My Greatest Mistake

In life I’ve made many mistakes. Some large, some small, some neither large or small, but just in between.

There is one single mistake that I have made that is absolutely bigger and more devastating than any other. I have only just realized this tragic mistake and I am overcome with emotion from the realization that I have resisted love time after time after time in my life.

This realization is new, so bear with me while I bare my soul and start to explore this mistake.

Why did I resist love? Fear. Why was I so afraid of love? In short, I was afraid I was unworthy of love.

Years ago, I was speaking with someone who told me they could conceptually understand that people loved them, but that they lacked feeling loved. This statement broke my heart a bit for two reasons- 1. I dearly loved and love this person and I was devastated to learn that they didn’t feel it and 2. Well, I could relate this. I conceptually knew I was loved, but I didn’t feel it. This second bit was sad because I realized in that moment that I was missing out on what may have been a lot of love. After all, the person who spoke this statement I adore, and if they couldn’t feel that from me, then who was I missing being adored from?

Today I spoke with 2 of my exes. And while revisiting one of the conversations in my head I realized that today, I approached them with love and humor. The one I haven’t spoken to in about 4 years, I even signed off with a “lots of love” and his reply? “Love you back.” The other ex and I also got around to sharing I love yous.

If my heart had wings it would be soaring right now. I love, adore and cherish these two men. They both carry a very special, yet different, place in my heart. They were my friends, my confidants, my lovers. Yet for years I conceptually understood they loved me, at times I questioned if that understanding was real or if they dropped the “L” word as a manipulation tactic (not flattering, but that questioning is on me and my emotional baggage, not them), I just never felt the love from them.

Imagine my surprise when revisiting the conversations, I felt their love wash over me. It hit me so hard, I may as well have been hit by a truck. The feeling left me breathless and sobbing because holy fucking shit, I am loved and I can feel it. These two precious, gorgeous men, actually love me. Both of them have seen some dark sides of me, yet they love me. They’ve talked me off the ledge of anger and suicide, they’ve heard me rage against themselves or others, they’ve bore witness to my self loathing and disgust. Don’t get me wrong, we had good days too, but they have seen some parts of me that scare me and yet, they love me. They loved me then and they love me now. I am so incredibly grateful to them both for sharing their love and I am deeply forever grateful I can finally feel love.

What I realize now is that I haven’t let myself feel love. On one hand I thought our failed relationships were a testament to there not being enough love, but the bigger issue was that until recently, I didn’t love myself. Shame from my shadows and the darker parts of my mind led me to believe that I was unworthy and undeserving of love. Yet love, I would argue is our absolute birth right. Slowly, but surely and a sometimes painfully, I am learning to love myself and to show myself love.

And that my friends, is how my biggest mistake, is becoming my biggest miracle.

With Love,

E.R.A.

Parted

Mannnn, let’s talk this sadness

It’s just sitting in my heart.

Is it mine?

Is it yours?

Is it because we are apart?

Try as I might

This grief just won’t go.

Yoga, meditation, journaling

It’s lingering in my soul.

The beach normally brings me joy,

At times it makes my heart sing.

But today it’s different,

This sadness is lingering.

I’ve never felt saner,

But fear I’m losing my mind.

What am I supposed to do

It’s me I want to find.

I’ve never wanted so much to live

Yet somehow I still want to die.

I want the joy of the song and dance

This pain is just so sharp and it’s no lie.

I know I have to face it,

But I feel so consumed.

How does anyone heal past this-

How is there any room?

I’ll keep on my path

And know that’s all I can do

But why’s the sadness here?

Well, it’s because I miss you.

Epiphany

Today I was mulling over an action I took and I was so worried about how I looked making that decision. As if I have any control over people’s perceptions. Ha.

In my current professional role, perception is everything. My team and I are tasked in making other colleagues aware that perception is what matters. Recently, I was leading a training on microaggressions and part of the conversation with the employees was that ultimately you can mean something as a joke, but if another colleague is offended, it’s their perception and not your intent that matters. I highlight this not to debate microaggressions or perception vs intent, but to point out that my immersion in this role really makes sense as to why I’m so concerned with perception.

What I learned in my mulling is that I get so caught up worrying how others will perceive me or my actions that often times I fail to act at all and subsequently don’t live very authentically. My goal, my number one goal, for as long as I can remember, is to live a loved based life. Meaning my decisions and actions come from a place of heartfelt love. My agonizing over how others will perceive me, is completely fear based. I have, for the most part, inadvertently rejected myself for so long that, I assume others will as well.

So today, when I made a decision out of heartfelt love for a person I both know and don’t know, I was consumed with fear and worry of what that person’s perception will be. The thing is, that person’s, or any person’s perceptions of me or my actions are none of my business. When coming from love you will never go wrong. Our perceptions are a reflection of our own baggage. So people’s perception is not on us. The thing that we can do to safeguard us from giving off negative perceptions, is to come from a place of love and compassion.

