This morning. Inhale.
Began with doing yoga for myself, seated meditation, and my writing practice.
Sipping lemon water. Tart and warm. Scent still clinging to my fingertips from squeezing the juice.
Making my breakfast of local eggs, spinach, yogurt, and starfruit I picked off a tree.
I go into work from my center, from a place of being, to help others find their center.
Yesterday, my friend asked me in the afternoon if I wanted to come over for dinner. I said yes. I was able to say yes. I cried, overwhelmed with emotion that “yes” was my response.
I’m not in fairy land, I’m still exhausted; the residue of a doing life still breathes through my cells.  
 
Flashback. Exhale.
Try to inhale, but it gets stuck. Ache in my liver and spleen. That’s good information, I need to slow down. Let me look at iCal later and see when I can do that.
Obligated, fulfilled, can’t let anyone down, exhausted.
Go into work, barely ground myself at the last moment, support other people.
Try to find that one little place inside of me that is calm at the eye of the storm and operate from there. Work to find the good. Work to reframe.
Friend asks me if I want to grab a bite after work, in my head I laugh at the absurdity. I’m booking out dinner with people a month from now. Who can say yes to dinner that same night, ridiculous! I feel the longing and jealously.
 
As my dad says, my life depends on me getting out of my cycle that’s killing me. So, here I am in Hawaii. Inhale.
 
It sounds idyllic. I am set up for success here in almost every way, to heal, to exhale, this hectic, perfectionistic, exhausting lifestyle. Except for the neural pattern in my mind, and the imprint on my body of an entire lifetime that wonders: is this safe? Inhale. Can I slow down? Inhale. What are my beliefs about that, and the identity of outwardly visibly achieving, and who am I if that is stripped away? Gasp, inhale.. Not to mention, feeling scared to be healthy if that means loosing my feedback loop of liver pain which tells me to slow down… will the toxicity just creep in again? INHALE.
 
It’s scary and unfamiliar. So I do the best thing I know, I EXHALE. I breathe through the discomfort of slowing down, of trusting my body and my internal wisdom that knows this is crucial. I stretch, sip, breathe, connect. It’s okay, I’m okay.
 
It’s hard to redefine health for ourselves. I continue to battle with the sensation that slowing down means collapsing, I’m sick, I’m broken, I can't take a breath. That there is an active way to slow down and Yield, and come back to my essence which is held, restful, and okay, that the breath will come on its own. That this is my health. That I don’t have to prove anything to anyone. That I can just know I’m okay because this is the essential way that I was born into this world.
 
Our conditioning says to do shit…move fast, gasp for air, accomplish, show everyone our capacity, to get love.
Our essence says to be ourselves… move slower, healthfully, allow ourselves to be breathed, in the present, conscious of this precious life as it passes, to be love.
 
Our only job: Let it in. Trust. Recalibrate. Breathe.
 
From doing to being… my continual process as I ask myself: who am I now?

With your constrictive, boring, brown shell, one awkward foot, and waving antennae
I had no interest in knowing you
In fact, I don’t think I ever paused long enough to know you were there
Or had value
And now, here we are.
I’m moving in, and this isn’t going to be pretty.
 
The thrill of going fast
My former home is more like the flea-circus
Seeing the world whip by
Adrenaline
Faster, faster, faster I spin in my circle
Absolutely convinced I am going somewhere
Even though I’m imaginary
Until I fly off the ride and get thrown into myself.
 
My speed numbed me out to the present moment
Suddenly a lifetime is gone
Only I actually lost it one second at a time all along the way
Life is intimately connected to that present moment I was numbing to.
 
And guess what?
The snail has been patiently waiting for me there all along
I mean, it’s a snail, what else does it have to do?
With a little sign: for sale by owner.
 
So I move in.
Thinking that downsizing is the way to go. More economical, right?
Let me tell you, the process of moving into snail-dom is painful.
 
Trapped in my shell, pushing outwards, in a space that feels cramped, tight, not my size.
I have too much furniture, too many thoughts.
This shell is exerting pressure on me to just be me.
Slowing down feels like suffocating,
Being strangled.
There must have been a mistake.
This clearly isn’t my shell.
Somehow I was given a tiny house, when I’m pretty sure I was supposed to have a mansion.
 
How could this be what my body and life want me to do?
Slow down.
Is this really the "lesson" that seems to keep showing up?
 
