Soft Chewy Center

Me at three

  When I was four I asked my mom’s boyfriend what he thought
  about death.  I guess I scared off a few of those guys, because Mom
  didn’t remarry until I was 11! Good thing because I loved my
  stepdad and he could handle the questions. Someone dear to me is
  facing the cancer journey and death is on my mind again. The
  thing about remembering my impermanence is that it keeps me in
  touch with my soft chewy center. We have a tendency to grow hard
  shells of protection, which may serve to get us through the day,
  especially in a culture that does not encourage us to express our
  deeper emotions.  I happen to be lucky, because as a counselor I get
  to be in touch with my soft chewy center all day long. In the heart space connection is welcome. Granted, it’s not always comfortable. Our tendency is to want to fix it - make the feeling or behavior go away. We ask (ourselves and others): “Why did you do that? Why can't I get this right?” But it’s not the “why’s” that help us, but the “what’s.”

“What’s going on right now?” “What are you feeling?” “Tell me what this brings up for you?”

Hwy 93

Part of the reason people avoid emotion is because the first thing that comes up is anger. You’ll see this on the road. There is a sense that if we let our feelings out, we will lose control, or things won't get accomplished. I hear my inner critic that I call Nasty: “Buck up. Pull it together. You should be so much farther along by now. There’s no time for contemplation. It’s time to ACT.” Nothing is really wrong with these statements, but the trouble is that when we power past deeper emotions that hold us trapped and stuck – it’s like we’re a fly pinned to a board at the thorax and flapping our wings.

The fields of Niwot

  Underneath the anger is a frightened
  child asking to be given voice, to be acknowledged in a world that is quick
  to give an answer and shut us down. The sad and scared child gets fed up
  and ends up stuck in a perpetual road rage tantrum. When the child is seen
  and heard and healed, she can focus and charge ahead, accomplishing
  goals in half the time because she is not hauling around a heavy board.

  Asking our emotions to stay put in the corner is like asking a two year old
  to sit still in a toy store; they’re bound to act out – whether it comes out as
  angry driving or body pain. It’s a lot easier to access these feelings in the
  presence of a loving witness – a counselor or coach trained in techniques
  that will help you not only feel, but also to calm down and heal. The more
  issues from the past clear out, the more resourced your body feels, which allows blood flow to the thinking brain and  decreases explosive outbursts.

A soft chewy center invites profound joy and deep connection with others.

Kissing The Bull

My client hesitated at the door before leaving. “So, this is feeling stuff is supposed to make me feel better?” she asked.

I put a hand on her shoulder and sighed. “Yes. It will.”

Image: CarleMuseum.org

The trials of meeting our inner monsters: I couldn’t bear to tell her that it would be like riding a rank bull and getting thrown a few times. Or staying on only to have your face meet the bull's head, termed "kissing the bull." I wanted to tell her it would hurt like Hell, but it would be worth it. Down the road her heart would expand, and she would feel more keenly connected to the whole human race. She would forgive more quickly, love more deeply and experience radiant joy. (Disclaimer: I don't know if this is true for bull riders.)

Counseling is an art with diverging theories and myriad techniques. (If only people knew!) And, good news, it works! (At least, most of the time). A lot of what goes on cannot be measured. The aspects that can be measured are occasionally not what make counseling effective, but numbers please the funders and universities.

A universal understanding in the field is that after developing a trusting bond, we ask a client to acknowledge and feel his/her feelings, which ultimately helps the client process them. By feeling and processing, emotions shift and release hold of us. But if someone is accustomed to thinking their way through life, they will be in for a rough ride initially. Often clients assume that in counseling we are going to spread out their life on a table, like puzzle pieces, hold our chins and analyze it. When they are asked to be vulnerable and stay with their heart, it is not easy. And, if I ask my clients to stay with their hearts, I have to do it too. I have to walk the ego’s fire, trusting that my spirit will overrule.

Part of the trouble is, in terms of feelings, we are a constipated culture. We’ll do almost anything to talk ourselves out of them. Here’s what I know about feelings: If you ignore them, they will show up at

Just How Old Am I!?

I LOVE my old dog, but man does she STINK! I had to turn around in the car today to make sure she wasn’t dead and rotting on the back seat. I love her so much it hurts. Keesha is 16 now. We used to call her “sled dog” because of her thick coat and the way that she could run many miles no problem. My faithful companion for 15 years, she has lived in six homes with me, survived two cats, two horses and a goat, and she was the fuzzy bear I hugged after my divorce and subsequent love lost. I’ve cried a gallon of tears into her red coat, and she’s brought me endless joy. A Lab-Chow, she is both food-motivated and obstinate. She loves people like a Lab, and she has gone through several training programs. Keesha performs many tricks and even executed agility feats when she was young. But, put a little white dog in front of her and she would eat it no matter what I say. Sadly, her Chow half thinks “Bischon Frise” is an appetizer and tennis balls are for, well... tennis.

But, this isn’t an entry about my dog. It’s about my own recognition that I’m aging. I can do all the hand stands and push ups and double turns that I want to because my body is still cooperating, but when I look into the mirror, my wrinkled face still shocks me. Hey... who put that head on that body? I’m furious about it for a second because then I remind myself how damn lucky I am to still be dancing and performing and I feel like a little feisty and grateful kid again.

When I tell people things like “I’ve been divorced 11 years and I was married 18” or “I’ve lived in Colorado 17 years, but I also lived in New York, California, Florida and Arizona” people ask: “How old ARE you?” When you get to be my age you see your life in eras: the bath in grandma’s sink era, the school girl in braids and uniform era, the I lost all that weight and boys like me era, the oh shit I have eating disorders era, the I think I’m fully self actualized and my parents know shit era, the knight in shining armor “I do” era, the how long will my husband put up with my starving artist era, the oh my God no one told me my kid would have public tantrums era, the oh she’s so cute, let’s have another era, the why can’t everything stay the same dark-night-of-the-soul era. Jeez I just wrote a memoir. How old AM I?!?

Now I’m in this era where I want to be a channel for light and love… in whatever capacity I’m supposed to do that. I’m getting a Masters in counseling and I feel called to explore my “shadow” in nature programs. Part of me is having a tantrum and just wants to be put up in a 5 star hotel permanently, but the other side of me reminds myself that I know too much to go back to the way I was – to the way I was living an unnecessarily consumptive life that distracted me from deeper feelings, from facing my shadow, from giving back. It’s what I’ve chosen this time around.

But I’m entitled to a five star massage every now and then! Aging may stink but so far not as badly as my sweet, old dog.