Wednesday, April 13, 2011

Endings and Beginnings

My last blog entry was over two years ago. I stopped writing because, quite frankly, I was boring myself with the angst and frustration. I found I was defining myself by the writing – and I was way over it.

My blog had become an outlet for complaining. I had a lot of complaining to do and one day, I was just done and wanted to move on. I no longer wanted to be ‘that’ woman who had cancer – and writing about it kept me in that place.

Since I was writing the blog for me – I stopped the blog for me.
But people did not stop approaching me and wanted to know what happened? Where am I? Did I ‘beat’ cancer?

So, here I go. What follows is my attempt to explain all that has happened in the past two years so that I can put an ending to my beginning.

Until January 2010 I continued with herceptin every 3 weeks, and after that I was done. I was done with the treatments. I had refused Tamoxafin for 5 years because I knew in my heart of hearts that if I did do it, I would become the statistic that got uterine cancer. I had learned all I had needed to from the toxic chemicals. The abuse needed to stop and I was very clear and calm with my boundary.

Never one to let the question ‘why’ fester, I began a lot more journeying to find health and peace in my life. I went to John Hopkins and took part in a psilocybin study for cancer and depression that had a scholarly intention of having a “mystical experience” (how rad is that??). I continued with Somatic Therapy to deal with the anxiety and PTSD I have had most of my life around my pattern of having something ‘terrorizing’ come ‘out of left field’ and smack me down (the way the cancer did). I found therapeutic support to start easing the cultural expectation on what my life should look, gave back the shames that were projected onto me that were never mine to begin with, and stepped fully into my own unique rhythm so I could enjoy the life that I am living.

Just like every other person living and reading this blog right now, I continued to be human. I showed up everyday – sometimes I made mistakes other times I jumped for joy. I learned more tools that allowed me to take responsibility for my feelings, found cleaner and clearer ways to communicate how I felt and continued to seek support so that I could love and take care of my own little one inside. The tools I learned not only helped my nervous system relax, but also healed the traumas that have been in my body for a long time so that I did not have to continue to repeat the patterns. Little by little I was starting to realize that I was worthy of love, respect and care. Basically, I learned how to parent myself in a healthy way. I was finally growing up.

In the fall of 2010 I traveled to the ancient lands of Peru to meditate, release and learn how to surf. But it wasn’t until an out of the blue, 2 week trip to Paris, to celebrate my ability to go to Paris on a moments notice, hence enjoying the benefits of no husband and no kids, that I was finally able to bring in my missing pieces.

I went with the intention of writing and being inspired (and eating descent croissants daily). Within my writings I began to understand my life and my choices – the details of which are profound, but are not to be shared today, as it is too long for a blog entry. The summation of which I now know why I have not been in my body for years – and why there was so much space for the cancer to be created.

In Paris, through my writings, I experienced anger, rage and eventually suffering. Viscous and deep, it made sense why I had avoided that kind of pain for so many years. I found the place where respect had been replanted with seeds of hopelessness and care had been replace with a deep well of despair.

Trust had been annihilated and love had been layered with confusion. In the place where I thought I had self worth I found a deep space that echoed with abuse. And in the space where a soul should be, I found judgmental, angry and hurtful voices filling up every void. I allowed these dark places to move through me, I held myself gently; I experienced them as a whole adult. Upon coming through on the other side I found I could now tell the story of how I came to manifest cancer in my body – and know that the places in me that called cancer in are not who I am. And the sadness for that place in me… the mourning of an illusion that isn’t even real... the well of tears from inside overflowing on the outside… within that space I had a visceral experience of forgiveness, for myself, for my parents… followed by immense waves of gratitude.

I, just like everyone else, have always been connected to who I am on the inside: my godself, my intuitive place, my self esteem, the universe, my innocence, my self worth, spirit, she is who is me, my little one – call it what you want, but it my books, it is all the same. For 42 years I was not living from this place as this connection had been chipped away by my lineage and smothered with societal expectations, both of which are ladened with both giving and receiving abuse. I learned to do what those who had come before me had done, replace self worth with self hate; gentle intuitive whispers with scathing judgmental voices. As a newborn I was taught almost immediately how to shut myself off to this connection within because the flow of her light inside conflicted with of the unrealistic expectations put upon me by my family and society on the outside. What I endured is considered by society to be ‘child rearing’ in preparation for toughening up in a society that thinks it can actually be in some kind of control over nature’s impulses. Personally, I call it abuse. I now perceive the world in which we live in, where we value a green piece of paper more than the life of a human being as an abusive world; my understanding of this truth became my first seed of hope.

