Fungi

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I've been out camping this weekend and finding lots of mushrooms. Who else loves fungi? These guys are the physical evidence of a whole world beneath our feet. An endless web of nature working together towards the goal common goal of growth, death, and rebirth. There is something I've always loved about that deep interconnection. It is a harmony based on growth, not perfection. A harmony that requires each part to sacrifice for the greater good of the whole. A harmony for us all to strive for. <3⁠

HOPE...

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As I've been spending time this past week submitting some of my black and white photography for shows, it occurred to me just how much my series on grief speaks to me right now with everything going on in our world with the COVID19 pandemic. Originally I created these after the death of my fiance when I was 29. I've decided to do a series of shares from this body of work, a bit of a re-examining of these images with our current situation in mind.


This image was originally about hope in the darkness of grief. I find it to be a powerful reminder right now… that we may be going through a scary and uncertain time in society, but there are still small glimmers of hope, kindness, humanity, joy, all around us. When I originally created this image, I remember writing in my journal that it was about the idea that hope need not be big to be powerful. Even the smallest amounts of hope can help us through the dark. This image continues to serve as a reminder to me to reserve at least a small bit of each day for finding and noticing hope. Taking a walk and noticing the details of nature. Reading articles about ways that people are being kind to one another through these quarantined times (or giving some extra kindness ourselves in creative ways). It’s a visual that reminds me that a small bit of hope goes a long way.

There in the Forgotten

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Sometimes it surprises me the things people pass up without seeing the beauty in them. I was walking downtown yesterday after visiting an art gallery, and this old window down a side alley caught my eye. I watched a dozen people at least walk right past it, with no notice. I stopped, walked down the alley, and admired it. The textures, the history, the color, the stories that it could tell. Stories of forgotten places. Or of embracing imperfection boldly. Or of a lifetime of industry that once ruled these streets. Or maybe more metaphorical stories like the forgotten, discarded dreams that are often trapped inside us.

I wonder if people take for granted simple old things just because they are so commonplace in the city. Would more people see an old window like this differently if they were more rare? Would they see what I see if they spent more of their time making art? What makes some of us see beauty where others do not?

I think it’s a wonderful exercise that anyone can find value in too. Go for a walk near your home and spend time looking… really looking, at what’s around you and how unique and beautiful it all is. Sometimes you can be surprised by what you find when you take the time to really look.

Reflections on a Creative Grief Journey

I've been meaning for a few weeks now to share a little bit about an incredibly moving experience I had last month. Grab a cup of coffee, and join me for a story…

Aside from photography, I occasionally host creative workshops that aim to help people going through grief. This wasn’t a thing I planned… more a thing I felt called into after experiencing my own deep loss and the way creativity helped to carry me through those dark days.

So for the second year, I was invited to present my workshop at a conference by Soaring Spirits International, an organization for widowed people. I’ve gone to this conference, called Camp Widow, as an attendee working through my own grief, and now as a presenter to give something back to others. It has been a godsend on this journey through widowhood, and a place I feel so honored to present.

I was a ball of nerves the day of my workshop. I’m never certain how things will unfold, but I always want to badly for it to give others what I hope it will give them… a new way to look at moving forward and new ways to reframe their loss.

I have to say, there really are few times in my life when something has unfolded to be even more amazing than what I imagined in my mind... and this workshop did just that. More importantly, the PEOPLE in this workshop did just that.

Everyone shared their stories, their loss, their pain, but most importantly... their LOVE. They cried and laughed together as they created something meaningful... something tangible to take home with them that - I hope - will serve as a reminder that broken is beautiful. That we have the power to re-create our hearts and to bring our loved ones along with us in whatever life we make for ourselves going forward. And that we heal better when we heal together, and share our stories and our experience with others.

I cannot express my gratitude for these folks trusting me with their hearts, and my pride in their courage. My workshop is not arts and crafts… I actually asked them to do some really hard stuff and they just blew me away with their vulnerability and their creativity. There was no doubt that each and every person enjoyed the time we shared together. I arrived home with a heart so very full.

It's funny sometimes, where life can take us. I honestly never imagined I'd be someplace like this. I never imagined I'd be widowed at 30. I never imagined I'd be in a new relationship with a widower, and a mom to his daughter. I never imagined I'd ever have the confidence to lead a workshop at all, much less one that deals with such an emotional and sensitive topic as grief.

I hate public speaking in fact… and I find it terribly uncomfortable to stand up in front of any group of people and claim that I know what I’m talking about.

Me? You’re going to listen to ME? Are you sure that’s a good idea???

It’s taken a LOT of personal growth and some big leaps outside my comfort zone the past few years to realize that actually, yes, it might just be a good idea to listen to me. That I actually have gained a lot of experience in ways to work through grief over my lifetime and multiple losses and I have valuable stuff to share.

I was once a girl who thought she had nothing of value to give to the world. Who stayed small and quiet and afraid, and who kept everything at a distance because I didn’t believe I deserved good things.

Oddly enough, my fiance's death was a big part of what began to change that. There was a gift he left me in the darkness, and that gift was realizing that I had something valuable to share. I can give someone else hope. I can encourage their creativity. I can be a friend they can lean on. I can stand beside them in their pain and not shy away from it. I can be a lighthouse to someone else who is going through something and help them to see that they can make it through the dark too. And I can help someone else realize that they can do all of those things for someone else too, just the way others taught me to do.

Now six years past one of the darkest days in my life, I can say I've put my broken pieces back together, into a new version of me. I've kept many pieces from the past, but there are a lot that I have left out. The pieces that said I'm not good enough, or strong enough, or have no value... those are the ones I've worked to leave behind. And continue to work hard to leave behind.

Every time I look at these pictures from my workshop, I am reminded of what a journey it has been. How unreal it all seems that this girl who once felt so small and powerless has become a woman who knows that she has something valuable to share with others. I used to dream of being "the kind of person who could do things like that". Now I realize, we all have the capacity to give something valuable... because our story itself IS valuable and when we share it, we connect with someone else. We inspire them, give them hope, and help them realize the value in their story, too.

To everyone who's been a part of my journey thus far, and to these wonderful folks who decided to sit with me for my workshop last month... thank you for being a part of my story, and for allowing me to be a part of yours. <3

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- About the Artist -

Sarah Treanor is a fine artist and writer out of Northeast Ohio. She explores connections to nature and personal growth/wellness in her art and writing. Her visual art is available both for private collection as well as image licensing for books, music albums and more. She welcomes encaustic commissions, writing/teaching opportunities and image licensing partnerships. If you’re interested in working together, get in touch here!