My body is desperately trying to live out my souls work, and teach my mind.
It says, listen mind, it’s okay to:
Take a breath
Then breathe into relationship, with yourself, and the people you love.
Slow down enough to feel every part of your environment impeccably
Attuning, sensing, being.
Suction to the present moment so that it can be felt intimately
Move in, and take time to discover the inner world that you’re inhabiting
Realize that there is a mansion in this tiny house…
 
I just didn’t know it because I happened to be swinging on a little flea-sized trapeze at the time.
 
Although I’ve had a sneaking suspicion for a while
I’m suddenly realizing that going so fast maybe isn’t the way to go about life.
Brilliant insight, I know.
 
Am I trapped?
What am I trying to put on a fantastical circus act to get away from?
 
What could it look like to consider accepting that I’ve already put a sizeable down-payment on this this shell?
Could feeling trapped turn into support?
The relief of simplifying.
Space and time to explore the magic of what is here, and who I am.
So much scenery potentially missed.
A breath taken right now.
 
I want to trust.
I’m still going somewhere, but the path is guided by this shell.
It has gravity and weight as opposed to death-defying feats.
It’s a recalibration, and that takes time.
And it can be painful and uncomfortable for us, and those around us to get used to.
 
It’s brave to downsize so we can appreciate the preciousness of what we already have,
Finding the intricacies of Self in our snailshells. 

Yesterday one of my closest friends told me I’d betrayed her by making choices to move a different direction in my life, which would forever affect our relationship. It hurt deeply to hear this.  We were both being a bit reactive and intense, but the sentiment is true: my thoughts and choices lead me to becoming a different person.
 
Sometimes I feel like I’m letting everyone else down by asking the question Who am I now?  Because I continue to come up with new answers, and those answers continue to lead me away from who I once was.  And sometimes away from the people my older self was closest to.  For me, on a good day, it feels like the phoenix of my identity is rising! But, here’s the problem, as I try to continually shed my old identity (because every moment we are a new version of ourselves) it can feel like some people I love dearly try to grasp and cling to it. 
 
Here’s an example.  My parents are amazingly supportive, and have been my sounding board as I continue to ask these questions of who I’m becoming.  But then in some moments like this, right now, they are watching old video clips of me in a show I did and was interviewed for… actually my last show I did before I got sick.  I hear it playing in the background and it’s like someone punched me in my stomach. “That was such a great show, wasn’t it Zina?” I hear my mom say from their living room. “Yes mom.”  Yes it was. 
 
Could I be that person again right now, just for a moment?  Black lashes, red lipstick, heels, and dreams?  Before I knew about liver enzyme levels, and blood panel numbers that all have negatives next to them.  Before I knew about what mortality feels like in your cells battling each other.  Before I woke up.  Just right now for a moment- I promise I won’t tell anyone you let me step into my old life for a big inhale, to soak it in, how light and sparkly it was. 
 
Yes, I can take a trip in my memory, but it’s just not the same.  Which I grieve. It’s like looking through underwater, or frosted glass. I could cry right now for the weight and sorrow of it all.  I feel the heaviness in the back of my throat, the clenching. I realize I’m holding my breath, and I sigh out.  Ahh, relief. Big breath in, big breath out.  Look around. Oddly enough, the colors in this room right now are brighter than the ones in my memory.  Much more vibrant.  My breath is real.  The weight is real, but so is the color.  The past is past.  The present moment beckons.
 
This is a drastic example involving 6 years of time, illness, and change in who I am. In a smaller simpler way, though, this is happening every moment of every day, as our past selves fade from the moment, and a new reality appears.  We are constantly growing, changing, evolving.
 
I am trying to make this moment okay.  Sometimes that’s exhausting, but honestly, most of the time, it is okay.  And it’s much more exciting than the past, because this moment is still unfolding into mystery, whereas the past has already been known.  Not so exciting when I think about the past that way, it’s more like old news.  This present has potential for discovery.  For new things.  In the present we actually feel.  Feel it all.  Which can be overwhelming, but vital. .
 
It continues to feel sad to let go of our former selves, our former lives that we will be forever shedding like snake skin.  It is so hard to make choices, or to have them made for us, that make us feel like we’re disappointing the people around us that we love the most.  By becoming more yourself, in the most authentic and present moment version, it can feel like we’re hurting others who need or want us to be who we once were.
 
