Making Peace With My Enemy

I’m making peace with my enemy. I’m not talking about my friends on again off again boyfriend who I loathe more than pretty much any other human I’ve ever met. Although, bless his fucked up heart, I wish him the best. The enemy I’m learning to make peace with is the one that keeps me from having peace of mind. The one that keeps me up at night. The one that prevents me from consistently living the life I know I’m capable of. A life of unwavering acceptance and flow. I’m learning to make peace with myself. 

Now, don’t get me wrong, I know I’m freakin’ fabulous. This is not to say I’m not good enough, or deserving or blah blah blah. Yet, there’s a little voice in my head that sometimes whispers “Hey hoe. You should probably start worrying about how you don’t know what country you’ll be living in in 6 months time and what are you going to do with all of your shit? P.S. that dude that you’ve been crushing on these past several months… He’s not that into you. While you think about that, I’ll be creating more content so you can stay up with me for the next 5 hours. Tootaloo!”

Not the ideal companion to have living inside my brain, but it’s what I’ve got, and the only way to make peace with it is to become greater than my mind. I’m going to be so annoyingly conscious, that whenever that voice in my head starts to bitch, I can be like “Yo Karen, the manager (aka me) couldn’t give less fucks, so just relax.” Then, without judgement or criticism (to the best of my ability) move forward. 

I said that the enemy that I’m making peace with is myself, but my mind isn’t who I am, it’s who I’ve created. So, I need to make peace with myself for having created that, and focus on being greater than my mind so that I can start consciously creating a new and improved internal dialogue. That dialogue is, and will forever be, more influential than anything or anyone else ever will be.

Our thoughts become your personality, and I’d be lying if my fabulousness didn’t come with a side of stress and anxiety these days. This is a never ending journey, but if you don’t start walking down this path of consciousness and personal development, you’ll likely be stuck with a Karen in your head and Xanax on your bedside table.

Some, if not most people don’t even realize that they’ve created this toxic internal dialogue, and identify with it so much that it becomes them. Freeing ourselves and making peace with that part of us is not an easy road, but if you keep going, it will be the most rewarding path you could take.

Unfucking Myself

I think it’s safe to say we’re all a little fucked up. Thanks mom and dad. Ultimately though, we are the ones responsible for unfucking ourselves to become the person that our fucked-upness has inspired us to be.

On a scale of one to fucked, lately I’d say I’ve been at a “fuck”. That’s to say I like my life and have a lot of great things going on for me right now. I’m content, yet, there may have been more than a few times this week where I’ve done or felt something that made me think “Fuck.” Lately the fucks have been getting louder, but let me explain why nothing could be better than a good “FUCK!”

Sometimes, we choose to let things bother us for too long. We hold on even when the lesson or resistance that served its purpose has expired. Then the fucks get louder and louder until *BAM* you suddenly feel like a hangry Hulk.

When we forget how powerful we are, we fuck ourselves over by thinking sloppily and sitting in self pity. It creates negative momentum until the next thing you know, you’re looking like a hopeless romantic who’s single on valentines day. However, there’s so much beauty and opportunity in those times. Those fucks are essentially wake up calls. It’s an invitation to positively transform your life by using your focus to make beneficial changes in your thoughts and behaviors. It’s life’s way of telling you it’s time to get back into alignment. Sometimes, I’ll admit, I’m a little deaf, but once I tune in and listen, step aside because I’m going from a hangry Hulk to Wonder Woman.

Unfucking ourselves is even more satisfying than a good fuck because you don’t need to rely on anyone else. More importantly, the amount of self motivation and power conjured during the unfucking is more liberating and empowering than I can put into words. When life seems to be fucking you over, acknowledge that this is your wakeup call to unfuck yourself and create the life you’ve been wanting to live.

The Devil Wears Lululemon

Whatever we’re wearing, the devil wears too. There’s a devil out there that’s created by you! 

Hold back the tears, and don’t be sad. Being a devil doesn’t have to be bad.

The reason the devil is something you fear, is because you’ve pushed away a part of you that is so dear. 

Don’t worry if you are a bit confused, because I still have some more explaining to do.

I will show you an example that will make things clear, and prove that the devil doesn’t have to stay here…

I was feeling as single as a dollar bill, and felt a huge void that I needed to fill.