New Directions Ahead

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Today I'm sharing about a milestone that runs deep, and is stitched with so many remnants of a past life and of every day since that I've fought for. Today I was accepted to be a contributor for a major photography agency that works in the book publishing industry. They work with publishing houses all over the world to help them find the perfect photograph or artwork for a particular book cover. I am now one of the photographers that helps to provide those perfect photographs to their clients. In the near future, I may just be able to visit the nearest Barnes and Noble and find my photographs on the cover of beautiful books.

This milestone means so many things to me. I’ve wandered around trying to find a sense of direction now for almost 6 years... ever since my fiance died. I’ve tried countless directions with my art… and each one has had a feeling like it just didn’t quite “fit” for me. As I’ve learned, there are about as many different ways to be an artist as their are types of people. But this one - which marries my love of photography and storytelling - feels like a perfect match.

I can’t help but think back… I’ve been picking up a camera and capturing the world as I see it for almost ten years now. That's hard to believe. In the earliest years, photography was just a thing I enjoyed. After the death of my fiance in 2012, that changed. It became way of being... the way I kept breathing through the pain of loss. It revealed to me new worlds and new ways to see both myself and everything around me. 

This new opportunity isn’t just a possibility for career growth. As with any great new milestone in our lives, it ties back to the entire story of who I am and who I have been. It touches every struggle and every moment that I have doubted this wandering journey I took a chance on. 

It's moments like these when I really can sit back a moment and take stock of things. There have been many years when I have felt like I'm getting nowhere fast, and sometimes nowhere at all. The past few years have in fact felt a lot like that, as I've had to learn how to slow down to let some other new and beautiful things enter my life... a new romantic relationship. A step-daughter. A new home up north, far away from my southern roots. I've struggled a lot with feeling like I'm not "doing enough" somehow creatively during this time of change. I've been hard on myself about not exploring greater creative challenges, when in reality maybe that wasn't what this time was about at all. In looking back, this time may have been more about discovering what's right in front of me than pushing my creative boundaries. Although I was creating without a sense of direction, this wandering has given me a stockpile of new work that will soon be submitted for licensing.

I paired this foggy path photograph with this post for a very specific reason. Because it's not always easy to keep faith in yourself when you can't see where you're going or what's ahead. It takes a tremendous amount of faith to keep trusting and making things during those times. I am so glad I didn't lose that faith. I don't know if I could have kept going this long, except that I made myself a promise when my fiance died that I would find what is meaningful to me and keep on doing it no matter what. It's that promise that has kept me going, and trying, and searching, and growing no matter how many times things haven't worked out or my sense of direction vanishes.

My photographs are more than just beautiful landscapes or details of flowers. They are small pieces of my own story of living on and striving to create a still beautiful life - no matter what life throws at me. They are the visual proof of my determination towards one goal: to find beauty and meaning in every piece of living a life. 

What Death Whispers

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There are dozens of these incredible mausoleums at the cemetery near my house, and I can't believe I've lived here 2 years now and not photographed them yet. 

I was having a bit of a tough morning yesterday. I had to back out of presenting a workshop I was really deeply looking forward to for financial reasons. I was feeling sad, and awful for backing out on a commitment, and just all around a bit fragile. So with an hour to spare while I waited for the library to open, I ended up here.

The minute I set foot within the gates of this sacred space, I felt immediate comfort. I don't know if that's normal, though I'd gather to say it's probably not. Then again my relationship with the dead hasn't been quite normal either. Death has been an enormous part of my life, and I've spent a lot of time at the graves of people I love dearly. In the process, I've gradually begun to walk around and spend time honoring even those souls who are strangers to me. It's become a place that reminds me of how connected we all are. A place that reminds me that we are all fragile and so fleeting. And a place that reminds me to honor love, myself, and life more deeply. 

I left not only with some beautiful images and some ideas for how to make conceptual pieces from this space, but with a renewed sense of calm and connection to love.

A Shared Darkness

It isn’t so often that I meet people who have been through as much darkness as I have. Although I know there are plenty of people who have, it’s not exactly like there are clubs for us. So yesterday was a bit of a beautiful reprieve, when I spent the afternoon with a new friend here in Ohio. 

On our first time meeting each other for coffee last year, we spouted off one thing after another that we had in common. Like me, she is an artist. She also happens to be a transplant from Texas, like me. We have both lost our parents at young ages. We both lost someone else significant in a traumatic way… for me, it was my fiance. For her, it was her brother. We both came from families of dysfunction and substance abuse. It was unreal… and I can still remember our eyes widening in surprise as we looked at each other feeling like twins. As we shared our horrible facts nonchalantly, knowing we didn’t have to worry about what the other person thought. It was the biggest “me too” I think I’ve ever had with another person.

Sadly, it’s probably been a year now since that initial coffee date, and we have failed to hang out all this time. Because for people like us - it’s easy to isolate from the world. When you have already had so much loss and trauma, it becomes easier to just not get attached to very many people. You become extra guarded. You have such an acute awareness of people’s mortality and you know, that they are all going to leave you. It makes you a lot choosier about who you let in… sometimes, that’s a good thing. But sometimes it prevents you from letting in the right people too. I have fought with this my whole life. It seems, my friend has too.

It’s a hard thing to put in words, so the only word I have for it is darkness. It’s not apparent in my day to day life really. Most people wouldn’t even have any clue that it is there. But it’s there, in the parts of me that have been to unspeakable places. The alcoholism in our family growing up. Having to care for my dad in my teenage years when his drinking got worse, and led to drugs and prostitutes. Everyone sweeping my mom’s death under the rug, never really speaking of her because, God forbid we have emotions. The control and abuse from my first relationship - which was an unhealthy attempt at escaping from my dad. My dad’s death, and my inability to be there for him in his last year of ailing life, because he had so damaged our relationship and I was too young to realize I would later regret not being there for him. 

Hardly anyone in my life today knows much about any of that life. Not really. They might know of it, having heard my share a generalized story here and there, but they don’t know it the way I will always know it. The life where I felt not only that I wasn’t normal, but that I was somehow just wrong. Or that I didn’t deserve a better situation in life. That person was broken… she was scared, and felt worthless, and lost, and alone, and completely dysfunctional. Most people don’t really know her, because I have mothered her for a decade now on my own... growing her into a beautiful, loved, confident woman. It has been a fight to learn to love all of me, even the darkness. And I do.

