Posted on by palmtreemomma

Almost Erased

In my introductory post, Torn Wings, I wrote about my dream of a butterfly. A graceful creature I saw who pulled herself out of the mud and muck, and flew across the ocean. The light shown through massive holes in her wings, and yet, she flew. I knew she was both me as an individual, as well as all of us who give voice to the feminine. That beautiful part of the divine that those in power have tried to erase.

In my dream, I watched in amazement as she flew bravely out over the water. With each beat of her wings she put distance between herself and those who had riddled her wings with holes. She carried a power that shattered the belief that the feminine is more fragile. Weaker. Less than. Something controllable.

Today I carry her on my shoulder. Nestled close to my heart. Her wings have healed and she has found her name. Mukti.

Becoming Free

Mukti is heard in many languages across Southeast Asia and carries with it the idea of setting or becoming free. What began as a dream on a hot summer night in Bangladesh, a few months before my husband came out, has become my Mukti, a symbol of hope and healing. Of both setting and becoming free.

Her journey is far from finished. I have her on my shoulder to remind me of where we have been and where we are going. As the artist knit threads of ink together beneath my skin, I did what she taught me. Breathe through the pain. Slowly. In and out. Again and again.

Finding our Mukti

Many us feel exhausted and brokenhearted today. As if our wings have just been riddled with fresh holes. What the Supreme Court did today shows me that the Patriarchy is afraid. This isn’t about life; it’s all about control. If it weren’t so heartbreaking, it would almost be laughable. This grasp at control. But the way of the feminine is not about control. It is about love and equality.

We refuse to be erased by showing the holes that have been put into our wings – and flying anyway.

This movement of beating wings has grown massive over the past few decades. And the Patriarchy is terrified. They are trying desperately to control us. And if they can’t control us, to erase us.

The butterfly I saw pulling herself out of the muck and flying out across the ocean, was for me that day. But today it is for all of us. We can’t be controlled and we will not be erased.

We will grieve for today. Hold each other and weep. But this is not the end. The muck cannot hold us down. We’ve pulled ourselves out before and we will do it again. Keep beating our wings until we find our Mukti once again. We refuse to be erased by showing the holes that have been put into our wings – and flying anyway.

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Posted on by palmtreemomma

The Feminine Within

I am finding that the greatest challenge of being the straight spouse in a mixed-orientation marriage has little to do with my husband’s sexuality. Rather, it is rooted in my own insecurities and feelings of self-worth.

Feelings nurtured in a childhood lived under the demands of the patriarchy. A childhood where the little girl in me ceased to exist at a very young age. Instead of being nurtured, she quickly learned to nurture.

One could argue that this little girl was naturally gifted to nurture and was only stepping into her god-given role. Yet little girls, regardless of their gifts, need to be mothered. Nurtured. Protected. Given space to dream and try on…
clothes
styles
attitudes
beliefs.

when the feminine is flattened


Little girls are not designed to be poured into a replicable mold. To fill the same role as that of their mother before them. And their grandmother before that. When little girls are required to pick up maternal roles while their chest is still flat, something in their internal landscape is in danger of forever remaining flat and undeveloped.


Little girls are made to dream and dance. But when they are taught to serve from sunrise to sunset, to keep those around them happy and fed, their dreams quickly die and the only dance they perform is learning to anticipate the needs of others and to meet those needs before they are spoken.

silenced


I have struggled for a very long time with the words I want to say. Need to say. I fear I will bring shame and pain to my mother if I voice them. In her book Discovering the Inner Mother, Bethany Webster says,


“Many daughters equate silence about their pain as a form of loyalty to their mothers…. Our compassion for our mothers should never eclipse compassion for ourselves.”


So I am breaking a bond of silence because I must be loyal to myself. If I am to be fully whole, and find my dance again, I must do all I need to do to show compassion for myself.