With that I let the worry go.

Love, E.R.A.

No More Broken Promises

Let’s talk inner child, promises and self love.

We are concluding the first Monday in March and it’s been an interesting day, but before we get to today, let’s visit a few weeks ago.

A few weeks ago I selected March 4, 2019, to be my start date into daily yoga for about a month. I PROMISED myself that I’d start it today. Though I have a yoga room in my home, I found I was struggling to self motivate to practice and I decided to motivate myself by paying for it. The anxiety began to creep in about a week ago and up until late yesterday I was able to keep that anxiety at bay. Then, late yesterday afternoon, I found myself rationalizing not starting today- After all I had returned from a business trip in the wee hours of morning and I was of course tired.

As the rationalizing set in and I got further and further away from my promise to myself, I felt the devastation set in. My inner child turned away from me while muttering “you promised” and went to pout in a corner. In that moment, I felt my heart break. At the time I wasn’t sure what broken promises I encountered as a child. I couldn’t remember a time that my mom made a promise and failed to deliver. The thing is, and I’m just now realizing this, my biological father abandoned me as a small child. Sure, he did and still does love me, but that doesn’t erase the 20 some odd years he was out of my life until I found him again. It doesn’t erase the time as a teenager I found him, called him and he promised me we’d get together soon, only failing to make good on that promise and again not re-enter my life until I was an adult. So in the moments I was even considering breaking my own promise to myself, my darling inner girl was crushed once again by a broken promise.

As I’ve aged, I have realized that where my parents failed me as a child, still hurts. I’ve realized from that hurt, I’ve made decisions that echo their decisions and my decisions as an adult, while understandable, they are my decisions. I love my parents. Even when I am angry with them or hurt by them, I love them dearly. My existence in this 3 dimensional world is owed to them and their decisions, I am eternally grateful to them for their decision to bring me into this world. While I love them, I no longer need them the way I did as a small child. My inner child on the other hand will always need me. That precious girl needs me to validate her experiences, she needs me to honor my promises to myself, she needs me to fiercely protect her and she needs me show her infinite, unconditional love.

So when I felt the heartache of changing my mind and not honoring my promise, I threw on the metaphorical breaks and promised her come hell or high water we were going to yoga today. Understandably she was happier but still in “we’ll she mode.” What can I say? I’ve let her down so many times.

Tonight was the first yoga class which is a hot vinyasa flow class. As I walked in I picked a back corner to unroll my mat. Perching on my mat, my ego went to work. My ego noticed I was the chubbiest person in the room and reminded me I’ve lost much of my strength and flexibility from 12 or 13 years ago when I took yoga and dance daily. My ego begged me to leave. My inner child? No where to be found, my ego was in full on flight mode begging me to get out before everyone realized I was even in the room. Then this little voice, soft, kind and from the heart, asked me and my ego to look around and notice how many people were looking at me. To be clear this room was packed! We had less than six inches between mats side to side and there were three rows of mats. Not a single person was looking at me. My ego was slightly appeased but still had worries, so I laid back on my mat and starred at the ceiling while deep breathing until class started.

A few sequences in I realized my happy space is really on my mat. I just love being on it and moving through these sequences I found my grove back. Sure I muttered “what the fuck” on a few exhales when I wasn’t sure I could do what the instructor was asking, but my body found its modifications. It found its flow. My lungs found their breath, my muscles found their release, my heart found its solace and my ego? It chilled right the fuck out.

Laying in shavasna my body was happy and thanked me for not over caffeinating it today. My ego apologized for its meltdown. My heart sent love to my world. My inner child? Imagine a blissful little girl, who is exhausted and fighting sleep but trying to dance like a luau dancer.

So here’s me, post yoga class with my glasses fogging out, but damn close to being blissed af.

With love,

E.R.A.

Faith? Cue the Nervous Laughter

faith
/fāTH/noun
1.complete trust or confidence in someone or something.

Voltaire tells us “Faith consists in believing when it is beyond the power of reason to believe.” Sounds lovely and perhaps the beauty of faith is the reason I’m always intrigued by individuals who have faith they openly discuss. Often times I’ll find myself engaged in a discussion with a person about their beliefs and I find that their faith is a beautiful thing, even if I completely disagree with what they are saying.

I’m not so strong on the faith front. Martin Luther King, Jr shared that “Faith is taking the first step even when you don’t see the whole staircase.” This quote alone causes me a bit of discomfort and panic. Maybe you’ll take the first step, but me, I’m refusing to. I need to know where we are going, how many stairs there are, are the stairs steep or shallow, why are we taking the stairs, is there an elevator we can use instead, is this journey necessary, etc. Clearly, I’m a joy to behold in any unknown situation and my therapist probably needs to charge me double.

