Posted on by palmtreemomma

The Gift

Perhaps the most beautiful thing that comes from having your life completely shattered is the chance to rebuild. Weaving together people and places, values and practices, with deep intention. In many ways, I feel like I have truly been born again. At 50, I’ve been given a chance to create something I was not ready to create all those decades ago when I thought I had all the answers.


The gift of starting over was not always seen as a gift. Nor has it been easy. But after the ashes settled and the tears dried, I came to realize that there is something incredibly beautiful and powerful about choosing the life you want. Crafting it with deep intention. I’ve come to realize how powerful the mind is. And how much I have limited myself in the past. By defining my worth based on the reality I perceived rather than defining my reality by the things I know deep within my psyche.

you can do hard things


When my kids were younger and would come to me, complaining about something difficult in their lives – usually some task I had asked them to do that they did not want to do – I would agree with them. Yes, it’s hard. But then I would remind them of this. You can do hard things.


You see, the things we tell ourselves are powerful. And with our beliefs and our words, we can either put obstacles in our own path. Or we can clear the path for ourselves. Or create a new path around the obstacles. For better or worse, our words and beliefs can become self-fulfilling prophecies.


For example, if I tell myself something is going to be hard, it will most certainly be hard. But if I change the narrative and remind myself that I can do hard things, I am much better equipped to face the challenge head on and emerge feeling better about myself than before.

keeping it real


One area where this is currently showing up in my life is on the dating apps. So yes, to all of you who have been wondering, I am putting myself out there again. And I can affirm that every time I have complained that the dating apps suck, they suck even more. On the other hand, when I have truly believed in my own worth, some pretty interesting things tend to unfold.

While I’m sure you would love to know all the juicy details, for now I will tell you that I am learning a lot. And having fun in the process. I may or may not meet the man of my dreams on an app. But one thing I know for sure is that every conversation I have. Every person I meet up with. Is all a part of a beautiful exchange that is teaching me so much. About myself. About the kind of person I want to spend the rest of my life with. Giving me a chance to practice speaking up for myself. Setting boundaries. Stepping even more fully into my power.


Oh I’m collecting some pretty good stories along the way and perhaps one day I will regale you with them. I’ve also had my heart broken and felt old wounds ripped open again. But I’m standing taller than ever before. Because I know myself even better than I did before these stories unfolded in my life.


I met myself in 2023. And it was glorious. Life changing. And I am done giving my heart away for crumbs of affection. I’m holding out for the whole damn feast. There are no failed relationships. Only stepping stones to a better one.

unleash your power


So is it hard putting yourself out there again at 50? Hell yeah. But I can do hard things, and so can you. It’s scary, but that means I get to practice being brave. It’s also fun, beautiful, and empowering. And I get to meet so many interesting humans.


For those of you who find yourself in a situation that you know is not right for you, but you are too scared to leave, let me remind you of this. Darling, you can do hard things. Life is too short to survive on crumbs when you could have a feast. And you have all that it takes to get yourself out of your stuck place. The resources for that glorious feast are all around you. Break out of the prison you’ve let yourself be trapped in, for the key is already in your hand. Unclench your fists and breath in the love that has never and will never let you go.


Then live. Like never before. With intention. Clarity. Purpose. Unleash the power of your mind by believing in your worth. Never settle for crumbs when there is an entire feast waiting for you. Believe.

Want to hear more? You can also find me on Instagram @maritajmiller and Facebook Beyond The Cocoon. Drop me a line if you want to be added to my email list.

Posted on by palmtreemomma

Ending Well

We all know by now that relationships are hard and messy. They require a lot of work and effort. When they blow up or don’t work out, it’s easier to just exit quickly and never look back. Ending well is difficult. Those months in between the time I found out about the cheating and our divorce were long and hard. Yet, when the morning of our final hearing dawned, we sat together outside the magistrate’s office, waiting our turn. Talking and laughing like old friends. Because somehow, in spite of all that had transpired, we were still friends. In fact, after it was all said and done, we tried to take a photo of the two of us with angry faces. But we ended up laughing every time. Not because our ending was funny. For it was not. But because we had found a way to hold on to friendship.

Not everyone gets to experience this. Both parties have to be willing to do the hard work of ending well. I’m very grateful that Austin was willing to show up for this process. And while I don’t have a concise how-to list for you, there are a few things I have learned from our journey that I want to share with you. They may or may not apply to your story. Take what is helpful and leave the rest.

forgiveness

I wrote briefly about forgiveness in an earlier post. For me, this had to happen before the answer of whether or not to stay in the marriage became clear to me. And I think the timing was profound. It may not work this way for everyone, but the answer did not come to me until I realized I had forgiven him.

I wish I could give you steps on how to make this happen. But I cannot. I have struggled my whole life to forgive those who hurt me. It is not something that comes easily for me. I have a strong sense of justice and fairness. And this was anything but fair.

I do know that time away helped. As did talking to my amazing therapist and friends. But I had to face a whole lot of darkness on my own. Not bypassing it by “giving it to the Lord” or choosing to immediately say I forgive. Spiritual bypassing is a harmful practice, in my opinion. Rather, I completely entered the darkness. Sat with it. Listened to my anger. Let it move through me. I went on long walks and let Mother Nature help carry my pain. I foraged for Turkey Tail Mushrooms, brewed tea and gave my body plant medicine. Instead of focusing on forgiveness, I focused on fully facing my pain and finding ways to heal. And then the forgiveness came.

