Posted on by palmtreemomma

Choking on Niceness

Tree roots growing out of a crumbling temple in Cambodia.

I still think of the butterfly I saw in my dream all those years ago, right before my husband came out to me. She calls to me still, gently showing me the path towards wholeness. Her ripped, ravaged, and giant wings, refusing to stay in the muck, beating still and carrying her across the water. She beckons me on, silently flying towards freedom.

There have been many dreams since then. I have journals set aside just for them. Sometimes the message is instantly clear, other times a pattern may appear over time. While I once dismissed dreams that were not instantly clear, I have learned to pay attention to the ambiguous ones as well. Dreams have much to teach us.

In her book Belonging: Remembering Ourselves Home, Toka-pa Turner, has much to say about dream-work and healing.

For survivors of neglect and abuse, the relationship to the instinctual life can be especially damaged. An instinct is injured when your responses are repeatedly overridden, dismissed, or ignored, often by adults who have a wounded instinct themselves. For instance, you may have been criticized for overreacting when you were having an appropriate response, or perhaps you were told to stay quiet when you knew you should speak. Maybe you had to care for another’s needs before your own. Whatever form the wounding of your instinct might have taken, over time the result is the same. It is the sense of distrusting your own responses, questioning the validity of your feelings and giving your power to another’s information over your own.

Toko-pa Turner

Letting the truth out

I recently had an opportunity to say some things that I have needed to say for a very long time. Things that I had kept bottled tight inside rather than risk being the one to rock the boat. But, when the words came to me, I knew it was time. I said what I needed to say. For me. I spoke my truth. And while I did not get the response I wanted, I am more than okay. It was in speaking my truth that I was set free, not in the other person’s response.

A few night later I had a very telling dream.

I spent the evening caring for a group of children. A 3 year old girl with blond curls was feeling unwell and had vomited. I thought she needed to sleep so I read her a story, thinking that if she held still long enough, she would fall asleep and then feel better. Her parents soon arrived to pick her up and I told them what had happened. As I was talking to them, we looked over to where she had been sleeping, only to find her on the floor, struggling to bring up whatever remained in her stomach. To my horror, she vomited up two large cobs of corn.

I woke from my dream with the realization that the little girl in my dream was me and that I had swallowed down things that were never meant to be swallowed. I had tried to keep in something much too large and the impossibility of it was making me sick.

Falling asleep while choking to death

The years of telling myself stories to soothe and put myself to sleep instead of speaking my truth was toxic. Oh, the stories we tell ourselves to keep our mouths shut and the truth trapped inside! For women who have grown up in a patriarchal culture, it is so much harder to recognize our truth and speak it.

I grew up in a sub-culture where it was expected that men dominate, women submit quietly and children obey without question. This may appear peaceful and yet it was anything but that. Time and again, it proves to be a perfect breeding ground for abuse and enabling.

Under the guise of niceness, I learned to hold much inside. I thought anything else would be selfish. Yet that niceness came at an enormous price. While I knew how to be nice to everyone else, I had no idea how to be nice to myself.

The cost of silence

When a woman’s voice is quieted, the lumps inside swell like cobs of corn, bigger than the throat. Ripping, choking and taking up all the space that was meant for breathing in air, taking in water to give life, and food to nourish. There is no space inside for her gifts to grow and the world suffers that loss.

Darling, you feel heavy because you are too full of truth. Open your mouth more. Let the truth exist somewhere other than inside your body.

Della Hicks-Wilson

The thing is, no one is going to speak our truth for us. No one is standing by to clear our clogged airways and hand us the mic. In fact, there will probably be a stampede to grab the mic out of our hands because the more we stand up and refuse to be silently compliant, the more uncomfortable life will be for those who are the most comfortable right now.

But, sister, you matter. No more falling asleep while choking to death. Enough swallowing down things that weren’t meant to be swallowed. No more being nice to everyone but yourself. Pick up a pen, or the phone, call a friend, admit your truth and let it out.

You will be amazed at how much space the silence took up. Fill it with breathing and living instead. Choose life. For you.


Click on the button above to send me an email and I will let you know when new posts are up! If you or someone you love is in the closet, or if you are struggling with your own guttural grief and need someone to talk to, email me. I may not have time to answer you but I will read it and hold you in my heart.

Posted on by palmtreemomma

Alone

For all who are weary of pretending, those scared to go home, or alone and forgotten, this story is for you…

Unseen and alone

He sits alone, anxiously rubbing his fingers over the rim of the worn cup. The diner has long emptied. Holiday shoppers with full bellies and full cars, driving off under the twinkling lights to warm houses full of warm glows.

He sits alone, swallowing the lump in his throat that grows and grows. Thoughts swirl in his head faster than snowflakes and darker than the midnight sky. It’s almost Christmas.

