Choosing Healing

Even healers can be afraid of their healing…

Oh, how I’ve been aching for myself.

A pattern has emerged in this healing, loving, returning journey of mine back to me.

For the most part on this journey, I actively, courageously, mindfully choose love. I choose and I choose again, and in those times of consistent and powerful showing up for myself and in love and not fear, I reach a breakthrough. A breakthrough so potent and revolutionizing as to dismantle old, un-serving beliefs and permit a rise so completely anew in healing, in love, in bliss, in contentment.

My first reality-shaking breakthrough on this healing journey was forgiving my father for being human; and in doing so, restoring faith, communication and love, into 24 years of an otherwise broken relationship.

Forgiveness changed my and my father’s life and relationship with another, and it was the most liberating experience I’d endured yet. When his visit out in California was over and he left, I sunk deeply, even subconsciously, into a state of escapism and self-sabotage by drinking alcohol to excess, distracting myself with a partner with whom love did not exist, neglecting my self-care, my health, my self-love.

Five leaps forward and ten stumbles back. This resistance to healing continued for longer than I wish to admit, in my mind’s attempt to create more suffering in the wake of the rejuvenating healing that I had just allowed myself. Patterns.

Just a few weeks ago, I tuned in so deeply to myself that I ran the other way yet again. I sat gently and quietly enough to love myself back into remembering my life’s purpose.

The reason I am on this planet.

What I am here to share.

It felt good to know it, to return to it, to exhale and surrender to it.

And then, before I even knew what was happening, I found myself blocking out and engaging in various distraction and resistance techniques in attempt to un-see what I had seen. Truth.

Truth is scary. Truth is unavoidable. Truth will catch up to you and surface, no matter how far, how fast, how strategically you run. And once, and only, when truth– and self-awareness– are present, you can take monumental action.

Until you shed light and awareness in a space, you can continue living in ignorant darkness; to change a thought, behavior or state of being isn’t an option when you’re unaware of its reality.

But when you tune in deeply enough to reach a state of awareness and the truth reveals itself to you… now you have a choice.

You have a choice to do something with that truth– acknowledge it, accept it, work with it, act on it– or run the other way.

Last week, I ran. I ran in the same way I did after re-building my relationship with my father. And I’m finding all too soon that running doesn’t work for me. Running leaves me feeling empty, resistant, closed off, and fearful.

This week– today– I choose courage.

Today, I choose love, presence, faith, and surrender.

I know what I’m here for.

And I am here.

 

 

I am here to break myself, and then others, back down to love: to soft, to water, to open flow.

I am here to guide myself, and then others, back to sacred empowerment, to wild, to connection, to knowledge. I am here to do this through nature.

Forgive To Fly

Let’s talk about forgiveness. Not too long ago, I was in a darker place. I was not surrounding myself with kind, insightful, loving thoughts, and that reflected in the life I led, my notion of self-worth, my dreams and the low-vibrating, also struggling, like-minded company that I kept. I was stuck. And I knew the health of my well-being and spirit desperately needed to spread their wings to fly and soar into a space of love.

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@Goodgrateful: With self-love, I found forgiveness. And now, I am soaring.

Fast-forward to my present, and Good & Grateful‘s blossoming in the beautiful San Diego. I found that space of love, but I did not find it in California. I found it in myself, though distance from the negative associations of my prior helped allow for my discovery.

There is an important distinction here in running from problems that are within, and removing oneself from an external environment that no longer serves us. I am sure, as I continue on this learning-journey, I will find that my environmental struggles were only mirroring my unhealed internal, as everything comes back to the self. I am sure, as I continue on this learning-journey, I will be able to return to those once-places of pain, and lend enough love to them in order to rewrite their scripts. That, I believe, is true growth.

But back to forgiveness. In this current life-chapter, I have focused intensely and intimately on self-love. I am, like many, often too hard on myself. I hold myself to unrealistic standards of perfection that only perpetuate a mindset of not being, and never being enough.

