I used to wear a push up bra. Jail me.

I hate how my neurotic, diet culture brain reacts to this. As that cashier, I would love the intent, but now I have a VERY IMPORTANT DECISION. Stress eat and feel guilty? Toss it like a good person? Give it away? Stupid diet culture. May delete this if it’s a downer on this sweet post.

Oh and the inauguration. I can work on accepting my feelings around that.

Over here flipping pancakes on a snowy Monday. Listening to Tara Brach remind me of self love and acceptance. What to accept? The screens that are keeping my kids engaged while I do this? The fear for their futures? The fact that they are, in fact, wonderful and healthy kids? All of it I suppose.

Started watching Somebody Somewhere!

#mini1000 Day 2 complete. I wanted to write about ketamine. Instead, I logged about what happens when you sit down to write, but the tech won't cooperate. The pressure to be a cooperative cog, download the right app, and the energetic shifts that occur in that process. And a bit about LSD.

#mini1000 done for today, a brain dump on female friendship

Excited to start he #mini1000. First time I'm attempting any kind of writing challenge, here goes nothing!n Thank you @jamiattenberg.bsky.social for the opportunity :-)

It's not ‘emotional labour’ call it by its real name: kin work (or: f'kin work)

open.substack.com/pub/thefutur...

The actual labor of emotional labor. It’s made of the tasks: the thank you notes, the phone calls, the effort at strengthening the webs that keep us connected, or at least the guilt and worry over not executing on these tasks.

1. This is a moment of suffering
2. Suffering is part of life
3. May I be kind to myself
For me, right now, this kindness means reminding myself that no one is broken, even me. Yes. Even when I have that awful thought, or make that annoying protective move…may I give myself the compassion I need.

Can my raw emotional pain be of service in this world? If I share it, speak it, if I put all my self loathing onto a lovely platter and present it here, will it be a gift?

I’ve become so sensitive that I can’t help but to be defensive, and that’s a lonely truth.

So how about some self compassion?

I just started watching the movie Bolt with my 6 year old. 20 minutes in, I can barely stand the sadness of a dog being emotionally abused for the sake of a movie. This is what happens when you quit SSRIs I guess! Ha ha ha?

My reality: tapping into creative courage after decades of hiding, while also momming two small kids. Now I understand social media. Squeeze it in quick.

Regarding longing: just came from a conversation about Buddhism and the belief that desire is the root of all suffering. And here Brooks tells us that his version of heaven is one of constant longing.
I like this idea of celebrating an innate desire for the holy rather than fighting it.

And what a powerful piece it is. His shift into religion is inspiring, and gives me permission to do the same.

Opinion | The Shock of Faith: It’s Nothing Like I Thought It Would Be The word “faith” implies the possession of something, whereas I experience faith as a yearning for something beautiful that I can sense but not fully grasp.

The Shock of Faith: It’s Nothing Like I Thought It Would Be www.nytimes.com/2024/12/19/o...

The skeptic in me says I shouldn’t make meaning of it. But everywhere I look is an article by an academic white man who has found God.
#ageofaquarius

Instead, today, I post this with respect. The intention is to learn what happens when I post a long thing like this. What will it look like on screen? Can I easily work with this text again? How does it feel to just think and write and post?
💌 <-- sent with love

When I launch a thing I made with the "fuck it, who cares" energy, I've covered my eyes and separated myself from it, I've run and hid, I will never look at it again, there is no love there.

Those first two are expressions for that same procrastination and perfectionism that's supposed to keep me safe from embarrassment. The "fuck it," it's been a sledgehammer and it has launched some small moments of expression, it's gotten me past the wall, but the energy is off.

From here, there are a couple of other reliable thoughts that are on deck: "What you need is a system, so you can do this right," "What are your GOALS here? Is this going to help you reach them?" and the ever instrumental, "Fuck it, who cares, just post it, no one is looking anyway."

It's that voice that feels so believable, it says that all of this is fine and great, but just not right now, not this way, maybe save it for a book or a blog post, but don't post it right now.

In this post, in this moment, I'm experimenting with the tech, because I don't understand it. My finger hovers over 'post all,' and pulls away. "This isn't the right place for this," says the gentle defense, a friendly illusion created by the deep well of agonizing self doubt.

So you shouldn't know that when I listen to a client speak, my own mind is running a million miles an hour, fitting your words into a framework that I learned in grad school, questioning whether I'm doing it well enough, wondering if you think I'm helpful, or if you feel trapped in our interaction..

But the truth is that this is a work in progress. I, like you, have been conditioned to hide my vulnerabilities. It's a way to stay safer. So you ("you" apparently means my clients or possible clients, I think...which then probably means absolutely anyone at all...)

a responsibility to be correct, to be very, very careful about what I say, and to never show my own internal struggles unless I can also show you how I've overcome.

Oh, shit, wait...I don't know what to say now. I was coached to offer expert knowledge when I write to the public. As a licensed therapist, the state agrees that I know more than the average person about psychology. My own neurotic brain has created something monstrous out of that...

Today, I'm in my window of learning, after a ketamine journey yesterday. Today, I am using that to do something new, and to appreciate this opportunity to express, just in the way I always say I want to. Freely.

It's a grid of failed attempts at being good at internetting.

I came here because it's a fresh place to be. These are my first footprints in the snow. Somehow, the others have felt like concrete, where my imprints stayed forever, where I've been defined, forever. And the definition is as a very sporadic try hard who is copying other people.

I suppose it takes some bravery to believe in anything, if you choose those beliefs intentionally.