My cancer was a reflection of the rage and anger I had, because deep down inside I knew I was disconnected to my intuitive self in order to survive. The cancer was a manifestation in the physical form of this disconnection or one might say, lack of love.

No amount of ceremony, medication, meditation, weekend workshops, therapy or ritual on its own could heal it. For me it was the years of self-reflection, the therapeutic tool of differentiation, presence with my internal connection, Paris herself and the writing done there that allowed for true healing into the depth of my soul.

After Paris, on my way back to Los Angeles, with a dozen croissants stowed away in my carry-on, I spent 3 days with my family in Florida, where my sister and I grabbed a brief moment while her kids were sleeping before we passed out ourselves. As we were changing into our PJ’s, I caught a flash of my naked body in the mirror. There I was, all 42 years of me. I turned and looked straight at my sister, “I can’t even believe I had Breast Cancer. I mean I look at my body and it is just that, my body. I forget sometime I even journeyed through it – until someone reminds me of it.”

“I know. Strange, huh?”

“Bizarre. Truly bizarre.”

When I look at myself in the mirror, I do not see a victimized, cut up body with scars, new breasts and tattooed areolas. What I see is me. My body and my scars; my perfection and my imperfections. I see lines and shapes, darks and lights. Beauty and wonder, wisdom and youth. It’s all there. A journey to my soul is all there on the outside, for me to see everyday, reminding me of how much strength there is in vulnerability. It is neither good nor bad. It is just who I am. And I can be settled, spacious and proud of all that.

Freedom. Blessed freedom. Finally, I am home.

Oh, and for those who care, I am cancer free.

Tuesday, June 2, 2009

I don't CARE!! or do I???

I seem to be so detached from everything these days, I'm kinda nervous.

A pregnant friend asked me if it was hard to give Molly to my parents.

"Nope.", I replied rather too quickly. "In fact, I'm kinda relieved to not have the responsibility."

I got together with a groups of midwives the other day for peer review, and as we went around the room saying our names and where our practice is located, everyone also stated how many children and grandchildren they have. I was feeling a bit out of place at first, but I stopped over thinking it and just stated the truth proudly, "I am choosing to not have children as I feel I do not have the support needed to raise them."

Since I have consciously chosen to 'work easy', I have been exploring dangerous territories for an overachiever. I am keeping my work load light on purpose and have a lot of free time to heal my aching body, rest and catch up on past paperwork. I contently spend a lot of time at home alone, perfectly happy as I lay a new foundation for myself of how to be in the world without being overwhelmed. Seven years after moving into my home, I have finally started in on the small plot of land in front and am doing this thing called 'gardening'.

I am exploring what I used to judge as a 'mediocer' life, and I'm finding out that I have been quite the fool in my thinking!

I went to visit a friend who also spends a lot of time at home meditating and making sure she is not constantly overwhelmed by life. She has a cat that she has loved for 10 years. And I thought to myself, "Why don't I get a cat? I'd like a bit of companionship. They are so low maitenance and offer so much love."

So I began researching with honesty what I need in a cat, what I could offer and what I could responsibily take care of.

And I found her up for adoption. Scarlette is an older Spyhnx female. She fit all my criteria. No shedding (she is hairless), cuddly and loving (the breed is known for sleeping under the covers), more dog like than cat like (they are said to be almost human in their talking), doesn't scratch the furniture and is litter box trained.

And I went to visit her. Yes, she is very very cute and excentric (think female Mr. Bigglesworth).

I loved petting her velvet like skin. But, if I'm going to be really honest with myself, my heart did not 'gush'.

Why can't I connect? I love animals... so why can't I feel that intoxicating love?


So, I go through the motions, as I am one of many people who are being interviewed to take this old lady home.

When I get home I entertain the thoughts of what it would be like to have a cat in my small 10x12 home.

"Well," I say to myself sternly with the look of a 60 year old IMB executive, "I could sacrifice a small corner of the bathroom for her litter box. The smell won't be too bad if I clean it everyday. She can't go outside, and is so old, she probably won't try to escape out the french doors while I leave them open in the summer. She has to be bathed twice a week because of her skin condition, but I have time to do that. And if I ever travel, I'm sure one of my pet loving friends will take her for the week...." On and on and on.