For all that I have been through, I cherish my darkness and the lessons it has taught me. Darkness isn't all bad, after all. For one, It has an incredible sense of humor. My favorite sense of humor. It helps you appreciate things other people might not, and have a more open mind about what is beautiful. It leads you to be more compassionate, and to build deeper relationships with the ones you do choose to hold dear. And it can keep you appreciating all the good things even more. There are many gifts in the darkness that have made me come to love and cherish it over the years. To meet someone else who understands this journey, especially in a new land where few people really know me, makes things feel a bit less lonely. 

I guess that’s what it’s all about… finding those people in life who share our own darkness - whatever that may be. So that we can put our armor down for a while, and not have to worry what everyone will think of our darkest selves. Without having to worry that they will try to make us feel better when all we wanted to do was just share. Without having to worry they will see us any differently or be uncomfortable themselves. 

It’s like having two candles lit in the dark instead of one. When someone gets your darkness, you both light up that space, and the whole thing feels brighter. It might even help you see parts of yourself more brightly. Maybe in the end, that's what we're all here to do - to be candles looking for other candles so we can light up each other's worlds. 

I was so grateful for this talk my friend and I had at the end of our work day together. It made us each feel a little more warmer, a little more like just maybe, we really do belong. That’s all any of us ever really want, isn’t it? Whatever is happening there, we agreed, we are good for each other, and we should definitely do this more often. 

Your Story is Worth Telling

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If there’s something powerful about telling your own stories, there is something equally profound in hearing someone else tell your story to others. For centuries, we have been telling stories. Well before we could write, the most important and valuable knowledge we had as humans was passed down through stories and spoken word. And although our modern culture has become removed somewhat from traditions of telling stories in the same way, it is no surprise that spoken word seems to touch a very ancient part of our being. A part of us all that remembers our ancestral traditions. Something inside us that knows... stories spoken were stories we valued, ones we wanted our civilization to remember decades to come.

Every time I have had someone else put my story into words, it has changed me. It has changed how I view myself, for the better. It has added another layer of meaning to this horrendous journey of widowhood, too.

I’m going to say that one of the greatest occurrences of this happened just a few days ago. Many of you know our Friday writer, Kelley Lynn, and that she was selected recently to do a TEDx talk on grief and living on. I’ll spare the details, as I am certain she will be eager to tell you all about her own experience of doing this talk, but what I will share is that my story was a part of her story. She chose a few individuals to make examples of to drive her inspiring message home, and one of those examples was from my own life. 

I hardly have the words for what this experience was to me. Initially, as I logged in to watch her talk stream live online, I was just excited to see my friend up there, doing her thing so well. I was excited to be a part of it with her. I was excited to think of how meaningful this moment was for her. But I wasn’t prepared for just how it would make me feel when she got to my story...

Immediately, as the slides for her talk move to talking about my life, and Mike and Shelby’s lives, tears pour out of me. She talks about all the shared love in our life together - not only between the three of us, but from my family, his family, and the families of both of the people we have lost. She talks about how each person made a choice to love, and to thereby honor those we have lost be choosing to expand our love outward even more. 

I am crying so hard and at the same time, so surprised by it. And in that moment, in a way I haven’t been in quite a long time, I am completely overwhelmed. I can see the past 5 years of my life flashing before me… playing like an old slideshow in my head, all these images of both the joy and the pain of it all begin to flood me. The night I got the phone call that changed my life… the animal screams that came out of me uncontrollably, into the phone, at my fiance's dad who was telling me he didn't survive the crash. The first week, when I lost ten pounds because I couldn’t even feed myself I was in so much shock. My sister leaving her life for nearly a month to be there for me, halfway across the country. The first Christmas, which was terrifying and agonizing at best to make it through. The many, many times my fiance’s mother and I cried helplessly into each other’s arms, pouring our pain out unapologetically together - creating a bond between us that will never fade. The first time I laughed that year - truly laughed, deep from my belly, and exhaled… realizing that maybe, just maybe, I will make it through this.

The first time I went to Camp Widow, and got to meet Kelley and other long-distance friends in person for the first time… and all the laughter and tears shared with these amazing new people. Leaving Camp, and feeling totally transformed by the hearts I'd met there. Fearless, inspiring, brave people. The art shows I entered my grief photography in, and the awards I won for work that was about something so painful and so deeply personal. Meeting Mike, and then Shelby, and the unfolding of a whole new adventure that has been one of the best and also scariest things I’ve ever done. The many nights of silly laughter and board games and exploring life together now, with two new people, while two other people missing from our lives, but still somehow so much a part of it all. The continued love of my fiance’s family, who we actually might be visiting for Christmas this year.

All of this and more flooded my heart… the good, the scary, the painful, the beautiful, the brokenness, all of it - all at once. And there I sat, as my good friend told the world a small piece of my story and my heart just spilled out of me with gratefulness. I had expected initially that it would just be exciting to be a part of her talk. What happened instead, was that she showed me my own story in a way I had never seen it before… because to hear it from someone else is always to hear it in a new way. There was a depth of gratitude not only for having the privilege to be hearing her share those words, but to happen to even be the person who has gotten to live this life.

Five years ago, I probably would have punched you if you'd told me that one day, I would feel so grateful for this happening to my life. While there are still and always will be moments that I hate that this happened to me - and to my best friend who lived far too short a life… it is a life so incredibly rich. There was a new a new layer of meaning given to it all this week. A layer that changes everything, just as every new meaningful thing that happens on this journey does.

It makes me think about not only telling our own stories, but telling each other’s stories too. And how meaningful telling each other’s stories can be. Going all the way back to our most primitive days, there is a power given to someone’s story when another stands up and tells it. Whether that is with a friend over coffee, in front of a campfire, or up on a stage - the power is there. It reminds people that their story is beautiful, and meaningful, and has value. Enough value that someone else would want to tell it to others, too.

This week, I was reminded that, when we tell each other’s stories, it allows us to hear our own in a new way. And that to be on the receiving end, as a listener, we are also giving something to the experience. We are honoring. These exchanges of stories - a thing we have been doing for thousands of years - blankets even the most painful events in our lives with these: meaning, belonging, and love. It moves all of us closer to one another, and validates something so important to our healing… 

Yes, your story is worth telling. 
Their story is worth telling. 
And we want to hear it. 
Not just once... but for all of time. 