If I manage to take that first step or the first couple steps without any of my questions being answered, I’ll hover for a moment as my fear takes over and then I’ll rush back down to my perceived safety. Yet, I’d like to have faith. I am that person that does believe in a larger power and I do occasionally pray for signs, but then if the sign shows, I wonder if I prayed wrong and if the sign doesn’t show, then maybe the universe wasn’t listening or maybe I again prayed wrong.

Now if someone said the above to me, I’d point out there is not a wrong way to pray and to trust the signs or lack thereof. For me trust comes hard. My foundation for trusting others was damaged years ago and I’ve never been sure how to rebuild it. Compounding that difficulty is that I was inadvertently, or maybe purposefully depending on your viewpoint, taught not to trust myself. I’m not sure, but maybe the only way to have stronger faith is to practice trust, not only with others, but with myself. Perhaps that needs to be the first step, really beginning to trust myself. If there is one thing I’ve recently learned it’s that I’m not crazy and my intuition serves me quite well. So maybe, just maybe, I’m ready for some good ole fashioned faith.

With love,

E.R.A.

Me Too: a Poem

And sometimes I cry

For the little girls going through this too.

And sometimes I want to die

The pain feels too big to survive.

And sometimes I have to lie

Just to pretend I’m fine.

And sometimes I let out a sigh

The weight is crushing me.

But…

Often times I sigh

Relief that I’m moving on.

Often times I don’t lie

I own my dark truth.

Often times I don’t want to die

This life is not bigger than me.

Often times I cry

Because me fucking too.

❤️ E.R.A.

My Mirror

I looked in the mirror today

To see what I could see.

At first I couldn’t grasp

But what I saw was me.

Through my eyes I looked.

Beyond the physical-

Not looking for a flaw,

Nor something to love.

I just looked at my physical

And looking deeper still

All the things I try to hide

Couldn’t escape my eyes.

Standing on the edge of my deep canyon of fear

I saw.

Fear – that I am not enough.

Fear – that I cannot be loved.

Fear – that I am too broken to love.

Fear – that my path is hidden from me.

Fear – that I am losing my mind.

Taken aback by what I saw,

But looking deeper still.

I saw love.

Self love – I am enough.

More self love – I love me. All of me! & I am loved!

Love, love, LOVE – the smiling faces of those I love.

The journey I am on – my path isn’t hidden. I’m ON IT!

My mind is afraid, but my heart loves still.

I am not alone.

I have never been alone.

I am whole and complete.

I looked into the mirror today

To see what I could see

My mind couldn’t grasp what my heart saw

It was you all along

Reflecting me.

With love, E.R.A.

Ready to Run

It seems that at least once a year I panic and feel like my best option is to run far, far, far away. So far I have not done this, but the urge is there and it’s strong. My fingers flex in anticipation of getting rid of almost everything and just taking a carload to the other side of the country.

People, myself included, ask what is running away going to solve? I don’t know. What I do know is that this desire is layered with hope that running away will give me a chance to start fresh and be the person I want to be, instead of the person I am. In a new place, maybe my traumas wouldn’t haunt me… or I guess they’d still haunt me, but maybe they’d be easier to live with. If our honesty here is as raw as a fresh egg then, my quiet hope would be that I find someone to love me.

Running away, in my head, always accompanies severing ties with everyone in my life. Letting go of the past and creating a whole new future. The problem with this is that some of these connections I’d miss the way I’d miss a limb. That is normally how I put the stop to my run away fantasies. Ending other connections would be an absolute relief.

Perhaps the compromise here is that I end connections that feel like they’d be a relief to end, nurture the connections I’d miss, keep working with my therapist on the trauma stuff and keep loving myself. The biggest part of that compromise is letting that be enough, because until me loving me is enough- it’s going to continue being damn hard to know who I am and just be that person.

I’m just so damn tired and I really wish there was a short cut.

With Love, E.R.A.

Use Caution

Like so many others I’ve read Elizabeth Gilbert’s “Eat, Pray, Love” many times. It is one of my most cherished books which you can see from the worn cover and spine. Tonight, after a hellacious day of one long internal temper tantrum after the other, I am reminded of Richard from Texas telling Liz to be careful what she wishes for. If you haven’t read the book or seen the movie then here is a quick fill in for you- Richard from Texas prayed and begged God for an open heart for quite some time, and eventually, he wound up on a surgical table getting open heart surgery. It doesn’t get much more open than that.

Richard’s tale reminds us that not only do we maybe want to be specific with what we are asking, but maybe to also, use some caution in what we are asking for. Now, I did not have open heart surgery today, but in fairness I hadn’t asked for an open heart. Nope. Instead what I foolishly (not really foolish, but it feels foolish today) asked for and the universe hand delivered was something to help me confront my demons. That something is discussed in my initial post, so I’m sparing repeating it here, but oh man, today has been rough.