And after the forgiveness came, my body and mind were in alignment and I knew what I needed to do.

Letting go

Ending well is only possible if you are able to let go. Let go of regrets. Let go of the other person. And let go of the future you thought you were going to have. That’s a whole lot of letting go. And it’s not easy. But you can approach it as a practice. A new habit that you are trying on, that gets easier the more you practice it.

It helps to have a trusted friend to talk to. Writing can also be a good way to put feelings into words and let them out. Just don’t make your soon-to-be ex the person you process this with. Not that you should never talk with them about it. But just make sure they are not bearing your disappointments on top of navigating their own.

Agreements

It’s so important to have clear short-term agreements. From lodging to money, kids to pets. You will be spending a lot of time sorting through big agreements if you are filing for divorce. But the time in between is important too. So take some time to think about what you will need and then ask for it. Maybe you need him to move out but come by in the evenings to help with the kids or give you a night to hang out with a friend. Maybe you need her to come to a therapy session with you. Perhaps you want to set aside part of every weekend to start going through the house and dividing up assets.

Take time for those difficult conversations. Don’t make assumptions. Do you still expect the other person to be monogamous? Who is going to make the house payment? What kind of boundaries do you need for your own sanity?

Think forward

One of the things that helped me the most was to picture us at Christmas a few years down the road. To really envision what I wanted us to look like. What I saw was a big happy blended family. The kids and their partners. Both of us with new partners. All of us around a big table loaded with good food, holding our bellies in laughter. That image kept me going in so many ways. Motivated me to navigate the present so that we would all want to be in the same room again someday.

We’ve not been perfect parents. Didn’t raise a perfect family. But there was always so much love and that doesn’t change with a divorce. The kids are still so important to us and I want us to always be able to laugh together. We get to define what family looks like. It’s not just flesh and blood.

One of the last pieces of furniture I bought for my new home was a table and chairs. It had to be special. Had to be big enough. Had to have a special feeling to it.

And I found just what I was looking for. I sit at it now, three times a day. Alone. And I soak up the quiet around me. I cook for myself a couple times a week and eat lots of leftovers. Some days it’s a little too quiet and I miss what we had. But the beautiful thing about ending as friends is that we can still be family. And that is more important to me than pushing for the highest dollar amount I could get in a settlement or holding on to any regrets or even trying to control his future.

My marriage is done. That chapter is completely closed and I am okay with that. But I rather love our quirky little family. And it’s not done growing yet. The table I bought has a leaf that I removed. Stored in my little laundry closet. Someday the kids and the grand kids and all their grandparents will sit around the extended table. And we’ll spill some curry as we listen to the latest escapades. And laugh till we cry while we wait for the apple dumplings to cool. We’ll remember what we once were. And we will have no regrets about what we have become.

For more tips on how to end well, I highly recommend Conscious Uncoupling by Katherine Woodward Thomas.

Want to hear more? You can also find me on Instagram @maritajmiller and Facebook Beyond The Cocoon. Drop me a line if you want to be added to my email list.

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Mixed Orientation Relationships

I have heard many times that our story gave hope to couples in similar situations. So I imagine that the ending of our marriage has brought up a lot of questions for some of you regarding your own relationship.

I still believe that mixed orientation relationships can work. Just because ours did not work out in the end, does not mean yours will not. I think, however, there are some key factors to consider, which include honesty, authenticity, and integrity.

honesty

If you want the best chance of your relationship working, experience has taught me that honesty is vital. Learn to be honest from the beginning. It is not fair to your partner if you hide this part of yourself. They deserve to know the real you. Every day you hide it, it becomes a bigger piece of negativity between you because you wouldn’t hide something you believed was positive in your life. And if you can’t see it as something positive in your life, perhaps any relationship should be put on hold until you heal this relationship with your own self. This duplicity sets the stage for both of you to have a hard time accepting it when it does come out.

And it will eventually come out in some way, shape, or form. When you hide something, it’s still there. And the amount of energy you expend to suppress it will take a toll on your relationship.

In the months leading up to when Austin came out to me, I knew something was going on. Could feel it. Our relationship was not in a good place. Something was there, but I just didn’t know what it was. As hard as it was to know the truth, a sense of relief came with it. I was glad to finally know what was going on.

But I have always wished he could have been honest with me from the beginning. I deserved to know this vital part of him. And I deserved to decide for myself whether I wanted to be in a mixed orientation marriage or not.

The other piece of advice I have for those who are on the fence about coming out to your partner is in the form of a question. A question that comes from the assumption that your hesitancy is borne from fear that you may loose your partner if you are honest. I understand that there may be many other reasons for your hesitancy. But my question is this.

Do you deserve to be with someone who loves and accepts all of you? Perhaps, in your fear, you are selling yourself short. If your partner cannot handle the truth, are they really someone you want to be with? Don’t settle for less than you deserve.

If you are out to your partner, honesty is just as vital in your relationship. It plays a key role in navigating tough topics such as expectations and needs regarding monogamy, open relationships, and so much more.

That being said, I understand that there are reasons why some choose to never come out to their partners. In the end, you have to do what is best for you and I cannot judge you for that. This is simply my perspective as a former straight spouse.