What the fuck am I doing?

I'm cutting down on my responsibilities because I have a clear message from the universe that I need to baby myself. I'm working part time to so I can explore what working 'easy' is like. I'm putting myself into the unknown world of ease, and what am I doing? I'm trying to create MORE responsibilities! MORE distractions!! MORE overwelm!!

This is NUTS! Why am I wanting to adopt a cat that needs to be bathed twice a week and can not be put on continual feed because she will overeat? Why am I trying to convince myself (rather well I must say) that I will be a better person and heal faster if I adopt an animal?


What is wrong with me? Why do I so not care about loving another human being or animal?

I drop in.

I go to the place where I am outside looking in on my own question.

I remember telling people with complete conviction the 'plan': "Of course I am going to have children. How could I ever be a good midwife/teach others about parenting if I don't experience childbirth/parent a child?"

I touch into the sadness in myself that feels incomplete as a woman if I do not birth and/or raise a child.

I taste the guilt of the box I have assembled as to what a 'loving, good-girl' looks like.

And I start to see that I have created a concept of "a loving human being" that could only be true if I prove it to the world by having a child, boyfriend or pet.

I am being caught red handed with the belief that only a person who is 'attached' can be a caring person.

I allow myself to sit with my feelings as I hold on to the last threads of those identities.

Fast forward to Monday, peer review for Acupuncture where I hangout with an old teacher of mine, Yvonne Farrell. Yvonne is the reason I made it through Acupuncture school. I used to come to her as a big wet sloppy mess after failing my intro to herbs exam. She'd look me straight in the eyes and declare, "Elizabeth, you are a healer. Now, go back home and study harder so you can pass your state board exams to become a licensed healer."

I'm still sitting in the group half heartedly, as my joints are aching and my body is in pain when I move.

Another student has asked a question and the conversation steers itself towards the taoist subject of detachment and healing.

"Detachment does not mean you care less, it actually means you care more, because it (the healing) is not about you!" Says Yvonne.

I am like a bell that has been rung. I feel her words reverberate within me.

Could I finally be in the place of all those meditation teachers on Oprah? Is this what 'they' have been talking about in yoga class? You mean I don't have to stop with my weekly manicures to experience 'detachment'?

I get an email from The Cat's foster mom explaining how they have given her to a person who works with animals on a daily basis and can work with her sensitive skin needs.

I can feel the relief of the responsibility being taken out of my hands, as I a feel a whole new world of freedom and caring open up in front of me.

Tuesday, May 19, 2009

Are you working hard?

My dad and I are shooting the shit and he asks, "So, are you working hard?"

I take in his words and reply, "No. Actually, I'm not."

He's a bit thrown. "Well, are you working?"

And I start to really feel the depth of how 'working' and 'hard' have always gone hand in hand in my life. I'm not sure if it is because of my Lineage or just how I was raised as an American. But, whatever it is, I'm so OVER IT!

I'm not talking about being irresponsible. I'm just talking about moving out of the 'salmon swimming upstream' paradigm - where work, hard and money are all in the same breath and into the downstream flow - where I just might float in an inner tube for a while and enjoy the ride.

As I sink deeper into the 'pause' I have created in my life, I settle deeper into the unknown, and feel the beginning edges of the potency that is so abundant- yet so foreign. I start to get a sense of how the unknown is not dark and scary, but a dark, fertile, spacious ground for ALL possibilities - which I humbly acknowledge is way beyond anything that I could create.

As I take in his question I feel the truth of my response, "Yes, I am working. But, I'm not working hard anymore. I'm working easy."

Saturday, May 9, 2009

A Survival 'do-over'

I have returned from my trip to the East Coast and finally feel like I have space and time for me - something that I have not had in quite a while.

Since my diagnosis, I have been crazy busy navigating the heavy hitting, toxic treatments: chemo, surgery & radiation. It wasn't like I didn't have time to take care of me, but I was always taking care of myself as an immediate reaction to a treatment - getting through the toxic treatments in a healthy way, with the health being the focus.

As I explain this all to my brother, he responds back, "Oh, you were thrown back into survival mode."

OMG! I have was so deep 'in it' that I didn't even realize that I was back in that place again! And at that moment I realized I had been given a 'do-over'.