He sits alone, agony turning his stomach upside down while tears tumble down his cheeks. Dare he go home this year? All his life he has felt like an outsider, his body betraying him. He just wants to seen and loved for who is. Not having to hide or fake smile or keep calm when the family debates politics or drops snide remarks that cut like the knife he carries in his bag.

He sits alone, the smooth cold blade calming his heart and he wonders again why he is here. Why the heck was he birthed on this earth? If he were honest with those who even now are cooking and baking, getting the tables ready for feasting – he knows he would be more alone. Cast out. Forsaken. Hated. Scorned.

Barn full of shit

He sits alone, so tired of hiding. The diner is closing so he stumbles outdoors. Bitter air freezes his breath and pushes him forward. As he passes the nativity by the old church, he pauses, surprised to see a plastic baby shivering in a fake barn. He smells the shit that isn’t there and wonders at the wonder of a baby in a barn. Who would put a tiny perfect baby in the cow’s supper dish? Did this baby not want to belong, to be held, cuddled until the day breaks and the warmth of the sun filters through?

He steals the plastic baby and walks, no longer alone. In the safety of his apartment, he turns up the heat and wraps them both in blankets. He cuddles the cold plastic baby until the words spill out and he speaks his truth. Every last bit of secrets held tight, the years of pretending and trying to look right. He is who he is and embraces her, pronouns and tears jumbled together in a dance to remember.

Christmas morning dawns red in the sky as their heavy eyes shut. Peace and belonging wrapped tight as their blankets. No longer alone, they breath air that is clean, washed sweet with the truth. The plastic baby in the hands that rescued it from the barn full of shit.

The question of whether to go or to stay has faded away. As he sleeps, the baby whispers softly into his ear.

“Thank you. I’ve been in the cold for so many years, Your honesty and bravery have brought us both home.“

Truth about the holidays

A couple weeks ago I wrote about Austin coming out publicly. There weren’t too many surprises for him, as to who was supportive and who was not. If he spent much time around a person, it didn’t take long to get a sense of how they felt about people like him.

Which brings me to the here and now of the Holidays. We know it is a lonely time for those who have lost loved ones but we may not realize how lonely it is for LGBTQ+ folks. That niece or nephew at the big family gathering who hasn’t told anyone yet. The aunt or uncle who has decided to take their secret to the grave rather than risk being cast out. Cousin Benny who is thinking the world would be better off without him because he knows that the same family hugging him now will throw him out or proclaim that he is demon possessed if he speaks his truth. The friend we share drinks with who wants to find the words to tell us she feels like a fraud in the body she was born in and just wants to be authentic.

They are more than you think, closer than you know. Beautiful butterflies being birthed in cocoons not yet ready to open.

Our posture towards them matters. They read us like a book. It doesn’t take long for them to know if they can relax in our presence or if they must be on their guard, anxious and wary. Our gathering spaces can be barns full of shit or places of belonging.

Now, more than ever, is the time to be an ally. To show that you value authenticity more than cold plastic fakeness. You don’t have to agree to welcome, love and be a safe space.

Tips for creating safe spaces

Start with a heart that loves each person, no matter what. Decide to listen and learn when you don’t understand. Value honesty and forget about perfect public images. Be who you were born to be and accept when other do the same. Shut down conversations that are homophobic and/or transphobic. Perhaps even set ground rules that there will be no political discussions. Even if you think everyone is on the same page, don’t risk it. You may be surprised to know that the leaders you praise may not embody safety to some of your guests. There is a great article here that unpacks what LGBTQ+ people struggle with as they head to family gatherings.

If you are Queer, please know that the most important person for you to care for is yourself. It’s okay to skip family dinners that are stressful. Years of traditions and expectations are hard to break from, but you have more value than tradition. Listen to your gut. If it’s churning, turn around and go “home” to a space that is safe. Queer Theology has 8 tips here to get through the Holidays.

As always, I’m here to listen. Drop me a line if you need someone to talk to. Or if you want to be the first to know when a new post is up.

Posted on by palmtreemomma

In the Winter

Sunshine startles me through
thick gray patches of constant clouds.
I have almost forgotten what it is,
that thing we call the sun.
Naked trees whisper remembrances of seasons gone by while
cold wind shakes the few remaining leaves.
Here in the winter, the cold darkness dances its turn.
I shiver, longing for the light, the green, the warmth that is summer.

I am in the winter.

My tears turn to ice, when I let myself feel
all that is buried deep inside.
Like icicles they hang
suspended between gutters and earth.
Reaching but not reaching.
Striving but not arriving.
The lines between too much and not enough
impossibly blurred and I find myself
walking circles in the snow in a game I do not know.

I am in the winter.

