I was honored to participate in the Mother’s Day Rally for Mental Health on Katherine Stone’s blog (Postpartum Progress) this year. Katherine posted letters to new moms from 24 writers who have gone through postpartum depression or anxiety. Each letter is so moving + powerful… and a must-read for your mama friends out there. So many of us don’t realize what we’re going through until we’re on the other side. We don’t get the support we need because we think we don’t deserve it, or that it’s not that bad, or we’re too ashamed…

These letters bust through all of that and share the real deal. So proud to be a part of it. Share it with the moms in your life. My piece is getting more help thank you think you deserve.

Laurie listening to Ellen

I went to a birthday party for a dear friend recently. Since Laurie had been going through some major transitions this year, we wanted to gift her something really special and from the heart. Sherry suggested we all make her a “Love list.”

A Love list is pretty simple.

1. Write down 10 things you love about this person.
2. Tell them what you admire about them, what you appreciate, why they inspire you.
3. Read it to them in person, over the phone, or put a stamp on it and send it off with love.

As I wrote my love list for Laurie, I was filled with gratitude. There was so much to love about her! and I felt so lucky to be counted as one of her dear ones.

She didn’t know we wrote these lists. We surprised her by reading them out loud, one by one after dinner, and watched the tears fall from her cheeks. She received each gift so beautifully… and we were all a puddle by the end. It was a gift to all of us.

Lara and Sherry and Laurie

Laurie and Lara

Me reading to Laurie

Me and Laurie

Have you ever given a love list? Have you ever received one? What was it like?

Self portrait, eyes closed

We have a “Ruffler.”

This is what Ben called him the first time it happened, the first time our car was broken into last year. We went to open the door of our car one morning and discovered that it was ajar. Trash was strewn all over the passenger seat along with owners’ manuals, registration papers, a swiss army knife, a few tampons and a number 2 pencil. All that seemed to be missing was the spare change. I explained to Ben that someone had rifled through our car in the middle of the night.

But who ruffled our car? Ben asked in disbelief.

I like calling him the Ruffler because it sounds more friendly, less like a violation and more like a person who simply makes mischief and mess wherever they go. We also have a name for this guy because he has done this to our car a good 7 times now. Every time we have forgotten to lock the doors– those occasions when I have extracted a screaming toddler from the car seat and hurriedly ushered him into the house (thus forgetting to lock up) the Ruffler strikes again.

It’s possible he is the most dependable force in my life. A law of the Universe. Pure cause and effect.

I’ve been more diligent about locking doors since the Ruffler came into our lives. Not just the car doors, but the house as well. He demands that I cross my T’s more than usual; he demands a kind of precision and excellence that perhaps I let fall by the wayside. I imagine he is a kind of angel, here for a purpose, to protect me from a much greater harm with his annoying shenanigans.

I have been tempted to leave the car door open and rig a camera in there, to film the Ruffler in action. He has left cigarette butts in the car before, garbage, and once a nice pair of sunglasses that I’m guessing he acquired from another vehicle. But I don’t really want to know who he is.

I prefer to think of him as a force or an energy, not a real person.

I prefer to think of him as someone who asks me to stay present and awake, who remembers to check the doors before falling asleep, who reminds me of the simple laws of the Universe.

You might remember a ritual I did with a few friends last year. We gathered feathers and let them go. For Myriam, pictured above, it was a long infertility journey on her heart – a lot to let go of – but we all felt so much hope as we gathered again on the sand. We knew that baby was on its way.

I visited Myriam last week in southern california and it was my total delight and joy to photograph her, her husband and that gorgeous belly on the beach in Laguna. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Myriam more beautiful, and that’s saying a lot.

I just wanted to share these photos today, to celebrate Myriam and also to celebrate how life can surprise us again and again.

Self-portrait, shot with Canon 6D

I caught myself today, telling my sister a tired old story on the telephone. You know the ones I mean –the thing you have been complaining about for years, the thing that never seems to change, the one that always brings you anguish. When I hung up today (after venting at length) I noticed how my body felt- icky, tainted, like I had just eaten an entire bag of fritos.

I think I’m done telling that story, I thought to myself.

I need a new narrative. One that’s still true but makes me feel empowered + hopeful.

I went on a photo walk this afternoon. I wanted to shake my legs and get in the mood for the Treasure Hunt course starting in a couple of days.

I found myself taking self-portraits, click click click and then peering into the tiny screen to see how they came out. Sometimes it’s hard to look at yourself, isn’t it? My skin is mottled, my eyes are too small, I should wear makeup… the critic had a steady stream of commentary. Then I remembered something that Vivienne McMaster had shared with me, a self-portrait exercise where you look into the lens with total kindness + love.

I decided to try it, peering into the camera with the kindest part of my heart. I acted as if I were looking at my own boys, tiny and perfect and beautiful. Not only did it feel good to do this, but the shots turned out so much better.