The Journey of a Life

Babb Run Creek &amp; waterfall, at the end of our hike.

Mike and I spent most of the afternoon yesterday out hiking. It was the first warm, sunny day we’ve had in ages in Ohio… and it put me in an especially grateful mood just to be existing and feeling the sunshine. We went to a big overlook high up on a ridge, one we hadn’t been to in over a year. It looked out on the river, which snaked and curled down through the valley below. 

Afterwards we drove down into the valley to hike around by the river that we had just stood above. It was an area neither Mike nor I had ever hiked before… and it led us to a beautiful cascading waterfall that came out to meet the river from a side creek. It nearly took my breath away. We remembered seeing this very ravine a year ago, from far across the river, not knowing how to reach it. There was a deep feeling of accomplishment about finally discovering the way to get to this spot - particularly as it was quite on accident. I mentioned to Mike, I could sit here all day and watch the water tumbling softly down the thin plates of shale on its journey to the river. 

It made me so grateful for this place I now call home… and indirectly, all the change that has had to happen to lead me here. I felt a bit emotional about it. So much has changed so fast in the past 5 years of my life. There is often bitterness, or in the least, discomfort about that. Maybe some resentment, too. And understandably so… who wouldn’t resent their life when their partner up and dies on them and sends them on a whole new adventure that was a bend in the creek of their life they were not expecting. Leaving careers, leaving jobs, leaving cities you called home, leaving the state you called home, leaving friends and family far away. Everything has felt like leaving for the past 5 years. Which is one way to see it. And it’s easy to get caught seeing things only from one direction sometimes.

Yesterday though, that little side creek reminded me that leaving is also arriving somewhere new. As it made its way down a steep ravine, it was leaving behind a gentler pace and a landscape it had grown accustomed to. It dropped into a small pool and had to make it’s way down through a thick, twisted pile of fallen trees and rocks. The landscape was bigger, and more chaotic, but it also leveled out a bit, and allowed for the pace to slow. Then, as it left this space, trickling its way under trees and licking around the sides of rocks and branches, it slipped quietly into the raging river. Suddenly, the pace was unlike anything it’s ever known before. It was brisk, and powerful in a new way. Exhilarating, but also a bit scary for how different it is.

It made me think about life. About all the twists and turns we go on. All the places we end up that we didn’t plan on. The bends in our own path to the ocean. The other creeks that join us on the journey, forming rivers, strengthening each of us. All the debris we must somehow traverse, and how we never truly know what is around the bend or down the banks ahead of us. 

When things are rough, it’s easy to assume an attitude of hesitation about what lies ahead of us. I’m guilty of that for sure. It's moments like these though, sitting and watching one small, singular part of the journey of a river, that remind me how beautiful the whole thing is. And how meaningful it is...

If we are fortunate enough to truly live, then how vast and varied the river of our lives will be. It will leave marks in the earth and create beautiful landscapes and bring life to many. Because living means we aren’t sitting stagnant in a pool, it means we are moving… sometimes just at a trickle, and other times as a raging river, or rhythmically as a powerful ocean... but always moving. It means we are always already leaving places behind us, but it also means we are already arriving somewhere new, each and every day.

Some of those new places will not be easy traveling. They may slow us to a trickle, but they will be beautiful in their own right. And eventually, after a time of slowly trickling through, the landscape will change again. A wide and lush valley may open up and we may find ourselves beautifully surprised at where we've arrived next.

Stumbling Greatly

Photo Credit: Jason Hummel

Photo Credit: Jason Hummel

I recently heard an interview with Pema Chodron, a well-known Buddhist nun and author of the book When Things Fall Apart. This woman is chock-full of wisdom. And she got my mind turning about something this morning. In the interview, she talks about a graduation speech she gave recently, telling those brave young folks about to embark into the world, that the most important thing is to learn how to stumble well. To pay closer attention to our pain when we are stumbling through it, and allow ourselves to be fully in our losses and our pains so that we can learn what lessons they hold.

As I’m thinking about this idea, of stumbling well, I realize that the walk with grief is really one of stumbling greatly. Because, after all, losing your partner leaves you in a treacherous landscape. Imagine for a moment what your grief landscape looks like. To me, it’s a mountain range. A vast place of ups and downs, with jagged edges and surprises at every turn. For you it may be a desert, or a barren, underwater world. These images of the landscape of grief can hold a lot of value for us.

Grief is not a minor thing in life. It’s not just tripping you up. It’s not just potholes and speed bumps along the road. Losing your partner is not stumbling and hitting the ground in front of you. It’s stumbling and suddenly there IS no ground to fall on anymore. It is falling off a cliff in slow motion… into a whole other landscape that you were not prepared to travel...

Suddenly, everything feels dangerous to you.

There’s something about this phrase, “stumbling greatly” that I like. It reminds me of Brene Brown’s book, Daring Greatly, and it’s the positive message its title holds. I wonder if it would help us all, to have a positive phrase like this to hold onto in the midst of our journey with grief. To remember that, each and every day, we are Stumbling Greatly.

Even on our worst days, when we make only the smallest good decisions and it seems pathetic in our eyes that we couldn’t do more. On days when we fall into a heap of sorrow, unable to go any further. And on the days when we have a little strength to climb some more, only to be bombarded by a storm of grief or an unexpected trigger that sets us back. All of these little moments are part of a larger journey of stumbling greatly over this vastly difficult landscape of grief. Like climbing through mountain ranges inside our hearts.

Even the smallest steps forward are something to be proud of and to acknowledge in this space. Even standing still is, because we all need rest along the way. We are up against a mountainous terrain of grief, after all, and we must remember that. We must remember that we only move forward through the highs and lows by already being someone who Stumbles Greatly. The very fact that we are out there, in the midst of it, still somehow breathing, means we are stumbling greatly, valiantly, and proudly through one of the harshest internal landscapes anyone will ever face.

I hope, on your lowest days, you will remember this. A day that feels like you haven't gotten anywhere is just a day you are resting at your camp, until you're ready to pack up and move forward a little bit more. And I hope you will feel a small glimmer of pride for how far you’ve come, 3 inches, 10 feet, 20 miles… even an inch forward in this place is something to be proud of. Please remember that. Remember that you are Stumbling Greatly, every day. 