Today I was browsing in a shop and there was a woman next to me, we weren’t interacting, but it was one of those times that I was realizing that I didn’t want to be sending any energy out into the universe because internally I was having a temper tantrum. It was like my bitmoji was up from her hammock and she was stomping around like a small tired child and repeating but I don’t want this or that, over and over and over again. When I recognized this, I doubled over and burst out laughing. The woman next to me looked at me curiously and I just owned it, “I’m having a temper tantrum in my head over feelings and emotions I’m experiencing and I don’t want them. Like a small child, I am so fucking tired.” She laughed with me and was very gentle about it but asked me why I didn’t want the feelings and emotions I am experiencing, to which I replied that they aren’t comfortable.

Tonight, despite many more temper tantrums (some text messaged to my therapist) I am reminded of Richard from Texas, because ultimately, I did ask for this discomfort. I begged for it even. I may not be laying opened up on a surgical table, but I am open and I am facing down so many demons at once that I’m ready to pray for them to be in a single file line. Today and tonight, I’m just so damn tired. With that, I’m going to sleep.

I just wanted to remind anyone who reads this, be gentle with yourself and be careful what you wish for.

Love, E.R.A.

New Blog, Who Dis?

i·den·ti·ty cri·sis/īˈden(t)ədē ˌkrīsis/ noun PSYCHIATRY

  1. a period of uncertainty and confusion in which a person’s sense of identity becomes insecure, typically due to a change in their expected aims or role in society.

Okay, we are a few weeks into this “new blog”, so it’s not as new as it could be, but still who am I? Isn’t that the question that plagues us all? Or is it something more like, is *insert name here* my soul mate? (Many of us have been there.)

About a month ago my younger sister posed a question to me about who I am. She wondered if due to some family dynamics whether or not I felt like I was having an identity crisis and didn’t even know who I was. She hit the nail on the head. I am just learning who I am. For years, I’ve defined myself by my work and my work ethic… Hold the phone, most days I barely like my job. So I was defining myself (MY ENTIRE SELF) by a job that is not something that makes me want to get up in the morning and I missed the flawed logic in this decision.

This blog came from the desire to start knowing myself better and just to accept myself. I’m over 30 years into this life and I have not done that before. I don’t have a map or timeline of how this works, but I guess this is the best place to start…

Hi, I’m Elizabeth Rebecca Ashton (or I will be, as long as the judge approves my name change request.)

I have pretty bad posture and much of it comes from the shame I have regarding my body.

I love, love, love, love stories. I’ve got a few select go to romance novels for a quick read, but I’m a huge Jane Austen fan.

I’ll send/buy myself flowers. Receiving flowers is one of my favorite things and so I’ve started buying myself some. This will be the second week that I’ve bought myself flowers and I keep them by my bedside, to remind me that I love me enough to buy me weekly flowers.

My favorite color varies based on my mood, but mainly, I’m a big fan of the color grey. Pale yellow comes in a close second to being my favorite color.

My core value is honesty. My second core value is compassion. Like with my favorite colors, my core values are almost tied for the same place of being the top. The quickest ways to really piss me off is to lie to me or be a dick to someone. This isn’t to say I haven’t lied or been a dick. I’m not a fucking saint, I’ve done both, but doing either is in such opposition with my core beliefs that I find it hard to forgive myself for either transgression.

As I have aged, etiquette has become very important to me. I’m the person at McDonalds that just ordered my McFlurry with a “May I please have a snack size Oreo McFlurry, with hot fudge?” And when the cashier tells me the total and to pull around, I thank them.

I very proudly work with my therapist. No shame in my mental health game at all. Frustratingly enough, I operate from a position of panic and anxiety. This is seemingly stemming from insecurities of not being enough… Not fun enough, not quiet enough, not polite enough, not happy enough, not pretty enough, not skinny enough, not educated enough… The not enough list goes on and it’s also the biggest lie I’ve told myself. Like am I athletic enough to come on that Ninja Warrior game show thingy? Nope. But do I want to be? Hell no. So why is that I focus on the bit of not being enough in that capacity?

Putting on make up makes me happy. I recognize that I don’t need it, but brushing my hair and wearing make up, makes me happy. This is new, like in the last year new. The fact that I even know where my hair brush is now is amazing. We’ll probably discuss this later as to why this love didn’t develop until my thirties, but for now, we skip it.

I am a writer. I don’t have any paid for published works yet, but I am writing and that is my biggest creativity of choice. I do love dancing though and am trying to decide how I best want to get back into that.

For the past 4 months, I’ve been steadily peeling back my layers to figure out who I am. And that really is what this blog is about. So it’s nice to meet you.

With love,

E.R.A.