HandScapes® Honoring Your Hands Through Art--new free online class!

Guess what?! My new online class, "HandScapes--Honoring Your Hands Through Art" is now available on SkillShare! I've listed it as a free class for the first 250 people who enroll. Once you enroll, it will always be available to you even after I switch it over to a paid status. It's my gift to you in hopes you will engage with me to experience the meditative, healing benefits of art. This class is designed for all age levels. Plus, it can be done individually or in a group setting. 

Are you homeschooling? Do you have a special group gathering or family reunion planned? Do you want to make some lasting memories and heirlooms you can pass down generation-to-generation? Watch your group or gathering come alive making HandScapes together. I am available to teach this heart centered workshop or train others to do it, too. Message me for details. 

Watch my introduction video to "HandScapes®--Honoring Your Hands Through Art".

You can enroll here. Just click the link below.

"HandScapes®--Honoring Your Hands Through Art"

Unwrap Gifts Disguised As Setbacks

My new video interviews with Tina van Leuven, from InnerDelight. You can find Tina on FaceBook, too. Click on either link highlighted in the last sentence to explore the beauty, and passion she has for creating JOY as a way of life, not only for ourselves, but for the entire world. There are three videos in this series. I am posting the first one, and if you go to Tina's YouTube channel, InnerDelight, you can find the other two we did, plus, many more delightful interviews with other guests.

Watch the video to catch up on what I've been up to, as well as seeing my dimples do their thang~

PTSD & Creativity for Healing Part Two

"Surrounded by Angels" by Lille Diane
Watercolor 11 x 14

Here's the final excerpt of my story PTSD & Creativity for Healing Part Two about how I'm using art to heal from post traumatic stress disorder I got after a bad auto accident. The story is featured on Michele Rosenthal's blog, "Heal My PTSD". Please feel free to share these links with others who may need a healing, helping hand to overcome PTSD, anxiety disorders or stress related illness. Just click on the picture. It will take you there.

(Here's the link for Part One if you missed it. Click Here.)

PTSD is not a disease that happens just to people in the armed forces, or police officers, or fire fighters. It happens to everyday people like you or myself who have experienced trauma of any kind. If you continue to isolate, or experience fears and/or anxiety about life or situations you feel are out of your control, please seek help. Michelle offers one on one counseling, support and has lots of free help for you or your loved ones. Her blog is a goldmine of resources for people seeking to heal from PTSD, depression, anxiety and stress related diseases. Her site is a safe place to begin the first steps to heal. You are not alone~

I'd love to hear your feedback on art, music, writing or any creative tools you've found that make your walk with life easier and how it's helped you. Your insights will help me & Michelle better help others. Leave me a message here or there. Thank you~

PLUS...

I've included some useful links in Part Two
to help you get started in using art to heal.

PTSD & Creativity for Healing Part One

'Love Grows Here' page in my Moleskine art journal.

Ink & Prisma Pencil

I'm excited to be a guest contributor at Michele Rosenthal's, Heal My PTSD website this week. My article "PTSD & Creativity for Healing - Part One" is featured on her blog today. Click on my article title to direct you straight to the story. Part Two will post next week.

Art is without a doubt healing lives everywhere. I'm seeing the theme of art healing lives everywhere I go. I am healing, too, because I found refuge in some paints, some paper, a empty journal book, a canvas, a pencil, a paint brush and a whole lot of freedom in expressing myself in a medium that has been an outlet since the cave man roamed the earth. Art tells a story. Art is meditation. Art helps a heart want to live again. Art is soul candy. Art opens dialogs that may otherwise be hard to talk about. Art can help set the captive mind free. Art has given me, and countless others, wings to fly above problems, confusion and fears.

Michele Rosenthal has been my friend, and treasured mentor, for almost 2 years. She is changing lives and opening the eyes of the world to learn how PTSD can strike anyone, anywhere and at any time. She's been there and she understands the pain being misdiagnosed. Her story is one of hope, and how she persevered by knocking on doors until she got answers, found help and finally, became healed. PTSD can be healed. Just ask Michelle. She is shouting from the roof tops, "There is HOPE! There are TOOLS! There is HEALING from PTSD!"

I encourage all of you who've been reading my blog who may be working through depression, anxiety, fear or PTSD to tune into Michele's blog. Heal My PTSD has free tools, and help for those struggling with PTSD and for people who have family members dealing with PTSD.

This next year I'm launching some art videos to help people work through anxiety by using simple art techniques that have helped me tremendously. The new videos will also help people with day to day stress find ways to unwind creatively. Stress is the number one cause of so many deadly diseases. In the meantime, please go read my guest post. Click HERE. I'm tickled beyond measure to be Michele's guest. Thanks, Michele, and all of you who have watched me heal one day at a time. By this time tomorrow I'll be healed. This I know for sure~

2010 Top PTSD Blog Winner

Peace Lily
10 x 14 pen and Prisma Ink

Many of you know I started my blog in April 2009 to help me deal with PTSD, post traumatic stress disorder, I developed after a bad auto accident. My blog recently won the 2010 Top PTSD Blog award presented by Medical Assistant Schools. I had no idea I'd even been nominated. It's an honor to be listed in a group of other blogs that ranked in the top 25 worldwide. Isn't life funny? I never expected my blog to be read anyone but myself and a handful of family & friends. Many people have written me since I started blogging to tell me about their experiences with PTSD and how my blog inspires them. I am always humbled to know people have been helped by reading about my journey.