“Why am I still so down and alone, why can’t I find true love with a hot guy to bone?”

The Devil was at it again in my mind, giving me lots of problems to find.

“Something must be wrong with me, I can’t find a man. what am I doing wrong, I don’t  understand!”

I thought once I was loved I would feel complete, and there was something within me I’d first have to defeat.

Once again the devil was back to work, and I was being driven completely berserk! 

Nothing is broken or needs to be defeated, when I accept the darkest parts of me, I’ll realize I’ve always been completed.

I was rejecting the part of me that felt unloved and undesired, rather than asking that part of me what it required.

All it was seeking was self acceptance and compassion. Was I listening to some devil just because I liked her fashion?

When you push away a part of you that wants to be accepted, you create a large void and you will feel rejected.

It feels like rejection because that’s what it is. The devil feeds off that shit and comes across as a wiz. 

Don’t feed the Devil whether it wears sweats or shoes by Kanye West. Give the true you some love because you deserve the very best. 

My Shitty Day in Laos

I’m on day two of my boat trip to Luang Prabang, Laos, sitting on a two seater bench as stable as my friends last relationship. Of course, I’m next to an Italian man who’s hand gestures alone make me feel like I’m on a rocking horse. It’s a beautiful boat ride full of scenery that pictures could not do justice, yet here I am, after a silent meditation retreat nonetheless, being a little bitch about nearly everything. Heck, a little boy accidentally brushed up against me while I was trying to meditate and I sent him a death glare that would have made a bro from the Jersey Shore feel like he was going to Hell.

I could come up with a hundred contributions to my state of mind. 3 hours of sleep probably being the main source of my misery because everything was peachy on yesterday’s boat ride, but that’s besides the point. The point is even if nothing is your fault, whatever happens to you becomes entirely your responsibility. With whatever happens comes an unavoidable choice and responsibility you have to take on.

I can choose to continue to feel like shit, and that would be okay. Sometimes life’s shit and we just have to wait until the storm washes it away. That said, we also have the choice to open an umbrella and walk away from all the shit.

However, there’s a common misconception and belief that has been adopted by many, even me for some time. That it’s better to think only fluffy, sparkly, happy thoughts to feel better rather than being reflective. One is moving around the issue, and the latter is moving through it. One is repressive and one is expansive. There is no wrong choice, only a different result.

What did I want to do this morning when I looked in the mirror and instantly noticed the toll all of the fried rice and kao soi had taken? Think about how beautiful my curves are, how I’d want to be with someone who loves me for me anyways, and blah blah blah. Look, that’s great, and I certainly told myself those things, but not at first.

Why is my first reaction negative when I look in the mirror? Why am I putting so much importance on this temporary state of appearance? What belief is keeping this thought active? How is this serving me? From questions like these, I can choose how I will move forward with more clarity and awareness. By that point it becomes easier to see it’s all a bunch of bullshit anyways.

If I’m being honest, I feel better, but still shitty. I just want to sleep and press restart, but I asked myself questions so that I can take a step back from my thoughts and not be so identified with them. I’m no longer a victim. After a solid nap I bet I’ll be feeling like the cheery Italian man who’s oblivious to the distress he caused me.

My Terrible Twos

Journal entry

6/4/17

   As my sister slept on a flimsy air mattress on the floor to my studio, which was probably like sleeping in a palace to her considering all of the festivals she’s been to, I walked over to my mother as she finished her morning coffee (because you know you have to wait for mothers to have their coffee before you get serious about anything) I pulled her over to my kitchen nook and asked her if she had a minute to talk. She looked confused and concerned as we sat down across from each other. I apologized to her for the years of suffering I had caused her through my addictions, foolish behavior, and disrespect in the past. Though I’ve apologized before, it was very vague, and I felt I owed her an apology that was more specific and sincere. My hopes and expectations were that she would be happy about my apology, accept it, hug it out, and move along our merry way, but it didn’t go quite like that…..

