Hello. Happy Late Summer, and Lion’s Gate, and Full Moon.
Here’s a recent photo of BlackLion and I taken by his Mom, who is an awesome photographer, while we were at a local sunflower festival. It feels accurate for my current experience: moments of joy where I pop out from behind the door for a bit, while at other times I hide.
It’s a thing I do. When life is tough or I’m feeling particularly vulnerable, I hide. You may even relate. Or perhaps you have other hiders in your life.
Until later in life, I often wasn’t even aware I was doing it. Rather than ask for help when I’m struggling, I just vanish, or grit my teeth and “get through it.” In some areas, that’s still true for me.
A small example: my kitchen sink started losing water pressure. I wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t happening in all the faucets. Quester, who is the household fix-it person, was away.
Other than making a mental note to tell him about it when he got home, I tolerated it. It honestly didn’t even occur to me to ask for help.
At family dinner a few days later, my grown son tried to fill his glass with water, and the next thing I knew, he’d taken the faucet apart and was fixing it on the spot. I was intensely grateful. I felt so supported. I nearly cried, which seemed all out of proportion, but that’s how vulnerable I’ve felt lately.
These past few months, while there are times of joy and love and all those good things, it feels like many of us have been struggling, on some level.
My own recent experience centers around extended family and health issues, but your mileage will vary. We all get on the struggle bus sometimes. Our overarching culture and society are certainly there, which adds to our personal stresses.
Hiding as a strategy has pros and cons.
I am so grateful for having solitude when I need it, in order to recharge my introvert batteries. It’s a necessity for me.
Yet when I try to “do it all” or continue my usual activities while life feels especially challenging, without asking for help, that’s not so great. Especially when help is often available, had I only reached out to ask!
It’s an ongoing lesson.
Where’s the magick in this? Becoming aware of our own patterns helps us to grow and expand.
Awareness led me to noticing that I hadn’t posted anything here for a while, and to ask myself why.
I observed that I’ve been avoiding some things I had in the works: making videos where I read my poetry aloud, adding more in-person workshops, posting regularly on social media. “Oh, of course, my emotions are riled up and I’m worried about stuff that’s beyond my control. Naturally I’m hiding.”
I gently encouraged myself to create a new post, today. Just this one thing. Sitting down to confess my vulnerability to you feels like a lot, but it also feels like a good choice. I’m not ashamed of hiding, like I once would have been. It’s something I’ve been aware of for a while now, and working with off and on.
I wrote a prose poem about it seven years ago (see below).
The lessons have continued to unfold since. There are times when I am quite visible in the world and it feels good.
There are other times, like now, when I’m mostly going to stay in my rest and self-care mode. I’m not going to push myself.
Instead of making a video, which feels overwhelming, I’m going to share a poem right here in the post. I’ll record it for you later, when I feel better, more steady.
This feels magickal and do-able. I hope that it inspires you to cultivate a tender awareness of your own patterns. I urge you to be gentle, and also to stretch yourself just a little bit. Let me know how it goes.
I Am Hiding In My Tower: A Prose Poem (for my Shadow)
written on 10-24-18
I’m really good at being unseen.
I can walk down the street in broad daylight and not be noticed, if I want to.
I can slip through a crowd with barely a ripple.
I am the observer, and I see all that goes on, but I don’t make any waves.
I don’t make a sound.
If they don’t see me, they can’t hurt me.
They can’t bully me or pick on me.
I’m just another middle-aged hippie in a state of live-and-let-live, down to Earth people.
I don’t have to pay a bunch of taxes.
I can do what I want and get away with it.
I drive exactly five miles over the speed limit, and never ever get stopped by the cops.
I go with the flow.
I don’t b*tch or complain.
I don’t send the food back if it’s cold or wrong.
I don’t want to make a fuss.
When things go wrong, I go to my room – my sacred space, my tower – and deal with my sh*t.
I don’t call a friend, even when I want a sympathetic ear, because, well, they’re all busy with their own stuff, and I’ll get over it soon.
I have tools.
I’ve got this.
I don’t make waves.
I want praise, not blame.
I’m a Good Girl... Right?
I do want to share my wisdom.
I want people to read my books.
But I hate asking them.
They should just be able to find them online or something.
I would rather clean up cat hurl than go ask bookstore owners to carry my books.
That feels like a unique form of torture.
If you can’t see me, you can’t tell me NO.
I can’t be rejected if I don’t ask.
I don’t want to bug you for help – even when I’ve paid in advance for the support.
You must be busy with other clients, who need you more than I do. Right?
If I deserve the readers, the clients, the support, or a friend’s listening ear, why then, the Universe will send them to my door.
Never mind that my place is hidden behind that invisibility spell, obscured by trees, guarded by a pittie mutt and two fierce cats and a houseful of tall strong men.
You can’t reach me in my tower.
But hey, where are you?
It’s kinda lonely up here.