There have been many changes these past 2.5 years in my life, some exhilarating and amazing beyond what I expected life to give me. Others have been harder to deal with: stress of being in a car, fear, anxiety, medications, ongoing aches and pains healing brings.... and all the times I've wondered if I will ever be "normal" again. I'm beginning to realize "Normal is just a setting on your dryer." just as my old friend Patsy Clairmont said it is.

Along with counseling (thank you Dr. Ed), and body work by my Reiki angel, Lauren, and Sonya, my massage therapist, my main medications have been art, writing and music. As a lifetime artist/musician I never realized how important art can be for healing until this journey with PTSD began nearly 3 years ago. Whenever I'm painting, writing or singing I can forget for a moment that anything less than perfect has happened to me in my life.

Thank you Medical Assistant Schools, and Anne Holt, for supporting PTSD and those of us who are working through it. Thank you, readers for always showing me love and support. Thank you, Superman, for flying beside me no matter what. And my biggest thank you to Dylan, my BFF, and pilot of our airborne van, and "flying mates", Stacey and Colleen. Life goes on in miraculous ways...doesn't it?

Mile Markers

Look. A mile marker. I am almost to my one year anniversary for my blog. I started it without knowing if anyone would even read it. I started it because I needed to heal, find something to do while I healed, and to lift my spirits. I started it to light my creative heart on fire, and actually create a list of all the things I wanted to do with my wonderful life. I understood I had been spared from dying and have been grateful beyond words to have another shot at living my dreams. But first I needed to heal, and I had no idea I would still be in the learning curve of how to get back into the game of life nearly 2 years after the auto accident.

I'm OK with that. OK with taking care of me. OK with what I've learned from the 'gift' of an unexpected life altering change wrapped in a package called... PTSD. This is a gift I'm learning from and hopefully helping others who have PTSD heal, too.

Art heals. Writing heals. Music heals. Having a good therapist (thanks Dr. Ed and Mary) helps me heal. Having supportive family & friends helps me heal. (thanks, Jake & Ash. thanks, Mommy. thanks, my dear Dylan. thanks to so many of you! I cannot list all of your names individually for fear I will omit someone special) Having a real live Superman in my life has helped me heal. Having Opie Taylor, errrr I mean Opie Wan Kenobi here at my side faithfully has helped me heal. Having met so many of you here online in the blog world has helped me heal. I started keeping track of how many people stop by about a month after I started my blog. WOW!!!

Over 20,000!!!!

And for those of you who fly by, read my blog without ever letting me know you were here. Thank you so very, very much. The numbers tell me you were here, and come back over & over to see how I'm doing. Thank you so much. I feel like you are angels popping in to bless me.

My 101 Creative To Do List is up if you'd like to see what I've accomplished this past 11 months. CLICK HERE TO SEE LIST

I'm moving into warp speed to complete a bunch more on the list before the official one year anniversary. There's a contest I promised you coming up, too. In fact several. I didn't forget the contest I mentioned when Lisa received her painting from the last contest. [insert HUGE smile here] You can read about it here. LISA's Painting

Opie has some tricks up his monkey pantz to show you, too. We are officially into the count down of the one year mile marker. Let's get this party started!

We need to let some of the party favors
outta da monkey pantz...

Embracing Today

I really do embrace every season. It seems we often spend more time waiting for or talking about the next season than really savoring the gifts of the current one. Soon it will be summer, and we'll be complaining about how hot it is... We'll be wishing for an icy, cool breeze to take us away from the sizzling, sweltering heat. We'll begin talking about how nice it will be to wear sweaters again.

How much time do we really spend here today?
Right now--in this precious moment.

Yesterday Superman took me for a winter walk. I had a doctor visit that was quite a distance away so to help me cope with the traffic [and my tired foot from helping him brake on my side of the car] he broke up the trip with a glorious reminder of the beauty in "today".

I am OK...

I can find my center and remember how to be here now.
My joy to be alive is bigger than my fear of being in a car.

And a great winter hat is always a reminder why I have every reason to smile.
Besides....
This hat goes great with a pair of monkey pantz.

My Interview with Laura Hollick

So what does one wear for a Skype interview??? The same things newscasters wear under their desks.... A bright, bold colored pair of Monkey Pantz. Uh huh. Just like I promised. Neon, baby. Hey a girl has to do what ever it takes to keep the sass in her pantz. Here's some info about Laura. I love this woman's spirit!