Little Lessons from Big Projects

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Pretty much everywhere else, I have been speaking about this e-course of mine from a selling place... telling people what they will be getting and how helpful it could be to them. But this space, this is where I want to talk about the process of things. About the hard parts of making this. 

It's been one of the more challenging things I've done in a while, this e-course. I've had to face a whole lot of fears and self-doubts all along the way. You'd think after years of facing such things, it would get easier. Maybe it does, but in the face of more self doubt and fear, it sure doesn't feel any easier! 

I think that's the most exhausting part. Trying like hell to stay out of your mind. Waking up in the morning and trying to find the balls to push aside the mind chatter that you will suck royally at this, that no one else cares if you do this, that it's all going to flop, and just do the thing anyway. And then do the same thing the next day, and the next, and the next... with very little reward or proof that it will be any kind of success. That's seriously so much harder than I feel like anyone lets on. It's grueling, to work on your own thing that has so much of your heart in it... to risk putting it out there with no guarantees of what will happen. It's incredibly scary.

I'm finding that once I do start to get into a rhythm with things, the doubts and fears become much quieter though. I don't think they really go away... they sort of settle down and decide to sit and watch you for a while and see what you're up to, which is nice. 

The biggest hurdle I have run into thus far with this project is probably the same one I run into with many other projects - and one that we all hit now and again...

getting down to the real work. 

I spent about a month preparing a lot of other components... working on the fundraiser, creating graphics, getting email templates set up, creating a sales page that sings beautifully of the course. I breezed through all of that, because it's all the stuff surrounding the REAL thing. When it came time to make content though, I was a deer in headlights.

For two weeks in fact, I was so stuck that I did almost nothing to move this thing forward. I went in to full-on procrastination mode... cleaning the house, working on my website, going for hikes, researching other businessy things that have nothing to do with my current project... all in the name of not writing that content. It was a bitch of a thing to get started on, I tell you! 

After a few longer-term creative projects, of various kinds, I have found there does seem to be a natural period of hitting the wall in there. It usually seems to last a few weeks, and be just before the scariest part - naturally! In those weeks, I am generally restless, stressed, beating myself up about not getting "the thing" done day after day, yet some part of me is also saying I need time to settle my feet before I jump. Some part of me tries to tell me to slow down. I probably shouldn't stress about hitting this point, as it always seems that I make it over it within a few weeks time... somehow, I just begin to feel more ready. Or maybe just my discomfort with avoiding becomes greater than I can handle. Probably that. Yeah, it's that. 

In those weeks of floundering, I discovered something important though... part of why I hit the wall so badly in the first place. I didn't break things down into small, doable, bits. I had broken out every step of what needed to happen for the initial part of making course, creating a schedule that kept it all on track. When it came to writing the actual course content though, I simply gave myself three or four weeks to make it happen. Somehow I imagined this would just magically work, and all content would get written as needed. What the hell was I thinking?  

As soon as I made a daily schedule of what to get done when, I started to see exactly what needed to happen to make a certain due date. Breaking it down daily made everything feel so much more doable, and less giant. With this schedule in place, I dove into the course material now with only minimal fear. So that wall it seems, can sometimes be an indicator that we need to look at the problem or the next steps of the project in a new way. 

That lesson is probably so obvious to a lot of people. Someone is probably thinking I am a moron right now for not knowing that. Oh well! It's where I am, and I'm okay with being a little behind on some things, because I know there's a lot of other folks who are too. 

This has been a major learning process in how to project plan successfully, and how to do it in a way that works for me and still keeps me motivated and excited about what I'm doing. I don't work on it the same way every day, for example. Some days, like today, I'm up at 7am and get straight to work. Other days, I run errands or spend my mornings refueling with other creative things and start writing in the afternoon. As long as I block out 2-3 hours a day though, I've found myself able to keep on track and stay committed. That schedule has done wonders for holding me accountable and keeping me serious about my work each day. 

It's amazing, even before starting this course, others are teaching me. The very act of having to create something to teach others is revealing so much more to me - about grief, and using creativity to heal, and teaching. 

Two of the most important things I'm learning about right now are writing for the purpose of teaching, and lesson planning - both are new to me. Even if I don't end up with some wildly successful career hosting e-courses... I know, the skills I'm learning now will continue on with me for years and help me in a myriad of other ventures with my passion to help others learn and grow. In fact, having to sit down every single day and write something for a few hours... I am already beginning to see how one writes a book, in a very tangible way. Maybe the thing that comes out of this will eventually be that it helped me to finally get into writing books, which has been on my list for many years now. Who knows!

For more information about my Meaningful Making E-course, visit the E-Course page here!

Dear Younger Self

Last weekend, I wrote a letter to reflect back on things, as the four-year mark of my fiance's death arrived. How has it been four years already? Hard to imagine... yet so much has happened in this time. I shared this letter originally on Widow's Voice, but decided to post it here as well, too. Maybe it can serve some good to someone else out there who is in the midst of loss themselves. All my love!

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Dear Younger Self, 

Today is the four year anniversary of that terrible day… and you are just beginning on this ride of horrors. I wish I could have been there at the beginning. From here, there is so much I can tell you about what you’ll be facing in the years ahead, and about what wondrous things will unfold, too. I wanted to take a moment to write to you about all that is to come...

I can still remember getting the phone call, and Drew’s dad’s voice on the other end of the line that revealed to me he didn’t survive the crash. I can remember how the room spun around me… how it is spinning around you right now. I remember the primal, animal sounds coming out of my insides as I screamed in denial at his dad across the line. I can still remember the very worst parts of those first weeks… the shock. And the word that I began to hate for it’s overuse… “disbelief”.

I remember my emotions cycling at lightning speed, going from complete disbelief and a total inability to grasp reality one minute, to slamming against me with the full force of understanding in the next. I know, you are crying for hours at a time. And I know that you can barely sleep past 5am, and that the mornings are a special kind of nightmare for you, as you wake up and realize that, no, it wasn’t all a dream. Trust me, you will never forget how horrible those mornings felt, but, in 6 months or so, you’ll start to sleep longer, and eventually you will begin to have peaceful, okay mornings mixed between the bad ones. The nightmarish mornings will not last forever, but it is going to take a long time. Be patient with yourself.

It was so sudden. You had just talked to him over lunch. It was just another ordinary afternoon, you at work and him off flying on a contract job. And then suddenly, he was gone, and nothing was ordinary anymore.