I sink, exhausted, no place to go but within.
She holds me gently in a womb I remember.
Softy the wind whispers her song
of belonging and being enough, not too much.
Of life being remade and the glory of buds.
It is here in the cold, dark, stillness of winter,
that beauty is birthed and life is renewed.

I am held by winter.

My senses come alive when I breathe her in
and I feel the unseen life bursting forth.
The beautiful riot of spring,
the melting warmth of summer,
all the blazing color of fall
they begin here, in the womb of winter.
I turn my face to the patch of sunlight.
It dazzles me and I pick myself up.

I am learning to dance in the winter.



Click on the button above to send me an email and I will let you know when new posts are up! If you or someone you love is in the closet, or if you are struggling with your own guttural grief and need someone to talk to, email me. I may not have time to answer you but I will read it and hold you in my heart.

Image courtesy of Adrienne Gerber Photography.

Posted on by palmtreemomma

Opening the Door

Last week I wrote about the rough patch we hit. Austin, tired of hiding, was slowly coming out to more people. His stomach pains, which had been there for decades, were getting worse. While we had brutally honest conversations, his depression and my anxiety were defining characteristics of this season which lasted the better part of a year. I had days that were okay and days when I was sure it was over.

Looking back, I see several things that were key elements to us moving out of the rough patch and enabling Austin to be the man he was born to be.

A Place for Healing

As long as I have known him, Austin has read and talked about men’s initiation rites and passages. Colonization obliterated centuries of wisdom that once guided indigenous boys on their journey to manhood. In our American culture of the 21st century, we have long cast aside any rituals that were once used to welcome a boy into manhood. In our modernity, we seem to believe that the wisdom of elders is no longer needed and we can become adults on our own. Yet many men (and women) are left floundering, wondering if they have what it takes.

When a friend introduced Austin to The Mankind Project, he was instantly intrigued. They had a spot open in an upcoming New Warrior Training, described on their website as follows –

Take a journey that will fundamentally alter your experience of manhood and the world. Improve every relationship, starting with your relationship to yourself. Show up as the man, husband, partner, father, and brother you were born to be. The New Warrior Training Adventure is a life affirming personal development event, honoring the best in what men have to offer the planet. 

Austin packed his bags and left for the weekend. Neither of us had super high hopes that this would be much different from other weekend retreats or conferences. Yet, when he walked through the door at the end of the weekend, I could see that a thousand pounds had been lifted from his shoulders before he even opened his mouth to speak.

Learning to Breath

I could soon see that much had changed. He no longer hated himself and was finally free to embrace the man he had been born to be. The shame that had long wrapped itself around him was gone. I sensed an opening in his soul, as if he were learning to breath for the first time.

Emotional healing has physical effects as well. He carries himself both lighter and taller these days. And his stomach pains have nearly disappeared.

He also found a freedom to be who he is and not care what others think about him. And that led to the next step of freedom for both of us.

Opening the Closet Door

A few days after that weekend, in the air on our way to a conference, I asked Austin when he planned to come out to everyone. As we talked, we both realized there was no longer any good reason to stay inside the closet – and many compelling reasons to come out. And so began a new era, as he officially came out of the closet to everyone and stopped hiding.

And, while this put us under the spotlight and made us vulnerable as people responded in all kinds of ways, the relief of no longer needing to pretend or hide was incalculable.

Authenticity really is the new beautiful. Queer or not, many of us spend way too much time trying to present ourselves in whichever way we think will get us the most likes. But this kind of living takes so much energy and we have none left to enjoy the life we have, much less be the person we were born to be.

While Austin has no regrets regarding fully coming out, we both realize not everyone has the privilege to do so. Many who are in Conservative families choose to stay hidden because they fear they will be disowned. Some live in countries where they could be imprisoned or put to death if anyone found out their true identity. Some have been married for a long time and fear they will do more damage to their family then they are willing to risk, so they choose to remain hidden.

For those still in hiding

When the air inside the closet
gets stuffy and you struggle
just to breathe,
there is a door that will swing open.
When you are ready.

Those who truly loved you before
will love you still.
And you may be surprised to find
a family you never knew existed.
When you are ready.

A courage you didn’t know was yours
will rise from your chest and
Grow you right out of that tiny space.
To where the dance floor is wide.
When you are ready.

In the meantime
for as long as it takes,
we will sit outside your door.
Close enough so you’re not alone
Until you are ready.

Quiet your restless weary soul.
Until you can hear it whisper.
Until it remembers who you were born to be.
We hold your space for as long as it takes.
Until you are ready.

But if the space is not safe here in the wide open
It’s okay to stay hidden.
We will still hold your place and
Honor your story.
Until the world is ready.



Click on the button above to send me an email and I will let you know when new posts are up! If you or someone you love is in the closet, or if you are struggling with your own guttural grief and need someone to talk to, email me. I may not have time to answer you but I will read it and hold you in my heart.