Laura Hollick

Laura Hollick is one of the emerging creative thinkers in the Human Potential movement that is sweeping our planet. She is redefining art as a way of living and inspiring people around the world to create their lives as a work of art. Selected from across Canada, BRAVO TV created a documentary about Laura's life and work, called 'The Artist's Life'. She has hosted and produced over 500 radio shows and published over 200 articles on creativity and lifestyle that expresses the creative spirit.

Laura’s personal art is a reflection of her unique creative spirit. She often combines elements of nature and transforms them into imaginary worlds that seduce us to deepen our awareness and lead us home to spirit. Laura’s work is an inspirational feast for the soul. In 2008 Laura was nominated for "Artist of the Year' and in 2009 was voted 'Best Female Artist' by View Magazine.

At the heart of it all Laura's work is a deep desire to connect with spirit and connect spirit with the world, to grow spirit on earth. She says, "My life is my soul's work. I am here to create my masterpiece--myself."

Check out my audio interview with Laura and her studio, Soul Art. And my Monkey Pantz below...

Click Here for the Laura Hollick Interview

Please leave a comment on Laura's blog to let her know you were there...

Psssstttttt.... FYI

Superman Delivers

How many girls can say they got flowers, lilies to be specific, from Superman? Aren't they beautiful? Oh baby, he does more than deliver... [that may have sounded kinky...] I'll have to get one of those blogs with an adult content warning to proceed... Nah... never mind... There's just some stuff ya'll don't need to know anything about.

What I meant to say is that Superman anticipates my needs before I do as well as what would bring me joy, peace, a smile or will bring healing to my body, and mind. It has to be that X-ray vision. He can see into my soul. Truly he can.

If you knew how many times I ask him when we're driving, "Can you slow down please?" He answers sweetly, "Sure, Wonder Woman." Even when he's already going 10 miles slower than the speed limit... He never rolls his eyes when I say, "I don't like that car!!!" (for the umpteenth time in 5 minutes) My PTSD tells me the auto is coming straight for our car or is going to weave into our lane. He never makes me feel silly for gasping or hiding my face in my lap. He just moves over in another lane or slows down. On some days I may have more triggers than others. He reaches over and pats my hand or leg.

So when I recently became infected with worms he never flinched! Nope not once... In fact he was the one who diagnosed me.

Oh did I say "me"?? I meant to say my puter had worms. Boy... Opie just ran out of here like a wild man. Nobody likes to hear the word worms unless you're going fishing. And a cat certainly doesn't want to hear you say they have worms or wants to eat a "funny shaped piece of cheese" with a hard cylinder inside it... Cats and dogs always know when you're trying to hide a pill in their kibbles. But what you don't always know is when your puter has become a home for critters of the viral type, the worms of cyber space, the bots and villains that prey on the innocents. Until it is too late. Creepy....

But who is Superman's alter ego? Clark Kent. Mild mannered computer wizard. He's not afraid of no stinking worms. So if you were wondering where I've been...

I was hiding under the bed.
The bots know where I live.

Well not really... but I've been without my laptop for awhile. So I'm very happy to be back here in Blogville. I missed you all terribly!

Thank you all for all the love you sent my way for my Mom and my son. Jake, Ashley & Emery are leaving early Saturday morning for CA to visit his dad. Please keep them in your thoughts. They're driving from here (OH) to CA. Long trip with a baby.

My Mom is home, and is doing really well. Her surgery went much better than we could have hoped for. I can't even begin to tell you how happy that makes all of us.

Stay tuned. I have some really cool things to share with you in upcoming posts! New art. Pics of the Lily Pad. A blog radio interview. An update about the contest I mentioned having about a month ago. [see how I just tossed out a teeny, tiny tidbit about a totally, freaking, sah-weet blog radio interview like it was lettuce on a sandwich when actually I'm about to wee muh giddy self from sheer excitement???]

Plus, a peeecture of me wearin' muh monkey pantz... Uh huh... Neon, baby.

Flying Dream: Part Two

Here's the rest of my flying dream... (read part one to see where we left off) There we are, my son and I, hanging out in a bathroom at a Mexican restaurant in downtown Ojai, CA with mousey brown hair dye on our heads.

For those of you who don't know my son, he's been a lead singer & guitar player in rock bands since he was 15, and has probably dyed his hair more often than I have---and that's a LOT! Gotta love creative expression.

Jake becomes concerned about time, and needs to meet Ashley, his wife, so he rinses his hair and bolts out the door. I watch which direction he heads then take my turn in the small sink rinsing the hair dye off my hair. I rinse my head quickly, and run out the door to follow Jake. (I'm a helicopter Mom sometimes... OK most of the time...) I realize he has a pretty good head start so I decide to take a short cut down a side street. I zoom out, and up, to an aerial street map like you see on Google maps and pick my course.

