Three years ago, with shaky hand, I signed…

Three years ago, with shaky hand, but empowered to move my life forward, I signed bankruptcy papers.  And my grown children and I signed a lease for a magical apartment in the West End.  There have been dark moments since that have terrified me as I processed and struggled, but also so much lightness and so much joy.  SO MUCH GROWTH.

We do not grow absolutely, chronologically. We grow sometimes in one dimension, and not in another; unevenly. We grow partially. We are relative. We are mature in one realm, childish in another. The past, present, and future mingle and pull us backward, forward, or fix us in the present. We are made up of layers, cells, constellations. – Anaïs Nin

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I have found solace in journaling, in my art, my passion project, in my crafting, in my children, in my family, my friends, and in my trustee who assured that embracing my rights to clear my debts was the best decision.  She empowered me with her kindness and love.

There I was, three years ago, with my binder in order and signing those papers, absolutely open and vulnerable.  And I began the slow unfolding process of leaving behind one kind of living and moving into a kind that leans towards simplicity and focus.

I recall this poem I wrote three years ago:

I thought I was holding on to this ONE life I knew.

My heart feeling the weight of  having died a thousand deaths.

I thought I was the tree, whose roots dug so deep,

So deep that it was surely invincible.

I thought I was the tree that houses the egg,

the chick.

Providing a safe place in which to grow,

and from which to leave.

I thought my role was to grow deep roots,

and multiple branches,

and rich green leaves.

I thought I felt the a pain of my roots being cut,

my body toppled.

But I have died a thousand deaths.

And I know now that I am one of the birds.

And as the roots are cut, and the tree is toppled,

My leaves turn to wings,

the wings of thousands of birds.

And I fly.

I fly.

Love, Kat

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A week of triggers and difficult conversations. And authenticity.

There were many triggers this week, both personally, professionally, and financially, that led to a multitude of emotions- most especially anxiety. Triggers that give rise to deep-rooted memories and default reactions. Anger directed at self.

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But I was delighted to find that I also defaulted to the “don’t know mind” technique and that I allowed difficult conversations.

I allowed for a change in the usual approach.

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I also use my personal meditation tool- drawing Frida.

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I am ready to tackle the week ahead.  Have a good one.

Love Kat

We have to dare to be ourselves, however frightening or strange that self may prove to be. – May Sarton

 

I thought I was holding on to this ONE life I knew. #journal

I thought I was holding on to this ONE life I knew.

My heart feeling the weight of  having died a thousand deaths.

I thought I was the tree, whose roots dug so deep,

So deep that it was surely invincible.

I thought I was the tree that houses the egg,

the chick.

Providing a safe place in which to grow,

and from which to leave.

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I thought my role was to grow deep roots,

and multiple branches,

and rich green leaves.

I thought I felt the a pain of my roots being cut,

my body toppled.

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But I have died a thousand deaths.

And I know now that I am one of the birds.

And as the roots are cut, and the tree is toppled,

My leaves turn to wings,

the wings of thousands of birds.

And I fly.

I fly.

– Katarina Thorsen

Frida Angel

Change. What does it mean to you? #journalexercise

Change.  What does it mean to you?

Write it out.  Collect images that reflect your thoughts.

Journal:

Sometimes I long for stability and sameness.  Change is the constant though.  I have learned to not fight it, learned to embrace it, and go in the direction that feels right in the heart and in the mind.

Change can mean loss. Change can mean gain.

Change can cause fear.  Change can be the catalyst to new paths.  I tend to want to cocoon when too much change happens too fast.  I need time to think.  To be still.  Like today.  I can only manage a few errands on my to-do list, but after that I want to remain wrapped in my tattered old cardigan, not visit anyone, not talk too much.  Just cocoon.

But cocooning itself is essential to metamorphosis.  We cannot avoid it.  I’m experiencing intense loss, a big change, but I am so ready for new wings.

I am not young anymore.  I may even be a grown-up.  Yet, I feel new.  Revealed.

China marker, pastel, linseed oil on wood. Based on Edvard Munch’s “Puberty.”