Authenticity

While honesty has to do with revealing who you are, authenticity is more about becoming who you are meant to be. It is about creating a life for yourself that flows instead of being forced or hidden. Authenticity is about embracing all that you are and bringing forth the light and love that is in you. It is about working on yourself. Not to fit into a mold of some kind. But working on yourself to be the very best person you can be. It requires honesty. But perhaps it is an honest answer to the question of how you can best love yourself. It is digging in and getting to the core of the beautiful soul that you are and embracing it.

If I were a flower, honesty would be saying that I am a rose. Authenticity would be building the best flower bed possible and filling it with nutrient dense soil so that the rose bush can flourish.

Your relationship will only flourish to the level of your authenticity.

integrity

Honesty and authenticity set the stage for the best possible relationship. But integrity is about the way you handle yourself as you dance on that stage. It’s about being in alignment with your truth. Keeping the promises you made to your self and each other. And having the courage to look at those promises if they are no longer working.

Integrity is how you present yourself. It’s showing up as the best version of yourself, whether anyone is watching or not. And it is about never forgetting that the best moves in this dance of life are only possible on the stage of honesty and authenticity.

equality

One more thing worth noting here is that the needs of each of you are equally important. If one of you is suppressing needs because the other can’t or won’t honor those needs, it will be impossible for your relationship to flourish. It is not enough to put in the work to make the other person happy, if your own needs are not being met.

This is where some tough conversations may come in. Keep honesty, authenticity, and integrity by your side. Be brave enough to ask the hard questions. Are you able to give your partner what they need and still be in integrity with yourself? Can your partner truly give you what you need, if they wish to remain authentic?

In the end, for us, it wasn’t really about the cheating. Yet the cheating acted as a wake up call and showed us where we were not living in alignment with these core principals of honesty, authenticity, integrity and equality. There were areas we both needed to be honest about. There were things each of us needed in order to live in authenticity. And we reached the point where we could not provide those things for the other and still be true to ourselves.

For us, returning to honesty, authenticity, and integrity allowed us to navigate the ending of our marriage in the best possible way. Without bitterness or hatred. These practices did not negate the grief or sadness, but helped us, rather, to navigate through all the feelings that came up.

No matter what type of relationship you find yourself in, I hope you will be brave enough to show up honestly, authentically, and with deep integrity. It is the best gift you can give yourself.

Want to hear more? You can also find me on Instagram @maritajmiller and Facebook Beyond The Cocoon. Drop me a line if you want to be added to my email list.

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Tomb or Womb

There’s a heaping pile of pressure on women in patriarchal cultures. Many of us learn from early childhood, to clean up messes we did not make. As quickly and quietly as possible. Trauma has caused some of us to even anticipate those messes. Metaphorically speaking, we walk about on our tiptoes, broom and dustpan in hand. Waiting and ready for the next mess. We never allow ourselves to live our own lives. Instead we focus on keeping things neat and tidy for everyone else.


This pressure is magnified in subcultures, such as the Conservative Mennonite culture I was raised in. It’s been some time since I left that culture. Yet, like a tattoo on my shoulder, it’s never completely left me. And that’s not all bad. There has been much good to come out of my upbringing. But in times like the present, I feel a hundred pairs of eyes looking at me. Expecting me to do what I was taught. To swallow my feelings and forgive my husband and throw all my efforts into saving this marriage.


There’s no space for the necessary in-between. The dark, ugly, messy, UN-knowing space. Where one can’t see the end. Where it’s so dark you can’t see a thing at all. Not even your own hands waving in front of your face. You can only feel what you feel. Where you give yourself permission to forget about the end result. And you breathe in the air of the darkness around you until you realize you’re in a womb, not a tomb.

The Womb

I feel like I'm being born again
This awful infidelity
giving me
a fresh start.
A chance to create
the life I want. 
Set my own terms.
Burrow into all the
cracks and crevices
of my tired
worn out life. 
Find all the things
that no longer serve.
Give them a boot
kick them out the door. 
Yes it's painful to see
these ashes.
But they speak to me
of new beginnings.
And I get to choose
my path forward. 
Carve a place
that has room for 
all of me.


This obsession with rushing to get things back to picture-perfect normal is killing us. It’s not life-giving or loving in the least bit. Cleaning up messes we did not make, serves no one but those in power. Rushing to forgiveness so that the other person can come home to you, means you may never get to truly come home to yourself. Quickly fixing things to make the other person comfortable means you may never truly be comfortable again.

Learning to be okay with a period of uncertainty and ambiguity is proving to be life saving for me. It’s giving me a much needed pause from the way my life has been. Allowing me to rest and be. Simply be.

And as I rest, realizations come to me. Rising slowly to the surface where I can sift and sort through. See with clear eyes the things that no longer serve me. Knowing deep in my core that as I learn to fully come home to myself, the rest will eventually fall into place.

Want to hear more? You can also find me on Instagram @maritajmiller and Facebook Beyond The Cocoon. Drop me a line if you want to be added to my email list.

Posted on by palmtreemomma

When the Light Dims

Standing at the ocean’s edge, I feel like a woman who has lost everything. I am as worn and diminished as the grains of sand beneath my feet, desperate for a tiny scrap of light to break through the clouds. Needing a sunrise like I have never needed one before. It is one of those mornings when it is hard to tell where my tears end and the gray mist begins. This was me in mid-October…

going silent

Let me back up a bit. I know I’ve gone silent. Pulled into myself like a turtle who needs to hide for a bit. As much as I love words, they fled from me. Vanished. Refused to be crafted. I feel like a woman who has lost everything, even my words.

