The Great Unshorn: A Pandemic Journey of Self-Discovery

So, how about this pandemic, hey? 

For those of us who have been lucky enough not to get sick OR have loved ones fall ill OR have loved ones die, alone in a care home or hospital OR grieve from afar OR lose in come and financial stability OR have trouble finding food, medication, shelter and basic comforts, (deep breath) this pandemic has created an opportunity to examine what is essential in our lives. 

You know, other than our health, our loved ones’ health, and our ability to procure the necessities of basic human survival. 

The fact that you’re still reading tells me you’re probably one of the lucky ones. For those of us who are privileged to be able to maintain a semblance of pre-pandemic life, or absorb the punches coming at us and remain standing, the opportunity to question our first-world daily luxuries is ripe. And I say we pick ‘em. 

Case in point:

I’m noticing in the circles of women with whom I’m intertwined, there is a lot of chatter about the state of our hair. 

(Now, in the life-threatening seriousness of a pandemic, talking about hair may seem frivolous. And it totally is. But stay with me here. 

I want to use the example hair provides to examine all the choices we make about our discretionary resources, and even our entire lives. We’ve all had a relationship with hair in some capacity (whether we currently have any or not) so it offers a tangible starting point for diving deep within. 

And by looking within, we can discover what’s driving our choices, and therefore either continue to make those choices from a place of conscious alignment, or be empowered to make different ones that will create the world we want on the other side of this pandemic. ‘Cause it’s not gonna be like it was before, and neither are we. And our hair can help show us the way.)

Back to pandemic hair. 

I’ve seen and heard lots of lamenting of grey hair, too-long hair, unshaped hair. I’ve seen the tragic, hilarious and occasionally successful Quarantine Cuts that are happening at home. Heck, I performed one on my daughter. She’s happy, so let’s call it a success! I’ve seen the memes and the how-to videos, and the people growing their hat collections along with their locks. 

So, how are you feeling about your hair right now, this many weeks into quarantine / self-isolation / lock-down?

I’ll tell you how I’m doing in a bit. But first, let’s focus on you. 

For many women (and men, too), our hair is a major source of identity and pride and confidence. We’ve all had “bad hair days,” amiright? The fact that’s even a thing tells you how important hair is in our culture and in us feeling confident and worthy and capable. There’s something about having a “good hair day” that makes things feel easier, more enjoyable, and like we can take on the world and maybe more importantly, that we deserve to take on the world. It’s even been studied. 

Our hair is a major investment of both time and money. Let’s start with money. The global hair care product market in 2018 was estimated at close to $88 billion US. Yup, BILLION with a B. B for Big Money. (During the pandemic, it’s already been projected that in the US people are spending almost 75% less than normal on personal services (77% less in the UK), including trips to the salon or barber, so while that’s moolah in consumer’s pockets, it’s leaving hair stylists empty-handed. 

What to do about that? Send them some love...in the form of money, if you’re able. Your hair stylist is likely struggling in the income department right now. Why not send him or her payment for any missed appointments you might have had during this time? They get to eat and pay their rent or mortgage, and you get to feel good. Win win. 

Next, consider how much time you spend on your hair. Let’s get hypothetical: You travel to and from your stylist once every six weeks, which takes you 30 minutes one way, plus chair time of (conservatively) an hour. That’s 8.67 appointments a year, so let’s round that down to eight to account for holiday weeks and to make the maths easy. So, eight appointments times two hours each equals 16 hours. Not bad. Only two business days a year going to the salon. 

Let’s add in your at-home hair-care time. I assume you wash your hair, and I know there are different practices culturally and occupationally and whatnot here, so let’s just go with five washes a week and a 10-minute shower time and call it even. Again, keeping things simple. So, that brings us to 50 minutes a week times 52 weeks equals 2600 minutes or 43.3 hours of hair washing a year. Cool. 

Let’s style those locks! We’ll apply some product, comb or brush, blow, curl or straighten, maybe stick it in some rollers or twisters or whatever new things are on the market, or slap it into a pony or in some braids, or spike it all up, squeeze it into a banana clip old school, whatever. The options are endless and so are the time allotments...so let’s just say it’s 30 minutes a day spent styling, and let’s just count five work days a week (you get weekends, whatever those are, off!). So, 150 minutes per week equates to 7800 minutes or 130 hours a year styling your hair. Neat-o!