When I worry, I remember that everyone else around me is stronger than I can imagine, they’ll get through it too without me protecting them, and they’re growing into their present and next selves in the same way I am.  It goes both ways: I don’t want to treat them like their past selves either.  There’s space for us all to continuing to grow into the next version of ourselves.  Truly there is no one else we can be, and we’re in this evolution together.
 
And suddenly I hear myself on that video in the background and giggle, oh how naïve I was.  How sweet.  How frozen in time.  And I stretch, because right now I can actually move freely, and with choice, and am not trapped in a video box. 
 
There are some people we will let down as we change.  We just will. But we can’t take responsibility for it all, or be too afraid to take a breath and step into now.  Wishing you the continued space and courage to be who you are becoming, and to allow your relationships to shift with you.

I’m clicking my bright red sparkly heels together. Click, click, click.
 
I long to come home. To the way things were. 

Only here’s the problem… sometimes I click my heels and get back home, only to realize that home doesn’t feel the same anymore. Home looks different. It’s a skeleton or façade of what it used to be, and some new tenets have moved in… everything is different. This body, this house, these people that I love, everything that I thought I was working so hard to come back to has changed while I was in oz.
 
When we’re in recovery from something I think we focus a lot on what we’re recovering from. I’m more interested in what I’m recovering to. The idea/metaphor of home is what I’m recovering to. But if home may not be home anymore, then what are we working so hard to come back to, and is it worth it?
 
My most recent setback has been this sprained ankle. A new experience layered apon many other setbacks and recoveries. I want to do hard-core competitive recovery… I want to do do do. I want to feel like I have some control of how fast I come back. I want to use stim therapy, hot/cold pools, ultrasound, acupuncture, massage... 
 
I went into a bike shop yesterday, and tell the guy at the counter what I’m doing to recover… he says, oh ya, that’s Type A recovery. In that moment I realize I’m trying to recover the same way I got injured. Where’s the lesson?
 
The etymology of the word recovery comes from the 11th Century French “come back, return, get again,” and the 13th Century Ango-French “to regain consciousness.”
 
This has as much to do with my values and motivations as it does my body. First it’s about knowing what I’m coming home to, and second it’s about the process of coming home. And trying to do all of that differently than the tornado that swept me away in the first place.
 
1. What am I coming home to? Potentially a new body and life. I will have lost a lot, and a effected body, heart, and mind lay in the wake. But the resilience and potential to create something new, of value, authentically and unabashedly me is what sits in the void of potential.
 
2. The process of getting home is by “regaining consciousness.” By staying awake, no matter how hard it hurts. By being brave. By feeling the pain, because it means I’m coming home, to my new home. By being soft, slowing down, resting, and being quiet so I can listen. Shhh. Living in the integration, not missing any of it. This process is what teaches us.
 
Before I had a palace that I never fully appreciated, a body that did what I wanted it to and performed to the utmost degree. I come back now to see that I have a humble home with a few shingles falling off on the outside… but the fire inside has a Phoenix rising in it. And I’m awake.
 
Recovery isn’t so much an ending to something, as it is a beginning. For me I realize it’s about integrating the home of the past, and creating the home of the future. Shedding tears for what has been painfully lost, pulling up my big girl pants, and clicking those heels into the future with massive curiosity and excitement about where I land. Less Victim more Co-creator. I’m pretty sure that my wildest dreams can’t imagine the world I’m recovering into. And I have every reason to believe that home will be more evolved because of the series of tornados, witches, and flying-monkeys I’ve come through.
 
So I click my heels, slowly, wisely, listening to each click, knowing that I’m being taken to my new home and I want to experience it all. Click click click. 

Sometimes life doesn’t make sense, and it feels like it's taking us for a ride.
 
Yesterday I hiked 2000 feet up Manitou Springs Incline to almost 9000 feet, and ran down. Twice. A personal triumph of my recovery.
 
Tomorrow I go in for a bone marrow biopsy.

 
How can things be so rapidly, intensely, good and bad; how can I possibly take it all in and not be thrown off the ride?
 
My life feels like a roller coaster of extremes. So many ups and downs it’s nauseating trying to make sense of.  How can our best days and worst days be so inextricably connected? How can we possibly feel so much? When our lives don’t make sense, and our capacity is stretched so far, it can be dizzying, crazy-making, and human.
 
To be honest, some days I want to just get off of the ride. I want to exit the roller coaster car to the right, and go get some funnel cake. Sticky, powdered-sugar fingers. Sweetness. Slow enjoyment of the moment. A deep breath, a sigh, the slow mundane every day… But wait: Times up, fasten seatbelt, lower the bar for a false sense of safety.
 
