Last night I had a dream, that I found the man I love. He looked a bit younger than me, but I did not know by how many years. In eight days time, I will turn 35 years old and in my dream I was already 35. As I approach my 35th birthday I am both celebrating and grieving.

On one hand I am grieving the person I thought I would be by 35. Had you asked me 20 years ago what my identity would look like, I would have responded a wife, a mom, a PhD, a homeowner and all of those dreams were specific. I would be the mom and wife that juggled at home with work and synagogue. My children would be active in sports and the arts, I would have conducted research and written books, both in-between seeing clients. My home would be not too big, but not too small with a butterfly garden and a herbs garden. That woman does not exist in me. Maybe she exists somewhere for someone else, but I am not her. And there is a grief in not fulfilling those dreams.

On the other hand I am celebrating the woman I am. As I approach 35 years old, my hair has began to grey, but it’s a brilliant silver. It’s not a lot (I have soooo much hair), but the silver is there in the front of my hairline as if to tell me the best is yet to come. As I’ve grown in age, I have grown as a person, I have became a little more patient and kinder. I may not have a PhD, but I am working on my master’s degree in program that I thought I only dreamed to exist. Finally as I approach 35 years old, I am making healthy decisions that my soul and body agree with. MY body, mind and soul are working in unison and that is a first.

Yes, there is a lot to celebrate.

Yet my dream shook me. Here I was in the honeymoon stage of a relationship with someone I knew to be younger and we discussed our mutual desire for a family. As the dream progressed, I learned he was only 21 years old. 14 years younger than me. My heart sank, because that is a large age gap, and being in my mid thirties, I feel ready to settle down almost now, but I couldn’t imagine that would be the same for him. The dream ended while I was wondering how to proceed. This man, while young, felt right to me, but time, the social construct that rules our lives reminded me my clock is ticking.

As I approach 35 years old, I have began to research freezing my eggs. The process is very expensive, I don’t know that it is a process I will be going though. Though I grieve the woman I was not to be, I do not cling to that grief. There is a chance I will never be a wife or a mom, and that is something I am just trying to accept.

With Love,

E.R.A.

Fruitful Aimless Driving

02/05/2019

Recently I found myself driving aimlessly around town, with the radio off and alone with my thoughts. This self reflection thing can be a bit exhausting and overwhelming, but as I found my sorting through an incident that occurred early in the day and why, I identified a trigger. By identifying this trigger, I was able to trace the trigger back to the original source of how I had developed whatever specific, yet inappropriate response I had in the earlier situation. I found myself thinking- “Well, that makes sense, because X happened, you react in Y manner since Z situation reminds you of X.”

I’m not intentionally being vague here, I truly don’t remember what the situation was, the identified trigger or the underlying reason that I even have aforementioned trigger. What I do remember is my internal discussion regarding understanding why this trigger affected me. The situation was something that clearly ran deep because the trigger was trauma related. My brain, eager as always to make sense of something, immediately latched on and in an attempt to help me validate my feelings said “That’s a valid excuse”… The next part I’m not entirely sure where it came from, but I found myself gently responding “but it’s still an excuse.”

This response was a novel and refreshing response. “Girl, you have a valid excuse, but honey, it’s still an excuse.” Do you know how fucking freeing that thought has been? First, it acknowledges whatever past experience has occurred, it validates both my experience and my reaction to whatever is happening, but then it challenges me to GROW.

Divine Allowance

April 2019

Ever heard the phrase “timing is everything?” In this case, divine timing has been everything. I have a circle of friends that are local and there are all these connections within this circle, so I had heard of Claire well before I met her, yet I didn’t know anything about her.

About 7 months ago, when my world was shaken by Mister AN (the specifics and significance of this mentioned in the first post) I met Claire the week after at a mutual friend’s birthday party. I was so out of sorts at this party that I didn’t stay for more than 45 minutes, so I really barely met Claire. Once I left the party, I thought to myself that with everything going on I really needed to get back to reiki and maybe find a spiritual guide. For a few months, I had been debating this, but suddenly, the feeling of it’s right NOW had a hold on me. About a week later, once again while with friends it was brought to my attention, quite randomly, that Claire is a medicine woman and healer.