I love my mother deeply and wish the same for her. I look back over the generations and see how the women in our family carry this wound deep within our DNA.

daughters who are mothers


As a young girl, my grandmother thrived in school. It was her safe, happy place. She loved words more than anything and was a finalist at more than one spelling bee. But tragedy struck when she was barely a teenager and her mother died. Her father, an Amish farmer, had no choice but to take her out of school and have her care for her baby sister. She found herself cleaning, doing laundry, and cooking for her father and a table full of brothers. As a young girl, my grandmother raised herself and her baby sister while figuring out how to keep a family of farmers happy and fed.


My grandmother was an incredibly resilient woman. Yet she had a deep mother wound herself and did not know how to fully embody being a mother to her daughters.


And my mother, having not been fully mothered and nurtured herself, looked to her young daughter to give her the nurturing she craved. I learned, at a very young age, how to be a safe space for the adults in my life. How to listen and hold, and how to be both surrogate spouse and therapist. Like my grandmother before me, by the time I was 14, I was cooking up to 3 meals a day, doing the laundry, cleaning, and caring for my brothers. Unlike her, I stayed in school and also took on a part-time job, sharing 80% of my earnings with my parents.

The Perfect daughter

To anyone in the Patriarchal community, I was the perfect daughter. Groomed to care for those around me and denied my own dreams and longings. Inside, however, I was dying a slow and painful death.

I quickly learned that even my basic, developmental needs were too much. All that mattered were the needs of those around me. In fact, the more I squashed my own inner longings and needs for affirmation and nurturing, the more I was noticed and praised. I share my grandmother’s love for words, so it makes sense that words convey feelings of love to me more than actions. I would do anything to hear words of affirmation spoken to me.

And I did. I worked my fingers to the bone for tiny scraps of affirmation. Because I was only noticed and praised when I sacrificed what I wanted and worked hard to meet the physical and emotional needs of those around me. So I worked harder. And harder still.


I could write a complete volume on the journey from that “good little girl” to the fierce and feisty woman I have become. And perhaps I will do that someday.


But I can’t wait that long to say what burns inside of me. Words that must be spilled onto the page today or I will go up in flames for the heat of it.

the feminine within you


No matter your gender, if you were raised under the Patriarchy, there is a feminine part of you that needs you to sit down and have a good listen. We are all a blend of the masculine and the feminine and yet we have been brought up in a culture that praises and empowers the masculine while silencing, controlling, and shrinking the feminine. This has not only hurt women; men suffer deeply as well.


I would go as far as to say that many of the problems we face are either a result of, or amplified by, the hatred of the feminine. From the war in Ukraine to the war on feminine bodies, the masculine need to control and dominate is making itself known.

hungry for life


But the little girl inside of us is not concerned about power and control. She is hungry for life. Full of love. Concerned for safety. This is why she cuddles babies. Speaks tenderly to tiny kittens. Picks wildflowers for the window sill. She is creator, not taker. And the earth itself heals when we listen to her.


She does not allow us to live in hatred. For ourselves or for our enemies. She is the embodiment of love and inclusion. Equality is the dance floor and she moves with grace.


If you are still long enough, you may hear her. If you can clear the clutter of your mind, and pause your race to the elusive top, you may get a glimpse of her.


We can stop looking for her in other women, in projects, in more work. She’s not in movies or books or famous people we admire and chase after. She’s in us. If we are alive, there is still time to find her. She held us before our mother’s arms found us, and she will hold us long after our mothers are gone. She carries the salve to heal our wounds. But this healing balm cannot be taken by force. We must be still and lean in before that healing balm is given.

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.

Posted on by palmtreemomma

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.

Posted on by palmtreemomma

Daughter of the Earth

Daughter of the earth
Child of the soil
If she fades in the growing darkness
drops her leaves as the days grow short
Why wouldn’t I?