And I suppose it was a good thing, to be left alone with raw and wild emotions. To fully feel them before I tried to express them in a way that can even begin to make sense.

Yet, even now, these words are getting in the way of me going back to where the story of this grief journey began. Back to October. Back when the leaves were in their riotous dance of color and the sky still held enough blue to make one stop and stare in wonder.

Days that reminded me of the moment, twenty five years ago, when I knew Austin was finally going to ask me out. It was a perfectly glorious Fall day in Brooklyn and I had gone on a long walk to process this news that seemed to good to be true. Feet crunching through piles of bright yellow leaves, giddy with excitement, I felt seen and loved in a way I never had before. And the whole world looked different because of it. More alive. Bright with a hope that lingered on every street corner and whispered through the few city trees. Even the light itself seemed golden and alive.

Broken bits

And now, twenty five years later, I discover that he broke our agreements. That I wasn’t the only one he chose to be intimate with. This October, as my feet crunched through piles of bright yellow leaves, I felt as if I’d been shattered into a thousand pieces. While rain dripped down the cheeks of my city, I stumbled in a world gone dark.

I took a week to go to the ocean and grieve. To be alone and think. To move out of shock and begin to process what this means. And I still don’t know what all of this means. I do know that the world has gone very dark and much of what I thought I knew is now as uncertain as the ice on an Ohio lake after the first spring thaw.

listening

One thing I do know is that I am not going to clean up a mess that I didn’t make. I’m not jumping to fix things. I’m developing a practice of listening. Listening to the little girl inside who is surprising me with her insight. Listening to wise and trusted friends. Leaning into the wisdom of my therapist. I am holding my kids the best I can. They may be grown but they’re hurting a lot right now too.

I’m also listening to Austin, curious to know why he cheated on me. It took me a while to get to a place where I can truly listen without being constantly triggered. We are having deep and vulnerable conversations. It’s hard work and often painful. But we are not hiding our truth from each other.

There is much that I’m holding close and not sharing publicly right now. Truth is, I love Austin and have always believed in him. I have no desire to smear his reputation and I don’t feel a need to share details. But I’m sharing this here because you deserve to know there’s been a hard twist in our story.

Please hold our family in as much love and grace as you can. We are all so broken right now. I ask that you honor our privacy. Give us time to grieve the collapse of life as we knew it. The future, no matter what we decide to do or not do, will be difficult.

And, in case you wonder, after a long walk under a gray sky, this amazing ribbon of orange light shone through and reminded me that darkness is not forever.

You can also find me on Instagram @maritajmiller and Facebook Beyond The Cocoon. Drop me a line if you want to be added to my email list.

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When It’s Hard to Rest

When I was a young girl, it was quite common to hear grown ups tell me things like, “You work like a horse!” Growing up in rural Ohio, where it was common to see Amish farmers plowing their fields with big and strong work horses, the phrase made sense to me.

The phrase, meant as a compliment, told me that I was very capable of hard work. That there was much value in my ability to work hard. It told me I was admired for it.

But there was a dark side to this compliment. One that I did not see for a very long time. Like a dandelion seed blown by the wind, it found a place to settle. Deep in the soil of my ego, a story took root and began to grow.

the problem with work

One day, in my early teens, it pushed its head through the surface and allowed itself to be seen. On this day, when told that I work like a horse, instead of feeling complimented, I burst into tears.

I didn’t want to be a work horse anymore. Strong and capable but useful only in working the fields. I knew I was a very valuable worker but I longed to be valued for more than the free labor I gave to my family and community. The problem with work is that it set me up to be admired for the wrong things.

Truth be told, I was balancing a lot. I got up early every morning and made breakfast for the family before school. Did school, homework, much of the laundry, cooking and cleaning and had a part time job. This is not to fault my family in anyway. Nobody made me do these things. I chose to take on more and more, for complicated reasons.

Finding it hard to rest

Fast forward a few decades and I found myself on the edge of burn out. A place that was becoming more and more familiar to me. I’d find myself dangling on the edge, but somehow climb up and work some more. Then back to the edge again.

The problem with work became a problem with rest. In fact, it was almost impossible to really rest. I’d eagerly plan vacations for the family and the thought of them would keep me going. But when in the lovely places, I would find it impossible to be at rest for more than a short time. I’d feel this urge to put my book down and go find some chore that could be done.

It was like needing a hit. Finding some manual labor gave me something that calmed me inside so that I could go and read again.

So I have a very complicated relationship with work. Truth is, I do get a lot of satisfaction from hard work. I love to clean. Do the laundry. Cook meals. Organize things. I find it incredibly hard to sit still. It’s not long until I feel my body becoming agitated. Like I will explode if I sit here another minute. Give a bucket and a scrub brush. Or, better yet, baking supplies and an empty kitchen and my heart rate slows and my thoughts calm.

when the body screams to get attention

Then one summer, about a year and half ago, I woke up with pain in my shoulder. This felt much different than the stress pain I tend to carry in my shoulders. This pain was somehow connected to my arm and movement. I didn’t think too much of it at first. It wasn’t horrible but it just kind of stuck around. I couldn’t sleep on my side anymore. Soon I couldn’t do things like deep clean my kitchen. Or rake leaves. Or make applesauce. Eventually I couldn’t chop vegetables for dinner without being in pain the next day.
So I finally went to the doctor. Then the specialist. Then the physical therapist. Turns out I have both biceps and rotator cuff tendonitis. And a long road to healing.

