Here and Now

  I don’t write here much anymore, but I’m grateful for this space to be myself.  Looking back at this blog is like observing the process of growing up. I think I read somewhere that our emotional growth is stunted at the age that the trauma or traumas occurred, and I feel like when I began this blog in my early 40’s I was emotionally in the stage of adolescence. I was self absorbed, angry, confused, and scared most of the time.  I began therapy in a state of complete denial. I was resistant to help or change, and yet there was this deeply buried sense of self love that I longed to find again. I believe we all begin our lives knowing our worth, but it is fragile and can easily be dismantled. Therapy was my first lifeline, along with people who stuck with me even when I was a royal pain in the ass! Sometimes growing up also means reconnecting to the child inside who forgot how to play and be light. Life is so fucking hard, but now I’m not the one making it difficult. I hav...

Lately when my mind drops me into the past, it is big and loud, like suddenly being slapped, sharp and stinging...too much in my body, too much hurt. I look around, and I remember the dream where I hide under the bed, shivering on the cold wood floor. A small white bunny hops under the bed to join me, and I’m no longer alone or scared. The end. Only it’s not the end, is it? It’s not a dream. I confuse waking and dreaming because that is how I survived, but even now it is blurry, past and present, real or illusion, hiding under the bed... Artwork by Richard Jesse Watson

I probably shouldn’t come here  and tell You Every fucking feeling that moves through me Maybe I’m not even talking to  You around and around in circles  until I’m spinning  I haven’t been here in awhile have I? I’m sick of coming back. I should know how to do this by now everyday Grows slower Grows darker like a slow motion dream that I can’t wake up from I don’t know how to stop it No one knows no one knows It’s why I tell You Angela Minard© 

Transformed I hold on in my sleep clenched fists awakening with aching fingers empty hands... "It hurts, it hurts, it hurts,"  I think to myself drifting back into the same nightmare... footsteps heavy, looming shadows, and then the comforting sound of your voice calling my name "It hurts," I whisper as your gracefully opened palms receive my falling tears iridescent crystals spilling through your familiar, outstretched fingers "I will hold it for you,"  you repeat softly until my eyes begin to flutter open ...and for awhile this pain beautifully transformed Angela Minard 2017©

I didn't realize how long it has been since I have been here to write Change often seems to create a sense of suspended animation where the outer world stays the same  and yet you and everything you do is completely different  Sometimes I feel as if I'm observing from the outside... I wanted to heal and I think I am healing... I hope... I remember a winter about nine years ago when I barely came out of my bedroom It was dark on the inside  and I was too numb to cry too numb to smile  too numb to realize that I was dying Years of lying of hiding being raped  swallowing rage  had eventually caught up and taken a toll Self harm starving and hating myself had left me empty My husband asked me to see a therapist and I did not want to  but there was a small voice inside that I could still hear through the endless chatter I remember looking through the Blue Cross/Blue Shield book of mental health providers  and searching for...

Days of Glitter I cry... A lot... Every day... I love my new job It also makes my heart hurt I've been teaching yoga for awhile now,  but I avoid teaching children When I worked with children everyday,  I figured that I needed a break from kids When asked to sub kids classes,  I would adamantly refuse I never wanted to teach yoga to children,  and so when I started this job  teaching yoga in a psychiatric hospital,  it didn't cross my mind that I would be required to teach children I wanted to work with the adults  forgetting that they too were once children First I was a child I guess I try to erase that little girl... The youngest admit is five,  and then there are the dreaded teenagers!  I love them... I know them... their fears insecurity,  feelings of loss... I see the beauty that they have already lost sight of I try to remind them and I see flashes of a smile like the...

Wanting The physical pain comes first before memory before wanting searing flame consuming all image imagined... When it hurts  inside now  wanting  you before you pain  without  want This wanting is a different ache throbbing from the same place Why is the womb filled with rot?  Do you ever wonder or simply believe  what you  are told?  "You smell  like the filth that you are." Could you please wrap your arms around me even with this stench? Shame is asking Shame is  telling Shame is Still  Here Wanting... Angela Minard 2016© Artwork from randiclark.com

If you close your eyes am I no longer sitting before you Can you wish me away with these words you have heard before stifling yawn after yawn  like the wide open, endless yawn of time wasted... What good is trying to heal  Continually ripping the bandage from the wound too soon As my silences lengthen your eyelids flutter the monotony of our conversations growing as tiresome as I am weary Is this how you leave or is this how I am leaving Giving up on both of us  before you can say goodbye Angela Minard 2016©

Scream Outside my window the white sky is marbled  with veins of charcoal A winter sky in April From far away whispered thoughts drift over the stillness of my body Startled by the sound of my name being called I listen intently holding my breath until I finally realize it is my own voice calling Clamping my mouth tightly closed I breathe purposefully through my nose in 2,3,4 out 2,3,4,5 until the urge to scream disappears Droplets of rain occasionally tap the window as the lyrics to a song by The Clash plays in my head on repeat... "Should I stay or should I go Should I stay or should I go now?" The rhythm is more upbeat than I feel I feel  nothing but still the question without a clear answer So I wait... continuing to breathe in 2,3,4,5 out, 2,3,4,5,6,7 I reach for my phone find your number wait for the...