Instead of doing survival mode they way I used to in the past: manipulation, denial, blinding emotional reactions, drama, disassociation, getting angry at myself for 'not doing it right' and restrictive control, I got a chance to "do" survival over - and this time I did it by creating new choices for myself and did not let myself drown in the huge waves.

Before I even began, I knew what 'healthy' support and 'dysfunctional' support looked like. I carved the path of health within the dysfunction by making sure I was always well supported with healthy support. Even when I perceived dysfunctional support, my 'no' was honored, which transmuted the dysfunctional support healthy. I did not allow myself to isolate, go into a trauma 'freeze' or have huge overwhelming feelings without naming them to others (or writing them out) and then asking for more support. I was adamant about remaining conscious about all my choices (even when I choose to take disassociating drugs). I never blame or shamed myself for doing something 'wrong' - because I never did. I took responsibility for all my choices. I trusted my intuition. I continued to love myself even in the midst of the worst storm.

I trusted what is true for me and my unique journey.

And from this place I learned compassion for the dysfunctional support in my past, and what forgiveness for myself and others really feels like from the inside out.

I have learned humility. I have learned to walk the coals with grace.

I worked hard.

I rocked it!

No wonder why I'm exhausted.

The aftermath of all the treatments has left me tired. My joints creak and sometimes there is all over body ache. When I get up from a sitting position, I start to do my 'old lady from Florida' routine. I'm not sure if this is from the chemo, the fact that I am still menopausal or the herceptin.

I listen to what my body has to say and hear: "rest" and "nourishment".

So, I practice what I preach by staying inside. I'm limiting my social engagements, I'm only working part time, I try to be in bed by 9pm, and I'm spend the days quietly reading on the sofa.

I'm not interested in sugar and dream of fresh juices. I'm very clear about what I don't want (meat) and what I do want (raw foods) and let my body guide me.

Because the Herceptin (every 3 weeks as and IV until Feb 2010) and Tamoxifen (a pill every day for 5 years) work differently than the past drugs, I've been given the 'thumbs up' by my alternative support team to start a gentle homeopathic cleanse that will get the heavy toxins out of my system, but will not interfere with the current drugs. I hope it will clear out the last of my neuropathy and body aches.

Sometimes I'm concerned because I don't have the same 'drive' to do anything anymore that I used to. I don't want to change the world. I don't want to teach what I know. I don't want to educate others about childbirth choices. I don't want to do much, but rest.

Can I get paid to gaze at my navel? Can I get paid to read books and nap? Can I get paid to write witty updates on Facebook?

Because I have chosen to go back to work part time, I have carved out a luxury that most people do not have within our masculine "go-Go- GO!" society: time to rest, go within, nourish and heal.

I observe myself at work holding space in a very different way. I feel clear, and I know exactly what to do, even if I have never had the experience before.

A client of mine who is birthing her baby at home, is pushing out the baby's head, when my assistant and I notice that the head does not extend fully out from perineum. A true shoulder dystocia. My body and hands move as though I have been a midwife for eons. I know exactly what to do. I have tapped into a place that I think can not be "me", yet it is who I am and have been all along. The baby emerges with the support of my hands, gracefully with no drama, no trauma.

I can feel the hormones going crazy again.... surges in my libido are followed by long moments of staring into space trying to find momentum.

I pray for help into the unknown, "Please, God, Jesus, Buddha, Abraham, Allah....somebody??? help me! my body hurts and I don't like it." I mourn out loud to my angels, "My passion is gone and I don't know how to move forward without it!"

I breath deeply into my quiet time and I dream.

I dream of something very different. I dream that I am holding an infant. It is definitely a boy, with a blond, bowl like haircut and am show how it resembling my grandmother's hair (my past) and also my nephews hair (my future).

I witness this infant being held close to a body. And I realize that this body is me. And I am hold a child. My child. A son.

I sweetly sing in his ear. I coo to him. I gaze at him.

We speak a gentle, soft language together.

My heart is slowly opening to him.

I wake up feeling different, dancing on the edge of tears .

And I know now I have been given a 'do-over' not just to how I navigate survival, but to my inner, masochistic masculine self.

Like the post partum mom who has just been through a huge life changing event, my job is to stay in, rest, nourish myself and my baby - and continue to stay in that sweet, gentle newborn rhythm.