The problem with work is that I just couldn’t keep up with it anymore. My body had to go into full blown screaming mode before I listened. But I’m listening now.

And one thing I keep going back to is the girl who burst into tears because she longed to be seen and valued for who she was, not for what she did. She wanted to be more than free labor. She had hopes and dreams, longings and needs that were not safe to say aloud.

I understand her tears. In the wee hours of the morning, when I can’t sleep because of the pain, she gets my full attention. And she’s shown me some pretty enlightening things.

truth be told

The problem with work is that I will probably always love it. Find deep satisfaction in sparkling surfaces, freshly folded laundry and the smell of homemade sourdough bread. There is something sacred in those things for me. And I embrace that.

But what I have had to reject is the idea that my worth comes from those things. Which has been hard to separate from because for years I was only noticed when I was working hard. I heard words of affirmation that centered around the work I did. It seemed as if my place of belonging, in both family and religious community, centered around my ability to work. And that is a problem.

Another problem with work is that it made me feel safe. My subconscious self quickly became aware of the fact that while doing hard manual labor, I was safe from the things that were my trauma. No one bothered my while I was working. And I got praised for it. It was a win win situation. No wonder it was hard for me to stop. I literally had no idea how to rest. In fact, rest was not really a safe thing. So work became my identity.

Until my body just couldn’t do it anymore. I am grateful for this pain because it has brought me to a wide open path of possibilities. While I’ve been working for a long time on seeing my worth apart from my work, the physical limitations of my body have broken open a space for something new.

choosing to rest

For one thing, it’s brought about a career change that allows me to work from anywhere in the world. Austin has been completely supportive and has helped us find a solution that takes this weight of my shoulders. Literally. We have outsourced fulfillment for our business because I physically just could not haul those boxes anymore. We have contracted with a very capable team in Chicago to ship out our orders. And, thanks to technology, I can answer questions and email invoices from anywhere that has cell service or WiFi.

I’m currently testing out my new freedom. Honoring my need for green vistas, sunshine and rest by working out of a little cottage in North Carolina for a couple of weeks. I find I can type up orders and answer emails on a screened in porch that hides behind a giant bougainvillea, just as well as when sitting behind my desk in Ohio. Maybe even better.

Is it still hard for me to rest? Yes, sometimes it is. But I am practicing it. Just as I am practicing listening to the longings of the little girl who found her salvation in work. Even then she was intuitive enough to know she longed for more.

Want to hear more? Contact me here to be added to my mailing list. You can also find me on Instagram @maritajmiller and Facebook Beyond The Cocoon.

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Codependency and Religion

I had to have a little talk with myself recently. I was doing fine. Felt good about things. But everyone around me seemed to be in a crisis. Melting down. Dealing with some pretty big stuff. It wasn’t long before I wasn’t doing so well. Because I let myself get pulled in. I began to carry their heaviness with me.

Don’t get me wrong. It’s important to be able to feel with others. To be a support person that is compassionate. But having lived so many years in an unhealthy codependent relationship, it doesn’t take much for me to get pulled into unhealthy old habits.

I had to pull myself aside and verbalize to the little girl that is always and forever a part of who I am, that she doesn’t need to carry their heavy things. She doesn’t need to fix anything for them. It’s okay for her to live her own life right now. To find things that make her happy even if those around her are not. She does not need them to be okay in order to be okay herself.

what codependency can look like

In a codependent relationship, one person looks to the other to provide care or support that should come from within, or from a therapist, doctor, or someone else. Or it could be something so unrealistic that no human could ever provide. Whatever the case, the other person may need to be needed. Or simply need them to be okay. So he does whatever it takes, to help them be okay. In this way, they both need each other to be needy. They feed off each other’s neediness. It may “work” but it’s dysfunctional and damaging.

Far too often, these unhealthy relationships are fashioned and sustained in tight-knit religious communities. People praise the caregiver for their sacrifice, uphold them as a model of love and service. To the point where they completely forget that their life matters too. That their hopes and dreams have meaning and are worth pursuing.

When religion encourages the starving of the human soul in order to “serve” another, religious trauma merges with emotional trauma and something beautiful in the human psyche is chopped into bits and thrown out as garbage. Divine brushstrokes meant to invoke smiles and joy are equated with selfishness.

Children as caregivers

I’ve been a caregiver for as long as I can remember. I needed to be needed and I needed those around me to be okay. So I did everything I could to help them be okay. Others praised and admired me for it. In fact, I don’t think I was noticed much unless I was serving others.

In an article on Children as Caregivers, LeAne Austin says

Children generally tend to be self-focused. With the addition of the illness or disability, that focus necessarily and abruptly changes to one of helping others. Rather than indulging in their usual enjoyable activities, they may decline invitations for age-appropriate activities because they need to “go home and help mom” or whoever they are assisting at home. This increased sense of responsibility, though somewhat overdeveloped due to the unique situation in which they have been placed, overtakes the drive to seek personal enjoyment.