Purgatory When I was a child  I would play the "breath holding" game with myself It wasn't the kind of  "breath holding to gain attention from parents" game It was simply a challenge How long could I deprive myself of air?   life? The strangest thing is that the longer you hold your breath the more alive you feel The heart beats even louder and more ferociously The body warms and trembles to stay alive until eventually the mouth flies open like an ugly, gasping Piranah an exhale that feels like failure worn like shame... As I grew up breath holding evolved into food withholding It was simply a challenge How long could I deprive myself of food? Long enough for my heart to beat erratically for my muscles to cramp  and to shiver all day even in the summer Feeling alive ... this slow act of suicide How long could I press my fingers into my flesh ...

Tiny Package I remember this beautiful containment a neat and tiny package buzzing numbness almost like being alive almost... I'm tired of my own voice messy and overflowing spilling like sticky blood  never to be washed away closing my eyes I reach my stained hands toward you but I still see her too much to hold too much to love I remember this beautiful containment...  Angela Minard 2016©

Porcelain Her heart... imploding exploding there is no other way escape is merely an illusion but oh, how she tries less than a whisper into the darkness the shadows obscure certainty tiny fists clutching monstrous deceptions her heart holds it well Wide eyes  close  open close open as if made of porcelain a vacant, blinking doll The most beautiful treasures are veiled beneath harsh desert skies like a mirage resplendent and yet seemingly unreachable to love big is to get small and quiet until all you can hear is the truth Her heart... imploding exploding there is no other way Angela Minard 2016©

I am in a strange place in my life, and I'm not even sure if I have the ability to articulate it here.  Often the reason I write is to help me make better sense of not only this world, but my place within the confusion.  I haven't written here in a couple of weeks, and at first it was because I wasn't feeling well physically.  Of course, it is normal for that to carry over into not feeling well emotionally, but that sinking feeling of the blues can be terrifying for someone prone to depression and anxiety.  My yoga practice is how  I center myself, and how I reconnect physically and emotionally, but my body was too tired.  I easily fall into a self-critical thought pattern, and I decided that just because my physical practice was on hiatus, I could still meditate.  That would be my yoga practice... I still have so much to learn!  The problem with sitting in a silent meditation for me, with only my breath, is that I dissociate...

I saw this coming...  I noticed the fatigue, the aching, the tightness in my chest suggesting a panic attack was imminent. I knew I needed to slow down, and had even planned a spring break breather. Fortunately, or unfortunately, my body is on it's own schedule, and spring break wasn't soon enough. The first sign was an unattractive fever blister, followed by the full blown flu. Thank you, Universe! I get it! There is always a lesson, and as my life came to a halt, I had no choice but to listen.  I love being a caregiver. If you give me a chance, I will wrap you in a warm hug, and tell you how amazing you are. I'm not nearly as comfortable being the recipient, and that may be an understatement. While being sick, my lovely friends offered support, soup, pep talks, and love. When asked if I needed anything, I refused. It didn't matter. I was still well taken care of. I was embraced with care at every turn. Complete strangers cared for me, and it brought me to t...

Remember This I imagine radiating joy as the winter sun pulses dazzling crystal blue sky vast and cloudless I imagine your spirit smiling on the inside as the warm bubbles tickle; rising from your belly  into my heart before gently emerging  dancing across your face This...This...This... swells within my heart; breath catching vibrant and alive echoing into the silent, empty spaces Remember This... This... This... "I am not burdened by your feelings but rather honored that of all of the people in your life you choose me..." Angela Minard 2016©

I have been thinking about joy this week. Even the word "joy" brings about a shift in energy, doesn't it? I instinctively begin reaching, as if I could grasp that beautiful feeling, holding it close. I taught a few yoga classes today, and I read this quote throughout my classes.  "Difficult times are your greatest opportunity to practice yourself into joy."  ~ The Secret Scrolls by Rhonda Byrne Does that mean you choose joy or happiness? No, not all of the time, or at least I don't think so... I disagree with telling people that they can choose to be happy. It isn't a light switch that you can turn on and off, and no one would choose depression. Like anything you are striving for in life, it is a practice. Especially when I am in the depths of winter, and the shadows lengthen over me, I pursue those experiences and people that bring me joy. Close your eyes, and breathe joy; Taste joy, smell, joy, touch and remember those times of com...

What is Real? I am so cold on the inside that I expect to see my breath as I exhale but I do not "What is real?" "Am I frozen?" ...and so it goes around and around as I circle myself like a hawk ready to dive bomb its prey the questions creating space continuing to run further and further away from the truth into my own outstretched arms these arms withholding comfort pinching flesh with disgust avoiding my own gaze your gaze... Without knowing we refuse to see but the ice is crystalline magnifying each tormented thought and what was once numb ignites I am so hot on the inside that I expect to see flames as I exhale burning flesh but I do not "What is real?" Angela Minard 2016© "Some say the world will end in fire, some say in ice.  From what I've tasted of desire, I hold with those who favor fire....