Now I don’t have the best track record of listening when the universe is shoving communication in my face, but this had my attention. It was another 3ish months before I spoke to Claire about what types of healing she offered, because I was heavily debating engaging a medicine woman on my journey. When I finally decided to just talk to her about what she offers and what I was looking for, we both wound up at another friend’s house. The circumstances of this unplanned meeting led me to believe the universe was demanding I speak with Claire.

In addition to Claire being a medicine woman, she is also a fierce warrior goddess, who has quite inadvertently became a quick friend and guide. I’m not even sure she is “trying” on the guide part nor was that what I expected to receive from her, but because of the quick bond we’ve developed it allows us to share deep discussions about thoughts, feelings, shadows, lights, etc. She is an amazing woman and whether she is here for a season or an infinite amount of time, I know I have found a soul sister and our friendship is divinely blessed.

Tonight, after a particularly lovely yin yoga class, Claire and I were speaking per our usual. Claire shared with me something I’ve heard her touch on before about “being allowed.” In life we are taught so many “shoulds” and a part of growing is unlearning many “shoulds.”

I remember being taught that I should hide my self confidence in order to appear modest; I should keep my feelings to myself because sharing them was a burden to others; that I should accept toxic behavior because “family” and that I could be happy after I accomplished (insert an absurd list of items here). The list of shoulds could really go on, but I think you get the picture.

Claire encouraged in a previous yin yoga workshop that we students give ourselves permission to feel happy by mentally repeating the mantra “I am allowed to feel happy.” This was a novel idea to me as in the past 7 months I have really been working on self validation. Validating my experiences and my feelings around them by saying to myself this is valid. The thought of giving myself permission to be happy or to love myself rocked that yin yoga workshop I took, but it kind of went out of my head until Claire mentioned it tonight.

While I am still working on validating my experiences and feelings, tonight Claire sharing her thoughts reminded me to give myself permission to feel happy, to love myself, to know myself, to create boundaries and stick by them for myself, and so much more. I sincerely look forward to implementing this line of thinking in my life going forward, because today alone I forgot that I was allowed to be calm.

Interested in learning more about healing with Claire or if you just would like more good vibes in your life, you can find Claire on Instagram @the.butterflychronicles

With Love,

E.R.A.

The Only Constant is Change

This past August I began my first semester of graduate school in New Hampshire. As we are nearing the end of December, this feels like old news, but as I have neglected this blog since April, I recognize that some back story is necessary.

April 4, I legally changed my full name, but it was around this time that something else happened, that I could not openly share. Days, maybe a week at most, after my name change, my team and I had discreet meetings with our boss in which she shared that an organization realignment within the global Human Resources department would be occurring by calendar year end. This news came at a unique time, because I was also feeling an immense amount of job dissatisfaction. At my organization I did not feel valued and as a nonpolitical person, the manipulative behaviors dismissed as company politics were weighing on my soul.

While sharing my distress with both a potential layoff (this would be the second one of my career) and my overall dissatisfaction with the company, a friend urged me to consider going to graduate school for art therapy. I explained to her that I had looked into various art therapy school programs and I would have to go back to undergrad for more credits and it looked like it would take about two years. I’m not sure anymore if I made a wise crack about wishing there was such a thing as dance therapy or if my friend remembered that I took dance and just suggested it, however, she shared with me that she had worked with a dance/movement therapist and that it was a real role.

I then began, very quietly, researching graduate programs in the U.S. for dance/movement therapy and the school’s accreditation. When initially pulling the list of dance/movement therapy schools I was very attracted to Antioch University. As I began to research the areas the schools were located, I felt this pull to Keene, New Hampshire where Antioch is located. Luckily for me the pull was strong as it turned out Antioch was the only school accepting applications.

While applying, it was business as usual at work, with an increased amount of whispers. As much as I wanted to write out my experiences and blog about this new journey I was embarking on, due to the sensitivity of the situation at work I knew I could not share that information. I also wanted to keep the application to graduate school very quiet as I did not want other people sharing their opinions verbally or nonverbally with me.

As the situation at work unfolded it became clear that the reorg was happening and my team would be directly impacted. By the time my application was submitted to grad school, the whispers at work were that our team was being dissolved but would be given the option to apply for a new role that was going to be created. The role as it turned out would require around 75% travel, would be three roles fit into one (including our role), and wouldn’t come with a salary increase (or if we managed to negotiate one, it wouldn’t be much.) The other option was to take a severance package.