Walking does not seem fast enough so I begin running. My pace picks up, and my legs become gazelle like--stretching out gracefully before me with strides that appear like a super heroine. People start to notice, and make comments, "Wow! Look at that girl running. Her feet are off the ground!" (Yes, I consider myself a girl in a woman's body) I'm elated to see my feet are actually off the ground, and make a decision to fly instead of run since I'm practically flying anyway.

To gain altitude I start making swimming motions with my arms cutting through the air as if it's water. Up, up, up I go... above the buildings, the cars and the people walking on the sidewalks or standing in their yards. Everyone is watching me sail above them. No one has seen someone fly before and this is my 15 minutes of fame. I'm feeling exhilarated, and special, and free. I no longer need to flap my arms, my body is gliding effortlessly as if I weighed the same as a feather.

I'm flying above the main intersection in downtown Ojai where the clock tower is in the center of town. The sky is a vivid, surreal blue. People are crossing the street hurrying to make it before the traffic light changes. In the crosswalk below me are a group of conservative women with shopping bags dangling from their arms. They're clustered tightly together like a quilt made out of polyester squares afraid to touch cotton.

Suddenly a women that resembles the church lady from SNL pulls back from the pack, and points a bony finger up at me as I flit overhead. Her mouth looks like a sea gull's beak, gaping open begging for bread crumbs. I pause in mid flight to discern the words coming from her gullet. They break the perfect, blissful moment my flight has given me as she screams.

"You can't fly! That's not Godly! God doesn't like it when you fly!"

Everyone on the sidewalks and crosswalk stop dead in their tracks. They stare at me barely breathing to see what my reaction will be to her loud accusation. My soul, my heart, my core knows this is not true. Without hesitation my voice resonates through the dead air like a skilled stage actor with perfect diction knowing everyone in the back row of the theater can hear my booming, poised voice.

"F_ _ K, you! God loves it when I fly. He's the One who taught me how to fly in the first place!"

Then off I fly into the sunset as free as a bird. I am free. Finally, I am free.

End of dream....

My son has such a healthy attitude about being different than other people. One time he had a 5 inch hawk (Mohawk) with bleached roots, a 3 inch band of lime green, and black tips. We went out to eat, and the little kids at the table next to us were staring at him. Their parents apologized and said, "Sorry our kids are staring at you but they love the Disney movie "Land Before Time" and they think you are a dinosaur." Everyone in the restaurant laughed, especially my son.

Jake with his leopard look. Ashley created this clever look for him.

Now I really, really, REALLY want to type the "F" word in the sentence above, and not sugar coat it. Ya'll know I never use "that" word here on my blog. (I said on NOT my blog... it's been known to soothe my ruffled feather's on occasion when no other word is bold enough) I prefer to use Frap but it's really the same word.... It's just a matter of switching out a few letters. But I am afraid. Afraid of what you'll think about me if I do.

I know it's just a word. I also know this word is offensive to some people. And let me set the record straight. I love conservative people, freaks, polyester (well I'm kinda lying about that one... OK I am lying right out loud about that one... I truly hate polyester) This is not a post about bashing anyone or anything--except my own fears. Plus, you all know I worry sometimes about what people think about me for having PTSD or panic attacks since May 4, 2008. I "shouldn't" still be afraid to get in a car. I shouldn't be afraid to type the Eff word.

I know some of you would cheer me on to type "it" because you've followed my blog for a long time. Frap is safer to type and this just more Fear being afraid to type a silly word, and that sucks. I loved my dream, and I want to be flipping freer. My spirit knows how to fly. Fudge... I freaking can't stay stuck forever. It's just a frigging word.... Four little letters. I want to let it rip because that's what the dream was all about. Not being afraid. Not allowing people to make me question myself or doubt myself. Not being afraid of what other people think about me even if I do get scared sometimes.... or if I fly too high.... or if I say....

fuck

There I said it.

Frap... that was hard.

And yes, I'm cringing a wee bit....
OK a LOT...

Do ya'll still love me?????

Thighs Does Matter

There's one kind of robbery that's the worst kind of all. Oh it's sneaky, and if you're not watching closely, you'll lose your ass. You can often uncover the underhanded deed when you're standing in the check out line at the store thumbing through a magazine, patiently waiting your turn. Then BAM! The covert crime jumps up, and smacks you in the face! Literally...

Right there on page 72. You find a shot of yourself in the Victoria Secret ad but someone cut YOUR head off your body, and placed some strange woman's face where yours used to be! What really sucks is when you start screaming about this blatant form of thievery to the people standing in line with you--they just look at you like you're a loon, or a complete loser, even if you have proof you've been robbed. This has happened over, and over, and over to me.

I finally found a way to get revenge. FaceinHole. Look at my furrrrreeeeking gorgeous thighs would ya??? My face + someone else's body. A thigh for a thigh. Brilliant! I love the way my mind works sometimes... I'm not only taking back my thighs... I'm taking back my life!