She titled her head down so her gaze peered over her glasses strait into my eyes. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I’m sorry that you were put in such a poor situation that you had no control over when you were a baby. I remember what you said yesterday about babies being like sponges, and it made me think about what you must have went through at that time. ” She went on to talk about how my dad went manic and was hospitalized when I was two (which I knew, but never really thought about what it must have been like for me). Things turned to shit as my mom tried to keep everything together as she panicked. My grandparents flew in from across the country freaking out, and I was there unable to understand and process why he was gone and why the energy was all over the place. Basically my sponge of a brain was soaking up madness, and confusion. My mother ended with “Things were never the same after that..”

A week later (today), as I sat on the front porch waiting for my therapist to see me, I saw her old Boston Terrier starring and me curiously through the glass door. Once again, the door opened and she stood there flawless with a smile. I sat down and immediately started to vent about my regression. Though I’m better than I was before I started all of this, my thoughts about food and my body checking have slightly increased since my last visit. I blabbed on about how I haven’t been feeling as good since my mother and sister visited a few days ago, even though I had a great time with them. One thing lead to another and I told her about my meditation this morning where I cried out of nowhere, like a soccer player who dramatically leaps and falls to the ground in agony after an opposing player brushes up against him. I Also mentioned later that I gave an apology to my mother while she was here, having no idea it could have everything to do why I’ve been feeling out of whack.

So, all of these emotions are coming up “randomly” now because I didn’t process them when I was two. The door opened when, for the first time, I entertained the thought of what life must have been like for me then. Can I just fast forward to me happy, in love, with a bangin’ body, an awesome career, and a ton of money? Is there a way to skip the whole feeling like shit part of processing old emotions?

You know that feeling when you’re playing mario kart, or some race car driving video game, and you drive off track and spend the next minute anxiously waiting, watching all of the other cars pass you by? Maybe you don’t know what I mean, but I can assure you, it isn’t a good feeling, and that’s how I’m feeling now. I definitely feel like I fell off track even though I’ve continued my meditation practice. It seems as though ever since my mother and sister visited last weekend, my “I’m transforming, life is beautiful” phase has turned into. “What the hell. Why am I not enlightened yet??” I realized it’s kind of like working out for a few weeks, and then getting pissed off that you didn’t win a body building competition.  

The TRIP of a Lifetime – The Journey to Lucidity Part 2

The day had finally arrived.  I jumped out of bed to shove some last minute essentials in my bag before heading to the festival, and felt a sense of pride to have been able to cram so much in one suitcase. After patiently waiting for Marissa to get up and ready, she made her way through the front door with a Bob Marley blanket draped over her shoulder. Looking cute in our festival attire, but in an “I woke up like this” kind of way, we crammed our bags in the trunk.

We arrived and I was happy to be there, but with the directions Darrin gave us to find his campsite, I was feeling like I was playing where’s Waldo, but was never told what Waldo was wearing. After walking back and forth under the blazing sun, we serendipitously came across a man who looked like a hybrid of a lumberjack and a backpacker. He introduced himself as Roman, and gave us both a big hug which would have been weird in the real world, but anything goes at festivals like these. After telling him our situation, he generously invited us to stay with him in his pimped out tent, and I accepted faster than I drive when I know I’m about to eat as soon as I get home. Before we headed out, he offered us some drugs. Having had no experience with them, and just publishing an article titled “Why I Go To Festivals Sober” I passed.

Though the fear of relapsing and the constant obsession over food was real, we had a great day full of music, laughter, dancing, exploring and naked photoshoots. The idea of doing shrooms danced around in my head, but I kept telling myself I wasn’t ready, which is what I had been telling myself for years. I realized there would never be a time where I felt ready. New experiences often come with uncertainty, and the time was now. I mentioned that to the girl next to me as we put our clothes back on after our naked photoshoot.

Next thing you know I’m back at her campsite, with Marissa, holding a warm cup of mushroom tea between my two hands. “Heal me, heal me, heal me.” I replayed that mantra in my mind and set that intention as I lifted the cup to meet my lips.

Having felt nothing after about 30 minutes, we decided to get up and walk around. Not long after, I felt like a hopeless romantic who is single on Valentines day. With fists clenched, and heavy steps, I felt like punching just about everyone in the face who was within arms reach. I glanced over at Marissa and her smile was as big as the hand that I wanted to smack her with. With wide eyes and a pep in her step, she requested to head over to a band and dance. I took a deep breath and told her I felt this energy in my chest and felt like it was about to explode. I said I was going back to the tent to cry, and she could meet me there in 20 minutes. Holding back my tears, I raced to the tent like I just heard someone yell “Free food!” which is too say I looked like a professional power walker.