Feeling like I’m in control on the roller coaster is a false thing… yet I want it. I fantasize about it. For example, I think about things such as if life made sense then if a good thing happened to me, it’s because I’m a good person. And if I keep being “good,” then only good things will happen. Translation: Do good deeds in the world for myself and others, and, the voice in my head says, I’d have fewer biopsies, and spend more time eating funnel cake… but that doesn’t seem to be the case.
 
The ups and downs don't make sense, or add up. And in addition, I don’t see that roller coaster being replaced by spinning tea cups anytime soon. And, truthfully, I’m pretty glad about that. My life has been intense as far back as I can remember. I learn and grow from the tightly woven ups and downs. I can handle it, and I would never trade tea cups for coasters… so how do I ride the coaster, be in the intensity, breath in the confusing moments, and know when to raise my hands up and let go?
 
On this seemingly out of control free fall of the coaster, suspended upside down with this tiny little seatbelt digging into my hip bone, can I accept it and ride it through? Can I be aware I’m going for a ride, and remember that I have the skills, foundation, and support necessary to come through the other side?
 
Sometimes we can’t get off the roller coaster. We can’t slow down the momentum and intensity of life. But we can recognize and accept that we're in intense times,, breathe with this moment to reveal it for the rickety coaster it is, and fully feel the ups and the downs.   

We can't have highs without lows, and sometimes they happen almost at the same time. What's one high and one low of your past week? Take a breath, and remember the experience of both of those moments. Now bring them together and notice if they can be in relationship. For a moment, just feel, the joy and the ickiness. There's room for it all, and it's all part of the human experience. 

As I sit down to write this morning I am hyper-aware of my desire to write something that could possibly encapsulate and be in service of today. To this moment. This moment that feels heightened by the anticipation of a medical procedure tomorrow.
 
Yet, I feel torn because “this moment” actually feels like the moment of “before.” It is hard for me to stay present when I am filled with anticipation. The inhale. The calm before the storm. I am at the mercy of overwhelming imagination. I am creating a whole world that will come to fruition intensely in many layers in the near future, particularly tomorrow. I am guessing what may and may not be, for better or worse, for sickness and health. The actual procedure and the implications. I am here, but my focus is over there.

And I wonder, am I missing today? How do you hold present, future, and “before” all at once without exploding?
 
And of course there are layers, it’s not just about anticipating tomorrow. It’s about at least three huge areas of my life that are in destruction for the sake of creation. And the awareness of this is compounding it all.
 
Health: Feeling strong and vibrant, yet filling out advanced directives for the hospital.
Career: My career is in the pain of an acorn longing to be a tree.
Relationship: Everything I thought to be true has changed.
 
Each of these represent aspects of the known and unknown. Of identity, change, and fear. Of the potential of relief and joy.
 
Health: Am I sick; or am I healthy.
Career: Am I to be fulfilled in my capacity to move, inspire, and reignite people to their own awakening process through my life experience, and be a success (grow into an oak); or am I going to be lost in an inability to act and move forward into my own professional fears and finances, and by default fail (stay forever as an acorn).
Relationship: Am I responsible for creating a crisis; or am I in the messy birth of a relationship that is so beautiful it is too much to receive and take it all in.
 
These are questions of identity. Of slowing down and sitting in the unknown of the “before.” Of making meaning, and enriching the stories and labels.
 
Health: I am creating my version of health that includes me being sick.
Career: I am fulfilled in my successes and failures. They teach each other, and I’m nurturing my own soil.
Relationship: I am in a crisis of beauty.
Anticipation: I can be in the heightened state of the “before,” and already be complete and present right now.
 
One side is not at the expense of the other. I can say yes to it all. And that is what is true. Confusing, overwhelming, intense, uncomfortable, and true. I can say to myself, I know these things are coming, one as early as tomorrow morning, and yet here I am, taking this breath right now, and I don’t want to miss it because it is just as precious. I don’t want to just merely get through today, because I know tomorrow is coming.. I have plenty of space and time to be fully in those other breaths later., so I give myself permission to be fully in this breath now. 

​I can be present in my anticipation.
 
How is this for you to stay in today, when you can feel a big moment coming? 

I look at my iCal calendar on my computer, all organized in bright vibrant color-coded blocks of time from 5:30a to 10p each day, to-dos at the top of each day at least 10 long and I choke on my inhale. Slow down. Breathe. Have patience.
 