I was talking to Superman tonight on the phone and told him, "I'm going to be living with Gusto this next year." I quickly added, "You understand I need him in my life right now! One day I'll live with you..."

I realized I'd let the cat out of the bag when Opie Taylor sauntered over, and meowed, "What about me??? I thought you were living with me!?"

Lord my frigging life can get complicated so dang fast sometimes. I'd just blurted out I was planning on having an affair to Superman and Opie T.

You know what Superman said???

He said, "There's room for all of us in your life, including Gusto." Opie just purred.

You see, peeps, I want to make 2010 the best ever. I want to take every step possible to conquer PTSD so I'll stop losing precious time being sick, spending long hours at the doctor's office, and the hospital like I did today getting my Echocardiogram done. Or the time it takes to recover from being worn thin by stress related illnesses. I'm sick and tired of being sick and tired!

I've been looking for my mantra, my word for the new year, my motto for 2010, my mission statement for seizing the moments I've missed while I've been blind dating Stress. I found it.

GUSTO...
I'm living with Gusto
in 2010

After I came home from the hospital today I took a much needed nap. I had a lot of time waiting between phases of the test today to think about what I wanted to change in my life to make the quality better. So I decided to cozy up to Gusto. And it felt darn good. After being such a bold little tart, he agreed to move in with me right away. Pfftttt... No Pre-Nup needed.

So that's the thighs of it, peeps.
I've been living with someone else's head
on my body for too long...

I'll update you about the results of my tests as soon as I get them. Lawd knows I'm gonna need a good heart to keep up with 3 men... and a lacy pair of Monkey Pantz to show off my sessy, new thighs. Oh, baby!

Tour of Nostrildamus

Bronzed Knickers and Diamonds

About 10 years ago I was opening a bottle of wine, and as soon as I started twisting the wine opener into the cork I could tell something was not right. I was right. The cork was so dry, my twisting against the glass caused the neck of the bottle to shatter in my hand. In all the years I've opened wine bottles, I've never seen this happen to anyone. My ring finger was cut so deeply in the finger pad area, it required surgery, and stitches.

Shards of glass are still working their way out of my finger all these years later including a piece now. It's deep, and while it's not causing me much grief, I know eventually, I'll have to address it. I've had to go to the doctor several times in years past to have festering pieces of glass surgically removed. Other times, the glass pops through my fingertip like a sprout in springtime, and all I need is tweezers to pluck it out. Simple as that--all it needed was time.

I see this as a metaphor to having PTSD. On some days when a scary thought comes racing through my head, or a negative one, I can use my own mental tweezers to pull it out before it starts infecting my thoughts. But for the most part, I still need professional assistance to help me work through the layers of trauma. I've tried to hold these fears in, fearful I'd be judged for being scared to get in a car again, or judged for not just "getting over it". Heck, I've even barked at myself to suck it up, and to put my Xena Princess Warrior bronzed knickers back on my lily livered arse. That's the part of me that's over the car accident, but the larger part of me is still on hyper drive, or as Dr. Ed says, "my fears are on steroids."

Try as I may I cannot hold these feelings, and thoughts in forever. I'm only making it harder on my body, and my recovery, when I do that. This is why my tummy troubles have kicked into warp speed. It's all connected to my body's injuries, and my tummy's the place I hold my stress. I've been having some of the worst panic attacks I've ever had these past few weeks, hence, the worst pain in my abdomen for a long time. Dr. Ed says I need to let it out. I won't break into a million pieces of glass if I do. If I allow it all to come to the surface like that sliver of buried glass I won't go comatose and die in the prenatal position--even if my body tells me I will. And it has told me that.

He asked me if I ever knew anyone who had cried themselves to death. He said a human can physically maintain a good crying jag for about 15-20 minutes before they wear themselves out. I instantly thought of my son when he was little, and after a tantrum or a bad day, how he would cry himself to sleep. I suppose I thought I "should" be past crying at this stage of my PTSD. Perhaps a healthy crying session will clear the way for more healing, and will create less stress on my tummy.

The glass bottle in the picture is full of sand, and pieces of broken glass that I picked it up in a parking lot after we finished the 5k Race for Hope (to raise money and awareness for brain tumor research) in Washington DC the day of the accident. I remember asking everyone to wait for me while I squatted like a kid in a sandbox, scooping up the brightly colored pieces of glass mingled with sand on the hot asphalt. It was from a mosaic pattern that adorned this particular parking lot in downtown DC, and time and traffic, had caused it to crumbled pushing 1000's of tiny sea-like glass free. To me it was a candy store of recyclable treasure, and I would have stayed for hours collecting this wind fall of potential art material if I'd been able to.

Time always has a way of giving me answers in unexpected ways much like this bottle has been a visual lesson to me. I never once shook the bottle to make the pretty colored bits and pieces of glass rise to the surface. Time did that all by itself. Just as the slivers of glass in my fingers cannot be squeezed or forced out of my finger before it's time, neither can the PTSD shrapnel in my head. It's working itself out at a pace I can handle. Time is what I need for things to shift into place so I can heal properly.