During this time I was smart. I started planning as if I was moving to New Hampshire. I did not renew my lease, downsized my personal belongings, put the remaining items into a small storage unit, moved my dog’s to my mother’s house and split my weeks between my friend’s house and my mother’s house. All it once it became clear that the whispers at work were accurate and I was accepted to graduate school in New Hampshire. The next leg was to establish what the options at work specifically looked like, i.e. what was the separation date? What did the new role’s job description look like? Was it possible to do this new role and grad school at the same time, so I did not have to be unemployed? How to find financial aid for school? How to find a place to live from out of state? And so on.

Finally the day came in which our Vice President of Human Resources of North America sat down with my team to discuss the reorg. Our separation date was to be September 1, 2019 if we did not apply and accept these new roles. Then in the next breathe this VP of HR (someone who should know better) proceeds to tell us about her whirlwind of events to take place in her life over the next 6 weeks. Let’s break this down further… the VP of HR tells three people their options are to apply for a role (there was no guarantee that they’d be ours) that is drastically different from their current role or be out of a job and then proceeds to share about her upcoming vacation and son’s graduation and his party. One of the many benefits of no longer being with that company is not having to work with that VP.

Trying to decide what to do was not as easy as it should have been. As someone who measures their self worth in work and income, the thought of being unemployed was scary. I tried to look at how the role would work with grad school. Various company reps told me they’d support my new schedule which would have me out of office for a full business day and a half each week. No one could tell me what that support would look like though and so while debating this back and forth I felt like my soul was being ripped in two. The relief I felt from saying I was done, I’d take the severance package and walk… it was indescribable.

My last business day was August 29th and on August 30, my dachshunds, mother and I began the drive from central Florida to New Hampshire while praying that our family would remain safe as Hurricane Dorian approached the state. The tears I cried as I left Orlando, were tears of release and relief. For far too long I had felt lost and stuck.

As the year closes, I am here in New Hampshire. Dealing with temperatures I have never before experienced (my brain really stalled out the morning the temperature was -2 Fahrenheit), learning to drive in snow and on ice. A graduate student, something no one in my family has attempted to accomplish. Not exactly sure where I am going, but knowing that I am on the right path finally. Despite all this initiative knowing that I am exactly where I am meant to be, I am struggling to write in ways I have not dealt with before.

At first I thought I just had anxiety surrounding being open, but then over the past week or so, I came to a somewhat surprising realization. It’s not anxious creating writer’s block, but paranoia. My blog was placed on hold because I could not openly share what was happening in my life and therefore I was unsure how to share current events discreetly, but also honestly. (I have like 23 started blogs from the past several months that I’ve never completed or share due to the amounts of discretion I felt was needed.)

My previous role was an Employee Relations Specialist and in this role I investigated claims of harassment, discrimination, retaliation, etc. The fear I had in sharing my feelings from April through August, was my blog is public, it’s under my name. In being open and sharing what I am experiencing, especially publicly, my words would be able to be used to discredit cases I had investigated. In my previous role, I was always having to examine worse case scenario and what would be worse than a case going to court and my feelings expressed so openly in my blog being what led to discrediting my investigation? In the grand scheme of things, a lot could be worse.

I have discovered that so much of my identity was tied into work and how much I was making that the above could be worse case scenario. That being said I am still not confident of the direction of this blog. Do I keep it public? Do I use it just to share poetry without explanation? Maybe art work? Maybe I share certain papers? Maybe I close it down? Make it private? I really don’t know yet and right now I have something much larger to answer- how do I resolve this paranoia that my words will be used against me? One thing is for sure- I came here to grow and to build, and this paranoia does not serve me, it stunts my growth.

With Love,

E.R.A.

Magical Love

Something has happened and I don’t know exactly how or when, to be sure I cannot pinpoint an exact moment, but I am in love.

Here it is Sunday night. My roomies and I are celebrating the National Mac N Cheese by cooking three types of mac n cheese and while one’s is in the oven baking, the other is in the kitchen cooking and there I was hanging upside down from the couch gazing at the strings of thick Christmas light bulbs strung around the ceiling. The soundtrack to the motion picture “The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Society” is playing, and this moment is a moment my heart is soaring. The joy is a dance that my heart beats to and my soul thrives on.