I’m not sure what this new story is. (I will have to call on one of my life coach friends for this one)

What I do know, is that the key will be starting from this place of kindness and love. From this angle, things are bound to look so much more hopeful + beautiful.

Sad banana, shot with Canon 6D

Sad bananas over here.

Just one of those weeks! I’m thinking that some photo walks are in order. Would anyone like to join me?

Creativity is always the best way for me to find my joy again. Perhaps you need to find some joy too. Let’s do it together.

The Treasure Hunt begins May 1st.

30 days of photo prompts + photo tips. Here are a few more details.

Only $39 if you use this coupon code: HUNTFORJOY

Here’s what you’ll get:

• A creative photo prompt each day in your inbox

• Photo tips + creative musings to inspire your work

• A warm, encouraging community space on Flickr to share your work and support your fellow treasure seekers! (I will be popping in there each day to view your work and support your practice)

Benefits of treasure seeking:

• Jumpstart your creativity or add a new spark to your existing practice

• Come away with a collection of creative images illustrating your life right now

• A gratitude practice using your camera as a tool + beauty as your lens

• A whole month of drinking in everyday beauty

• Inspiring photos taken with your camera phone.

• Has your blog been collecting dust? Infuse it with new colorful content!

Only $39 if you use this coupon code: HUNTFORJOY

It’s been a doozy of a week. Personal trials over here as well as really hard stuff going on in the world. (Sending you love, Boston) These are the moments when I feel the least amount of inspiration to share a gratitude list. Thank goodness for my gratitude buddy and for this blog where I can remember how very blessed I am.

This is my gratitude list in pictures.

Feel free to leave your own list in the comments. Or, if you haven’t been matched up with a buddy, shoot me an email and I can make that happen for you! (superherosf@gmail.com) I am thoroughly enjoying this public service.

Celebrating Auntie Brig’s birthday with the boys. So grateful for dear friends.

Good graffiti that lifts your spirits. Oh, and red boots that photograph well.

The love between these boys. The love I have for these boys.

Don’t you love the Trader Joe’s stickers in the hair?

The perfect fortune that gets you through a hard time.

Nico Boon. What else is there to say?

One of my biggest, most formative wounds happened when I was in the sixth grade. I was part of a triad of friends, three besties that played together every recess, went home together after school and told each other every last secret.

Until one day when everything changed.

I arrived at school to find these friends had gone cold. When I asked what was wrong, they simply declared that they weren’t friends with me anymore. That was it. No warning, no fight that preceded it. Just a simple fact: You’re out.

I was bereft and grieved hard. I wondered what I did wrong. I wondered what was wrong with me. I wracked my brain trying to figure it out.

A few days later, they started calling me names – saying I looked like a monkey, mocking me for wearing designer jeans. It was an incredibly painful time and it wounded me deeply.

But here’s the thing – the damage to our spirit always lives in the story we tell ourselves.

Shit happens. People behave badly. They bully, they call each other names, they act unskillfully. People do what they do. What we decide about ourselves in those moments is what matters most.

I could have decided a lot of things that day – that it wasn’t safe to make friends, that I was a terrible person, that I was ugly.

What I gathered instead was that they were envious — that the boys gave me attention, that my mother bought me nice clothes, that I got good grades. The message I got was clear- Don’t be too much. Don’t be too smart or too pretty or too sparkly. Keep your head low and people won’t hate you. Don’t outshine your friends or you won’t have any.

That story has haunted me. And crept its way into every aspect of my life. There is a ceiling on how much success I allow myself to have or how much I allow myself to enjoy my success. If I do achieve a big win, I find myself talking about how hard it was, or how it took a lot of work and struggle. I want people to know it didn’t come easily, that I suffered. I’m often afraid others will feel diminished by my success.

Years ago, at a women’s creativity group, we did an exercise where we had to go around the circle and “brag” about our creative successes to date. I was terrified… and had a FULL ON breakdown during my turn. I sobbed and couldn’t even get the words out. They had to skip me. Hello emotional landmine!

I can see now that I have been trying to heal this wound for so many years.

Part of my healing process has been to surround myself with circles of women who want me to be big, who want me to shine, who want me to be the best version of me. They want this because it inspires them, it lifts them up, it gives them permission to be big as well. They want this because they know that keeping me tethered keeps them tethered too.

Sometimes we have to do a big re-wiring job on our brains. We have to first notice those limiting beliefs- the ones that hold us back from being our true selves, our deepest selves, our shiniest selves. And then we have to say, No more! That belief no longer serves me. It no longer keeps me safe, it actually keeps me down.

And then we write a new story.

Mine is this: The more I shine, the more others shine in my presence. The more success I have, the more I inspire others.

Does anyone else relate to the crime of outshining? Do you have a new story you need to write?

Nico and his mop

I called out the other day from bed, feeling so horribly sick (the worst sick in years) and said to Matt, “Honey? Is there anything you could bring me that would make me feel better?”