Basically, if my math works out, an *average person (*completely unscientifically substantiated) spends almost 175 hours a year, or 3.4 hours a week, or just over ONE WHOLE WEEK (of 24-hour days) a year on their hair. And we didn’t even count the hours spent searching the internet for the perfect picture of that cut you want. 

Bottom line: Big Money, Big Time.

So, I’m just gonna leave those numbers there for pondering. 

Back to pandemic hair. Again.

During this pandemic, the inability to access professionals to shape, colour, tame, extend, curl, blow out and otherwise coif is sadly impacting many women’s self-esteem. (Here’s a resource for understanding and assessing the relationships between our appearances and self esteem.) 

And I get it.

We all want to look how we want to look.

Cool. 

Even if the only humans who will see us are either in our homes, or other unshorn grocery shoppers, food delivery drivers, or online meeting attendees.

Again, I get it. We’re visual creatures. We make millisecond decisions and assessments based on how someone looks. And, what has also been studied, is that we care a lot more about how we look than others do. 

So it’s one thing to take pride in how your hair is did. But, if you are crippled with anxiety because your roots are showing, or your ends are splitting, or your bangs are too long, we should maaaaybe look at that. And, if you’re feeling resistance to looking at that, then we should reeeeeeeally look at that! 

Park your internal critic and dial down your judge-o-meter, and with pure, open curiosity, ask yourself these questions and see what comes up for you: 

• What does your hair say/show about you? 

• Why does your hair matter (so much)?

• Who expects your hair to look a certain way? And why? (If it’s not you, why does that person’s opinion matter?)

• Who would you be without your hair? 

Take some deep breaths. If difficult emotions are coming up and inner truths are hard for you, then switch to your logical brain and consider:

• What is the true investment you make into your hair, and what’s the return on that investment? First, figure out the dollars and cents of it: What do cuts, colours, tools, and treatments cost? And, give yourself an hourly rate for the time you put into it -- and add up what you are not earning while doing your hair.  

• Then figure out what you get in return that’s a direct result of your hair: Your job? A promotion? Confidence? Compliments? 

• Is the ROI bountiful and balanced enough for you? 

• If not, where might you rather invest your time, energy and money? 

Then, if you’re feeling brave, return to your emotional brain and ask:

• From where might you rather source your confidence and self-worth?

That’s a lot of questions. Take your time with them. 

Back to my pandemic hair. 

That time it was a tad windy in Keflavik

I’m doing fine. Hair is actually not a concern of mine, which is maybe why I notice it being an issue for others and started thinking about it. In fact, my initial (ahem, slightly judge-y) response to hearing someone complain about the condition of their hair is an incredulous internal, “It’s just hair!” 

That’s likely because when it comes to hair, I am beyond low maintenance. I just don’t place value on appearance in the same way that some other people do. Some would suggest I place too little value on appearance, but that’s for another time.

My hair is long and greying.

I have three styles: loose, low ponytail or high ponytail.

It needs a trim, but in non-pandemic times, I get it trimmed, like, two to three times a year. Tops.

I like simplicity and comfort and a low-maintenance lifestyle. That’s just how I roll. 

It hasn’t always been like this. I started playing with colour back in about grade seven or eight, and have been everything from platinum blonde to flaming red. I’ve worn long styles, pixie cuts, perms (hello ‘80s!), a shaved head on numerous occasions, and all kinds of “needs weekly maintenance” coiffures over the years. But for the past 10 years, it’s been free of chemicals, and for the past seven, it’s been long and ponytailable. 

Evidence that a professional styled my hair once for a fancy occasion

Why? Well, first and foremost, like a lot of women, I wear my hair how I like it, whether that’s au naturel or chemically processed or what have you. (Anyone else into grombre?) Unlike what the North American brainwashing beauty industry tells us, I CANNOT WAIT for it all to turn grey and I think it’s gwaaahhhrgeous!

And second, I would rather spend my time doing about a hundred other things, including sleeping in, than working on my ‘do. And I would rather spend my money on things that bring my life more meaning and joy, like books, travel (maybe someday again…) and really good coffee beans.