I've been called Diamond Lil my entire adult life. Why not now, too, even if I feel like a diamond in the rough most days? Diamonds come from coal, and it's pressure that creates diamonds. Poets have long compared tears to glistening diamonds. Who knows, maybe a diamond sheds a tear to free itself from the dark sheath of coal, and darkness. Or perhaps all I have to do is open the lid on this bottle to let the miracle out... Time will show me, of this I am sure.

Radioactive Girl

Tomorrow morning is my Cat Scan to see what lies beneath......

I'm just grateful it's not my head they're scanning! But all this has me thinking.... I wonder if there's sugar in Milk of Magnesia... I'm having sugahhhhhhhhhhh withdrawals. LOL

Keep me in your thoughts tomorrow. It's not everyday a girl has a certain "glow" about her....

Therapy Isn't For Wimps

Some people balk at getting help for emotional things. It's easier to put on a thick skin, suck it up, and bury the buggers. I'm learning I have done this, too. This shocks me because I've always been a seeker; looking for answers, looking for help when I need it, looking for wisdom, for knowledge, for hope, and like many of us... I've looked for love. Nope I'm not going to belt out that old song, "looking for love in all the wrong places... but I am beginning to learn a valuable lesson about self love. I'd always thought I had a great deal of self love but I'm discovering there are parts of me I haven't been too loving about.

Many of you know I recently began treatment for my PTSD with a specialist. I'll tell you... PTSD has stumped me. It tossed me off another bridge in my mind, and has taunted me relentlessly about my ability to just shrug the auto accident off, and move on. Plus at times since the accident I've felt judged by people in my life who don't understand why I'm making such a "big deal" out of this. I can sense it in their body language, or how I might perceive [imagined or not] if someone rolls their eyes at me. "Just get on the freeway and start driving again." Well at small times I can do that. But they are really, really few and far between. Most of the time, I prefer not to even leave the house.

But you know who has been my biggest enemy? [And it's not the psychiatrist that booted me out of his office a few weeks ago after bragging to me about getting in a car 5 minutes after his auto accident, and driving off with no problems.] IT'S Me!! I am my own worst enemy. I'm the one who has told me over, and over, to toughen up. You should be better by now! What's wrong with you?? It's been 1.5 years! You've been through worse! Get a grip! There are people out there who've been through a whole lot worse things than you, and they're getting on with their lives! Wimp! Loser! Big baby!

I've been extremely hard on myself because prior to to this I've always been able to get myself unstuck. I forced myself a few months after the accident to go on with my life, and my career. Mind you my job involved a tremendous amount of driving--2500-3500 miles per month. I thought it was the best answer for all concerned, especially me, to give myself a shove back into "normal mode". But I'm learning I didn't give myself enough time to heal. And worse than that... I've been sending myself messages that are not very loving, or patient, or kind.

My new doctor is beginning to uncover the depth of my injuries, and I'm learning it still hurts really bad. AND THAT'S OK! I sit in his office, and my stomach feels like it's going through a meat grinder. I've spent the last 3 days since I left his office crying like I have a bad ass case of PMS but it feels really good. I'm crying for that woman who teetered on the edge of a cliff; the woman who still feels the blows of the impact in her body as if it just happened. I don't understand WHY I still feel it so deeply but I do. This new guy, Dr. Ed, is really good at what he does. He told me the body stores the memories, and the pain, even if my mind wants to be whole, and well. I've haven't felt this safe since the accident. This is good stuff, peeps!

And for the first time since the accident, I'm beginning to allow myself to peel off a layer of tough skin. I don't have to be a tough girl to get through this like I have with every other tough time in my life. I don't have to beat myself up because I don't understand everything yet. I just have to learn to love me, all of me, and stop comparing my recovery with others. This isn't going to be a picnic nor will I devour the beast overnight. But I'm ready to chew on a little morsel of that alligator skin I've told myself I needed to wear.

Hmmmm I didn't even know I liked alligator... [insert evil grin here]

Thanks for listening to me, dear friends~

A Poppy Tale

These are all pictures I've taken.
They are a part of my journey, a pictorial journey.
My poppy series is one of my favorites.
I was going to save these recent pictures of fall for a special time.
That time has come.
They tell an unexpected story.
I'll share it with you now.

Some days I feel twisted, unsure,
ensnared in this PTSD journey.

I look at the road ahead, and it looks confusing,
and terribly downhill.
I'm afraid I'll stumble or fall head first.

Then for a split second I see my path so clearly.
It's an uphill trip
but I know
it's totally worth the climb.

I'm not afraid to sit, and reflect on where I've been
or where I need to go.
It's standing still that scares me most....

Sometimes, especially in moments of inner ,clarity,
I see the fruits of my labor.
Glimpses of where this journey is taking me.

And sometimes...
The buried treasures in PTSD
is revealed to me in unexpected places.