These years will be painful. I know, it will seem like the pain could fill the Grand Canyon if it were water. But I assure you, they will not only be years of pain. You will have friendships that end, and friendships that deepen. You will make new friends, forged in the bonds of loss, that will sail your heart back into the warmth of joy again. Yes, you will feel joy again, and you’ll laugh hard and in fact, you’ll even laugh harder than you used to eventually, because those precious moments of pure joy, painless joy, mean so much to you after his death. It will come. Be patient.

Try to keep your heart open when you feel like closing it down. Try to reach out to others who are grieving and sit beside them in the dark. Make as many friends as you can who make you feel good, and drop anyone who is not loving, supportive, and kind. This will end up meaning you leave a few people behind that you didn’t expect to, but you’ll be better off for it, I assure you.

It will be years before anything will begin to feel ordinary again… and your new ordinary will be nothing like your old one. I wish I could lie about that, but it’s true, and it’s best you know that now. And yes, this fact is really going to suck sometimes. You are always going to miss your old ordinary. Four years later, there are still moments that I miss the old ordinary we shared with him, so so much. But I want you to know that the new ordinary is just as amazing, just as rich and full and vibrant. It’s just… different. And once you get there, remember it’s okay to miss the old life as much as you need to.

I know right now you are completely overwhelmed with the idea that you’ll be grieving for years. Who wouldn’t be? It feels like someone has pushed pause on your life and you didn’t get a choice! Soon you’ll be realizing that you will likely be 34 or 35 by the time you aren’t crippled by grief anymore… try not to let that freak you out too bad. Firstly, it wasn’t the case. If won’t be only years of grieving, it will also be years of living… and living more and more each day.

I had no idea what lay ahead four years ago. And no idea what experiences and lessons would unfold. Four years later, I can tell you, it gets better, but you do have to work at it. You do have to take risks, and make changes, and take responsibility for your own healing. You have to try counseling, read grief books, talk to people. You have to share your story and your pain as much as you can. It’s like bleeding the poison out, every tear and every shared word about your experience will help to bleed out the pain. In turn, this will leave room for the joy to come back in. And in no way will this remove your love for him. In fact, it will make it stronger.

These years in grief can quite possibly be some of the most significant in your life. They have many lessons to teach you, but you’ve got to remember to look for the lessons. Journal often, write everything down. Try to create things from your pain… whether it’s art or writing or working with a charity or sitting down to chat with a friend. Being creative with how you express your grief will save your ass over time.

You’ll grow so much during these years, if you allow it in. You’re going to face a lot of scary changes. Try to remember that although change is scary, if you let his death change you, in a way, he is still changing you. This will be how you continue to create a space for him in your life as you move forward… by allowing his death to change everything about your life. That way, in four years time, you will be able to look back and know without a doubt, that his love is still changing you, and he is still very much a beautiful force in your world… as he always will be.

Learn to sit with the darkest corners of yourself… over time, this will become a source of power for you, because there will be nothing inside you that you do not fear. Go to therapy when you start to feel like you’re drowning, read books and articles on grief, go to psychics, explore it all. Do lots of creative things too… these will help you to understand your grief in whole new ways, and help you to explore what your relationship is with him now… which will heal.

Don’t let your fears stop you… walking through them over and over again will end up being one of the most transformative experiences of this entire journey. You’ll be scared shitless, yes. A lot of times. Every new step and turning point coming ahead will feel terrifying and big without him beside you. Push through anyway. Follow whatever makes your spirit light up inside. Never forget that he no longer has the chance to face fears. It would be the greatest offense to him for you to turn your back on living while you still have the privilege to do so. Don’t ever forget that. Let it fuel you into grabbing life by the balls and living the hell out of it.

You will, one day, find love again. I know right now that is impossible to imagine. Right now, you are still terrified that you will be forever too broken to be loved. You are scared that you will be too complicated to love. It’s not true. You’ll meet someone one day who tells you, word for word, “You are so easy to love” and you’ll cry with a relief as big as the ocean, that you aren’t what you feared in these early days.

It will be some time before any of this comes, so spend these years holding in your heart the image of what you want in a new love. This way, when the time comes, you will bring that to you. Hold in your heart a man who will love and support you fully, one who will always have your back. A man who not only accepts your love of another, but celebrates it with you. I promise you, one day, he will show up. Four years after this horrible day, you will be sitting at dinner with him, celebrating what would have been your 7th anniversary with Drew. You’ll be treated special on this day for all of your days ahead, because it is deserved. Just remember to hold the idea of this man in your heart until the time that he comes.

You’ll have a family one day too, but it will not be in the way you imagined. It won’t be the picture perfect package that we grow up being told to create. It will be your own version… perfectly imperfect, and full of love nonetheless.  

You will learn so much about love in the years to come. I’m not talking romantic love, but pure, beautiful, incredible, 100% open-hearted love of humans to humans. You’ll feel miraculous, selfless, courageous love of others that will pour over you like healing medicine, and even give some of your own. In the end, his death will have taught you more about love than you could have ever comprehended before. 

In short... Lean into it all. Be love. Create from your pain. Share your story, and share it again. Walk through your fears. And don't worry, because his love will never leave your side. These are the things I know about making it through four years of grief.

Good luck, and much love as you forge ahead. I know make it through. And when you're not sure you will, remember, I believe in you.

Love, 
Your Future Self

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Have you tried letter writing out as a healing exercise? This is one of my favorite ways to write about things. Try writing a letter to someone you've lost. Share things with them you never got to. Express things you weren't able to. Or share what's happened in your life since they died. Write a letter to your younger self, to help you reflect back, like I have. Or write a letter to a part of yourself you are struggling with... your anger, sadness, fear... to help you express things and begin to build a new, kinder relationship with that part of you! Try it out! 

New Self Portrait: The Overprotector

It's been over 6 months since I've taken a self portrait. After a year of weekly portraits exploring my grief and pain, you would think I'd be so comfortable showing emotions. Yet I have found myself stuck for months since my big move. Plenty of other creative things have been happening, but I have kept my more vulnerable emotions out of all of it. Looking back, I sat in my grief for nearly 4 years after my fiance died, and grew very comfortable with expressing stories of extreme pain and loss. But now - as I am dating someone new for the first time since his death, and becoming closer to this new man's daughter - I am entering into unfamiliar territory... the ordinary struggles. This is a place I have not yet created from.