My values of simplicity and realness drive my choices around my hair… and a lot of other things in my life. Go figure. Your values of beauty and luxury and pampering, or something else, might drive your (different) choices. Cool. We all get to be ourselves!

Here’s a practical challenge for you during the pandemic (again, if you are one of the ones in a position of privilege and minor inconveniences): Let your hair continue to grow in whatever way it shows up. Meet it as it is. Let it be. And notice what that brings up for you. 

• What can you learn about yourself by being in the discomfort of not looking how you want to look right now?

• What’s available to you from the discomfort?

• Who are you without your “normal” or preferred hairstyle?

• And do you like that person, or would you choose to be someone who isn’t defined / influenced / limited by their “bad” hair? 

Now extrapolate the learning from that to other luxuries of your “normal” life.

• Where are you investing your time, energy and money?

• What’s the return you’re getting? Is it worth it?

• When you look at the choices you make, are you living from your values, or not? If not, what are you putting ahead of what you value most?

• What do you want to do about that?

Let your hair show you the way.

Reach out if you want some help untangling all this.

Boundaries and Spaciousness

Winter is my least favourite time of year. I feel my shoulders rise, my face tighten and the rest of my body clench in preparation for the harshest and most unforgiving Saskatchewan season. Each fall, I mentally and physically prepare for the worst -- minus 40 degree Celsius temperatures; strong northerly winds that freeze your skin in seconds; cars that don't start with windows that won't defrost; drifts and ridges of snow and ice that make driving treacherous; and everything takes longer, more effort and requires an emergency kit at the ready, just in case.

It means getting up in the dark, earlier than normal, just to get the kid to school and myself to work on time. And hoping the heating system and sewer system and generator will all keep working on the very coldest days so I don't have to call the neighbours to come out of their warm houses to troubleshoot. It means watching the weather throughout the day to determine if I need to leave work early to make it through a snowstorm to the sitter's before closing. It means going to work and leaving work in the dark. And then repeat, day after day after long, well actually short, winter day.

And this year, I'm facing it all without a back-up -- no extra vehicle in case mine doesn't start; no extra parent in case I'm running late; no one else to clear the yard and deck and steps of snow, to grab groceries on the way home from the too-peopley places, to help with homework, to remember the December birthdays on top of the holiday festivities, to help choose the Christmas concert outfit, to do the hair, to watch and applaud in the audience, to calm and soothe an over-excited six-and-three-quarters-year-old child's mind well past her bedtime on a school night.

I know that there are lone parents all over the world who juggle the demands of parenting, often of multiple kids, and work, family, friends and all kinds of other stuff all the time. And, I know this living arrangement is our conscious choice, and that it may take many more months until we are reunited permanently. I am not complaining. I am stating the fact that it is hard. Especially during winter in Saskatchewan (even though this one has been pretty easy so far). And I am acknowledging that I wasn't handling it all very effectively or gracefully.

I really haven't been myself these last couple of months.

I needed to make some changes to make it more manageable and get back to being me. 

I knew something needed to change about a month ago -- I was short with my kid, short with my colleagues, disconnected from my spouse and near tears almost all the time. I felt completely overwhelmed and like I was failing at everything in my life -- with my team at work, on the big project at work, as a parent, as a partner, and as a coach -- I sure wasn't feeling very resilient or positive or able to support others in their own journeys of self-realization. I felt like a hypocrite. I had lost touch with nature -- I can't remember the last time I spent any time outside or took the dog for a walk. And I felt like I didn't have any friends, outside of work and Facebook. (Not that I don't LOVE my co-workers! I so do!) I remember the moment my parents offered to have C spend the night at their place on an upcoming Friday, and I could go out with adults for an evening. I couldn't think of anyone to make plans with. Who were my friends? It had been so long since I'd gotten together with people in a social setting, I couldn't remember who to contact. Or maybe more importantly, who I could be un-peppy, maybe a bit snarky, and mildly lethargic around. Cue the self pity.

I got the confirmation (aka slap upside the head) I needed while attending two days of mental health first aid training through my organization. I checked all the boxes for depression and anxiety, both in full bloom. I had suspected as much, based on my history with these two diseases, but I don't think I wanted to admit it.

I was too busy to be sick. 

But I knew too much was at stake to avoid the truth, and I'm a vocal advocate for mental health awareness, so I figured I needed to walk the talk. 