I bolted inside the tent, lied down, and continued to feel the expansion of this energy in my chest grow. As it grew, so did the distain towards myself. “I can’t believe I’ve never been in love. Do I like not have a heart or something? I’m broken. I just don’t work like other people. Ugh, I’m so annoying. How do people stand me? I talk way too much. I’m so fat. Why can’t I eat like a normal person. I still don’t have my shit figured out. I can’t do anything on my own. I’m so stupid.” When I say I bawled my eyes out, thats an understatement. Well, I guess not considering my eyes didn’t actually come out, but you get the point.

Those 10 minutes felt like an eternity. Suddenly, I brought my awareness back to my body. I took a deep breath and began to say “This is okay, this is okay, I am okay.” I acknowledged that those were my thoughts, not me, and there was this larger part of me that wanted me to accept me and my thoughts as they are. It’s not like that was new news to me, but I was, for the first time, given such a profound opportunity to heal.

You see, there is this misconception that by focusing on the positive, and looking on the bright side, everything with get better. Though there is some truth to that, those results are short lived. Life gets better when your perception gets better, but you don’t heal unprocessed limiting beliefs that way. By truly feeling, acknowledging, and accepting my biggest limiting beliefs, the process of healing can begin.

I didn’t leave Lucidity feeling like a new person. In fact, I was pissed that I didn’t feel the “one love” or whatever the hell they say, but that’s not what I asked for. I wanted to heal, and that’s what I got. For those following this blog/my story, it should be no surprise that the following month I met Allie, and also signed up for Yoga Training. I believe that incident allowed me to let go of enough resistance for me to be more receptive to what is in my best interest. Now, I’m not saying go and do shrooms, but I am saying don’t be afraid to feel the pain, for it’s through the pain where you can find your way to peace.

“Man Makes Plans and God Laughs”

Just when I thought things couldn’t get worse, the universe decided to show me otherwise. The fairytale I had played in my head of everything serendipitously coming together after flying across the country without a plan, wasn’t going as planned to say the least. Where’s my prince charming? Where’s my lottery win? Where my dream career? Surely following my gut and taking a leap of faith should have brought me some clues by now, right?

Looking at the ceiling, sprawled out on the guest bed of my sisters, boyfriends, mothers house, I wished I could go back home. The only problem was I had no home to go back to. I felt like I had lost it all. Relapsed, homeless, jobless, health was non existent, and my mental health and creativity… What’s that? I forgot what it was like to live because I was merely existing at best. All I knew was that I had to keep going because not doing so would certainly be the end of me.

My mind struggled to come up with a plan of action. A part of me wanted to just stay where I was which would have been the equivalent of an ostrich sticking its head in the sand when a lion is running towards it full force. I decided to take my car that had been shipped from New York, and drive up the coast. I thought certainly San Fransisco or the bay area was where I was meant to be. Surely the fact the Golden Gate Bridge was on my vision board I had made in college was a clear sign that was my destiny! Not to mention, I’d heard its like Manhattan, so I’d feel right at home. My grandfather always used to say “Man makes plans, and God laughs.” If I had texted my expectations about this move and current plans to the universe, God, whatever you want to call it, the response would have been “LMFAO” 

My car had seen very little action parked in the driveway of my mothers house as I lived in NYC, and it was clear I had very little action driving recently as I got behind the wheel. “Whoops!” is not the words you want to hear yourself say when you’re driving, but it wasn’t uncommon as I made my way up the coast. I used to drive like a boss, but for whatever reason, I turned into my 89 year old grandmother as soon as my foot hit the gas.

Ready to get out of the car like a cat in water, and wanting to explore, I chose to stop in Santa Barbara for a few days along the way to San Fransisco. With all of the worry, uncertainty, and binging I was doing to cope, It is hard to even recall those few days because I was so in my head. The day before I left however, is a day I will never forget.

Not long before heading to my next destination up the coast, I decided to go to the grocery store to binge and purge again because that’s just about the only way I knew how to start my day. As I made my way towards Carrillo St., it’s as though time slowed down as my foot hit the gas to maneuver around a giant MNT bus. Within seconds, that bus had completely destroyed my car.