LeAne Austin

Learning to be a child

I didn’t know how to be a child. And, quite honestly, my faith community praised me for it. So I sacrificed more. I gave up things I wanted so everyone else in my life could be happy. Eventually, I equated god’s love with needing to sacrifice. Divine love meant pain.

It’s taken years of therapy and healing, to fully realize that my life truly matters. That my longings, hopes, and dreams have divine sparks in them instead of selfishness. My worth has absolutely nothing to do with my service and sacrifices. I no longer equate god’s love with needing to sacrifice. It’s more like needing to bake or laugh. Walk in the leaves or climb a mountain.

So, somewhere in the middle of everyone else having a crisis, I stepped back. I asked everyone leave for a while. Built a fire and sat outside with a cup of coffee and a stack of books. I reclined in my lawn chair and watched the leaves tango under an indigo sky. I called someone I loved who understood my feelings completely. And the wind whispered my name as it scampered by. It danced with the smoke as what was old and useless burned up. It blew the mosquitos away and whistled ever so softly round the corners of the house. God was in the wind and in the fire, in the clay of my coffee cup and pages of my book. In all that was lovely and breathtaking, even in me.

Maybe I still equate god’s love with needing to sacrifice – the bullshit and the codependency. The belief system that led me to slaughter things that were lovely inside of me. Burn it all down till there are no acts of service to admire me for. No sacrifices to bring me praise. Just a curly-haired barefoot girl with a heart that is kind and a dream to explore this beautiful world.

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Posted on by palmtreemomma

On Becoming a Healthy Black Sheep

I’ve been thinking a lot about what it means to be a Black Sheep, and how we might embrace it and become healthy black sheep. Historically this idiom, used to describe a member of a group or family that is different from everyone else, has had negative connotations. The wool from black sheep could not be dyed, so black sheep had little financial value to the owners. Additionally, in 18th and 19th century England, a black sheep was believed to have the mark of the Devil. In the Evangelical circles I grew up in, a black sheep was typically one who was not only different, but had strayed far from God and the one true path.


After my Grandpa died, and I began to process my grief, the idiom felt like a good description of me and my place in the family. I embraced the term in the memoir post I wrote after his death.


Historically, being a Black sheep has been a negative thing. Today I’m redeeming the term and embracing it. I am seeking out ways to be a whole and healthy black sheep. Let me explain.

grandpa’s house


I’ve been missing my grandpa a lot lately. Perhaps it was brought on by the pack of old notes and letters my aunt sent me, that she found in his desk after he passed. Seems he saved any and everything I ever sent him over the years. From my first clumsy attempts to master writing, to a card I sent him a few years back. He saw and savored my attempts at communication. And he cherished them.


Now he is gone. His last place of abode was just auctioned off. He lived in many homes during his one-hundred years on this earth. I grew up hearing stories of his life on this or that farm. But before I was born, he and Grandma settled into a sprawling brick house on Cherry Ridge Road. It was the only home that was ever Grandpa’s House to me.


Oh, the nooks and crannies of that place! I remember his old study before they remodeled and modernized parts of the house. It was a small room, sandwiched between the bathroom and the kitchen. There wasn’t much more than a sofa, desk, and books. So many books! I remember the room felt small and dark but there was always a lamp to shed its glow on the shelves of books and the stacks of pen and paper on his desk.

so many memories


Just down the hall was a spare bedroom where we slept when we visited. I remember waking up one crisp morning in October when I was 5 years old. Walking down the hall to find Grandpa coming out of his study, glowing with happiness, to tell my brothers and me that we had a new baby brother. I had been hoping and praying daily for a sister and part of my heart dropped in the pain of disappointment. But grandpa’s love of life was contagious and my disappointment did not last long.


The basement was my favorite place. Rooms inside of rooms. Old treasures from years gone by. A stuffed owl from one of the farms. A painting my dad made during high school. The fruit cellar with jars of canned fruit. My cousins would make a game out of seeing who could find the oldest jar.


There was always a garden in the back yard and a grape arbor where we would pick sour juice grapes and suck on the sweet center. Grandpa had an old shed built into the side of the hill and it was easy to climb onto the roof. More than one summer evening was spent on that roof with my cousins, under a star-studded sky.


Years later, they knocked down some walls and built an addition. Grandpa’s study was expanded, with a large window overlooking the hills and lush countryside. The walls were still lined with shelves of books but the place had become much brighter. Filled with light.

becoming the black sheep


The change in their house coincided with a change in me. I grew up, moved away, traveled the world. Started a family of my own. Had thoughts and questions of my own. Gathered the courage to start thinking outside of the box I had been raised in. As the house changed, I found myself changing. My own walls were being knocked down and expanded to let in more light. The old didn’t fit anymore. When I returned, I felt like a stranger.


It’s strange to write about my grandpa, who represented The Patriarchy in every way possible, as one who never made me feel like a stranger. I can’t quite explain how in all of my deconstruction, he has been somewhat separate from the ideals he represented to me. He gifted me a space of belonging, even when I chose a path he would not have approved of.


He gave me his presence and his open arms. Always. He kept telling me stories. Inviting my babies to sit in his lap even when they were almost as big as he was.