Intensifying healthy, loving scripts and positive mantras have helped me to shift my thought-patterns. Meditation, exercise and conscious eating have aided me in a newfound understanding of self-care. Treating myself magnificently, and humbly, remembering that I am the full moon as I am the mud that hosts the lotus, has taught my new company to honor, respect and love me in the same ways.

But at the core of it all, I am relearning that we are all and only human. If we are the universe and the earth, then we are every piece of it. We are the full moon and the sun, as we are black holes and vast emptiness. We are the flowers and the trees and the ocean, as we are tornadoes and dirt and the tectonic plates that crack and shift. We are everything while we are nothing. We are light and dark.

A flower isn’t perfect with its curved stem or curling petals, but it is beautiful. The sunset is only as spectacular and special as the clouds that blur and shape it. We humans were not made to be perfect. We are breathtaking and magnificent only because we are not so.

In this space of love, within myself, I have come to forgive myself for my shortcomings, my mistakes and my pain of the past and current. I am freed from the suffering that I clung to for so many years. And remembering that I’m trying my best and that our best is all we can do has helped me to heal painful relationships of the past. I am able to forgive others and accept that they are on their own journey– one that I may never understand– and they are learning and trying, too.

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Self-love has permitted me and encouraged me to break free from the past. I am ever-growing with deeper learning and loving, and I am ever-releasing myself as pain’s prisoner.

With forgiveness, I have tasted unwavering joy and contentment. My relationships with my self, and others, have peacefully heightened and become more enriching.

We are much less defined by the outcomes as we are the way we handled things in getting there, for it is never the destination: it is the journey.

And I plan to continue making this joyous journey beautiful: to be ever-learning, ever making mistakes, ever-falling and ever-getting-the-heck-back-up, gently and lovingly. And now, once again, I am soaring.

And now that I am here within myself, I can finally say:

I forgive you. I forgive me. I love you, and I love you, me.

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@Goodgrateful: Sunset over Pacific Beach in San Diego, California.

The Magic of Living: Part 1

 

Part 1: How I Found My Inner “Yes Woman”

This is how magic happens:

Spontaneously. Unplanned. Unexpected. Without searching for it.

Since uprooting across the country to San Diego on my own, I have expanded healthily into my personal courageous form of “yes woman.” I suppose we could reference the Hollywood film involving Jim Carey, but I’m not too exposed to pop-culture in that sense (though I do love Drake, some tropical house music and Game of Thrones) and I thoroughly enjoy molding my own, experiential meaning into things.

“Yes woman” is a form I have embodied wholly in my young adult life just once before. I was reaching the conclusion of a 4-month South American backpacking journey with my adventure-partner when it was time for our paths to part: he returned home, I went on alone to Brazil.

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Wandering the boardwalk in Rio de Janeiro.

It was my first time traveling alone internationally, and while Brazil was the country I had been subconsciously journeying toward, it was a complete surprise and self-learning moment on Copacabana Beach in Rio de Janeiro when I burst-morphed unexpectedly and excitedly into this mentality and state of being.

It was a spontaneous and eye-opening moment of lying on the beach in the city that I had always dreamed of visiting and the revelation that I was indeed looking at the small ocean-islands of vegetation, the inland hill-mounds hosting favelas, a boardwalk of sun-kissed, active sunbathers, and Brazilian vendors selling bathing suits, Caipirinha’s and crawfish. I had done it.

 

And I decided in that very moment, in utter joy, that I was going to do everything. Try everything. Taste everything. I was going to dive into my experience and live it fully. Granted, my day did end in a tourist police station with the Brazilian cop ordering me dinner, but that’s a story for another time.