I cannot fix upon the moment that I fell in love with my own life, but it’s been in the last year. It’s been gradual and like any relationship, it’s had it’s ups and downs and it’s been hard at times.

The only think I could think about while hanging upside down tonight was just how happy I am. If you had asked me years ago if I believed I could not only be happy but maintain happiness and joy, a positive answer would have been a lie. I am jubilant to have been wrong in my thinking.

In the past 10 months I have dove into a self awareness I did not realize I lacked; I’ve opened my mind to spiritual lessons and grounded lessons; I’ve communicated more about my thoughts, feelings and needs; my inner circle has become an inner circle not that I thought I was supposed to have but instead one that feels right.

Don’t get me wrong, I still have a lot I am looking at and going through. Though I’m happy, I can see where trauma still controls my life and where I stifle my own joy because I am fearful of being overjoyed. The thing is, that is not what this post is about. It’s about my joy in the here and now.

I have fallen head over heels with my life and myself. My journey continues.

I haven’t been posting due to some on going things I have had to keep mum about, but soon, that will be over and I have a physical journey to share here soon.

With Love,

E.R.A.

Not the End, Just a Transition

Nothing is really ever truly ending for us, we just transition from one thing to the next. Even death is a transition, regardless of what a person believes we are transitioning to whether it be nothingness, a new life, a new dimension, heaven or hell, etc. Here I am facing several transitions at once. I don’t really mind the transition, but I do mind not knowing what is next. The control I crave is nonexistent and to say that I am outside of my comfort zone feels like an under statement.

Here is what I know: Time is not real, we are all connected and shit gets weird from time to time. Okay now that we’ve have moved past that, let’s breakdown what is happening in my 3 dimensional world that has me feeling a bit overwhelmed-ish. A couple of weeks ago a re-org was announced in my business, it’s clear that it will affect my team, but how it will affect us is not yet clear. We won’t have any updates on that until the end of July. I know what I want that resolution to look like, but I’m not sure how it will play out.

Next up, my lease expires July 5th. I cannot justify renewing my lease until I know more about what is happening with my only source of income at this time. The positive here is actually timing, because with my lease ending, and the outcome of the re-org not yet being clear, should I need to massively relocate for work then I can. Another upside to this, is that I have lived for 11 years in Orlando and I was already considering a move to the Space Coast and commuting in for work. This option isn’t entirely out the window, but it is kind of suspended in mid air.

So being that I don’t have the answers I need/ want yet, I have naturally began packing. It’s funny because my sister and I are moving about a month a part from each other. Her lease expires this month and she has only just begun packing, whereas I have already started. We both joked recently that there are two types of people those who pack at the last moment and those who pack excessively early. I started to examine my need to pack early and it really comes down to a couple of things. One- control. I’m super rigid in my packing and labeling method. Ask my best friends, if you ever have to be apart of my packing process, it’s a real struggle for me. Two- The need to run away. A couple of times a year, more so in fall/winter, I get the pressing urge to run away, so being able to move and start someplace new is welcomed.

If I had to identify anything else as a contributing factor to my need to pack about 6 weeks earlier than my move out date, it would be that I’m in need of distraction from the uncomfortable things I have recently done and the stress of things outside of my control. Packing feels like a semi-productive thing to do in order to not focus on the mess that is my life nor the influx of emotions I’ve been feeling. The most productive thing would be to work on my to do list or allow myself to experience my emotions, yet sometimes I’m afraid that the state of overwhelmingness I feel can absolutely drown me.

Clearly I haven’t been writing very much despite my original intent to do so when starting this blog. At this juncture in time I have more drafts of posts than I do actual posts. My apprehension extends from using my real name on this blog and the vulnerability that comes with it. Long ago, I learned the hard way that people will use your words against you, therefore it’s not uncommon for me to write a post and then just walk away from it. Right now, external forces are, whether intentionally or unintentionally, telling me to live without authenticity and to do things that make me cringe internally even if they aren’t a big deal in the grand scheme of things. The shitty part about that means it’s closing down my voice, which I’ve been working my ass of to establish.

