Right now I’m wondering what I do and why the fuck I do it.
For the past couple of months I’ve been on-and-off immersed in the creation of my website, Sacral Empowerment. This is an umbrella site that will house articles, practices, and offerings that seek to help women become empowered in realms society tends to ignore. It will explore conscious everything: sexuality, spirituality, money, shame, self-inquiry, creativity, and more. It will delve into my story and how I got from point sub-A to point, damn, I don’t know, maybe H by now.
It’s so hard to remember how I healed in these areas. I vacuum up information and practices like a Roomba on Adderall. I lap up what I can learn in six weeks (whether it be about tarot, astrology, limiting beliefs, or Taoist sexual energy), and then I move the fuck on to the next shiny practice that promises me freedom, security, satisfaction, and a deeper knowing of this wildly complex and oft unintegrated self I lug around.
Right now I have around 30 blog titles just waiting to become. They are all written for today’s lame-ass internet audience (myself included). Three Ancient Practices that Changed My Sex Life. How to Stop Dating Narcissistic Asshole Babymen. You know, things I have lived through that I would like to impart to others, so that they can move on and through with more ease.
Yet I don’t write this way, this decidedly marketed way. It feels fake.
Instead I write in cycles, digging up experiences, excavating them from the deep silt of my memories. I write things like “deep silt of my memories.” Where does that fit in this world of cliche clickbait titles and easily digestible, happy crappy?
I guess that’s what it comes down to. I want my writing to be unfalteringly truthful. I want it to go deep. So I’ll keep writing what’s true for me. I’ll record videos that are true for me. And see what comes.
I don’t want to be doing it just like everyone else. I’ve never been able to. Yet I fall prey to it all the time, that I must do this or this for marketing purposes, or I’ll see an article that I could have (my brain says should have) written, and end up regurgitating it in an out-of-touch, distant way.
I’m owning my identity as writer, it seems. First. Foremost. Writer of my own shit, realizing the crafts of writing and storytelling and truth-telling are what’s important to me. Perhaps even more important that developing any kind of coaching career.
Right now I’m confused in moments, looking at this site I’m creating.
Am I creating it because I’ve drank the personal development Kool-Aid?
Because I believe I need to have a high-end purpose that draws in six figures per year? (ding, ding, ding)
Because my work assisting women with their coaching and therapy practices isn’t “enough?” For whom?
Or is all of the above a "demon at the gate," yet another tricky block coming up as I seek to share myself with a larger audience? (The bell of truth ringeth once more.)
I want to get out of the doership and into the surrendership. Allowing what it is that needs to come through, to come through. So I pray.
Divine Beloved, help me to trust you have the best next step plotted out for me. Help me to remember I am a vessel, here to serve. Help me to step aside and allow you to work through me. Help me to remember my needs are always met.
When you're feeling stuck, try journaling. Ask yourself:
What the fuck do I really want?
Who am I doing this for?
Is this project/relationship/endeavor in line with my values and vision?
If it is, is there a fear or limiting belief present that I can break through? (i.e. a fear of success and letting go of old habits, fear of failing miserably, etc.)
And then put on some music and dance, take a run, meditate, take a bath, or do whatever the fuck else it is you do to get out of your head. And I shall do the same.
Originally published May 22, 2017.