Hands still on the wheel, I nodded my head as if to say “Yeah, this looks about right.” I thought to myself “My heads a mess, my car’s a mess. This is literally my thoughts manifested in the physical world.” As I stepped out of the car, I saw people running out of their homes to see if I was alright. I starred at the mysterious looking fluid running from my car and onto the pavement. “So, is there like a number to call for this?” I casually asked the bus driver who had gotten out of the bus to see the damage. Before I knew it, my car was taken away, and I was crying myself to sleep on the floor of someone else’s house.

Follow and stay tuned to see what happens next! Check out my previous posts for the beginning of this crazy journey !

Hippies and Hyperventilating

(For the beginning of the story, check out my previous blog post!)

Having had only a few months to help my mother with the estate sale, fill up the storage unit, and pack up my apartment, planning my life out once I got to California was like trying to button up my summer shorts in the dead of winter. It wasn’t going to happen. The best I could do was buy a ticket to a festival where I could camp out, in the hopes that the universe would orchestrate the perfect encounter to guide me to the place I was suppose to be. However, what was orchestrated there was no symphony, it was more like a catastrophe.  

If Coachella and Burning Man had a baby, it would be the festival I went to. I found myself surrounded by people dressed up like they were about to go trick or treating, with pupils the size of gum balls. Every time I would meet someone, I would wonder if they were the one who would help me get out of this mess some way or somehow. I would check out a good looking guy in the hopes that he’d be my knight in shining armor, or knight dressed like Tarzan on acid. It didn’t take me long to start completely losing it and questioning my choices.

Terrified of my own state of mind, consumed by my thoughts of food, fear of relapsing, and desperation to figure life out, I chose to not experiment with anything that might enhance my state of being. Sober, I meandered around the wide dirt paths alongside the extravagant and colorful tents and booths, full of psychedelic t-shirts, onesies, and leather outfits. I started to cry as I walked across a wooden bridge that brought me to more tents with people laughing and enjoying their lives. A part of me resented them for rubbing salt in my large opened wound, and resented myself for not being like them.

As the sun set, I stared out onto the horizon and felt like I was looking at a real life version of the sunset from The Lion King minus the hundreds of tents. I turned around and saw half naked people drinking and doing drugs, so they could continue their momentum into the night. Having been a sober mess the past few days, I figured I’d join the party and have a beer or two. Nothing crazy, but just enough to give me a buzz and take the edge off. It still doesn’t seem like a horrible idea, so long as something horrible didn’t happen as a result.    

Dancing like I had Spanish in my blood, or so I thought, I began to enjoy my time and buzz. Shortly after, I started not to feel so well from the alcohol, and decided to step away for some fresh air. As I made my way around the bend towards my campsite, I began to worry far worse than my mother does trying to make thanksgiving dinner. I felt so sick that I could tell I was about to throw up, but my ego assured me that everything would be okay if I did. Deep down, I knew this could easily be a floodgate for my old addictive behaviors to resurface.

I came out from behind the bushes, relieved that I physically felt a million times better, but that was the only thing I was relieved about. The flood gate was officially open, and my thoughts after that consisted of “uh oh uh oh uh oh” and “There, there, it’s okay. Eat this and you’ll feel better.” … to be continued

 

Jump and the Net Will Appear… Or Not.

You know that saying, “Jump and the net will appear.” Well, I did, but there was no net, and I hit the pavement. Thankfully, I took the leap thinking the net would catch me because if I knew I was about to eat shit, I probably wouldn’t have made the jump that has been transforming my life.

It all started with a phone call. Walking down the cobblestone streets in the West Village, I felt my phone vibrate in the pocket of my black Lululemon leggings. I was relieved to see it wasn’t my friend calling to tell me about her new love, knowing she would be calling me the following week crying like she was just arrested for public intoxication saying “You were right”. I swiped the screen displaying “Mom” to my iphone to answer the call, not knowing at the time, that phone call would change the course of my life. The words that came out of my mouth after my mom spoke still baffle me.