So I named my depression and anxiety and asked for help. 

I have super-supportive and understanding managers at work, so I created some strong work boundaries with their help. I switched from working full-time leading a branch AND managing a huge organizational change project AND coaching clients in and outside of work, to cutting back to three days a week, and when possible,  at my manager's insistence, working one of them from home, and removing myself from the big project.

After two weeks, my shoulders have STARTED to drop slightly. I still have multiple moments of panic throughout the day -- What am I forgetting? Where am I supposed to be? Where's the kid? What time is it? Where's the dog? What deadline must I meet? Have I missed it? Do we need milk? Is it time to FaceTime C's dad? WHO ELSE NEEDS SOMETHING FROM ME??? -- and add to that the busy-ness of this time of year (and we don't even make a big deal out of it) -- but I'm getting better at breathing through those moments and reminding myself that I have space and time.

My main focus right now is on being a present parent. I'm trying to keep the holiday magic alive for C -- she's in love with holiday movies right now, and making gifts for people. I'm trying to help her plan her seventh birthday party -- one here, one in BC. And manage her expectations about what Santa will or will not bring her. And feed her and bathe her and make sure she hasn't outgrown all her pants and get her homework done and make sure she's at the appropriate reading level. And work through her emotions with all the changes going on in our lives, and the impact living apart from her dad has on her. I'm trying to keep her healthy and happy and learning and curious and believing in magic.

Honestly, I'm just trying to keep it all together. 

I'm trying to make healthy choices to support movement out of depression. Some days I'm successful, and others I give myself permission to just be however I am. Some days only the smallest of actions are celebrated -- getting dressed, drinking water, eating something healthy, getting C to the sitter's on time to get to school. I'm trying to let the judgement this disease screams inside my head go, or to at least quiet it. To treat myself gently, kindly. And some days, binge-watching Outlander feels like the right choice. Until it isn't. And then I try something else. With forgiveness and compassion.

I'm trying to slow down. Sit with, be with, be present. Breathe. Quiet my mind. Nourish my body. Keep things simple. Seek what I need to feel strong and healthy and resilient again. Give myself the space and time to listen and hear. Take guidance from the upcoming solstice, the shortest day of the year, and hope for light after the longest night. And not expect too much of myself.

That one's the hardest for me. 

As a coach, it's easy to fall into believing that you should have your poop in a group all the time. I'm here to tell you that's not realistic. Coaches are people too -- yes, people with good understanding of self, access to many resources, and connection to a community of caring, compassionate people. AND we don't always have it together (whatever that means)!

It is my hope by sharing my real self, modelling vulnerability and honesty, exposing my challenges and imperfections, you will be inspired to be your true self, and to ask for help, should you need it.  

******

If you or someone you know is struggling with mental health challenges this time of year, there is help. 211 Saskatchewan is a one-stop-shop for community resources across Saskatchewan including crisis support lines. 

******

In love and light,

Jilly

Living in limboland

The winds of change are blowing across southern Saskatchewan and knocking all the dehydrated leaves off our trees. Because it has been so dry, they barely had a chance to change colour and they're tumbling across my yard and over the horizon. Fall is all but here, and today I felt the first hints of winter: single digit temperatures and an icy wind. AND IT IS STILL TECHNICALLY SUMMER. But this will be my last prairie fall, or Second Season of the Wind, so I'll take it. 

Our family is relocating.

It's a big change for us: hopping two provinces westward, embracing a different climate (huzzah!), creating new routines, forming new community and shifting our lifestyle. It's exciting and it fell into place after almost four years of tentative dreaming (after each summer vacation: wouldn't it be nice to stay here forever?), dedicated planning (husband working the network to get a new job; purging the house; number-crunching; letting go of our dream farm-future) and starry and planetary alignment (the job offer came on the eclipse!). 

But I'm living in limboland right now, and will be for the foreseeable future.

My husband left yesterday to relocate to our new life. 

I get to stay here in our "old" life, job, house and routines until our home/farm sells.

Then we'll all be reunited on a dreamy island off the west coast of Canada.  