Morphing into one’s version of “yes person” usually occurs when one realizes and accepts that they know nothing. One who has lost sight of, discarded, and removed oneself from everything that is familiar and close to them. Every direction is equally the “right” direction to take, because one has no destination, and nothing will leave one any worse off because one just doesn’t know any different. One no longer has the comfort and luxury of knowing. And that is when the magic happens. The magic of not knowing, of trusting and of welcoming. The magic that can never be planned.

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@Goodgrateful: The view from Sugarloaf at sunset.

 
Now, let me disclaim here, for the sanity of my parents and others who care about my well-being, to enter a state of “yes woman,” or “yes person,” means accepting every opportunity that comes, within one’s own safety. It requires a great deal of courage and flexibility, but even more-so, self-awareness, the willingness, ability and practice of self-exploration and knowing and setting personal boundaries.

Alas, in this Sun Diegan stage of my life, I am once again, “yes woman.” So when I received an invite to surf this morning after having planned to apply to 1,023 jobs, I said yes. To justify this, I determined that I would start my morning earlier, healthier and more clear-minded if I allowed the ocean to humble me. And I did. And it did.

And that was when the magic happened.

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@Goodgrateful: Iguazu Falls in Brazil, looking into Argentina.

 

Stay tuned for Part 2, coming soon!

 

Let Us Choose Light

In a very small town in the smallest state of the country, there is a tradition among my close friends and our families to celebrate the winter solstice. We voyage across the country and across the street to circle around a bonfire during one of the busiest weeks of the year. Add in a powerful gong ceremony performed by a talented local friend and her words to remind us of the untethered connection and symbolism between nature and our lives; the winter solstice is the longest night of the year and it marks the lengthening of lightness in the days leading us to summer.

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Sunset on the pond, December 24, 2016.

Past ceremonies asked that we toss a stick into the fire representing something that no longer serves us, and then another to wish something into our lives for the upcoming year. This year, in response to some of the uncategorized and disheartening happenings of 2016, we altered our performance. We reflected on our heavy year and focused on something that we loved about it. How can we incorporate those pieces of ourselves and our lives that we love? How can we cultivate more of that this year?

I thought about my whirlwind year: spending four months in South America, conquering my fear of singing at open mics, volunteering with my state’s chapter of Women March on Washington and my upcoming plans to move to San Diego (stay tuned for cross-country posts!!). With a whole lot of smiling and maybe even a tear, I wished for myself to continue following my intuition and desires despite unconventionality or others misunderstanding. My deepened relationship with my heart and intuition is after all, what I love most about myself- and if you know me, you may know my heart lives on my sleeve.

Perhaps for that reason, one of the many devoted mama bears and hostess of the annual celebration of light and dark, Mama Pilk, asked me to write something this year. At the conclusion of my poem, our gong spiritual leader voiced,

“You can only see the stars when it’s dark out.”

“Or when you choose to look up,” said Mama Pilk. And our circle squeezed together just a little tighter.

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The whole high school gang fireside and full of wine.

 

Two Thousand-and-Seventeen
Olivia Morrissey, Dec. 2016

Two thousand-and-seventeen.
I am 23.
Life has hurt me and it has scared me
It has graced me and humbled me.
Just as it has you all.

I’ve had the privilege of seeing bits of the world and I have grown up encompassed in endless love.
And this is what I’ve learned:

That happiness is gratitude and it’s about all you have than what you can’t see
And that love is the common tongue trans-culture universally
That it is so much more about who you’re with instead of where
And that peace comes from celebrating our differences rather than what is shared.

I’ve learned that true hope is not never having felt the darkness;
It is having been immersed in it and still choosing to see the light.
And strength is not being devoid of weakness;
It is how we accept our weaknesses and hold them equally tight.

I’ve learned that sometimes, things must hit rock bottom.
They must get to the lowest of the low; the darkest of hours
In order for them rise to lightness once again:
The winter solstice; karmic powers.