Even if it makes me blue to look at it,
it's a part of the puzzle coming together.

It's in moments like these...

I see a clear reflection of me
through others who have fallen in trauma's arms,
and slept with the ghost of their pasts with no real rest.
It reminds me to remember
I'm not alone...

And even though I feel crumpled, and parched at times,
There is life stirring underneath the dry places.
And every life tells a story.
Every, single one....

Thank you everyone
For being apart of my journey to wholeness.
You've witnessed my tears, my fears,
heard my laughter, my triumphs,
And witnessed my many ups, and downs.
Your words bring me peace, and comfort
just as autumn calms my soul
with her long nights, short days.

I'll curl up in a chair this winter.
I want to finish writing my book.
And I'll reflect on others who've gone before me
like Lisa's Grandfather.
Read his story here, Poppies and Lost Dreams.
A soldier who never received help like I am for PTSD.

This post is for all the fallen giants, and young boys
who served in the military, and stood tall for us.
For those who never had
a safe place to go
Or never found their voice to tell their stories
of what they suffered, and witnessed, so we could be free.
R.I.P Grand-Pere
Your story has added a healing balm to my heart,
and given me courage to walk tall.
I'll walk tall for you, and myself.
There's no shame in PTSD.
~None~

Inspired Writing?

~A Frost Covered Message of Hope~

Do you believe in inspired writing? Has it ever happened to you? A wave of insights, images, or thoughts so profound you must stop at once, grab a pen, and paper in hopes to capture it before it's gone. *Poof* The words come like waves, and images, in an audible voice inside your head that is your voice but is not your voice. The urge resonates deep within your soul, and you know it is a message, an encouragement, a truth you need to hear and serves as a road map of where you've been or where you need to go.

I've had this happen to me many times, especially with song writing, or when my heart was seeking solace, answers, or peace. It happened yesterday after I read all of your loving comments, emails and posts on Facebook about my post, "Crashing Into Me." I was overwhelmed, in a good way, by your love, support, and caring. I started crying, the good kind of crying that cleanses a heart. I could not hold back the flood of tears that covered my cheeks in a wet, warm shower of tender, healing kisses.

I got up to get a tissue and looked outside the kitchen window. There had been a heavy frost the night before, and the sun had just poked her smiling face up over the Lily Pad. I saw a patch of grass that had been thawed by the morning light. It was nestled between long fingers of frost still clutching the hillside like a vice, and instantly saw it as a parallel to my brain, my trauma, and what it feels like being buried under layers of PTSD.

Below is what came to me in a flood, and a flurry, of handwritten words that took less than 5 minutes to compose in one of my art journals. I am sharing it with you with no editing---for when it comes from the Universe, God, your Higher Power or whatever you choose to call it--it needs no editing. It is what it is---just as it is.

"This morning the earth, the grass, the fallen leaves were covered in frost--icy white and sparkling--a blanket of frigid stars that cover life, the former warmth of summer now gone. Soon the sun peeked up behind the trees that line my sky, like soldiers with no place to go except to guard the hilltop, and shade the yard.

As the sun crawled through a break in the trees she laughed at the frost and the frost ran away. Dewy green patches came alive like Easter grass. Her arms had not yet reached all the shadows or shaded areas--but she wasn't worried or hurried. She knows her power and is not afraid of doing too little or too much at once. She waits for the birds to sing a song of joy as they flit and fly in her warmth.

My eyes grabbed a hold of this splendid moment as a recognition--a validation--a metaphor. Part of my brain is sleeping under a frost covered grave. It doesn't know the sunshine, "the truth", is nearby--shining like a torch to break up and melt the lies. The fears. The scary places that so desperately need some truth, some love, some understanding, some forgiveness, some kindness, some affirmations, some holding, cuddling--saying it's OK. It has been cold, and it has been so very lonely.

Crevices fill up with debris--sometimes they need a howling wind to stir them--awaken them to the need to be free of the leftovers life deposited in their gullets. In the trees a crow caws and scoffs at the sun--preferring the frosty places. It's a scavenger, waiting.

But the sun--my heart, my soul, my rope to the heavens--just keeps climbing over the shadows. The clock is in motion and nothing can stop the spinning wheels of renewed life except God or the Universe her/himself. How lovely, and fresh, and baby green is the grass (all the places I buried my fears) when they've been shown the light.

Oh sunshine--come in. I welcome you. I need you. I've been cold for far too long. This little bird is going to fly! No frosty fingers will hold me down, away from a sunshine sky."

I took this photo about an hour
after I wrote the love letter from the Universe.
This little bird was singing from its heart,
basking in the sunlight.

Crashing Into Me

Sorry to post such a graphic picture. Please read on. I need your support for the next leg of my healing journey.

I've never posted a picture on my blog of the vehicle from my accident (R.I.P. you died so we would live) but I have to vent. I felt much like our van looked like after the accident when I left my psychiatrist after my visit last Friday. I left feeling broadsided by his words, crushed, and waiting for a tow truck to haul my carcass off to the graveyard.