Longings of a black sheep


I wish I could walk through that house one more time. By myself. To see the light catch the dust floating in the air, hovering over his desk and shelves of books. Walk down that hallway, hear the echo of his footsteps. Pull a green plastic cup from the cupboard for a drink of water, and remember how he always teased me about having to put my nose in the glass whenever I drank. I’d sink into his hickory rocker and know he was holding me still. Even if he didn’t understand the path I was on, he recognized the essence of who I was and offered me a place of belonging.


Families are made stronger by processing grief and joy together. But I’ve felt like I’ve been on the outside for so long now. I’ll be honest. Grandpa’s death was my biggest COVID loss. He didn’t die from the virus, but because of it, I couldn’t grieve with the family. I couldn’t show up for all the things a family does when one it loves passes on. The blessing of remembering together. Eating together. Crying together. Apart from the graveside service, which was outdoors on a chilly January day, I stayed away.


And that hurt. A lot. As a family, we had all been taught to choose life. To honor and protect it. To me, that meant wearing a mask, distancing and avoiding crowds. But to the family who gathered to celebrate and grieve, it meant the opposite. So, this black sheep just felt even more shut out. The way they chose to live life, made me feel as if mine didn’t matter.

black sheep and trauma


Yet another aspect of not being able to show up has to do with past trauma. For years, even after becoming aware that what happened to me was trauma, that it was wrong and was not my fault, I still showed up. I put myself in situations where I was constantly reminded of that trauma. I was the nice person. The good little girl. I acted as if nothing had happened.


The thing about trauma, however, is that it doesn’t heal and go away on its own. It will make itself known, come out in ways that are ugly and messy. For me, it made itself known in my physical body. Aches and pains that grew in intensity, especially when I was in certain situations.


When the time is right, the body has a way of letting you know it’s time. Enough is enough.

Pain is often a sign that something has to change.

Mark Nepo

I am quick to grab pain relievers instead of listening to the message behind the pain. Tylenol. Wine. TV. Food. Friends. Not that these are bad things in and of themselves but they can distract from our pain so we can keep going on with our lives. Yet pain does not distract us from living; it shows us what needs to change so we can live better. Pain is there to give us a clue of what needs to be done. What needs to heal. What we need to change.

boundaries


So I set some boundaries and began to protect myself. It’s ugly and messy and beautiful all at once. It’s powerful and freeing, but it is also lonely.

And it’s complicated. It means I can’t yet show up in some places I would like to. My need to self-protect means that I control my narrative for the first time and yet, I lose my ability to control the narrative at all in certain situations. It means that some people I love, who had nothing to do with my trauma, are being told a narrative that makes me look ugly and vindictive. And I’m struggling to let that go. Being a healthy black sheep means learning what narratives to let go of so you can shape the only one that really matters.


Becoming a healthy black sheep is imperative when there has been mental illness, personality disorders, or addiction woven into the trauma. Others looking on may not understand the drastic measures you are taking, further reinforcing your identity as a black sheep and shaping their narrative of you.

the fear of the storytellers

A healthy black sheep knows there are stories being told about her that are based not on truth, but on the fear of those telling the stories. She lets them go so she can hold on to her truth. That different can be beautiful. That true value comes from the heart, not the color of the wool.

The beautiful thing about being a black sheep is that you cannot be owned in the way that white sheep are owned. Your body cannot be a machine for profit. Selling your wool has no value because it cannot be dyed.

This is where I am slowly learning to embrace my identity as a black sheep. One that is different from the larger group it came from. Whose value does not come from wool that can be dyed. One who is un-dyable. Marked, not by the devil, but by all the colors of life and light. Who picks up all the colors of the rainbow in a dance towards wholeness.


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.

Find me on Instagram @maritajmiller and Facebook Beyond The Cocoon.

Posted on by palmtreemomma

Good Little Girls

The good thing about a life turned upside down is the ability to look at yourself from another angle. This pandemic has made it pretty clear who I am and what I need to thrive. While many around me are itching for life to get back to normal, there are aspects of “normal” that I am not yet ready for. Like lots of places to go and big crowds of people.

Call me crazy, but I love being at home. By myself. In the quiet.

My parents say that when I was a baby and we came home from an evening away, they would lay me in my crib and I would look up at the ceiling and kick my legs vigorously, my whole body exuding happiness at being home. Sometimes, when in someone else’s home, I would look up at the ceiling and wail. I knew when I was in my space and when I was in a stranger’s space. When I was home, I knew it in every cell of my body.

I have loved having more time at home, even though I am rarely alone since the rest of the family has been here too. But more home, less away, less people, that is something I need.

an honest confession

The other thing I’m quite okay with is less hugging. I still hug my husband and kids and that’s okay. But I’m just not a huggy person.

Now I’ve probably offended some of my friends because I know a lot of huggy people. Don’t worry, if you are my friend, I will still hug you when I decide I’m done social distancing. It’s just something that rarely comes natural for me. In fact, sometimes it makes me uncomfortable.

I’ve tried to figure out why. Is something wrong with me? Is it my Swiss-German roots showing through after skipping a few generations? Maybe it’s just my personality? Or is it unresolved childhood trauma?

We are fundamentally changed by trauma, not only psychologically, but at the cellular level as well.

Toko-pa Turner

Think about that for a moment. Not only our minds, but the cells of our bodies change as well, when we go through trauma. And while I am not yet able to write about my particular childhood trauma, I know that it has changed me. And I will probably spend the rest of my life working to heal from those wounds.