But I should know better.
 
A few weeks ago I was doing better. I had days, whole days, that had nothing written on them… well actually, maybe one day. And, well, really that was in December. No, wait, in February I had 3 days off! Good job. Okay, well actually it was because I got the flu and couldn’t go to the 3 day training I was supposed to be at. I remember feeling so relieved I had a 102 degree fever so that I could take those days off to be at home. What’s wrong with this picture? 
 
I am exhausted. My liver aches. One thing gets added to my schedule unexpectedly and I feel overwhelmed, like I’m going to throw up, like I want to hide forever from the world and let go of all responsibilities. But I can’t, I’m committed,.  I did this to myself. 
 
My alarm clock goes off at 4:30am again.
 
I’m making myself sick by being busy. Being busy is my addiction.
 
And right now I’m relapsing. I’m consciously watching myself do my addiction, feeling powerless to stop it. Like I’m a victim of my calendar and all the things I have said “yes” to. Feeling like I need to do all these things in order to cope with what’s going on in my personal life, to cope with not wanting to feel. I’m too busy to have time to feel. How convenient.
 
And the world says: you’re amazing that you can do all of that, it’s inspiring. And I’m justified. Validated. Empowered. To keep doing my addiction. To "get shit done." To use my calendar to avoid living my life.
 
And then I’m fatigued. I’m exhausted. My abdomen aches.
 
You know better. This is how you got sick in the first place. Change your lifestyle. You have to.  And I judge myself. And my alarm goes off at 4:30a again.
 
STOP.  Just stop... Slow down sweet girl. You pace is dizzying, running around in a circle. Listen deep within. Grown up Zina has you now, and is rocking you. It’s okay. Just feel. Feel your precious heart and this moment of life that will not come back again. Who do you want to be when you grow up into this moment? Who do you want to be with? How does that time look, feel, and taste? Don’t miss your life.
 
Sometimes we relapse on our own toxic behavior. Even when we know our lives and health depend on us staying sober. And we suffer as we watch ourselves. And it’s okay… hand on heart, breath in belly. I caught myself sooner this time. I see my pain and frustration. I’m going to be okay, and I’m moving in the right direction.
 
I look at my calendar, start taking out blocks of color, make a few phone calls, sigh into the blank spaces. Alarm goes off at 7a.
 
I can choose to be busy, but less busy, and be aware and awake. I can have self-compassion. I can feel a little. I can be in community. I can do the counter-cultural thing. I can say yes, but also no. I can change. I can honor my health.
 
Does any of this feel true for you? Comment below:

There will be tough times. Sigh. There will be tough times for all of us, and some of us are more sober about that fact, based on our past experiences, than others.
 
Tough times come in many categories: challenge, growth, fear, overwhelm, striving, burning, new, transition, change, pain, joy (yup that can be just as hard) or those tough times that are downright shitty in all areas. We know this to be true. It will be hard, we will transform, and so will those around us.
 
Yesterday I was mountain biking up a hill. It was tough, and of course it was both a literal hill, and a metaphor for those tough times in life. It got me thinking about something simple I do, that works for me, in those tough times to get through. My mantra.
 
The word mantra works for me. The literal Sanskrit (ancient language) translation is “to think, to think a thought behind speech or action.” This is something else I’m curious about a lot, how our thoughts lead to action, movement, behavior. Good old Webster says “a word or phrase that is repeated often or that expresses someone’s basic beliefs.” Again, I’m curious about how we live our beliefs and values in the world. So mantra, something I repeat to myself, to support me in action, so I can live in the integrity of my beliefs.
 
There are lots of mantras or words/phrases out there to try on (Thomas: I think I can, Dori: Just keep swimming), but I think it is the most potent if we create our own. Something short, memorable, potent, and emotionally charged, which will light a fire under our ass during those tough moments, and remind us that we will make it through. Taking a breath, letting it out. Feeling the intensity in my gut.
 
I’ll share mine as an example. My mantra is #jazzhands.  It’s an unlikely mantra, but to me it is a potent seed of transformation. This is a mantra that already existed within me, came out of my experience, and creates that feeling between laughing/crying where I feel the hope and tragedy of my life intermingled. And, most importantly, it immediately snaps me out of whatever messy thought pattern I’m in, brings me back to the present, and reminds me, oh right, yes I can!
 