Limboland is a weird place. I'm super duper excited about what's next -- after all, I'm a what's next kind of person (great starter, not such a strong finisher, because LOOK OVER THERE AT THAT NEW THING! I want to go there!), but I have to contain my excitement and not live too far into future, because the current/old life could continue for months, or maybe a year a more. And I will run out of enthusiasm/energy/optimism mid-way. 

So, I'm trying to keep smaller milestones in sight: Get the house listed. Get the man-friend packed up and off on his travels. Get the child settled into another school year. Get the projects done at work. Coach the amazing clients. Make the bed. Empty the dishwasher. Walk the dog. Sell the stuff. Sell the house. And still keep the dream alive. 

It's interesting to notice how I'm NOT COMPLETELY FREAKING OUT, ahem, how I'm embracing the un-planned-ness of my future -- once the house sells and I quit my full-time gig here, I DON'T KNOW WHAT'S NEXT. There is no plan, other than a vague idea of ramping up my coaching practice and then... who knows? There is something totally scary AND freeing in the not knowing. 

I'm revelling in the idea of being a full-er-time coach, being able to walk my kiddo to and from school and kung fu and go kayaking some morning JUST BECAUSE I WANT TO. Maybe I'll host art-based coaching workshops from our new garage-turned-studio space...and teach meditation classes at the local rec centre....and write those other books I've been meaning to write.

Ditching the 8-5 office job seems a critical next and permanent step.

I'm especially looking forward to embracing a more minimal lifestyle. Being a single-car family, living in a smaller home with a smaller (non-farm) yard, enjoying more experiences and time with each other and less stuff. It means I won't need to be tied to that 8-5 grind because we won't be reliant on it. More freedom. 

I'm torn between starting new things here and now, and waiting until I've moved. So, I've tested out a few things to see if they shift the universe (i.e., send a buyer for our place), including:

• Getting new photos with the fabulously talented Michael Bell. The sprucing up of this site will follow soon. 
• Signing up for a kung fu class (my kid is attending one, and there's an adult class at the same time, so there really didn't seem to be a reason NOT to...)
• Collaborating to co-lead a women's retreat next spring in a forest near Vancouver (!!!)
• Buying an ungodly amount of delicious fancy-pants cheese from my pal Aleana at Takeaway Gourmet
• Committing to a new workout routine (Did you see the note about the cheese? Ugh.)

I'll keep you posted on the imminent move, and what it's like in between now and then, and then some. 

In love and light,

Jilly

What's next?

I’ve been quiet over the summer. Offline. But still here.

After being quite open and out-in-the-world about my health issues earlier this year, it felt right to be quieter and out-of-view. 

I returned to work mid-May and it’s be a flurry of activity, followed by the end of the school year in June, summer camp, offering meditation gatherings at my farm in July and then a family vacation for two weeks. And suddenly it’s August.

I’ve used the time to give some ideas space and just, well, be with them. See what delicious elixir might steep into my cup, what calls to my heart to do, create, become, next.

I've watched colleagues and other people I admire from afar launch new offerings, new businesses, new relationships into the world. Cheering for them, sitting in the success and newness with them, feeling content to be on the sidelines. Not pushing anything out, fast, forward. Just, being.

Waiting, opening, observing, pondering, welcoming, discerning.

I’m not sure what’s next, exactly, in terms of my offerings. It doesn’t have words yet. Not specific ones, anyway. More like hints, nuances, whiffs. Like someone hovering, just around the corner, not yet fully in focus. And I’m not rushing it. I’m working on opening my heart, being still, noticing. These days move too quickly.

Thank you for your patience, if you’ve been waiting for what’s next from me. It’s coming. It may not be perfect or fully-formed, and that’s okay. It will be of service.

I have a couple of one-on-one coaching spots open starting this month, if you’re looking to find your “next thing.” Reach out if it feels right. 

Take good care,

Jilly

Cosmic shifts and now what?

Not dying creates a real problem.

You have to live.

You have to keep figuring life out. You have to decide who you are and who you want to be and how you want to impact the world and what you want to do. 

I was happy to not die. Trust me. I was VERY relieved to wake up. Even if I was puking and sore and bruised and oozing fluids from my ladyparts. Waking up was gross and painful and messy and joyful.

I had such an emotional build-up to surgery and the possibility that I might not wake up (it happens...see Bill Paxton as a recent and very real example), that when I woke up, I realized I needed to REALLY wake up and make a new plan...for living. 

