Progress

"Holding in negative emotions such as grief and anger is exhausting. Naming them and releasing them regularly through writing, movement, tears, singing, or making sounds frees us up to live full, vibrant lives."

"We all have a beautiful light within... We just sometimes forget it is there." - John Holland

I have read both of these quotes through Dr. Wayne W. Dyer's Facebook Page. (Did anyone else laugh their ass off at the Wayne Dyer reference on American Hustle?)

I have practiced 16 of the last 22 days. That's a lot for me. I didn't even practice on my own that much when I was singing regularly in choirs. Some days I have dragged myself through every minute of it, some have had moments to keep me going and then I have a day like today. Where everything sits well. I feel pieces of my emotional being finding their place. It feels good and it will keep me going even if the next 5 practice sessions suck.

For the first time in my life I am practicing for myself because I want to find my voice. I knew that when I started singing again it would have to be for myself only and not because I had people at the church nagging me to do so. I have no desire to sing in the church services right now. Maybe down the road that will change but right now I'm singing the music that keeps me going. And it feels very good.

Keep Going

Yesterday, I dragged myself through half an hour of practicing. It felt hard, very frustrating and all I wanted to do was stop. But I kept on going because of this video that my sister had posted on Facebook.



I've said before that I don't know how to do the hard stuff. I know how to learn the music quickly and memorize it quickly but I do not know how to keep going when I feel like I'm fighting my muscles every step of the way.

Today after a lovely dinner date with my Sweet One I practiced for 20 minutes. Yes, my muscles tire easily but I managed to get a placement that felt good. I had spin. I had freedom despite the fatigue. And I guess that's why I want to keep going. The few moments that tell me "that's why I'm doing this" despite all the other minutes that make me want to give up.

Scrambled

I'm really not sure what I want to put on this page right now. I feel so much shifting going on internally but the pieces aren't fitting together yet. I'm trying to mentally prepare to be away from my kiddos for 9 days beginning at the end of March and it is scary. A big part of me hopes that the week in the sun, doing yoga, sitting on the beach, doing the things that you do at a yoga retreat on an isolated island is going to take all of this and put it together. Not all that realistic. It is still hard to think that this trip is really happening because it is something that I thought I could only dream of doing.

We've had a rough winter with illness. A few days after Sweet One's 5th Birthday, Little Man came down with a fever and Sweet One got hers the next day. Sweet One's lasted 3 days but Little Man's lasted 5 days until I took him in and learned he had an ear infection. She ended up with a cough that didn't stop for more than a minute or so throughout the entire day. She was exhausted. The next week at her 5 year wellness checkup they diagnosed a sinus infection which didn't surprise me. But a fever came back that same afternoon. 2.5 week after all of this started I got a fever. My first in 15 years. I felt like crap. While I wanted nothing more than to curl up in my bed, Little Man kept whining and asking me to hold him. When I finally gave in his forehead felt hot. Over a week into his antibiotics and he had another fever? Back to the Dr's office for the 3rd time in 2 weeks. He tested positive for the Flu and so both the kids were put on Tamiflu. I picked it up from the pharmacy and the three of us headed south for 1h45 to get my Mom from the airport because she was coming for a visit. (You'd think having her around would be helpful but it really wasn't. She talked about making me soup and when I told her I had everything for it she never got around to it.) The next day I found hives on Little Man and we spent the following 4 days dealing with them because, I do not over exaggerate, there was more hive than skin on my boy. Three antihistamines later and we were able to avoid steroids. Big Love also got a fever to finish everyone off. It was really a terrible 3.5 weeks and now 6 weeks after it all started I still feel weary because Sweet One is still complaining of a sore forehead and coughing. Little Man is also saying he doesn't feel that good.

I'm scrambled. Not sure where I am but trying to have faith it is all a journey that will bring me to somewhere beautiful. I'm currently reading A Return to Love by Marianne Williamson and there are moments when I feel reassured that I am on the right track. This morning I read a post by Sizzle and the quotes she includes from her friend I absolutely love. (Love the housework one and housewives defaulting to drugs!) I've also read some Louise Hay and various other books. I feel like eventually I will be able to integrate it all into my being and then I can heal and thrive.

I'm not settled. I get antsy. I need to meditate more. I'm trying to get practicing again but it is both hard and scary. A wise friend once told me that it is the things that scare us the most that are most worth doing. I actually performed last weekend. A couple 70's love songs. Vocally they weren't challenging at all but it was scary to get back out into the lights. Once I was there it felt so good. And so I keep plugging away. Hoping that all this exhausting work will one day leave me feeling full of energy and finding peace where there currently is not.