I hold myself close and let the gentle tears fall.

I find the places in myself where I am scared, because all I know in the world is how to work from a place of the dysfunctional, aggressive, fast paced, high energy masculine ways where "I know" everything. And I feel the place where I am attached to my masochistic wound as unhealthy as it is - because the new way of 'not knowing' and being gentle and spacious to myself is so foreign.

And I make a choice. But this time I don't leap into the unknown. I'm done with the hard way, I really want to do things in a loving and easy way.

This time, like a cat licking her wounds clean, I curl up on myself, hold myself gently and rest. Because I am not moving around so much, I pull off the band aid to reveal the gash that needs a bit of ease, love and space to heal. I allow my wounds from cancer and all her toxic therapies to get some air.

From this gentle, sweet, slow place, I am present.

I stay put,
but I keep hearing,
that within this stillness,
I am moving forward.

Wednesday, April 22, 2009

Radiation is over, so why don't I feel different?

Radiation ended a few weeks ago, and I haven't written anything because I'm kinda bored with the story of cancer these days and I don't feel particularly different.

So, I am done. Yes and No.

I'm done with the heavy hitters - yucky chemo, in patient surgery & radiation. But I still have to go to cedars every 3 weeks until January 2010 for herceptin, this summer I'll be having out- patient cosmetic surgery on the new breasts (I'm getting nipples! yeah!) and 5 years of endocrine therapeutic drugs orally every day.

The week that I ended my radiation I also had a round of herceptin. Knowing I had 3 weeks of being 'Cedar-free' I high tailed it out of California and headed East to visit family.

New York on a good week for me is tiring (I tend to get overstimulated & overwhelmed there). I knew that I would go and not be heavily resourced the way I am here in California, but choose to go and not complain, because being with my sister, meeting my new nephew and visiting with friends out weighted everything else.

I won't bore you with highlights of my trip, but I did get to hang with Molly... and my nephew is particularly cute!

Sometime around my 10th day there my sister turned to me, "So, are you looking forward to going home on Monday?"

I looked at her curiously and thought, "Huh. I know I'm tired from being in New York and miss my fresh juices; but, I really haven't given it a thought."

I'm not wishing I was somewhere I'm not. I'm not avoiding what I'm feeling. I'm not projecting myself into the future as a way to feel better now.

Sleeping on the pull out sofa isn't the most comfortable place in the world, but I'm not complaining.

And I have no regrets about spending my vacation time with my family- as apposed to the beaches of Costa Rica.

I'm the same person who spent her vacation time with her mom in the hospital (my sister and I went to Connecticut to support her through a hip surgery) and the same person who hangs out reading on the dock of a bay at my Auntie's house.

The person who feels assaulted from the noises of New York's busy streets is the same person who enjoys a huge lobster Clam Bake with a six pack of Stella.

I am the same person now in NYC and the same person who will be flying back to LA.

Both the good and the bad are happening to me and I'm doing my job - making sure I do not go into overwhelm with whatever is being served up in the moment.

I'm currently living my life as the essence of me, who doesn't change based on what's around me, while being able to be present with her feelings and be okay with those feelings.

And that is when I realized how much I have changed.

In its own way, cancer is like having a birthday. On the day you don't normally feel different, but a few weeks/months/years down the road it hits you that you are actually a bit wiser.

Friday, April 3, 2009

"Radiation On, Radiation Off"

I have settled into a world of simplicity.

My days start when I wake up and then progress into Radiation at 10:30am, every weekday for 6 weeks. I'm usually exhausted by 6:30pm. They say that is a side effect of radiation: body exhaustion.

Everything centers around radiation.

I don't resist it anymore, it is more that I witness myself and how I journey through it.

Sometimes I arrive early and they take me early.

Sometimes I arrive on time and they are running late.

One day I arrive chipper. Another I arrive tired. Still another I arrive with humor.

I arrive on my cell phone talking to a mom in labor, or the insurance company, or my mother.

Every once in a while I settle into the waiting room in my blue gown and start typing away on the computer as though I'm sitting at my office desk while I wait to be paged for my turn.

I have two days where I call from the bed of a mom who has just given birth at home to let them know I'm at work. I will definitely not be coming to the 10:30 appointment today, is there an afternoon appointment available?

Another day I call them at 8:00am to see if they can take me ASAP coz I wanna join the kids at the school assembly at the time I normally have to be at Cedars.