As a typical (over-)planner, I congratulated myself on NOT planning beyond surgery, other than for the worst-case-scenario. I felt compelled to plan for the messy and hard parts of my potential death, as a way to ease the burden that would be placed on my loved ones. Beyond that, I didn't make any definite plans for the rest of the year...when I'd be back at work, only tentative dates with my coaching clients, no for-sure family vacations,  or commitments to playshops or retreats or other endeavours and adventures.

And now I find myself in a state of utter and complete possibility. What a gift. 

And, it feels like I have to get this right, given the chance. The possibility of dying is a wake up call to make better choices. To live life on purpose, on my purpose. In alignment with who I am and what I'm here to do. Living consciously. Living intentionally. Making the world a better place, even if in small ways. 

I don't want to get too far ahead of myself. I mean, I still have to wait for biopsy results and next steps in terms of potential treatment and monitoring, but my intuition tells me things are going to be okay. 

But, the weird solar eclipse/new moon in Pisces stuff that happened a couple days ago created some shifts in my focus. I'm not completely knowledgeable about or even fully believing in the interpretations of the influences of the cosmos on our lives, but there is something to be said for another source of information to enlighten our perspectives. Another framework through which to view our lives, emotions, desires, disappointments.

The messages of the recent cosmic activity are of releasing the old and designing the new; of closing a chapter of our lives and writing a new one for the future; of making up or breaking up (romantic or other relationships, including with ourselves). All good stuff. Truthfully, this could be anyone's focus at anytime, but with the power of Pisces (my sign!) behind me, it feels like the right time to be consciously focusing on these aspects of my life.

So, for the next several months, I feel drawn to focusing on, refining, honouring, creating and clarifying the following:

1. My relationship with myself. This includes giving myself care, real care as I need it, before I need it, to heal my body, grow my love of self, and be healthy in all aspects of the word. This means accepting help. Asking for help. Making priority time for movement, rest and nourishment. Being more than just a mom or manager or coach or wife. Embracing all of me and leveraging my strengths. 

2. My marriage and connection to my spouse. This June, we will have been together for 15 years. There has been magic, and it hasn't all been easy. No marriage is. As we celebrate our time together and plan for the future, I want to be clear about what this marriage is and isn't, what our roles and expectations are, and how we will continue to grow as individuals and as a couple. Better communication. More fun. Amazing intimacy. A true partnership. 

3. How I will serve in this world. I've had so many ideas bouncing around my head about programs and courses and playshops and ways to make a difference in this world. I've wanted to create an online course for people to get clear about their lives. I've wanted to create an in-person women's circle for nourishment and connection. I've wanted to create playful space for deeper conversations between couples and singles, deeper date nights. I've wanted to focus on EOL coaching. I've wanted to lead a meditation group. I've wanted to expand my art-based playshops. I've wanted to write more and publish my book(s). It's time to make these things real. That means creating disciplined creative time, finding workshop spaces with the right feel, building content, learning the technology to share, collaborating with others, contacting the publisher and just going for it. Knowing that my gifts and how I deliver these ideas in my unique way will bring more peace and connection and love to the world. 

So, stay tuned for what's coming next! It won't be perfect, by any means. And that's just fine. It will be raw and real and it will grow into what it needs to be in the world right now. 

Read more interpretations and explanations of the February 26 Solar Eclipse/New Moon in Pisces curated by MYSTICMAMMA.com.   

In love and light,

Jilly

Energy, empowerment and extroverting for the win

I tried a new thing a couple weekends ago: JourneyDance. I attended a workshop led by the lovely and glowing Michelle Brass and met (and danced with!) a group of exquisitely amazing women. 

I didn’t really know what to expect. I was drawn to enrol in the experience prior to learning I needed surgery and I even contemplated withdrawing right up to an hour before the workshop began. Something told me I needed to attend, and I listened.

I allowed my curiosity to lead me; I knew Michelle a bit and was curious about this dance thing she was doing. I also felt called to get out of my head and into movement and into my body this year. And I wanted to say yes to something that pushed me out of my comfort zone AND was completely about and for me – not my day job, my kid, my marriage, my health, my coaching business. A little bit of luxurious self-care just for me.

And I learned again that taking care of myself extends to all the other aspects of my life. Of course.