Thankful for the hard times and what they will teach me

We've been hit with a snowstorm about a month earlier than is the norm for this part of the country. I love the beauty of snow ... how it covers everything in a soft blanket as it sleeps, waiting for the spring. It sparkles and as my daughter keeps reminding me, it surrounds us with snow fairies that we can see only if we believe.

Despite all the beauty of winter I'm frustrated that my running outdoors season has been cut short by almost a month. I love getting outside and running. I was just starting to get past some of my injuries that started last April and seemed to plagued me incessantly, my body trying to explain to me something that is going on which I have yet to understand. I have a 5k on December 7th. It is the same 5k that was my very first ever last year. I want to do well. I want to kick ass at it. Not getting out to run for the next week makes me fear I am not going to do well.

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving and I have all the fixin's ready for dinner. It will be just the four of us, again. It feels lonely. Another time of year when it is impossible for us to be with family. Sweet One is so absolutely excited about tomorrow and the fact that it is almost December. She can't say December without sounding like she is telling me the most magical secret in the entire world. I need to continue to look with her eyes when things are hard.

Ever since moving to this country I have always felt like Thanksgiving is a big celebration that starts off the Christmas season. In Canada, Thanksgiving is just Thanksgiving. That is our focus. But within a few hours of filling up on everything we are supposed to be thankful for, a large portion of the population down here will line up on the cold sidewalk only to barge into a store with their elbows out, fighting almost to the death for that next great deal. I saw neighbours returning home last year after a night of no sleep and a day of crowds. They looked like they had been hit by a truck! I don't really understand it.

When all is said and done, I miss my Dad. On December 15th he would have been a whopping 64 years old. Sure, we would have made jokes, but his candles would never set off the fire extinguisher. So maybe everything right now is all about that loss. Another year when he will be missing from the home of my siblings. A miracle might have happened that perhaps we would have found a way to mend the bridge and maybe he could have been missing from my home at this time of year, but I don't know. "...a miracle is just a shift in perception."

And so again I will take it all breath by breath. Learning to be compassionate and gentle with myself and trying to be open to the Divine Guidance I will be given so that I can see the beauty in all of this.

Lost voice

Singing always came very easy for me. Learning the notes was never a challenge nor was memorizing. Because of this I was always able to get away with a minimal amount of work. During my degrees, singing in choirs throughout the week also helped work on my endurance and so I never had to practice for hours on my own. The requirements for my degrees kept me moving forward and doing what needed to be done. But that was it.

At this point in my life singing has never been more difficult. It is the hardest thing I am trying to do. After 4.5 years of not singing I started up again. We've had a surrogate family since the day we arrived all those years ago and when patriarch passed away I had no choice but to offer to sing at his funeral. I felt something in my spirit and I couldn't ignore it. A nagging sensation came after me and I ran upstairs to see if I could perhaps sing the piece that was spinning through my head. When I realized there was something there I phoned our friend and offered to sing for her father's funeral. I phoned before I could spend any time second guessing my choice and scare myself out of it. I truly believe that this moment was one of spirit and not of me.

The whole process of getting the piece ready was interesting. Learning the notes wasn't an issue, the challenge was getting some degree of technique back. My voice was so out of shape but I kept working at it day by day with a motivation I've never had before. I'm thankful for it because I accomplished a lot. It wasn't brilliant, but it was damn good considering I hadn't sang in 4.5 years.

A few months later I took another chance. I auditioned for a community production of Les Mis. I didn't get the part I wanted and I wasn't willing to give up time and pay for babysitters for a lesser part. (I would have probably thought differently about it if I were in a bigger place.) The more the producer spoke, the less I wanted to be involved. The more the director spoke, the more I knew she was going to choose someone she already knew from another town. She wasn't ready to take a chance on a wild card. Despite all of that, I left that audition with an amazing sense of accomplishment simply because I put myself out there and spoke my truth. I believed in myself and it felt amazing.

Now I am trying to get my voice back in shape for singing classical repertoire and I don't really know what to do. My voice is pretty much exhausted by the time I'm done singing for 20-30 minutes. I've learned quite a lot of notes in a short amount of time but I'm struggling with figuring out how to get my voice to really sing. I have absolutely no endurance and so by the time I'm done my short practice I feel like I've gotten nowhere. The ease of singing in my previous years didn't prepare me for this. Each time I get myself into my little studio I am afraid but I make myself do it because I know I need to.

I am convinced that in the process of hopefully finding my voice again I am healing so much more of me that I can imagine even though at this moment I feel completely lost. Every once in awhile things go well and I have a glimmer of the freedom I once had in my voice but they are few and far between. I am trying to have faith, to trust the inner guidance I hear that is telling me to sing.