Here, I am dealing with more everyday challenges, like learning to mother, planning a future with someone new, homesickness and changing friendship/family dynamics. Somehow, it seems I convinced myself no one wants to see a woman exploring that stuff... the ordinary hard stuff of life. Which is, I realize, absurd. It's all part of the journey, after all.

So, on a particularly awful day last week, after feeling burnt out and really on the defense, I somehow mustered the energy to pick up my camera and snap some self portraits... finally having a dialogue with myself. Well, my phone actually, because it was handy and I had only the energy for that. This was not anything fancy. I was just laying on my couch, watching a movie, and feeling overwhelmed. 

Sometimes it isn't about props and wardrobe and theatrics. Sometimes it's just about catching ourselves in the moment when emotions are fresh, and capturing it to allow ourselves to acknowledge what's going on inside. That's what self portraits have always been about for me. This photo matched a feeling inside that has been hard to put into words since moving from Texas to Ohio. Feeling fearful of change, and as a result, quite defensive and withdrawn from the world... poised for attack.

A great amount of love and adventure has been going on this year, do not let this piece mislead the fact that I am enjoying this new adventure immensely. But every change has its difficulties. I've gone through a lot of overwhelm about mothering. There have been new, unexpected layers of grief for my mother, ones that could only be unearthed from the depths of me as I begin to mother on my own, without my mom. Learning the dynamic of a new relationship and partner has taken work and energy of course too, particularly because we both bring our grief and fairly established lives into the mix. Trying to continue to build a meaningful career with my art and writing is a constant balancing act. And homesickness permeates the air... as the culture shock from Texas to Ohio was greater than I'd anticipated. Moving right before the winter set in was probably the hardest way to have done things for a southern gal. And really none of this has gone into images.

My God, how easy it can be to want to show the world only the happy parts. How swiftly any of us can fall into that trap and suddenly forget to listen to our own deepest selves. It hasn't been detrimental, but I assure you, it has created a noise in my heart that has left me going through waves of disconnect with others, and myself. Struggle is not only present during the extremes of grief and trauma. Darkness is always there. Self doubt and fear, sadness and worry and irrational, ridiculous thoughts never escape us. So, this photo is my attempt at courage... my attempt at speaking about the challenges that exist even when the changes in our life are good ones. It's about the continued journey of living, which has a never-ending landscape of hills and valleys. 

So, if you happen to be one of those folks who was hoping my images would take a more positive turn, sorry, I can't guarantee that'll ever happen. I assure you happier images do land on my Facebook and Instagram feeds, just not as part of this series. For this series, I am choosing to keep the conversation going with my most vulnerable self... the parts of me that are scared and difficult to show, because that is why I shoot them.

I don't like for people to know that my default during times of change is to disconnect from others. I need a great deal of time alone to sit quietly with change, and I often feel misunderstood for this. My sense of fight or flight reacts quickly as a result, and I don't like that it can cause me to revert to old tactics of "me against the world". These parts of me are not new. They were not caused by my fiance's death, but by a lifetime of losing people and having to be self reliant. I am simply used to the idea that change means I will be on my own, and so a part of me begins to prepare for that - to protect me - sometimes more than it needs to. It is a natural sort of reaction I suppose given my story. One I work on daily, because ultimately, all we can do is hope to be a little softer, a little more healed, and a little more openhearted tomorrow than we were today. 

Creative Process: Preventing Burnout

Credit: Cy Twombly

Credit: Cy Twombly

Creating an e-course is proving to be so much more involved than the insane amount of what I had already factored into it initially. Every day, there is a new thing to add to the calendar, which I am starting to want to call the "Cal of Chaos" lol.

I'm learning that - when it comes to working on something you're passionate about - discipline goes both ways. I have to hold myself accountable to do the work, but I also have to be disciplined about NOT working myself into that dreaded place none of us want to be: BURNOUT. So far, so good... though it isn't easy, there's a few things I'm doing to help prevent that burnout from taking too strong a hold. I thought I'd write em out and share here: 

Taking Breaks & Recharging, A LOT
The problem with hyper-focusing on things is that I never come up for air... and we've gotta keep breathing to keep going. I've been taking a lot of breaks the past few weeks, trying to force myself to work in 1-3 hour chunks of time no matter what I am working on. Then, I take a walk, or run an errand, or listen to a podcast or watch some tv. Turning my brain off throughout the day feels a bit like eating small meals all day instead of one large meal. It keeps my mind nourished and my energy level up, morning to night. 

Boundaries for Free Time & Recharging
Lately, I am committing myself to work during the M-F 9-6 hours on this thing for the most part. After that, I make myself put it down. The rule is, I only allow myself to work a few hours in the evenings or on weekends, and only if the works FEELS exciting. This is freeing up my mind from feeling pressured and helping me stay motivated to want to work on things, even in my off time. During my off time, I also make sure to pick some things that I know will re-charge me... reading a good book, watching an inspiring documentary, going on a photo hike or a trip to the museum... the more I can refill with fun & inspiring things the more energy I'll have to put out. 

Leaving Things UNFINISHED *EYETWITCH*
I really, really cannot stand to do this. If the task needs only a few more hours to be checked off - you can believe I'll stay up till 2am and exhaust myself just to feel the satisfaction of checking it off my list. But that doesn't really create balance, I'm learning. And it isn't really very healthy for my body or my mind. So I'm starting to mentally check in with myself at certain times of the day... lunchtime, dinnertime, and bedtime mainly. Instead of working well past lunch or dinner, I make it a point to find whatever stopping place I can and then close things down until later.

Right now is a prime example. As I write to you, it's already past 6pm and I haven't eaten since 11am. I'm famished and I can tell I've started to push past my limits, yet here I am, because I decided that a random 5 minute Facebook post I was going to put up needed to be a full-fledged blog post instead. [Cue dramatic pause while I drive home, stuff my face, watch a romantic comedy and get out of my head for a few hours before I come back here to finish writing...] It's still not easy to do, but I'm finding the more I do it, the more energy I feel like I have to create.

Mental/Emotional Check-In's
This one I mentioned a bit about above... being mindful throughout the day to check in with myself mentally and emotionally is helping a lot. Instead of just working mindlessly and pushing myself too hard towards the day's goals, I am continuously asking "how am I feeling? How's my energy right now?" If I notice my brain starting to get scattered, or I start losing focus more easily, those are signs too. Paying close attention to my own needs and being serious about the breaks needed is proving crucial to avoiding the burnout. 