It’s like a dance, but a slightly frustrating one. I’ll of course continue it, because living authentically is important to me, and right now I just need to enjoy learning the steps I suppose. In the mean time I did realize I was thinking of everything in terms of ending or beginning, but that’s nonsense, because regardless of what happens, I’m transitioning. Whether it is from Orlando to the Space Coast, or from my current role to another role, or it is from this employer to a different employer. They are all just transitions.

With love,

E.R.A.

What’s in a Name?

At birth – my parents named me Rebecca.

Growing up – many people called me Becki.

In high school – I was known as Bekkah.

At sleep away camp – Just Glo.

In College – Some form of Elizabeth, that was me.

Eventually – Professionally, I was Rebecca.

Today – I named myself Elle.

That my friends, is the simple truth. At birth I was named Rebecca, but family and friends called me Becki. Once I got to high school and learned what “Becky” meant, I went by Bekkah at school and at camp and in youth group, I was known as Glo. My early years in college a new friend insisted I did not look like a Rebecca and instead nick named me Elizabeth. Somehow Elizabeth stuck without me even trying, so most of college I was Liz or Lizzie. In the professional world, I decided to leave the casual world of my nicknames and began going by Rebecca.

I have never really felt like my name was mine. For just over 34 years my first name was Rebecca. My legal name evolved a bit as a child because I was partially adopted. At the time of my adoption in addition to having a new last name, we added in a second middle name. The format of my name was my given name, two middle names that were after family members, and my adoptive surname. The name never felt like it was mine and for most of my adult life I have thought back and forth on legally changing my name.

I wanted to change my full name since I was a teenager, but it wasn’t until the last year or so, I thought heavily about changing my first name to Elizabeth. I looked at the meaning and origin of the name, various spellings of it, the translation to Hebrew and what nicknames I could use. Then about 2 or 3 months ago, I thought to myself to use Elle as a nickname for Elizabeth. Instantly I was in love with the name Elle. Elle is short and to my ear sounds so sweet. Elle is from French and means she.

When I thought Elle, my heart whispered a soft yes and my soul stretched throughout the universe. I read up on the name and that it’s becoming more common now a days, but that older folks may find it silly because Elle is a French pronoun, but I didn’t and don’t care. I am a she and Elle is me.

This has been the process that I have been quietly going through. People tend to share judgement without asking and I was afraid if I spoke of it too often then I would jinx myself and it wouldn’t happen. When I filed my petition to the court just a few weeks ago, I could feel the excitement bubbling over within me. I knew I wanted to change my name, but I wasn’t letting myself feel how badly I wanted it. When I filed my petition, I had no choice but to acknowledge the feelings I had been repressing. Tears of joy pooled in my eyes after I completed my steps for my background check to occur. I shared with only 2 friends where I was at in throughout this process. Only they knew when my final hearing was scheduled. I quietly began changing my name on social media and when people asked me my name, I began responding “Elle.”

My final hearing was today. For the last 13 hours and 36 minutes (but who is counting) I have officially been named Elle. When I exited the courtroom, I had to sit for a minute because I was so overcome with emotion that I quietly shed tears of joy.

Life is comprised of moments, some good, some bad, some in between and a few others exceedingly good or bad. Today was full of those exceedingly good moments. The judge granting my name change; the certified copies with my new name and the court official congratulating me; the outpouring of support from friends, family and colleagues; the people who have known me for years already attempting to refer to me as Elle instead of whatever they used to call me; the family members spreading the word that my name is Elle and just the feeling that my name is actually MY name.

The world didn’t stop spinning today when I changed my name, but my heart did smile and my soul did dance. As for me? I wore heels and lipstick, changed my outgoing greeting on my voicemail, took a celebratory selfie and planned a celebratory dinner with friends.

So, hi, my name is Elle, it’s nice to meet you. 🙂

With Love,

E.R.A. (Elle)

Finding Love for Herself

GUEST POST: This past weekend, I challenged my best friend, Reena, to go inward and put down her thoughts on self- love. Reena has been in my life for about ten years now and when we first met, we didn’t exactly like each other. Who knew that down right disliking someone would be a blessing? Yet, here we are ten years later and everyday with Reena is a gift from the Universe. When relationships scare me and make me want to run away, change my name, hair color and phone number, Reena is one of my gentle reminders that working past the fear of rejection and dislike is absolutely fucking worth every pain point. This woman is one of the fiercest, most loving and inspiring people in my circle, so I’m truly honored that she rose to this challenge and was willing to share a bit more of herself with the world. This post is her very first blog post.