All summer long
I push through the cobwebs
of her morning eyelids
to see what she sees when
she first opens her eyes
The stained glass windows of
her emerald sanctuary
sparkle in the dazzling glory of
summer sunshine
I sat in the moss that covers her backbone
and watch the wind
gently rustle her hair
I feel life oozing from her every pore
All summer long
I lose myself
in the glory of
Mother Earth

Her eyelids stay shut longer and longer
The signs of her life
her vibrancy
fades
drops
falls
from trees and bushes
Bright green fades to brown.
As I walk in her forests
the trees whisper
“We’re tired,” they say
and the leaves nod their agreement
“All summer long we’ve worked,
making food to nourish and grow ourselves
and give shade to humankind
But now it is time to rest”


I know it is true
Feel it in my bones
Weariness and the need for rest
I pass a dying corn field and long
to lay in the center and return
to the mother who birthed me long ago
Autumn rains drip down her cheeks
and mingle with my tears
as I grieve the lessening of the light
the coming days of clouds
The descending darkness
We bury the green to make room for the cold
An unfair trade and every part of me resents it
I feel as old and tired as the tree
with the hollowed insides
Decades of creating nourishment
for the hungry around me
but never finding my own autumn of rest
have left me depleted
Scooped out
Empty

Now color fades on me
Strength a fragment of what it once was
but where does a daughter of earth go
to find her own autumn?
To fall into a pile of her sisters
and do nothing but rest
Close her kitchen and feed no one
But the little girl inside of her

Daughter of the earth
Child of the soil
If she fades in the growing darkness
drops her leaves as the days grow short
Why wouldn’t I?

daughter of the earth

I struggle to enjoy fall the way many seem to. I love the vibrant colors of fall and the cooler days, but there’s something about knowing the dark days of winter are almost here, that leaves me a little numb and I’m unable to completely absorb the sheer beauty of fall.

This year I even decided that I am going to fully embrace the season. Soak up every bit of color and crunch. Revel in sweatshirts and bonfires, apple dumplings and candlelight. But even on the most gorgeous of days, when so many things were going good and it felt like I had no reason to feel sad, I still felt this weight pressing in. Things that normally had me up and raring to go, felt like too much. Logically, it made no sense.

I kept pushing through it because, well, we were slammed at work and there was so much to do. When I let myself slow down and really pay attention, is when it dawned on me.

It’s my SAD kicking in. According to the Cleveland Clinic, Seasonal affective disorder (SAD) is depression that gets triggered by a change in seasons, usually when fall starts. It usually starts and ends at the same time every year. I don’t remember dealing with it when we lived in the tropics. But as I look back over the recent years back in Ohio, I see a pattern. This year, while it caught me off guard, it didn’t surprise me.

child of the soil

I feel my body is actively grieving the loss of light, warmth, and green. There’s nothing to do but let the grief come and roll with it. Even on the days when the sun is still shining and the leaves are glorious.

Grief does not make logical sense. It has a life and cycle of it’s own. As an ISFJ on the Myers Briggs personality type, I experience life through my senses. Feeling warmth, seeing green, smelling the earth are all so life-giving to me. I dislike wearing shoes and love nothing more than feeling the earth beneath my bare toes. I utterly hate being cold. And cloudy, dull days with no green on the horizon make me not want to live.. I’m not being dramatic. It’s just how it is.

I’m deeply connected to the earth. Feel her changes in my bones. While I know that this will pass, as all seasons do, I am giving space for all that I feel right now.

Daughter of the earth. That’s who I am.

I realize the mention of “not wanting to live” may have been triggering…if so, there’s help.
National Suicide Prevention Lifeline – Call 800-273-TALK (8255)
If you or someone you know is in crisis—whether they are considering suicide or not—please call the toll-free Lifeline at 800-273-TALK (8255) to speak with a trained crisis counselor 24/7.

The National Suicide Prevention Lifeline connects you with a crisis center in the Lifeline network closest to your location. Your call will be answered by a trained crisis worker who will listen empathetically and without judgment. The crisis worker will work to ensure that you feel safe and help identify options and information about mental health services in your area. Your call is confidential and free.

Want to hear more?


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

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

Creating Your New Normal

One of the greatest gifts of the pandemic has been clarity. Clarity of who and what gives life meaning and joy…who values my life and makes me feel safe…what gives me true rest and fills me up again. While I hope to never go through anything like this again, I am grateful for the gift of clarity it has brought me.