Jazzhands is about my prior career, the career that I left because of my illness, the grief and loss associated with my illness, the metamorphosis and change process and growth as a result of hitting bottom, having a sense of humor, and being present on stage… the stage of life. Not wasting a moment. Being curious and joyful about living in this body, in this lifetime, even when it feels like suffering and pain. And that everything I’ve gone through has lead me to this present moment where I get to show up completely and say yes to my life. #Jazzhands.
 
So what’s yours?
 
Try some on. Keep it simple, memorable, and potent. And then hold yourself accountable. I wrote it on my mirror. I wrote it on my website. I say it out loud in groups and get other people literally doing jazzhands (choreography!). Fully mind, body, spirit people! So get in there and do some internal questing to uncover your personal mantra. Remember, there’s nothing too silly, odd, or weird, and the only person it has to make sense to is you! You don’t have to justify it, you just get to live it.
 
And then start practicing, because if you want something to be there in the tough times, you’ve got to practice it in the other times. So when you’re biking up the “hill” you can shout out loud #jazzhands, make yourself laugh, scare some prairie dogs, and keep peddling. 
 
Post your mantra below or on Facebook, to get some accountability and claim it, and have fun with it! 

This past week I had the great fortune to go to Las Vegas and witness the ending of an era as the show Jubilee, which has run in Las Vegas for the past 35 years, had it’s final show. I was a performer in Jubilee for almost 2 years.  
 
My identity as a performer, dancer, and showgirl is something I have grieved repeatedly since I became sick. Unable to walk up a flight of stairs, I remembered walking up and down thousands of stairs a night, with 4 inch heels and a headdress on in Jubilee.  I cried and cried in my bed, night after night, feeling like I didn’t even know who I was without performing. It’s all I ever wanted to do. It was my identity. And now what? Goodbye rhinestones.
 
I slowly began to realize that there were other things that I could do, such as become a Dance/Movement Therapist, which incorporated many of my interests. I began graduate school, but still felt a hole… the nagging feeling that it wasn’t the same as performing. There is always that comparison. 25 years in my performer identity, and only a couple years in grad school not yet fully owning a therapist identity didn’t outweigh each other yet.
 
And then an odd thing happened. I began to feel better, and stronger, and, wait … maybe I could perform again? I think that time was maybe even worse, in that it was so confusing. Like a carrot being dangled in front of my nose, while I was already moving down another path. So I thought, maybe I could go back to Vegas one day, and be a showgirl again, because now I was feeling better. The previous identity was rearing it’s head again.
 
And then I got sick again. Damnit! There is no way that I could rely on my body to dance through 12 shows a week again consistently for years. So, I began to grieve again. Goodbye rhinestones, and feathers, and lashes.
 
Was I at the mercy of my identities? Where did I get to take the responsibility to choose… but what do I choose? It seemed like there were only two options:
1.  Don’t give up- be the person that goes back to their prior identity, doesn’t let things get them down, fights for it, and becomes greater at it than ever before. Plus has a physical illness… impressive! Or:
2. Brave new world- become the person who grieves, lets go, and chooses the new scarier unknown path, and shines brighter than she could have ever in her prior identity. And, PS, she did this all after an illness… also impressive!
 
Either or, either or, either or.
 
Then I got quiet enough to get out of my own way, and see what was already happening. The truth is, performing/old identity is known, this new career is not. Do I want to spend my life doing what I already do, or growing to what is unexplored and create that? And most of all, how can these maybe, actually, work together. News flash: de-compartmentalize!  These are both threads (and contain many other threads) to who I am… how do I integrate them? Is there space for the past to become present again, in a whole new way? Can rhinestones live in therapy?
 
Seeing Jubilee I felt nothing but proud, and excited, and grateful to be part of an amazing lineage. I was reminded by someone I love dearly that no matter what I am doing in life I will always be a performer, a dancer, and showgirl. So for the first time this was not an experience filled with grief. It was an experience filled with deep reverence for the part of myself that is still me. And brought up a lot of questions around how this part of me still gets to shine, sparkle, and be in the spotlight today.
 
We all have parts of ourselves and our identities that seemingly die with illness or other set-backs, and we have to try to make sense of who we are now. Now that we’re not who we once were, but we aren’t someone new yet either. Instead we’re in the very uncomfortable and messy in-between.  We may not get to choose what happened to us that made us sick, but we do get to choose how the threads of our past identities get to live in the present.  It may be a rough road of realization, but with support, creativity, and (for me) glitter, we can “figure it out.”   
 
So, does this feel true for you?