Alana Sheeren, words + energy

Transformation Talk – Jeannie Page

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Welcome to Transformation Talk. Every Thursday for the next year, I’ll post an interview with someone who is a force for good in the world. These men and women have either deepened their passion or found their calling after experiencing a loss, trauma or diagnosis. My hope is that in their words you’ll find echoes of your story. In their inspired actions, you’ll see yourself and your immense possibility.

Today’s interview is with, Jeannie Page, inspirational blogger (in two languages!) and founder of The Yoga Diaries. Enjoy!

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Can you share a little about your grief journey and a specific experience that had a profound effect on your path?

In 2007 I lost the best friend I had ever had in my life, a man who had been my rock and with whom I shared every aspect of my heart and soul, for almost four years. He did not die or anything that dramatic, but after he met a new woman, he chose to cut me completely from his life. As he truly was my best friend, and I was certain that this was a soul-connected being, for me this felt worse than death. I gave up a great job and a well-established life and moved 3,000 miles across the country to fight for him. But sadly I was met with only more anger and hatred from him.  He tossed me to the curb like a piece of garbage. That was 5 years ago, he has since married that woman, and I’ve never heard from him since.

Though I had lost other best friends and had lived through devastating broken hearts in the past, nothing in my life could ever have prepared me for the grief that I felt when this man walked right out of my life and acted as if I’d never mattered at all to him. Everything I had ever known and believed came crashing down around me. I had entered my “dark night of the soul.”

What were the first few months like, after you realized it was really over?

It was more like the first few years, not months. I was in the absolute depths of depression for at least two solid years. I could barely eat. I remember I had a milk-shake diet at the time because it was the only way I could get any calories into my body. I couldn’t sleep. It was a Herculean effort to drag myself out of bed. I cried endless tears. And then when it didn’t seem like there could possibly be any more tears, another wave would come crashing over me. I think I aged 10 years in that first year. I walked through life in the deepest, most debilitating pain I’d ever known. I was constantly battered with thoughts of him and the new woman, and I tormented myself trying to find the answers and understand why. The answers would never come and so I continued on my search, in constant agony. I prayed often that I would simply not wake up. I really didn’t care about my life, nothing mattered anymore.

How did the shift out of the depths of despair begin to happen for you?

One word: Yoga.

As an act of desperation, one day I dragged myself into the neighborhood yoga studio. For the first few months I numbly forced myself through the poses, constantly on the verge of tears. Little by little I began to notice that while I was being forced to focus on a handstand or some other challenging pose, that for even those few moments, it served as a welcome distraction from my grief and my tormenting thoughts. So I continued to go to yoga.

As the months went by, I began to notice that a subtle shift was occurring within me.  Though I was otherwise filled with grief in my life, I found myself walking out of the studio feeling better, and at times even feeling brief moments of bliss. I knew that something was shifting energetically within me. Through the regular practice of yoga, meditation and with the power of the breath, slowly but surely I began to work the grief, the pain, the anguish up and out of me. Over the next few years, the power of the practice would only become stronger and stronger and the shift more powerful, palpable and life-changing.

I have actually written more specifically here about my healing journey with yoga: http://theyogadiaries.net/about-2/. It was through my own personal journey that I felt inspired to start The Yoga Diaries, a site dedicated to sharing stories of transformation and healing through yoga.

 What did you discover about yourself in your grief?

I discovered that although I always knew I was a strong person throughout my life, that my inner strength knew depths I never could have even fathomed. I have learned that the resiliency of our spirit knows no bounds. I have learned how to stand on my own two feet, to be empowered and to be happy and fulfilled on my own, within myself. I have also fully integrated the lesson that true happiness comes only from within and never from outside of us.

I have learned that the only way out is through and that in order to find true happiness, we must do the work. There are no shortcuts. And I have learned that if we are brave enough to do the work, to walk through the fire, there is incredible transformation, awakening, and ultimately bliss, that awaits us. I have learned that this is what it means to be a Spiritual Warrior, and that I am one.

Having lived through this loss, I now know that there is nothing that this life can throw at me that I cannot handle. I have already lived through my “dark night of the soul” and as a result of this profound and life-altering experience, I now know that I have the perspective and the spiritual tool-kit to be able to handle and overcome anything with which I am faced.