Two thousand-and-seventeen.
I feel a shift and a transformation
I find solace realizing the reason I’m here right now
To stand for the beautifully diverse people of my nation
It is why we’ve all found ourselves here; under the stars at this time
It is your call and truth to right now
As it is mine.

And it is often not what we’re dealt, but how we choose to react that makes all the difference.
So let us choose not what’s easy, but rather what’s right.

Let us choose hope. Let us choose strength. Let us choose each other. Let us choose love.

And let us choose light.

 

Tears Dry On Their Own

The legendary, soulful sound of Amy Winehouse first delighted the world on this day, September 14, in 1983. She would have been 33 years old today.

My appreciation for Amy’s work began at a young age and stemmed from my magical, fiery Auntie Denise who lived in Switzerland.

While other kids grew up listening to their parents’ old Beatles CD’s, I would spend summers reading Harry Potter in the backseat listening to ‘Back To Black’ with my mother and my visiting auntie.

Like many of her fans, I credit Amy Winehouse for my fondness of jazz, r&b and soul music– but I also credit her for being a lyrical and vocal role model in finding my own voice.

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20-year-old me having found sanctuary in a jazz café in Florence, Italy, during a semester abroad.

To me, Amy is a legacy of passion, feminine empowerment, deep-rooted pain and emptiness, and then, manifesting one’s own identity and truth. She was a torn, beautiful being who exuded emotion and talent. But then again, aren’t we all?

From shower sessions and solo car rides to the 8th grade talent show and humming at work, singing became the simplest and most soothing practice for my throat chakra to find it’s use. Sometimes they were my own words, sometimes they were Amy’s, or Frank Sinatra’s, or Taylor Swift’s. But every time, a heaviness deep inside of me found release.

So as this summer draws to a beautiful close, and New England weather reminds me just how sweet and sunny September can be, I knew I had some things to say in achieving my final goal of the hot season: singing at an open mic night.

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Perks and Corks has a book of house-made martinis… the cucumber one was delicious!

This past Monday night, I gathered with support from some dear, clear-eyed, independent queens at Perks and Corks in Westerly. We got martinis, grilled cheeses and girl time, and I got excitedly nervous. I was the last performer to go.

It was a small crowd, but seeing my friends (when I actually opened my eyes) and hearing the strength and feeling in my own voice as I got comfortable under the light was all that I needed.

At the end of the first song, the event manager gave me a verbal pat on the back. I hardly remember saying, “can I go again?!”, like a child on an amusement park ride, but he granted my wish.

Exposing my vulnerable voice and emotions to the outside world was the right kind of terrifying. Allowing myself to share my secret passion with the world was an act of self-love. Holding myself accountable to this fear-facing goal was a form of self-care, and great practice in putting myself first.

It was listening to my very soul, the essences of me that were screaming to be let out, and acknowledging that I deserve to be heard, in the way that each of us do. And in doing so I felt that same rush of adrenaline that I got from skydiving, and the best high I could ever feel in this life.

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Facing more fears and skydiving this past March in Santiago, Chile!

I’m no professional, but singing is something that I absolutely love to do. I’ll leave the rest to the videos. Thank you to all of my family and friends who have shown endless love and support!

‘I Heard Love Is Blind,’ by Amy Winehouse.

 

‘Stay,’ by Sugarland.

Easter in Santiago

Some of my favorite experiences on this trip so far have been the unplanned, yet calculated series of yes’s that lead to outings and interactions with locals. They are the deep, authentic moments of culture immersion that are near impossible to feel on the surface level that is being a tourist. They are the tastes, after all, that are the true makings of travel. They are the experiences that remind us to accept the interconnectedness of life using a broader perspective. The night before Easter was one of those times.

Part 1

A. and my intentions for that Saturday were to be productive: accomplish some reading, some writing and some financial planning. We had been in Santiago, Chile, for nearly two weeks- the longest we had been in a single place- and we were getting antsy. Though our Airbnb landlord, R., had invited us to a daytime electronic park party in the morning, he found us, hands grasping the barred gates, open-mouthed and wide-eyed, staring at the overly stimulating, yet very over, park darty at 9:30 p.m. that evening.