Rescheduling Allowed!
I've gotten worked up a few times already with how on earth I'm going to hit the insanely ambitious launch date I've chosen for this course. Finally, over the weekend, I realized... I am the one who chose that launch date. It's no one's date right now but my own. I haven't released a date publicly nor committed to any timeline in any way yet. I have the freedom to feel this thing out and change my mind should I see fit. Immediately the pressure was off. So from now on, in the earliest stages of creating, I am giving myself full permission to change whatever I need to in order to stay motivated and passionate about the project. The surest way to a burnout after all is over-stressing about what's ahead. None of that here. 

These are all REALLY hard things for me to do when I get going with something I'm passionate about... but I know this course won't be any good if I am burnt out and forcing it to happen. Bottom line, I want to ENJOY creating this, and I want to take the best care of myself I can while doing so... because I know that is the only way to create the best experience I can for others who take my course. Learning so much through this new venture, that's for sure. What are your go to methods for preventing burn-out? If you've got some unique ways, I'd love to hear them in the comments below!

New Adventures: Creating an E-Course...

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For the past few months, I have been working hard in the background on a big new project: An online grief workshop, called Meaningful Making. In this course I plan to share some of the ways I have used creativity to better express, explore, and ultimately heal during times of grief. 

It's been almost 4 years now since the day my world was turned upside down - when I got the call that my fiance had been in an accident he "didn't make it". In that time, I've seen therapists, gone to psychics, read countless books on grief and art therapy, and explored all number of art mediums including painting, photography, writing, ceramics, jewelry making, encaustic (wax painting), collage and mixed media, nature art and more. And while my journey through grief is not complete, because no one's ever is, I am now in a place of peace and power with my "chapter two". I miss my old life, but I love my new life, and I have a balance with the two. That's the place I decided I needed to be in before trying to help facilitate others along this journey.

Though I've never created an e-course before, and have really no experience in teaching, I feel in my bones that I'm being pulled in this direction. I am trying to trust that whatever I need in order to create this experience is already inside me, just waiting to be birthed. And so, with blind faith, I am stepping out into it. 

It's a funny thing, when you decide to show up for something... how all number of things start to move in your favor. This week, my Indiegogo fundraiser for the workshop ended. I created it not only to raise funds for the materials, programs and some training I will need, but also as a formal way of telling the world - hey, I am doing this. Accountability works wonders. My goal was just $500, which I met in only FOUR days time. After the 2 months of the campaign, it closed out Tuesday with $1700... over three times my original goal! I already have nearly a dozen people who are signed up via their donation. I mean, this thing is happening! It's quite exciting and pretty scary all at the same time - but I like that. 

I hope you'll join me on this new adventure. If you'd like to receive updates on the workshop, leave your email address for me below (which will ONLY give you updates on the course itself. I promise not to spam you with other stuff!). Lastly, please share this with anyone you know that could use a safe space to make some meaning from their own story with grief. Thanks friends!

Updates from New Landscapes

I can’t believe my last post here was in September. I haven’t been kidnapped, I promise! On the contrary, I have been writing weekly still for Widows Voice about all the goings on since my move… but I’ve neglected to share what creative things have been going on here.  Probably because its been a time of wandering and less direction… which is always when I seem to write less here. Somehow today felt like a good day to dig back in though. I suppose I should start with an update on just what has been going on creatively since my big move from Texas to Ohio.

Firstly, it is COLD in Ohio. And this has been an unseasonably warm winter for Ohio I am told. Despite that information, below freezing for 2 weeks in a row is something I have not previously experienced. That sort of cold only lasts like a day and a half in Texas before it goes back up to the 60’s. Sigh. I miss my flip flops.

Okay, I am not really in love with the cold. So just what am I loving about this new place? The landscape. It is foreign. And fresh to my eyes. The trees are much taller. There are rolling hills, steep valleys and beautiful gorges. And all the water features, oh! Waterfalls and creeks and rivers and ponds and lakes everywhere…. ones that magically do NOT dry up 2 days after it rains, like in Texas. No, they actually exist all year, only changing in winter when freezing solid. Speaking of that, icicles galooore! Some of them 20 feet tall! Talk about magical. I may hate the cold, but winter here certainly leaves a lot of room for your childlike wonder to roam.

 

I have spent the past few months trying to get settled in. It’s been chaotic, and a challenge to make room for creativity. There haven’t been any big conceptual photo shoots. No climbing around in frozen landscapes in front of my camera to capture new self portraits. I’ve been a little bothered by this. I always feel, if I stop doing the portraits for too long, that I am missing opportunities to tell stories that are happening right here in the now. I’ve had to let go of that a little, and realize that I am telling those stories in different ways perhaps.

Mike and I have hiked nearly every weekend the past 2 months now. I’ve gotten in the habit of taking my camera along and shooting along the way. I never really hiked much in Texas, so this has been a great adventure. Everything has become less about my internal emotional world lately, and more about what is going on all around me. I suppose I am starting to put down the self portraits for a while… and lean into exploring what else there is to capture. What stories are told when I don’t have a figure in the image? How are they told? How does this change my own relationship to nature and to the images? There’s been plenty to explore for sure.  As I embrace this direction more, I can feel my creativity loosening up. I am experimenting with color images more, or adding tints and filters to my black and whites to give them a sheen of color. I’m even going back to old images and reprocessing them in completely new ways lately.

A few of my older shots getting a face lift with some color tints!

A few of my older shots getting a face lift with some color tints!

After several years of hard emotional work, and using photography mostly as a means to do serious healing, I am enjoying the play. I’ll admit, I did start to feel stuck within the portrait series after a year of commitment to it. Slowly, it is beginning to feel good to let loose and just explore where things are going – both personally and creatively. I’m also looking toward some new ventures now that will include others within my creative process, something very new for me. More on that soon. Cheers everyone! I hope your new year is off to an inspired start!

Mike out hiking around Gorge Metro Park

Mike out hiking around Gorge Metro Park

Sandstone detail in Gorge Metro Park

Sandstone detail in Gorge Metro Park

Blue Hen Falls – Cuyahoga Valley National Park

Blue Hen Falls – Cuyahoga Valley National Park

Prairie at Springfield Bog

Prairie at Springfield Bog