie at some point along: “My worth and value are a direct result of my level of success.” I’ve heard the record spin round and round in my office. I’ve seen its death grip on friends and family alike. As a culture, we are terrified of failure.

I’m fascinated by this unruly expectation we place on ourselves to avoid failure. After all, WD-40, bubble wrap, and pacemakers are all inventions conceived through “failure.” I’m fairly certain those guys are not still sulking over why their original ideas didn’t pan out the way they’d hoped. No, they all own islands, strange looking outfits, and private jets.

In light of this, I want to pepper your thoughts with some key insights that have made a lynchpin shift I in my understanding and approach to failure.

1) Expectation is a set-up

The operative word in the above definition is “expect” not “omission” as it pertains to our study here. Why? Well, simply put, because it’s the subjective that we tend to personalize, not theobjective facts. If we could see failure through the lens of objective curiosity as opposed to an extension of who we are, we would be able to live out of a much softer narrative. For example, “I either deliver or I don’t, and my life’s worth and value aren’t tied up in that slice of history.” Now that’s freedom from the fall!

We’re so tightly wound and attached to the narrow expectation of who we should be and how we should perform that we lose sight of the incredibly vast and curious horizons that result in a deviation.

2) Resilience matters more than outcome

I’ve bombed so many performances it might lead you to wonder if I had a screw loose as I continued pursuing music early on. For some ungodly reason, I kept going even though it felt like cruel and unusual self-harm. Strangely, no one ever told me I sucked or bombed it or that I should definitely not quit my day job. I only received encouragement and kindness. I realize, we are in the South, yet I’m a pretty good read, and they seemed genuine. Building those resilience muscles eventually led to lots of bigger opportunities.

Have you ever watched a toddler on the cusp of walking? First of all, it’s high and hilarious art. Also, the ONLY way their tiny muscles are made stronger is by falling and getting up—over and over and over again. And we “ooh” and “ahh” and gawk like grown chimpanzees about to be fed at the circus in response. Go figure. Instead of asking the paralyzing question, “How can I avoid failure?”, we need to ask, “How can I better practice resilience?”

3) The real fear is the feeling

So why is it so terrifying to fail? I believe it’s because we are afraid of the way we will treat ourselves on the other side. We’re really afraid to feel our feelings of disappointment, embarrassment, and shame. However, these are all valid emotions we will absolutely rub up against along the way! Wouldn’t it be better to learn to relate to them a bit differently?

Like the poem says, nearly every shred of our fears live in the stories we make up about them, our imagination. Our fears are rarely tethered to reality, yet we drive the shame ship around as a result. We’re typically our own worst enemy, not the failures we experience. 

Sure, the outcome is humbling at first, but by elevating our belief about failure, we construct a new brain pathway or go-to storyline that facilitates self-compassion instead of self-flagellation. 

We don’t evolve by playing it safe in a mole hole, but by staying present at the crossroads of failure and opportunity.

4) There are two kinds of failure

Before you go poking holes in my sunshine, I’ll clarify an exception to the rule. There are two types of failure, and I'm referring to failure as something necessary for growth and success.

There is all-in failure and half-ass failure. All-in failure is when we’ve shown up, given our all, and fully engaged in the pursuit at hand, yet for whatever reason didn’t quite make the cut. The passion and effort are there, but the outcome is not—not yet anyway.

Half-ass failure, as you might imagine, is missing the mark without giving it a fighting, bleeding-heart chance. We’ve all been there, yet it’s not a helpful pattern as it ultimately becomes a self-fulling prophecy. Oftentimes, this is simply a good indicator that we may not really want what we’re limping for and a redirect is necessary.

I’ll be coming in hot this Thursday with a very interesting practical tool for you. Be looking for that as you won’t want to miss it. For now, I leave you with the words of the man who’s been quoted as many times as Oprah. He’s a mixed bag of courage, success, excess, bull-headed stubbornness, and legend all in one. He’s also a man very acquainted with failure. His stories and words have a vibrant life of their own, well after his last breath.

“Success is not final. Failure is not fatal. It is the courage to continue that counts.

- Winston Churchill

Love & Gratitude,

Katie

xoxo

#failforward, #designyourlife, #winstonchurchill, #resilience, #couragetofall

Food, Fashion, & the Pursuit of Happiness

If there are three things I am deeply passionate in this life, they are surely food, fashion, and mental health (among other things, of course).  Along my squirrelly (at best) career path, I flirted hardcore with romantic ideas of moving to NYC and working in fashion or becoming a chef more times than I can count.  I finally chickened out because A) I love to cook, but on my own watch and for people who are nice, and B) God spoke to me through a slew of convincing nightmares after watching “The Devil Wears Prada.”  I’ve never been so terrified of Meryl Streep in my life.  