What are you grateful for that came out of the pain of loss?

I am grateful for so many things, it is hard to even narrow down a list. But if I have to pinpoint the top things for which I am grateful, it is the following:

The first is yoga. Being on the yogic path has completely changed my life. It has altered my perception of the Universe and of myself, all in positive ways. It has connected me with my own Spirit and also to the Universal Spirit that is in and around all of us. It has put me on a path with hundreds of beautiful, like-minded souls and wonderful friends, who now support me on my spiritual journey. And it is a path that I know is life-long and that will only continue to present me with grace and beauty as I walk further down it.

The second aspect for which I am grateful is that this situation with this man led me to California. Since moving to California, I have met like-minded souls like I never have anywhere else. (A perfect example of one such person is Alana Sheeren!) There is something special about the spirit of California and for decades it has attracted seekers: people of a spiritual nature, people who are focused on inner exploration and the elevation of consciousness. In this place, and with these people, I have truly found my home.

The third aspect for which I am grateful is that this experience put me on the path to being a writer. Never in my life did I have any intentions, desires or aspirations to be a writer. It was never remotely a thought in my head. But after one of my yoga teachers asked me to write my story of healing with yoga, it opened a floodgate. Suddenly I realized I had a lot more to say. And not only did I have a lot to say, but I have been so humbled that my stories have been able to help so many others that are living through their own grief, their own “dark nights of the soul.” This has truly been the most humbling experience of my life, and I know that without the devastating grief that was inflicted upon me by this man, my current life would not be possible.

The fourth and perhaps most important aspect for which I am grateful is the knowledge that I am strong, empowered, self-fulfilled and that I have the strength of spirit to overcome anything.

How does your experience with grief inform the work you do now?

One of the most important themes in my writing is the power of positive thinking and how to use it to overcome dark times. This obviously comes as a direct result of my own experience, but it also allows me to connect with thousands of readers all over the world. I am so grateful and overwhelmed to receive hundreds of emails from people of all continents, telling me how my words have resonated with them, how they share a similar story, and how my own journey of healing has inspired them and helped them to overcome their own dark times. Never in my life have I felt so sure that I am living my purpose. Back in 2008 I saw a healer in Sedona, Arizona and he said words to me that I will never forget. He said, “You are the wounded healer being healed. You have to walk through your own healing so that you may help others with theirs.” There have never been words that ring so true to my current experience.

What did you learn that you will take into your next grief experience?

I have learned to go with the flow. No matter what is thrown at me, I will try to accept it with humility, for I know that it will be for a reason and that through it the Universe will be providing me a valuable soul lesson. I have learned to surrender to whatever is, and in that surrendering I have found true freedom.

If you could wave a magic wand and change one thing about the world, what would it be?

I would change that so many people are living with so much suffering, with so much pain and grief. I would wave the magic wand so that people would realize that true peace and happiness comes only from within, and that we all, each one of us, has the power to tap into that inner light.

What brings you the most joy?

This one is simple: helping others.

Just for fun, what is one thing that makes you uniquely you?

I spent a year living in Spain and this was the experience that set me on the path to being a life-long adventurer.

 

Image by Tara Luz Stevens, http://www.tlsimages.com/

Jeannie Page is a reformed .com management professional who has made a dramatic shift in her life, a shift to follow her bliss and to get into alignment in order to be a force for good in the world. Martha Stewart’s Blogger of the Month in Whole Living Magazine, Jeannie is also the founder of The Yoga Diaries and also maintains her own blog The Awakened Life. Jeannie can be found on Facebook here and on Twitter at @jeannienpage. Jeannie’s Spanish Facebook page can be found here.

Transformation Talk – Carolin Hauser

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I’m thrilled to announce that today is launch day for my new interview series, Transformation Talk. Every week for the next year, I’ll post an interview with someone who is a force for good in the world. These men and women have either deepened their passion or found their calling after experiencing a loss, trauma, diagnosis or difficult life event.

Today’s inaugural interview is with Carolin Hauser, Humanistic Psychotherapist and Family Constellation facilitator and author of Blossom: Your 7 Step Journey to Healing Childhood Sexual Trauma

If you’re receiving this via email, please click through the title of the post to access the video.