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Getting writing inspiration via coffee at Cafe Forestal in the Bellas Artes district in Santiago.
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A glowing bench display at the Lollapalooza Music Festival in Santiago on March 19-20.

Laughing, R. followed up his first invite with a second: did we want to join him and his friend at a house party in the “Beverly Hills” of Santiago? Eager not to miss a second shot at fun- whyyeswedid.

The Chilean hillside house was stunning. It was equipped with an in-ground pool and lounge area, a living tree growing through the ceiling in the shower, Buddha statues galore and other sprinkles of modern design.

A local couple approached us shortly after our arrival, offering a kind welcome and intriguing conversation. We hit it off instantly, discussing deep relationships and closeness with others, connectivity and mindfulness. The Chilean man told me that at once point in his life he felt anger and dislike toward certain individuals. How could I love a rapist or a thief?, he asked aloud. We concurred together an answer to be something like this: it is morally difficult, but possible when looking at the pixels that are the sameness in each of us.

Instead of getting caught up in the differences, dive into the deeper, shared qualities. It doesn’t mean malicious and unkind acts should be overlooked or justified. It does not make them right or change wrongdoing that has already happened. But remembering the oneness of humanity aids in the relief that is forgiveness and even further, love. At the end of the day, we are all human. It is much easier and deeper to find love for another person remembering that than it is to love, accept or evaluate someone solely for their actions.

It is both the tiny pixilations that compose us, and the magnificent web of oneness that encompasses us all. It is not the insignificant differences that lie in between. We humans share all of the same most magnificent and significant qualities: the universe inside.

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Venus visible in the night sky from Amantani Island on Lake Titicaca in Peru, March 6.

Before leaving the party of Chileans, swaying to the dj and having lounge chair conversations under the night sky, our friend left me with one more piece of wisdom: family is the most important.

“At the end of it all, they gave you life. They are humans just like the rest of us. They don’t know what they’re doing. But they brought you here. And without them, you are nothing.”

Part 2

I woke up feeling homesick on Easter morning, in part due to last night’s conversation with the stranger and to a dream I had about my grandparents and my aunt. But after calling my parents and speaking with some loved ones, and a short moment of condolence from the person who has spent the last 75 straight days with me, I was feeling better and was ready to celebrate Easter the way that I best knew how- like my family.

I pulled an Easter outfit out of my backpack to get me in the spirit: cue pink floral romper and pink lipstick. I compiled three Easter “bags” out of the $10 thousand Chilean pesos’ worth of chocolate I had bought the day before (not included in the backpacker budget): one for my favorite sweet-toothed partner, one for R. and the last for our roommate, T.

I let the three adult men search the house excitedly as I cooked Easter brunch for A. and me, smiling at how much I reminded myself of my mother.

A. helped set the backyard table, munching on his remaining peanut-butter-filled chocolate eggs while we waited for my frittata to finish (I really do need to stop eyeballing measurements- how do you do it, dad?!).

In some time, we moved outside to enjoy a delicious brunch of eggs, home fries, fruit salad and avocado, accompanied by the South American touches of fresh maracuya juice and Chilean red wine.

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A. and I enjoying Chilean wine at a park after brunch.

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We sat outside laughing and talking long after the food was finished. If the neighboring cat made an appearance, I might’ve thought I really was home. Or better yet, that my family was all here with me celebrating like we always do. I smiled again at A., feeling loved and full of love.

The stranger was right. I am human, just like him and our families, and just like every other stranger besides him. What’s more, my family did give me this life. They have given me everything. And they are always a part of me.

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Easter brunch 2016: a product of having channeled my family members.