As things open up again and mask mandates are being lifted, it gives me pause. I know that many are ready to get back to the life that was normal before the pandemic. But I find myself in a different place.

Life before the pandemic was exhausting. For real. There were way too many things I was doing because I thought I should. Not because I found them life-giving. The pressure, the expectations. A calendar packed full of activities.

I find myself in a place of needing to create a new normal.

Create a new normal

Clearly, we are being given a new chapter of life. Never, in my lifetime, has there been such a clear pause between stories. A full stop. Period. A place to take in a breath and slowly, mindfully let it out again.

I imagine us all on the edge of a precipice. We’ve been waiting a long time for the signal that we can move forward. Everyone is given the option to cross on the drawbridge that is being let down. The one that has been used for generations and that feels normal.

Or we can build our own bridge across.

The first is easy. Mindless. Falling in place with the moving stream of folks headed in the same general direction. To the American Dream. Whatever that is.

The other is going to take a lot longer. You may have to scavenge for supplies. It may get lonely. The unknown of it all may feel unsettling.

But you are not lost and you have more tools than you realize. If the old way was not your dream life, than pause with me and dare to dream of building a new and better way. One that is sustainable because it sustains you. One that is lasting because it fits who you are. Let it become the stage for the best season of your life.

choosing life

You get to decide. How to move forward. Who to move forward with. If the gift of clarity has revealed people in your sphere who are not safe, who did not seem to value your life during the pandemic, pay attention to that experience. You are under no obligation to show up for them now.

Family is not flesh and blood. It is those who see you. Those who show up for you as much as they expect you to show up for them. A family is a melding of safe people and a safe place. It is not a place where you have to bargain for your place of belonging. Or explain yourself or prove anything at all.

Some of us were privileged to be born into safe and kind families. Families where thriving happens naturally. Many of us were not. While that brings up its own set of issues to process, there is something beautiful about choosing to show up in places of belonging.

I think of the butterfly from my dream years ago, that had just emerged from the cocoon. Who had struggled to pump life-giving blood into her new wings. This butterfly realizes with startling clarity that she no longer fits in the family of caterpillars. While she may not know where her story ends, she knows where the next chapter begins. So, with the beating of new wings and the following of her heart, she rises and flies, drawn by life itself. From the nectar of one flower to the next.

Follow the nectar of life, not the crowds. Dare to veer off the beaten path and create a new normal. Your new normal.

Want to hear more?


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

Longing for Light

Sunrise from Mt. Batur, Indonesia

Lets talk about self care and mental health for a minute. We are in the heart of winter and many of us live in places which are cold and have long periods of darkness. We are earthlings, all of us, designed to be nourished by the earth, to quench our thirst from its waters. Nature calms and refreshes us. Sunshine gives light, feeds plants and even our own skin by infusing us with needed vitamins. When we don’t receive these life-giving elements, our bodies, like plants placed in a cold basement corner, begin to droop and wither. This is why is is so important to pay attention and listen to your body.

I’ve struggled with depression on and off for a number of years. I know I am not alone. An estimated 15% of the adult population will probably experience depression at some point. 5% of the U. S. population experiences Seasonal Depression, also known as SAD. If this time of year typically finds you feeling sad, lethargic and irritable, you are not alone.

Listen to your body

About a year ago, I hit bottom fast and hard. One minute I was fine and the next I was flat on the floor, wanting nothing more than to die. The ferocity of my depression scared me and I immediately made an appointment with my doctor. I went on medication for the first time in my life and increased my visits with my therapist. I spilled it all to my closest circle of women so that I wouldn’t be doing it alone.

Our bodies are incredibly wise and have much to tell us if we learn to listen to them. The trouble is, we have to learn the language of the body first because it is easy to misunderstand. A craving for a donut does not mean your body needs a donut to be happy again. A longing to sleep all day does not mean your body needs to sleep all day and then it will feel better. Learn to listen to your body, to the cry beneath the craving. It might just be saying, “pay attention to me and show me value.”