Carolin Hauser has been involved in the personal healing field for more than 20 years. She holds a degree in Naturopathic Medicine from Germany and is a Humanistic Psychotherapist and Family Constellation facilitator.

Beginning at the age of 11, Carolin endured more than 12 years of immense “soul pain,” which manifested in eating disorders, addictive behavior, co-dependent relationships, and depression. Today, she knows that most of this pain was caused by the childhood sexual abuse she suffered.

After many short and unfulfilling relationships, and an almost destroyed marriage and family, Carolin needed to find a way to heal her own broken heart. Today she has reconciled her relationship with her husband and parents and has found profound peace and joy in life. Carolin sees her purpose in helping others transform their painful past into their authentic power and joy so that they can let their light shine and be the contribution to the world that they came to be.

Carolin is the Author of the book: Blossom – Your 7 Step Journey to Healing Childhood Sexual Trauma and creator of the online course the blossomjourney.com. She has appeared on radio shows and is constantly looking for opportunities to spread her message of hope: that a life filled with peace and purpose after traumatic experiences is possible.

Carolin lives in beautiful Santa Barbara, California, with her husband and two wonderful children, where she loves to dance, be close to the ocean, work and just be.

You can find her at:
http://CarolinHauser.com
http://www.facebook.com/BlossomBook
http://twitter.com/CarolinHauser

She just wrapped up her Indiegogo campaign to fund the publishing of her book. If you’d like to make a donation to help her get this important work into the world, email her at carolin@carolinhauser.com

In the interview, she mentions the work of Michael Brown:
http://www.thepresenceportal.com/

If you know someone who would be an amazing interview, please email me at support@alanasheeren.com with their name, contact information and a little about their story.

Hidden

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Today’s post is a gift of heart-break and beauty from the lovely Christine LaRocque at Coffees & Commutes. I first learned of Christine through Lindsey (the link to so many of my favorites) and quickly became a fan of her thoughtful and insightful writing. When she mentioned in an email that her mother had died when she was four, and that she’s just now coming to terms with the fullness of it, I asked if she would be willing to write about it here. She agreed. Her words have opened my heart even wider – I hope you’ll allow them to do the same for you.

Thank you Christine, for sharing a taste of the ache.

 

This year marks the 29th anniversary of my mother’s death—new mom of two young girls, she was only 24.

At a time when she should have been cradled by the promise of a long and beautiful life, she struggled with a deadly illness and to say her goodbyes. Instead of hope and excitement for what was to come, she suffered with intense fear and anguish over what was inevitable. Instead of planning little girl birthday parties, she was extracting a promise from her husband to take care of “her girls.”

Her girls, her husband, her whole life would move forward without her. Her spirit snuffed out before she had a proper chance to live.

Only 24.

It’s never easy to remember. So much of who I am and who I am not is laced with this history. As each year passes and I grow yet another year older than she did, I struggle— with my own loss and sadness and with a growing and deep awareness that I will never know who she was.

When I was younger, I carried the vaguest sensation that a day would come, that somehow I would know her. Because I’d never faced her death and what it really means, I never recognized her loss as permanent. I think that’s what happens when you experience the death of your most primal connection at 4 years old. The reality is quickly, succinctly swept away by a higher power. It’s impossible to deal with the reality of loss at such an emotionally immature age. Your spirit takes over, covers it up like a security blanket with years and layers of diversions.

But it never goes away. It’s always there—deep, profound, heavy and dark. The reality of this loss is only ever hidden.

This year has been particularly hard. My two sons, who have the distinction of having been born on my birthday and my sister’s birthday and remarkably, the same age gap, this year, are the exact age we were when my mother died: almost 5, and just 2.

Little. Vulnerable. So young. Not even completely out of diapers.

Yesterday afternoon we were just hanging out. The two of them were being the boisterous boys they always are, bouncing on my bed as I tried and failed to read. I chose instead to stop and watch them squeal and giggle. I soaked up their sheer intensity, delighted in the life that fills them up and said a silent prayer of thanks for my own.

I asked my husband. “How do you suppose it would feel to know that you would be raising them alone?”

He refused to answer the question. He preferred to change the subject. I don’t really blame him. To him, it’s inconceivable. To me it is too.

And yet, this year, as I’ve struggled to beat the demons I carry because of her death, as the finality of it all settles with a new awareness, I feel such pain for both of us—for her and what she has missed and for me for what I have missed.