My body took a hit from a car speeding at 70 MPH with such a force I still feel it in my body 1.5 years later, plus I also took a brutal hit to my mind; fear, stress, anxiety, and trauma. It's shaken me like a rag doll with razor blade teeth, and still howls at me every time I get into an automobile. But I think there is nothing worse than effects of words by a calloused soul who has no ability to connect, and apparently has no desire to even if he could.

The medications prescribed to me have been nuclear powered. They've also had volcanic side effects: major insomnia, major intestinal and stomach problems, agitation, panic attacks, extreme anxiety, heart palpitations, night sweats, apathy, numbness to life, neither joyful or sad, sluggishness, lethargic, decreased sex drive or ability to orgasm... Up, and down... up and down... I could go on, and on about the side effects. Some of you know exactly what I'm talking about. I am in no way telling people to not take a prescribed medication but my LORD what is the sane thing to do????? Either way I have the same symptoms. PTSD or Side Effects.... so what do I do?

At first I pushed through taking each medication as prescribed, ever hopeful I'd been given a "magic" pill. But [for me] there is no magic pill. All the various medications had the same bad side effects when I took them. Later I started saying no, and asking to try to something else. My psychiatrist begrudgingly agreed each time but would always coax me back to another heavier type of medication.

What's made this entire process an even worse pill to swallow is that this man never looked at me when I sat at his desk. He just looked at his computer screen clicking away. I rarely spent more than 5 minutes in his office. I hated to go but didn't think I had a choice. Then for a few months I had some relief when he set me up to see one of his counselors, and she had such a genuine compassion for people, I continued to go once a month or more as needed. However she was pregnant, and never returned after she had her baby. I was crushed hearing this, and wavered whether or not to go back at all.

I asked Superman to go in with me, which of course, he valiantly agreed to. He was as appalled as I had been at his lack of "desk-side manner". In fact, the doctor seemed a bit agitated I had asked Superman come in with me. That should have been a huge CLUE to get help elsewhere. But instead I procrastinated about going back in again. The sudden move, my Mom, and needing to see her before her surgery, etc, etc.... I validated every reason but the truth is I HATED how I felt being around this doctor. But eventually I needed to go back so I made the dreaded appointment which was this past Friday.

He scolded me for not coming in to see him for 2.5 months. I explained about the move from the Tree House , and that I also depend on Superman to take me to my appointments, and sometimes it's hard for him to leave his business to help me. Blah...BLAH, blah.... When asked about another medication he'd prescribed me and how I was doing on it---I told him I was too afraid to take it for all the side effects which pissed him off. It was the drug Ab----y. You've seen the ads...."If your anti-depression medication isn't working for you... you may need another pill to boost your antidepressant." Then the last two thirds of the commercial lists all the frigging side effects. Oh YES please I want a whole f....king gallon of those!

I asked him if he'd ever been in a bad auto accident.... which he answered he had. He told me he totaled his car, called his insurance company, got a rental car in 5 minutes, and he drove off happy as a bee. [Well goody for you!] Next he told me he had patients he had "healed" from various "prestigious" companies [he proudly named them off like a list of personal credentials] within 3-6 months. I asked him if their jobs included an intense driving schedule like my job had, 2500-3000 miles per month. He said that didn't matter but because I'd asked him, he told me.

Then he told me not to come back.

I know it's not entirely his fault. It is the way we do business here in America. The drug companies dictate what incomes/kick-backs the doctors make, and so on, and so on. I know there are good doctors , and bad ones. I also know it's MY body, MY mental health, and MY responsibility to take care of myself. No one else will. So this is why I've decided to undergo treatment from a specific PTSD psychologist I told you all I was going to go see.

The meeting went well. I really, really like this guy. He told me it will be hard at times, and I will probably hate him on some days..... But I want to get well. I am willing to do whatever it takes to get my life back, my mind back. PTSD is just now being recognized, and talked about, as the beast it is. Our soldiers are coming home from the war, and our Vets, from previous wars, have been neglected so horribly. [don't get me started on this one...grrrrrr] But PTSD also happens to regular people just like myself. Trauma is trauma. Bottom line.

I begin what will be an intense program next Monday night. He's supportive of my choice to try to do this without heavy medications, and eventually none at all. I feel so free now. I believe I found a tiny opening in the Universe to squeeze into a window of recovery, healing, and wholeness again.

The pic above shows the narrow spot our van hit on the guard rail on the overpass before it flipped, and went down a steep, rocky hill. A few inches either way and we would have hit concrete. Those inches were just many of the miracles that happened, and allowed us to live that day. The divot you see in the rocks is where the van landed [my side, shotgun] after it flipped. I still feel the impact in my bones, my cells, my memories, and my dreams.

Maybe, just maybe.... I've crossed through another narrow passage way to a miracle. I have to believe it to receive it. And........

I will get well.