Eventually, I landed where I am today, in the armchair of psychology/mental health.  Yet I must say, the beauty and inspiration I find in cooking/hosting, as well as fashion, is something of therapy for me.  

You may guess where I’m headed here.  

Last week the human race suffered a massive loss.  I was gutted upon hearing of Kate Spade’s suicide.  Then, Anthony Bourdain’s only two days later?  I never had the opportunity to meet them, but somehow, somewhere deep down, I felt connected to them, like we might have been friends.  I loved their gumption and their wildly unique approach to business and art, and most of all perhaps, I love that they inspired us to get a little bit outside of our comfort zones and do something remarkable.

After wrestling with sadness, anger, and confusion for a solid week, I think I know why the mack truck of this news hit me so hard: I too, know the desolate, lonely corridors of self-destruction.  In the throes of my own crippling depression, self-loathing and a seriously jacked up belief-system pushed me to the edge of this life, photoshopping out any inkling of hope.  I didn’t have the rational mind to reach out for help in those times.  Thankfully, I had enough people around who did and could carry my frail heart into truth and light.

Left to my own devices though, I’m not entirely sure I’d be here today without them.

I’m certain you or someone you know has had a similar story.

Now, in my rational, healthy mind, I’ve learned to practice (and love) asking for help.  Hell, you’d know it all the way in Seattle in less than a minute if I stumped my big toe.

However, the fact is depression can very much be a fatal disease.  This logical ability to reach out and “ask for help” simply isn’t baked in.

Last week reminded me why I do what I do.  It is why I keep showing up every week to write these silly posts that may never even be read.  I don’t care; the conversation must go on.  It is why, in the end, you and I must not only hold space for the hurting around us but proactively reach out to those who can’t due to the silencing, eternal trans of suicidal depression.

In tennis, there are these things called unforced errors.  They are missed points due to avoidable mistakes.  I grew up binging on televised tennis tournaments with my big sister Kristen, who was a tennis champ herself.  We bickered over clothes and things a lot, but you better believe, when Wimbledon came around every year, we were strangely harmonious.

Andre Agassi (the crush of our lives as we knew it then) would miss a shot, double fault a serve, or get flustered by Pete Sampras’ clever drop-shot—fair enough.  However, an unforced error was simply a waste.  Those were avoidable.  

I think of suicide as the ultimate unforced error, the ultimate loss.  Unlike the game of tennis, you can’t come back and redeem yourself in the next tournament of this life after the loss of suicide.  There’s no do-over.

Suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary feeling.  No feeling is final.  You and I get the math here, yet for Kate Spade and Anthony Bourdain, math didn’t matter.  I suppose they felt there was no other choice.  We shouldn’t judge them or assume to know what it felt like to walk around in their very visible shoes.  

I want to leave you with this thought, or conviction really.  

Success, fame, wealth, even the pursuit of what we are passionate about and think will make us happy and add value to the world is smoke and mirrors if we are building it from a place of ego.  By ego, I  mean our false self—who we are when we’re manipulating circumstances around us to make us worthy or significant.  This self is motivated by fear and scarcity.  When we live out of ego as opposed to a loving presence, we will never be satisfied, even after we think we’ve “arrived.”

I’m an evangelist for doing what you’re passionate about and creating a life you love.  I write about this a lot and coach people who are on this journey in my work.  You know what though?  It’s all a lie if we are not first and foremost convinced of the truth of who we are as opposed towho the world tells us we’re supposed to be.  This truth comes from a bigger story, a more profound love.

We must stay tethered to connection: connection to Love, Truth, Healthy relationships, and Community, and to the Authentic essence of who we are if we want to truly be successful—known.  

Last week, we lost two iconic industry leaders.  They made a final, fatal decision based on only a small, painful part of a much bigger story.  For all we know, they “had it all.”  That narrative came to a screeching halt.  

Depression can feel powerless, like there aren’t any other options.  What a terrible, if not convincing lie.

Lovely, you are powerful.  You are worthy.  You are beautiful.  You have the incredible ability to cultivate happiness in the now, without contingencies and red tape. Perhaps best of all, you get to write the next hopeful chapter.  

Remember this; you are the ocean.  You have complex waves of emotion.  They build and break.  They crash and wash.  They wane.  They shine.  They move.