Loving Love Day

For too many, Valentine’s Day is a day to reflect on singlehood, unrequited feelings and lost lovers. It seems, according to my university’s (unaffiliated) Snapchat account and other various social media, the holiday has become a day of overconsumption for my generation. It’s become an equation of excess alcohol, chocolate and self-pity: one that yields for a dismal holiday if not a most regretful February 15th. In capitalizing on the negatives and the “have nots,” we have forgotten why Love Day is among the most beautiful days of the calendar.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve loved Valentine’s Day. Think something like this. Maybe it’s the pollen or the extra dopamine, but with the flowers and heart-shaped chocolates comes an energy that is unique to this day alone. Beyond love, the air is teeming with excitement, hope, nerves and courage. It’s Valentine’s Day that we hear of budding fairy-tale romances, valiant confessions of adoration and the fervent praising of present sweethearts.

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Perhaps the typical Millennial’s cynicism is due to such grand expectations of Valentine’s Day, and perhaps this is because mainstream media showcases nothing less than paramount chivalry.

Maintaining a love is a complex journey at any age, but especially so at a younger one. We are wide-eyed and confused, we’re still growing and exploring. We are cultivating our dreams, pursuing our passions and creating our own identities. We are undergoing crucial changes and testing different paths and searching for our purpose. Sometimes, we’re lucky enough to find something so beautiful so early in our lives. It’s the sweetest blessing of life, to love someone and be loved without restraint, fear or condition.

But for a mature, healthy, unconditional love to endure, both players need to love themselves maturely, healthily and unconditionally. At such a young age, we’re still learning these pivotal lessons. And yet, we are often the target for mainstream media’s cultural ideals and expectations of Valentine’s Day.

What mainstream media fails to convey is that romantic love is not the only kind of love. Love comes in many forms, to those who are willing enough to receive it and open enough to let it in. And love is humbling in all of its forms.

Perhaps most importantly, there is self-love. In the way that you cannot make another happy before you find contentment with yourself, you cannot love another truly until you possess self-love. As a dear friend of mine put simply, “know your magnificence.” You are a treasure: one-of-a-kind, unmatchable and perfectly imperfect. You are just as you should be; however you’d like.

Love also manifests itself in family and friends. In such a period of recklessness, personal growth and uncertainty that is life before entering the real world, friends become  family. They delight in being by your side when you’re all lost as hell, and the great ones will be by your side when you find yourselves, too.

How many of us were lucky to receive a love note, homemade cookies, or merely a call from family or friends on Valentine’s Day? I don’t think we’re underrepresented. And of course, a special shout-out goes here to the mothers of this world, who exemplify unconditional love for us all each day of the year. (You rock, mom).IMG_7608

With open eyes, we see that love is not limited to a romantic partner, or even to people. Perhaps the most outstanding expression of existing love is in nature.

Nature guides with graceful, unspoken lessons: the self-love of a flower growing without competing to those next to it; the affection between unexpected pairs and creatures; the ability of a consistent, flowing river to smooth over even the roughest surfaces over time. There is no better teacher of unconditional, accepting and persistent love than nature, nor is there a better teacher of living open-heartedly.

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I do believe that if you look, you’ll find that love is all-surrounding. Love manifests in ourselves, the people in our lives and the world that we live in.

I don’t love Valentine’s Day because of romantic love alone- but because for one day of the year, people are encouraged to live life with an open heart. If everyone were open to love and possessing such hope, optimism and kindness every day, the world would be a lot more good and a lot more grateful.

Allowing love to overcome means renouncing strength; it means feeling vulnerable, leaving the comfort zones and valuing something much greater than yourself. I believe there is nothing more rewarding in this life than to love and be loved. And to have a day meant solely for expressing it in various ways- how beautiful is that!?

Call me a romantic. Or maybe I’ve just been hit by Cupid every February 14th, and every day besides that. But if you can see it in your heart to find love everywhere you look, you will never feel lonely. Not on Valentine’s Day, and not on the other 364 days of the year.