Good little girls

But here’s the thing that is eating away at me. Little girls (and often boys too) in a strict, faith-based purity culture, are taught to be nice at all costs. They must reciprocate hugs even when they don’t want to. These good little girls must serve and give and then serve some more. Dress a certain way. Walk like this and talk like that. How do they ever learn to have a voice about their own bodies? How do little girls, who are groomed to walk into a room and read it and then make it comfortable for everyone else, how do they ever learn to truly be comfortable in their own skin? Little girls ( and boys) who are taught niceness above authenticity, and are never given the right to say “no” are being set up for trauma and abuse.

I had a wake-up moment one day when I encountered a family who did not make their children gives hugs when it was time to say good-bye. They let the child choose whether or not they wanted to. And when someone was offended, they answered that they wanted their children to grow up knowing they had a voice over their own bodies.

I wonder what the world would look like if little girls (and boys) grew up knowing they had a voice over their own bodies. If they were taught emotional health above being nice. That it’s okay to say no and set boundaries. That being authentic is a good thing.

I think of my own circle of friends. So many beautiful, strong and powerful women – yet each struggles with her own story of trauma and doubts her worth. Many of them, like myself, feel guilty if they say no and struggle to carve out a life that is even a little comfortable for themselves, even though they bend over backwards to make life comfortable for others.

stop being so nice

A while back I wrote about choking on niceness and I want to circle back to that today. Whether you are a parent of small children, or are re-parenting yourself, niceness is not all it’s cracked up to be. Niceness sets you up for trauma. It dulls your senses until you have no idea who you really are anymore.

Niceness is… nice. But easily compromised. Exhausted. Drained dry.

Stop being so nice and try being kind instead. Be kind to yourself, first of all. Because when you are kind to yourself, those traumatized cells just may begin to heal. You won’t find yourself so burned out. Your inner lamp will burn brightly and you will be able to run the marathon. Then you can be who you are meant to be. And teach your little girls and boys to be authentic and kind. We don’t need another generation of nice people.


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

Finding My Own Two Feet

” Marriage and other intimate partnerships are the crucible in which your soul matures and allows you to be a creative, ethical, and thoughtful person in other areas. With this understanding of love, you don’t try to resolve love’s dark night by engineering a better relationship. Your focus is on the soul and its deepening and strengthening.

Thomas Moore in Dark Night of the Soul

All too often, we try to fix relationships by focusing on the “problem.” We then pour our energy into fixing it. Time and experience have confirmed to me that Moore is on to something. He advises us to focus on deepening and strengthening the individual soul, rather then perfecting the relationship. Relationships can only be as healthy as the people in them.

Letting Go of Trying to Change the Other Person

Maybe it was easier to do this because, by this time, I realized this is who Austin is. I was reconciling to the idea that these things were never going to go away. There was nothing I could do. As a woman, there was nothing I could do to compete with attractions to men. I couldn’t change his attractions, couldn’t fix his depression, could not make him happy. It caused me no small amount of pain. At the same time, it helped me to slowly let go and focus instead on the health of my own soul.

Finding the Gift in the Pain

Instead of being the greatest pain of my life, this became the greatest gift. My deepest fears, that he would leave me for a man, had more to do with my own emotional unhealthiness than the reality of what he was thinking and feeling. The codependency I had struggled with my whole life, finally showed up as being an absolute impossibility. There was nothing I could do to fix “us”. So I stopped trying.

I wish I could tell you that I immediately felt lighter. That it was like breathing clean air for the first time. It actually still sucked, quite a lot. The process wasn’t immediate or overnight, rather it was a slow process. I wasn’t always successful at letting go either. Yet, I had switched paths. Every time I found myself on the old path, it became easier to recognize and get back onto the right path again.

Needing Boundaries

One thing my soul needed was boundaries. I was not good at setting or keeping them. Journal in hand, I wrote down exactly what I could and could not live with in our marriage. I was aware that I did not want to leave him. Still, there were lines that could not be crossed if it was going to work.

Boundaries had to be set with other people too. For the first several years after we moved home, I said no to pretty much everything people asked me to do. It became easier with practice and I even learned to enter spaces where I received but did not give.

Relationships can only be as healthy as the people in them.

As a 2 on the Enneagram, who tends to be a giver, this went against everything in me. At first I was too burned out to care, but the practice became easier every time I said no. The guilt lessened, as well, once I could see that my drive to take care of people and fix things came from unhealthy beliefs and practices.

Becoming My Own Person

Instead of finding my identity in acts of service and caring for others, I began to find my identity in the things that gave me life. I carved out time and space to be alone and really think. Doing the things that filled me up became more and more important.

I also had to learn to see myself as my own person, rather than Austin’s wife or my sons’ mom. Growing up in a patriarchal subculture had preconditioned me to see women, including myself, as belonging to or an extension of their father or husband.

Only feet that dance well on their own, can dance beautifully with another.

It was as if I looked down and saw my own feet for the first time. I slowly began to realize I had two of them and I could stand perfectly fine on those two feet. Even if they were tired and the path unfamiliar, my two feet could hold me up.

The crazy thing was, as I leaned into my own identity and did my own soul work, our relationship slowly became stronger and better. Relationships can only be as healthy as the people in them. Only feet that dance well on their own, can dance beautifully with another.


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.

Photography courtesy of Adrienne Gerber Photography.