“Why don’t you move into my apartment, and I go to California and I figure it out?” I pulled the phone a few inches away from my face and stared at it with furrowed brows as if to say “He said what to you!? What’s his address and social?”. I had no intentions on going anywhere, as I liked living in NYC, but the moment I said that to my mother, there was a gut intuitive “Yes!” in the pit of my stomach, as I felt the hair on my arms stand up, and the chills rush through my body from head to toe.

She had just called to tell me someone had knocked on her door with a great offer on her house, wanting to move in within the next few months. Though she felt like this was the universe giving her what she wanted, within our time living there, we had turned the basement into an antique warehouse, the garage into a storage unit, and my old bedroom had turned into a giant cluster fuck of clothes, toys, trinkets, and god knows what from my emo stage of punk rock posters and anime comic books. With all of the work that had to be done, she saw no way that she could move everything out and simultaneously find another place to live in that short period of time.

I had always been a planner, and could never have seen myself flying across the country without anything in place. I thought the people who did stuff like that were insane, or never wore shoes and had dreadlocks. That being said, I knew I had to take a crazy leap of faith, because to say no to that intuitive guidance, would have meant saying “What if…” for the rest of my life.

Not long after that decision was made, I began to hear old addictive thoughts and habits return. My urges to binge, purge, and restrict, creeped back into my conscious mind, and next thing you know, I was back at the bodega buying three packs of gum every day. By the time I left, I was under the impression I was the only person keeping them in business. These flags were more red than my friends eyes on 4/20, and I kept trying to ignore these subtle thoughts and behaviors in the hopes that I could hold myself together and everything would be all hunky dory once I got to California.

A few months later, I’m standing at baggage claim in the LAX airport with just a ticket and a suitcase. No job, no place to live, just a bunch of clothes with no place to put them. I felt my soul was guiding me down this path, so surely the net would appear and I’d know where I was meant to go, right? Wrong. Utterly wrong. My biggest fear quickly went from “Where am I going to go to the Gym?” to “Where am I sleeping tomorrow night!?” and those red flags continued to wave until I was blinded by them. 

Stay tuned to see what happened next !  

 

A Woman on the Verge of Everything

“Fuck. I can’t believe I ate that entire bag of chips at the barbecue last night, and waddled all the way home with a food baby the size of my ex boyfriends ego. It was nothing short of a scene from the walking dead. At least they were gluten-free. It doesn’t even matter though, look at me! I look like the offspring of a sumo wrestler and Melissa McCarthy before she lost weight. If I don’t eat too much for the next few days, I should look decent by the time I have to fit into my tight dress.” Welcome to a glimpse in the mind of Brooke-Lyn.

I struggled with a severe eating disorder for years. Though at this point one would look at me, or see what I do, and think I’m totally “normal” now, it is clear by my thoughts, that I have not healed that part of me. I’ve dedicated my life to loving and embracing every part of me, and it is time I love this too in order to truly heal and transcend these patterns of thoughts and behaviors. I have been documenting this journey of healing and self discovery, and I’m eager and excited to get this out there to inspire others to take action towards reaching a more desirable version of themselves.

You know the saying “Jump and the net will appear”? Well I did jump, but there was no net, and I hit the pavement. This past year has been like a five star adventure/ drama /comedy movie, even though at that time, I saw it as a box office bomb. I’m ready to bare it all and finish this chapter of my life with an audience, because I’d rather take people along the journey, than write them a postcard once I’ve reached the destination saying “wish you were here.”

Though the journey has just begun, I’ve already been feeling like a mix between Britney Spears during her bald head phase, and Scooby Doo solving a mystery. Through uncovering and identifying parts of my past that I have held on to for decades, I am in the process of releasing myself of that bondage and false sense of self that has been created. It appears as though an eating disorder is about an obsession with food of some kind, but it’s really only the symptom of deeper rooted issues. While I’ve been dealing with the old wounds I have found over the past few months, sometimes I feel like a part of me is dying, but I believe it’s because a part of my identity is.

For me, I think a huge part of my healing process and inspiring others is being vulnerable, expressing myself (with a side of sarcasm), and accepting where I am in this journey of self discovery and love. It may take a few more months, or a year, but this part of me will heal. The deeper I go the darker it gets, but that’s where the best treasures lie, and I won’t stop digging until I reach gold.