Since the birth of my first child, I’ve spent hours reflecting on my experience as a mother. When I cuddle my boys, I carefully consider the role I play in their lives. I wonder how it feels to them to have a mother to cuddle and love. What kind of security and peace does it bring? I have no memory of what it felt like to be held by her.

Her death was the single most defining moment of my life. At four I learned what it was to be an adult, to carry the weight of the world, the weight of mortality. It defined how I perceive the world and react to the relationships I have.

This year, as the milestone of my boys reaching the age that we were quietly passed, I’ve found myself identifying with her in a new way. I cannot imagine what it would be like knowing, as she did, that I wouldn’t see my babies grow up. If I let my mind go there, the emotion is more than I can bear. It overpowers me and gets wound tight into my feelings as a motherless mother and I am overcome with sadness. I’m sad by how much this has defined me and how much I feel I’ve lost because of it.

I look at my boys and sometimes I am jealous that they have the secure love of a mother who is there, ready to give out hugs and love freely and readily. I look at my boys and hope that I will find that feeling through my relationship with them. I look at them and hope that, as our relationship as mother and child grows and flourishes, that I can finally put this restlessness to bed.

Christine is a full-time communications professional, wife, and mother to two. She writes about managing life as a full-time working mother at Coffees & Commutes.

Grief Math

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This is a guest post by my beautiful friend Jackie Dodd, who writes, cooks, bakes, photographs and makes beautiful things happen over at Domestic Fits. She’s also a wife, mama and community psychologist. Somehow she manages to make it all look easy. If you don’t know her yet, please go drool at the deliciousness when you’re done here.

Thank you Jackie, for sharing some of the not-so-easy story here.

Often times, when you are connected with someone through grief, they can only see your pain through a screen of their own. There will be a comparison, an equation. They will try to fit yours into a contrast – what you must feel versus what they feel. Everyone who becomes a “griever” will experience this and will probably do it to others.

I grew up crowded with grief math, with a mom who constantly swatted at my grief over losing my Dad with a figurative fist of her own pain. Probably a harsh statement, as she was 23 and pregnant the day my Dad didn’t come home from work, and someone told her that kids don’t grieve. She bought it hook, line and sinker, regardless of the evidence to the contrary. I want to believe that her disregard for my pain and loss was because she wanted so badly to believe it was possible that her babies wouldn’t hurt, that she hurt enough for all four of us. But as I have gotten older, older than my dad ever was, and I now have a little girl that is the same age I was when he died, I have new eyes and new pain. I have allowed myself to hurt for that little girl whose pain was scolded.

Sadly, my relationship with my Mom has suffered.  I wonder if I can ever accept the fact that she lay in bed, pregnant with tear swollen eyes a few days after he died and begged God to take one of her daughters in trade for her husband. I wonder why she can’t accept the fact that I was a griever too? Just a different kind. She was missing a real, entire person. She was grieving the hole that was ripped open in her life. My grief was for what should have been. I once had a grief-matician say to me, “But you didn’t really know him. I knew my Dad so it’s harder for me.” I asked her, in my own pain-matics, if she would trade with me. Her dad died when she was 12, and mine when I was almost 2. Would she give up those 10 years? No, she wouldn’t. Then why was it easier for me, if she wouldn’t pick my situation over hers? There is no equation. It all sucks.

I look at my own daughter, who waits at the door for my husband every night at 6pm, who walks around the house calling out, “Dada” if he leaves town for a few days, and I hurt. I always thought that after I became a mom myself, I would understand my mother better. It has been the opposite for me. I can’t imagine trading my daughter’s life for anything in the world, even the husband I love so much. I can’t imagine looking at tears in her eyes and telling her she doesn’t hurt. I can’t imagine watching her ache on her wedding day because she has to walk down the aisle alone, and tell her she was making, “too big of a deal” out of her dead father. I wish it wasn’t this way. I need to find a way to reconcile the way I feel, and accept that my mother’s opinions don’t change my experience. Because my mom is alive and I know that it won’t always be that way. I need to live for the living, and accept a relationship that isn’t perfect. I need to let the 2-year-old in me grieve and forgive the 23-year-old in her that made a giant mistake in the face of a hideous situation.

I’m working on it.

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