In Reena’s Words:

Self-love, to me, means to think of your own well-being first and sometimes that means having to put your needs before others. Giving yourself the chance to feel emotions, grow & learn continuously about yourself and maintaining a true happiness and appreciation with just being you.

I have always considered myself to be a genuine human-being and Iʼm typically kind to others. My problem is- Iʼm not always kind to myself. We all have our own trials and tribulations through life that come to define who we are. The kicker is being able to grow and love yourself no matter what life brings. Something that I have learned over the past few years is that loving yourself can be harder than you think sometimes. Life has quite literally broken me, and I find myself having to remind myself to be positive. Iʼve challenged myself to always try to look on the brighter side and see that Iʼm stronger and tougher than I give myself credit for.

So how do you remember to give yourself the love you deserve. Well, for me… I remember what amazing friends and family I have supporting me. You see… Iʼm learning that having that self-love is important in deciding how you deal with lifeʼs problems. Iʼm learning to forgive myself for the things I canʼt control but wish I could and live with purpose. Iʼm learning to do more of what makes me happy, even if itʼs sitting in a quiet room to color. Finding peace in the little things and knowing that Iʼm enough. Life happens, itʼs all about how you grown from each experience.

Live. Laugh. Love. 💕 ~Reena

No Shame in my Nude Game

Can I be brutally honest here? (I ask this as if every other fucking post isn’t brutally honest. Ha.)

I love being naked. There is nothing I love more then being in the flesh. I like clothes and shoes and jewelry and all that jazz, but completely naked, no clothes, shoes, make up, jewelry, so on, is my favorite thing. Despite my love for nudity, I’ve always been body shy, which is probably hard to believe being that way too many people can recount the times I flashed or mooned them.

One of the things about my body shyness, is that it was fueled by loathing. My body was never perfect enough. Never thin enough, too asymmetrical, not defined enough, etc. How ungrateful this attitude was. My body supported me through years and years of dancing, soccer, rugby, golfing, yoga, running, walking, hula hooping, aerial yoga and silks, etc. How did I repay it? By telling it, it wasn’t good enough, by criticizing it and then by hiding it.

Since I gained weight during the longest depression period of my life, my love for nakedness has been complicated by shame. Yet since I have joined the beautiful OPY community at Power Vinyasa classes, my ego has been so tired, it hasn’t had much to say. This past Sunday, I took my shirt off at the beach. In two different classes this week, I got half way through class and took my shirt off in class. I’m not as fit as most the people in my classes, but the wonderful OPY community is full of people doing yoga for themselves which in turn supports loving energy in the world and do you know what that means? They aren’t there to fucking judge me. And I’m not there to judge me either, so about half way through class the top has came off! It’s glorious.

I won’t say I’m fully in love with my body, but I’m getting much more comfortable with it and just living my best life, while simultaneously working to even better my life.

With love,

E.R.A.

Contradictions of Sorts

First and foremost, let’s be clear, I am so grateful for this period of self growth. It’s so fucking beautiful. If my heart was able to exit my body and give me a live demonstration of how it is feeling, it would be dancing. Lyrical, in a long flowing skirt with more twists and turns, but also the occasional leap. It would radiate love divinely and infinitely.

But today? I’m so tired. And today, I gave into this tiredness. Instead of yoga, I did yard work. While cooking dinner I left the music off and instead listened to the sizzle of my pans. Instead of reading, I listened to some Youtube videos on soul ascension and also a SNL skit. I wasn’t planning to write, but alas, here I am, writing of a dancing heart.

The past six months are not easy to summarize, but I will try anyway. This has been a massive period of self growth and becoming more self aware. It is both rewarding, but also draining. Six months is a short period of time and the dramatic shift in my life feels like it just started, but has also been eons. I am consumed by both love and fear. Never have I felt more grounded, but also more insane. The past six months can be characterized in one word: contradicting.

I am too tired tonight, to really explore this any further. And tomorrow, tomorrow I do something big. Something huge. Something I’ve wanted to do for 16 years. So wish me well, loved ones. And soon I’ll share more.

With love,

E.R.A.