As soon as I said this, I knew that there probably was not, but what I was really asking for was his presence, an I’m so sorry you are feeling so bad… but what was so terrible and comical is that he didn’t hear me at all! I saw his figure move across the hallway, iphone earbuds engaged, and the sound of the door closing as he went to pick up Nico at school.

I could make this moment mean something and feel really sorry for myself or I could just laugh and surrender.

That’s how I felt yesterday morning when I heard Nico calling to me: “Mama! You help me? Mama come!”

I wandered into the living room, still doubled over from the stomach flu and saw that he had climbed up on my desk. As I lifted him off, I noticed the marker in his hand and the BLACK SHARPIE covering my computer screen. Yep. You read that right. Black Sharpie all over my beautiful 27″ imac screen. All those irritating smudges from gummy fingers, stray bits of peanut butter and yogurt, seemed like nothing now. Black freaking Sharpie!

But these last few days have clearly been about surrender, about things being as they are and not as I want want them to be.

Like on Wednesday when I had to cancel my very first Storybowl because I was puking my guts out. Even while it was happening I wasn’t sure – is the lesson to cancel and know that no one will die? or is it to show up and be less than fabulous, imperfect, human? Or, like the Sharpie debacle, does shit just happen? and it’s not a lesson at all.

I Googled “Sharpie on computer screen” and saw endless entries in discussion forums about 3-year olds destroying computer screens across America.

We are not alone people. We are never alone. So that’s comforting.

I am grateful I let myself cancel the event. (I promise to let you know the new date Storybowlers!)
I am grateful that no one got mad at me.
I am grateful that it’s not the end of the world.
I’m grateful that I can still use my computer, that only the right half is covered in Sharpie and I can still see the left half clearly.
I am grateful that in my weakened, flu-induced state, I didn’t even feel angry. I just sighed and picked Nico up and we carried on.

I think that’s what you call surrender and I must have needed some practice in it.

UPDATE: One of Ben’s 7-year old friends suggested I trace the Sharpie with dry erase marker and then erase it. It worked like a charm! and didn’t harm my screen one bit.

Michelle Allen, Leigh Standley and Flora Bowley, Manzanita, OR

Recently, I attended a miraculous weekend retreat with a group of friends. We spent five days sharing stories, making collaborative paintings, taking gorgeous beach walks and coaching each other around our businesses + creative work.

We called it the “Radiate Sessions.”

Each person had a turn bringing something to the group they needed support with or guidance around. We created a loving circle around them and radiated pure possibility (plus all of our best collective wisdom) straight from our hearts to theirs. Whether it was your turn or not, you were transformed. Whatever medicine was being offered was somehow just what the rest of us needed too.

Kelly Rae Roberts and Mati Rose McDonough

We ate a lot of cheese, Kelly Rae, Flora, Mati, Hannah, Jess, Michelle

Photos at the magic hour are a requirement for any retreat, Manzanita, OR

Photography lesson by Vivienne McMaster

This retreat was incredibly heart-opening for me. The kind where you feel cracked open in the best way… crying lots of cathartic tears and expressing the most tender parts of your soul. While I feared that Zoloft would numb me out, it has done quite the opposite – it has calmed me down enough to feel the deeper layers of my heart –the unprocessed grief of the last 6 years, the profound love I have for my family and new hope for what’s possible in the future. My radiate session was about where my work is headed, but what these women really helped me do was open my heart.

The Wishbone

As we left the house on the final morning, we all scrambled to get the sheets in the dryer, the dishes in the washer, and all of our bags packed and out the door. When I did a last scan of the house, I noticed that we had left one thing behind- a wishbone sitting on the kitchen counter.

“Who wants to do the wishbone with me?” I asked.

I haven’t wished on a wishbone since I was a kid, but as Leigh and I put our hands on each side of it I remembered the rules – that when it breaks, whoever gets the bigger piece will get their wish.

“Wait!” I said urgently, concerned that only one of us would get their wish, “Let’s make wishes for each other!”

So Leigh closed her eyes, and I closed mine, and I thought of the most wonderful secret wish for her. As we leaned backwards my worry returned, Oh no! What if she doesn’t get her wish?

At that moment, the wishbone broke. And something miraculous happened.

The center of the wishbone flew into the air, leaving two perfectly even pieces in each of our hands.

We all gasped.

For all the magic of the weekend, the wishbone moment is the one I keep coming back to. And I think it’s because the message was so beautiful and so clear:

That when we want the best for each other, when we don’t want to win if it means someone else will lose, when we know that my joy is yours and your success is mine, we all get our wishes.

And that my friends, is something to celebrate.

P.S. If a retreat like this is calling to you, stay tuned. I was so inspired by this weekend that I am planning my own intimate gathering for the end of September. If you want to be the first to know, email me here: superherosf@gmail.com