And that a group of women coming together in community to heal is incredibly powerful. Of course. 

(We did have one lovely man join us for the evening workshop, and it was wonderful to have male energy on the dance floor as well.)

The experience was challenging and so very rewarding. I was challenged to let go of insecurities (there were REAL, trained dancers in the room!); challenged to connect to my body and turn off my critical mind; challenged to trust my body to move me how it wanted to be moved, to speak for me, to express what needed to be expressed and exposed; and challenged to trust a group of strangers to see me, hold me, love me based on how I showed up that day. And to trust I could do the same for them as well.

The beauty and power and rawness of the music, energy, movement and the women – THE WOMEN – who were present was magic. I felt honoured to be able to witness their grace, lightness, heaviness, frivolity, expression, emotion and connection. We held a sacred space for and of each other. Hearts opened, tears flowed, strength emerged. Beauty everywhere.

The entire experience opened up awareness for me into previously dark or perhaps ignored places. What is my connection to my body? How I can I be so appreciative of all other bodies but not my own, not really? If I was accepting of it, why do I feel so self-conscious of its appearance? Its capabilities? Why do I take it for granted? What does this illness create in terms of opportunity to reconnect and honour my physical body? How do I want to be with my body? Why did I get this diagnosis? What’s the message in it? Is it my fault? 

I’m someone who tends to feel totally okay about my body one day – It’s just a physical form for my soul and mind, right? What’s the big deal? It doesn’t matter what it looks like! – despite all the messages our society sends about how women “should” look (and behave…but that's another post), and then another day, I’m completely disappointed in it and embarrassed to leave my house and be seen.

The fact is, I need this body to do the things I want to do in this lifetime. I need it to work for me, to keep me mobile, to be able to communicate and care for my family and to do the things I love to do, like walk in our fields, travel, create. I need it to be healed. 

In my coaching practice, I use "geography" with my clients to get them out of their thinking minds into their bodies and connect them to their intuition. We use the room or space and our physical forms in it in different ways to open up energy and thought and feeling and perspective. We use the body as a tuning fork, or as a satellite dish for receiving notes or signals from our intuition or the universe or god or fill-in-the-blank. I learned through this experience that I can go deeper, into my own body, and therefore will be more available to go deeper with my clients. I’ll have more range and depth to offer them. 

I happened to catch a few minutes of The Nature of Things on Thursday night as well, and it was all about body language. You can watch the episode here. The part that I caught was a brief interview with Dr. Amy Cuddy who talked about research, often called "embodiment," that shows some emotions we experience are hardwired to display in our physical bodies, and the way we move and hold our physical bodies has an impact on our emotions. How many of us have been told to smile and it will help improve our mood? Did it work? Science says it does. 

So, if I dance like no one's watching, will I move without inhibition? With freedom? With truth? Will my true emotions pour onto the dance floor? Maybe. Dr. Cuddy recommends we fake it NOT until we make it, but until we BECOME it. So how might I move on the dance floor, and through life, in a way that I become what I want to be? And how can I help my clients do the same? 

I was talking with my doctor a couple weeks back about the stages of grief…he said I will likely experience anger at some point…I haven’t. I haven’t felt anger toward my body at all. Regret, yes. I have apologized for not listening to it, to not nourishing it as well as I could have, for neglecting it, but I haven’t felt anger toward it, or the illness.

I’m never judgmental about other people’s bodies. I truly marvel at all the shapes, sizes, colours, abilities and differences between all the people I encounter. It’s all so fascinating! How can one species be so very diverse?! The wonder of it all! And yet, the things I think about my own physical form would be completely unacceptable if I said them out loud to another person. Why the double standard? I'm aware of the beliefs around negative thoughts and emotions and cancer. Did I cause this? Did I manifest it? I'm not entirely convinced, so I'm being curious about it.  

JourneyDance opened up a lot of curiosity for me. 

I moved my body. I danced like no one was watching. I likely looked foolish. And that's okay.

I laughed. I cried. I witnessed. I held space. I grew weary and sore.

I even extroverted and told some fascinating women I want to keep in touch with them. I dare say I made new friends. 

If you're interested in exploring emotion and self-awareness through movement, check out Michelle's site for her latest offerings in the Regina area. 

In love and light,

Jilly