It’s taken me a long time to sort out what my body was telling me on that day. I’m sure I still don’t have it all figured out but it’s easier to see the big picture when we back up a few steps and sit still.

SAD was certainly a part of things. It was right around winter solstice, when we experience the shortest days and the longest nights. My mood changes with the sunlight. The sun gives the warmth and food needed to cloak the outdoors in green. Flowers and trees, green leaves and grass, all bring so much life to my senses. My body and the world outside my window was very light deprived that day. But it was more than that. Death was beautiful to me that day because I had lost hope.

Losing Hope

We were in that particularly rough period before Austin came out of the closet. There were several times that year I was convinced our marriage was not going to make it intact. Our business had taken some huge blows and our livelihood was threatened. One of our boys had just been diagnosed with ADHD and it took pretty much all of our energy to navigate things. While the diagnosis helped us understand him, it did nothing to change the reality of what we had been experiencing for a long time.

My anxiety was through the roof. And like a house of cards, I collapsed without so much as a wind to knock me over. There was no one thing that happened that day to send me down. I just went down. Because it is hope that keeps us standing and my body knew before my brain registered it, that I had lost mine.

Year after year, after year, I had muddled through. Hoping for change in my marriage. I had worked tirelessly to build a small business with global impact. Raising sons to be lovers of peace and kindness. Everything I had poured my big, soft, endless heart into seemed only to break my heart instead of being transformed by it. Honestly, my life felt more than a little wasted and I was more than a little exhausted.

More than a year later, it’s very difficult for me to write about this. I feel a sadness creeping in the edges, dancing on the peripheral. But I’m trying to stay with the story and listen to what that sadness is telling me.

Listening to the sadness

I’m sad that a 45 year old woman felt like a life of love given was lived in vain. She is the one I need to listen to, care for and nurture. Here is what I think she was trying to tell me that day.

I’m so tired. My load is too heavy and I have to lay it down for a bit. I need you to give me as much value as you are giving away to everyone else. An endless supply of energy is not what I have to offer; I have limits. Please fill me back up again. Treat me gently because I am you.

When your partner is distant and you wonder what is going through his head, your value remains. The things your child yells in a fit of rage are not about you so it’s okay to move out of the way. I wish I could offer you financial stability but this way you identify with a larger portion of humanity. The top is not all it is cracked up to be.

Sit for a minute and let light fall into the cracks opened up by your sorrow. Hold still and see me. If you learn to love me well, it will never be in vain. I know your limitations. I hold your gifts and all the light and goodness you have to offer the world. Value me because I am holding you.

Tips for self care

I’ve always felt the weight of the world on my shoulders, needs that seemed bigger or more important than my own. It felt selfish to do something for me when the world was going to hell in a handbag around me. I had a wake up call this year when a friend died of a stress-induced heart attack. She was only 30 years old. It helped me realize that taking care of myself is actually a huge gift to the people around me.

So listen to your body and do what you need to do to take care of yourself. Ask for help. Be honest with your doctor and consider medication. Your kids will thank you later. Find a therapist. Reach out to a friend you can trust. We were not made to navigate this on our own.

Exercise daily for it boosts your serotonin levels. Find what works for you. My husband is a people person and takes classes at the local YMCA. I am an introvert and that doesn’t work for me. I find that doing yoga at home has been the only thing I want to keep coming back to. Something about the stretches speak to me about navigating the painful stretches of life.

Take Vitamin D in the winter. Our body produces it when exposed to sunshine and, in places like Ohio, we rarely get enough of it. While a deficiency is not likely to cause depression, many who take it notice a difference in their mood within a couple of weeks. I usually start taking it in the fall so it kicks in by the time the days are really dark. Read more here.

Be honest with yourself. Sometimes depression is because of the season. Sometimes it’s because of hormones. But sometimes it hits us because we have not been kind to ourselves. Maybe we have carried too much for too long. Perhaps self-hatred has caught up with us and does not want to be ignored any longer. Take a moment and listen to what your body is trying to tell 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.