Weekends are weird for me, coz I actually have 2 days off! I haven't had 2 days off from something in a long time.

There was that one time where I was on time, lieing in the cold room with my body in position - left arm raised, left breast exposed - and the machine decided not to work. It needed to be re-calibrated. I was given a warm blanket and lied there for an extra 15 minutes as I watched the fingers of the machine tic, tic, tick away.

I've been doing this for 5 weeks straight now. Lately I stare into space at home, watching myself allow the minutes to pass by, when I should be gettin' a groove on and driving to Cedars. One after the other, time ticks forward and I'm still sitting. I'm not wondering or thinking anything. All I do is make myself late for the appointment.

My left breast is starting to get discolored with radiation burn. Just like a sunburn, it will go away sometime in the future. I slather the cream on religiously 4 times a day. Sometimes I forget because I'm at a birth, or enjoying my time and it gets a bit pinker.

The guy at the Juice Bar knows me know, coz I go every day after radiation. He just says, "The usual?".

I nod and continue on my day, just like everyone else in the world, not knowing what is around the corner or how I'll feel about it in the moment.

In the words of Mr. Miyagi from The Karate Kid, "Not everything is as it seems".

Wednesday, March 18, 2009

really letting go

After my surgery, before radiation, I started to experience a new phenomenon within myself.

I have done enough priestess/goddess/newmoon/magical rituals to know the words of 'letting go'

"I let go of hatred"... "I let go of greed"... "I let go of jealousy"... "I let go of...."

But to experience it first had within my daily life, with something I truly love, is new.

I started a new business last year around this time. As the company started to really rock n'roll, I was diagnosed with breast cancer. As readers of my blog know, Ana Paula Markel, my business partner, was not only gracious with our business, but also opened her family doors to me while I went through my chemotherapy. I lived in her house while she 'doula-ed' me out of the 'old man from florida' routine and into a functioning human.

Somewhere around mid-January, post chemo, post surgery, I had a real opportunity to look at my current life. I realized that I still have a part time job called 'cancer', another part time job called, "healing Lizzi", a third job called "understanding my medical bills", and another job called "work" - to help pay for the first three part time jobs.

Any down time I had was being put towards having a semblance of a social life, and I knew deep within me that I did not have enough energy to give to birthing this new company we had created together too.

At the same time I started to realize that my dog of one year, Molly - a show quality, high strung, rescue cocker spaniel - needed more attention than I could actually give her. Molly would start to get on my nerves because she is so full on dependent.

I was actually starting to resent her.

Molly is not a bad dog, she just needs full time 24/7 attention. And I had to admit that I am not Wonder Woman, and I can't give her what she needs.

It did not take a lot of dawdling or 'talking it out' to find clarity. Neither Molly nor Ana Paula are "wrong". It is about me realizing that if I keep Molly, it would be selfish of me to do so. If I was to really put Molly first, I would have to find her a home that would put Molly first. If I really and truly love Bini Birth, the company that Ana Paula and I created together, if I want Bini to grow, I need to step down as 'parent' and fully embrace the place of 'auntie'. If I am able to really love myself and admit the truth of what I can and can't do, it is best not only for me but also Bini & Molly.

And with Molly - well, that was a no brainer. Within moments of my dad taking care of her while I was in the hospital after my January surgery, I could see that she really was not my dog, she was his dog. And since I shipped Molly back to them in Connecticut, a whole new world has opened up for my parents and me. We have something in common that we all love to talk about: Molly and her daily escapades! And Molly is where she needs to be, the center of the universe of human beings who are home a lot.

Molly is no longer a responsibility that drains me, but a funny cocker spaniel that practically speaks english! And Bini Birth is no longer a company that needs my energy to grow, but a company that has my effortless support and approval to make sure it does grow!

Letting go is no longer a letting go of 'the bad qualities' of something outside or within me. It has become a process of letting go of my addictions to being an overachiever, or wonder woman. Letting go has become a process of loving myself first, and then really loving the other and seeing what is best for the other in relationship to me. Because this way of letting go is about embracing myself with love, it is easy to embrace the other with love. By letting go of these two responsibilities I have created more space for love, healing and grace in my life.

I have not failed, I'm just playing another round of 'whose the grown-up', and I'm amazed at how gracefull I have become at playing that game.