Chance of a Lifetime

When I was finishing up my Bachelor's degree and thinking about the next step, my voice instructor asked me if I wanted to pursue a career in performance. I remember saying that I never wanted to be the mom who isn't home for my kid's birthday.

A dear friend of mine is offering me a chance of a lifetime. Airfare, accommodation and retreat fees covered for this! Seven nights in Puerto Vallarta with workshops where I will care for myself in a way I've only ever dreamed of.

That's almost a week and a half away from my kiddos when I've never actually left them for any real time. The only time I've been away from the house overnight was when Little Man was born! My friend had mentioned this last April when she was visiting and I told myself I'd be stupid to say no. We've called my in-laws and they are very interested to see if they could make it work so they could come and stay while I'd be away. I asked the kids over dinner last night that if I had to go somewhere for a little bit with my friend, would they like to have Gramma and Grampa come to play with them. They said yes.

But the problem is that Little Man would turn 3 while I'd be away. And that makes it so hard for me to give a firm yes. I could pretend his birthday is another day so he nor Sweet One would ever know I wasn't actually there for it. But I'd know it.

A Red Dwarf Campion for my Dad

We arrived home a week ago. I've wanted to type and try to process all that happened on our two week trip that covered 3,512.1 miles but I haven't been able to. There was so much that happened. t wasn't the colossal gong show I had expected it to be. It was what it needed to be and there were many beautiful moments that I am holding onto dearly. (I'm now no longer afraid of long car trips with small kids!)

On the day that we buried my father I was surround by a family I had tried not to connect with for many years because connecting with them meant connecting with my Dad. And really, that never went the way I'd hope it would so what was the point? He didn't understand me or listen to me so why would they. But they loved me and my family. My sister and I talked about how we never felt that cared for and loved by extended family like that before. "Don't knock. This is your home while you're here. You need anything, just come in and take it or ask if you can't find it." That was what my Dad's youngest brother told me within minutes of arriving on the farm. Strangely enough, when I looked at him I saw my Dad looking at me.

My counselor told me that after we buried my father I might feel a sense of relief. But I didn't. I wanted to so desperately but it didn't come. I sat on the ground with Little Man in my lap only a few feet from the hole where the wooden box that contained the ashes would be placed. The headstone a few more feet past that. It was a short service but I cried through the whole thing. At one point the Pastor nodded to my brother who then took the box and placed it in the hole. I felt my entire torso start to shake and I thought was going to scream. I wanted to sob. I was in awe of my brother who could do that without falling down himself. I reached over and held the hand of my cousin who was sitting beside me with her son in her lap and I felt a little better. I sat there for awhile hoping that a wave of relief would come over me. My Grandma walked up to the headstone and said in a strong, even tone, "Well, goodbye my son. 'Til we meet again." I wanted to be able to say my own version of that but no matter how long I sat there, it didn't come. I think I was one of the last to leave.

For the rest of the day and the day after that we were surrounded by such a great love. I felt home in a place that I never understood. The farm was amazing. Sweet One spent hours each day running with her cousins and having the greatest time. Little Man was usually close to Big Love or I but he still had fun in his own way. We were taken out in boats, fed food and spent hours around a campfire. I thought that maybe as I was surrounded by his mother, and sister that perhaps I would start to feel a bit of peace.

I didn't want to leave the farm. I felt at home there in a way I never thought I would. We had to leave to meet with Big Love's family. My sister had left the farm a few minutes before us and it seems she had the same idea that I had. I left the kids and Big Love at the car and walked towards the grave. My sister and her family were saying good bye and so I stayed back and watched them. After they were done my sister stayed with me a bit and I tried so hard again to be able to say goodbye but I couldn't. I was scared it would never come.

A few days later as we started the five days back to where we live we stopped at the cemetery once again. This time I carried with me a Dwarf Red Campion. The kids were very excited to plant this for "Grandpa's Special Place". I felt like finally I found something I could do for him. I dug into the dirt that was filling the small hole and pulled out as much as I could to make room for this plant, threw in some food and then proceeded to plant it. The kids helped me every step of the way. We made sure the peacock feathers my niece and nephew had placed there remained standing tall, watered it so it could begin to grow and said our goodbyes. "I miss Grandpa," my Sweet One said. The four of us standing there, leaving kisses on the headstone. Together my little family helped me say my first goodbye. Finally, I felt like the first seed of peace was planted inside of me.

I'm not too optimistic but I really hope that little flower will bloom for my Dad every year.