the compulsive need to prove
The voice of, "but who will like me if I don't .... " shows up as a constant need to prove our worth in order to belong. We may not consciously believe that we should have to "do stuff" to feel that we have value, but when the pressure is on, or something really matters, this core insecurity can creep into the driver's seat.
the power in recognizing powerlessness
Admitting powerlessness has a contradictory effect. It is not admitting defeat, it’s releasing control. Rather than giving up and checking out, an attitude of powerlessness invites us to unhook from the pressures we put on ourselves to predict and perfect.
reclaiming indigeneity
At the same time, most of us can trace our ancestry to many different cultures and traditions. Being on a journey of reclaiming indigeneity frees us from centering just one. Instead, we're broadly affirming the life-supporting practices that sustained the vast majority of humanity over time. Reclaiming indigeneity invites us to illume for ourselves how these practices might come forward in this time. Our bodies and our relationship with the living planet become the authority.
what the bones know
The majority of our ancestors (regardless of how your body is racialized today) lived in reverence to the more than human world. We all come from people who engaged in ritual practices; whose somatic intelligence was intact as they moved their bodies, told stories and sang around a communal fire. Our ancestors trusted the unseen and honored these spirits, protectors, gods, goddesses, and mischief-makers.
for those who are letting go
If you are in the throes of letting go, it can feel like without warning the seams of your world are coming apart. As they split, your own skin is removed too. What is revealed, is tender and unsure. The ground below, once a steady predictability you rarely gave a second thought, now wobbles and shifts.
Perhaps you sigh more hoping to lift some of this heaviness. Or maybe you hold regrets that intermittently darken your gaze.
why we don’t follow our intuition
We've all made choices that conflict with our intuition and then looked back and wished we'd trusted what some part of us already knew. We might feel down about ourselves when this happens. Maybe we experience shame, embarrassment, and anger. Perhaps we close the blinds and don't want to tell anyone what has happened for fear of being met with the proverbial "I told ya so."
Following our head over our body is not a personal defect. This is something we've been trained to do -- often from very early on in our lives.
ritual acts of care
Can you be with whatever is arising in your body without making it wrong? Maybe call on the support of that which is bigger than you (the earth, ancestors, spirit) to help you in this holding. If it feels right, lay down on the earth, light a candle, place your hand on your heart, or ask for the support of a loved one. All of this is ritual.
between inhalations
The waxing and waning of the moon, flooding and ebbing of the tides, blossoming and decaying of the fruit, and so forth are a kind of breath. In and out, expansion and contraction, becoming and releasing. From a zoomed-out perspective, there's impartiality to the process. The cycle simply is. Tracking this dance orients us. There's something comforting about recognizing the season of a thing. Where things get tricky, however, is not trusting this process in our own lives.
why i wrote a book
Decolonizing the body hits bookshelves on March 1. It is my story -- but it’s also a guide to unhook from internalized feelings of “less than,” a celebration of all bodies and a reminder that the body is our portal to spirit, ancestors, ritual and deep time, so you can use it too.
an invitation to holding complexity
Because thanksgiving is holiday that's rooted in a painful history, we may focus only on what is wrong with it. We feel judgement of those who celebrate, or guilt about our own desire to participate. I believe this day is really about learning to hold complexity.
an incredible array
There are so many things I love about this great city -- the food, the pace, the shows -- but what really brings me here is the thrill (and edge) of bumping up against so much humanity. We are an incredible array of style, language and movement; our wants, priorities, aversions -- it's all on display.
a tale of racial imposter syndrome
In the Salt Lake City suburb where I grew up, surrounded by whiteness and conservative values, when my “friends” called me an Oreo, I thought this was a good thing. They were saying I was like them, right? White on the inside?
freedom journey
Why do we do the work of coming back into connection with our bodies? So often the wisdom they hold is not immediately apparent. Feeling for ourselves means also feeling the places that are uncomfortable -- our physical aches, the emotions we don't quite know what to do with, the old wounds.
to be held
This past weekend, I went to the InterPlay studio in Oakland where so many years ago I began the journey of coming back to my body. In this place, that at one time was a regular part of my day to day, I remembered how important it is to let one's self be held.
braving the spiral
For several weeks now an injury has kept me from moving my body in the ways I like to move. I'm not able to sweat, or jump or engage in any kind of vigorous activity.
I'm noticing my body is softer -- my breasts more full, my belly more round -- and I'm uncomfortable that this has made me uncomfortable.
it is the work
There was a time when I felt guilty about the practices my body needed to arrive for the day.
Conditioned by an education system built to support compliant and productive little workers, when I wasn’t pumping out the emails by 9:00 a.m., there was a sense that I should probably hide what I was actually doing. I felt this even when I didn’t go into a formal office, even when I worked for myself.
a new myth
The day the colonizers came, when they looked upon our people it was like staring into the sun. They were so bright. So alive. So gifted. It was painful. The presence of such brilliance was intolerable to these men. It scorched their skin and illuminated their wounds festering with hate, violence and greed.
joy comes first
Do you remember the fable of the Grasshopper and the Ants?
As a child, I watched this story over and over shuddering at the foolishness of the Grasshopper. My 5-year old self promised to never be like him. I would always be a hard worker. Otherwise, the risk was clear: starvation, exile and death. That wouldn’t be my reality.
As I’ve looked back on this memory I’ve wondered, is this where I first learned the importance of hard work? Is this where I learned to distance myself from my joy?