They will never overcome the power of your depths though.  You are Love.

Love & Gratitude,
Katie

P.S. If you or someone you know is battling depression, reach out.  Despite it being the opposite of what feels normal or comfortable.  It is our responsibility to be the voice and hands of those that aren’t able to use them due to their disease.

Summertime & the Livin' is Easy

I did a little experiment over the past two weeks. You may have noticed you didn’t hear from me. (At least I hope you noticed!) 

I tagged along with my husband to Maui as he had some meetings down there. This didn’t suck. The meetings fell right before our two-year wedding anniversary, so we made a little vacation out of it. I had never been to Maui, nor Hawaii for that matter, and it was simply stunning—paradise for sure. All the rumors are true.

That wasn't the experiment, though.

Here’s the experiment: I decided I would give myself permission to live way outside the lines during the nearly two weeks I was away. This meant if I wanted to sleep in, I’d sleep in. If I wanted to lay by the pool and drink fruity drinks with umbrellas in them, I did. If I wanted to go for a long walk, I’d go. If I wanted to eat french fries and banana bread for lunch, bon appétit. I didn’t work…at all. I let the meditation slide as well as writing and daily exercise and all the things that keep me feeling grounded.

Side note: I have a tendency to want to be overly productive, and this idea of rest feels more like a dirty four-letter word than a blessing.  Also, I don’t like to sit still very much. I can’t remember the last time I went on vacation for more than one week and there wasn’t some type of work involved. For example, last summer we went to the beach for a week and instead of frolicking in the ocean, I spent nearly three-to-four hours a day writing copy for my website or editing a podcast.  Then I’d go for a run. Then I’d go sit on the beach with a book for around thirty minutes until I got bored again.

I realize this is not a way to live and there’s not even the faintest whiff of balance baked in. I’m very much working on this, hence the experiment.

Needless to say, this experiment was a failure. I managed to finish, but barely. I didn’t feel like myself. I felt completely disconnected and discombobulated…all the “dis” words. Don’t judge me.

Also, please believe me, I am over-the-top grateful for the time away in such a magical place! We had the most fun. Yet, I learned a crucial lesson from my “research" (besides the fact that I’m a work in progress): rest looks different for everyone and doesn’t mean we disconnect from ourselves. 

This is important for you and I as we roll into the summer months. Why? Because I strongly believe we can develop the summer blues just as easily as we can the winter ones. The cause isn’t necessarily a lack of vitamin D though; it’s a sneaking and oh-so-subtle disconnection from purpose. I say this a lot, and it’s worth repeating: the opposite of depression isn’t happiness, it’s purpose.

It can be so easy to disconnect from purpose and the structures that promote a sense of grounding when June rolls around, especially if you work for yourself or have a non-traditional work schedule. School’s out, travel ramps up, and porch hangs abound. It’s a glorious time to connect with friends and family, yet it’s also a ripe time to let self-care slide among other things.

With this shift at hand, I have three simple reminders to put in your back pocket as you embrace the lazy days of summer:

Know thy rest
Do your own experiment in order to better understand what you need in terms of rest. This doesn’t mean follow my extreme lead and swing hard in the other direction. For example, I feel most rested when I’m tuned into desire and filling up my creativity tank doing things like exploring new places, cooking for friends, or reading a good book. I get anxious when I watch Netflix in the middle of the day.

Your version may look much different and include periods of totally unplugging and taking catnaps in the afternoon. Neither way is right or wrong. The important thing is to find what you need in order to facilitate renewal in the season you’re in.

Dogs need fences
After about two days of roaming about in the wild and wooly unknown parts of the neighborhood, chances are your dog will miss the safety and consistency of your fenced-in backyard.  We, for the most part, are the same. Structure is a good thing and truly helps us stay connected to what we deep down desire, which I believe to be connection and purpose. Sure, we all need to get off the grid at times, yet consistency over time builds emotional resilience, and I have a strong suspicion you are here because you want to experience more of that. I know I do.

Give yourself some grace
In the end, the most important thing you can give yourself (and others) is grace and compassion. More than structure, more than purpose, more than self-care—you name it. Self-compassion and radical acceptance beget desired outcome much faster than a fear-based need to control. I love this quote:

“Where we think we need more self-discipline, we usually need more self-love.”
- Tara Mohr

I sincerely hope you’re easing into this summer season with equal parts desire and grace…and a heavy dash of amusement.

Love & Gratitude,
Katie