being all of our parts

Jen Gray, on the Shutter Sisters photo walk, SF, Canon Rebel Xti

I've been a little sister my whole life. First to my flesh and blood sister, and then later, unconsciously, as a role to play in the world. I am a petite girl, a mere 5 foot 3 on a good day, and have often been referred to as Little A, someone to pick up and spin around (I broke my leg this way once) and someone to take care of and give advice to. I am often attracted to friends who are older siblings in their family. It's not a bad thing, just something I've noticed in the last few years... something to question: How does it serve me? How does it keep me safe? Is there room to be that and more? What attachment do I have to this way of being in the world?

In my life coaching courses I began to see how much more of me there was to access. We did an exercise once where we had to be in character. The character had to be something completely outrageous to us, a way we didn't identify with at all. My group chose "Drill Sergeant" for me and I was told to coach someone in that character. This was not about good coaching, but about exaggerating that persona and accessing new parts of yourself.

I happened to get paired up with a big man who was much older than me... someone I would normally be intimidated by. My heart started pounding violently in my chest. I was nervous, but went for it and started yelling at him:

Me: So why are you really here Doug?!
Him: a bit flustered, "Uh... my coaching practice. I want to start my practice."
Me: (Still yelling) Oh yeah? Well, what do you want?
Him: "Um... to help people and make some money from doing something I love."
Me: Well isn't that nice. How much money do you want to make?
Him: Oh, the money isn't important to me. I haven't even thought about it.
Me: Yes you have! You're not doing this for your health! HOW MUCH MONEY DO YOU WANT TO MAKE?
Him: $100,000 dollars this year!

When the exercise was over, I was relieved and totally apologetic. I was so afraid I had hurt him by being so harsh. But he grinned really wide and told me that was the best coaching session he had ever had in his life. "You called me out in a way that no one ever has. I was trying so hard to be good, I didn't even know what I wanted."

Although I would never choose to coach in quite this way, it opened something up in me and gave me access to a part that was buried under being polite and good and sweet... the ways I survived in the world. In this world of the drill sergeant was a whole new kind of power.

Another skill I cultivated in my coaching training was around intuition. I have always been highly intuitive and deeply trusted this skill when it came to my own life. What I began to learn though, was that I could use it to serve others as well. We practiced the skill of "blurting" which was saying whatever came to mind as an observation to the client. It could be something like this: "As you are talking I keep getting an image of a red wagon..." Or, "My intuition tells me that you're not telling me the whole story. What part are you afraid to share?"

It wasn't about being right. You could be wrong, but it always sparked something and challenged the client in a new way. I was also amazed by how often we would get an intuitive hit on someone that was exactly right. It's amazing what we can see and know when we give someone our full attention and really listen.

As I unfold as a parent, I see where I am still afraid to step into my power. When Ben was first born, I was afraid to tell him what to do (stuff his flailing arms into the swaddle for example) or make executive decisions for him... (circumcise? vaccinate?) this was of course my job! but it was such unfamiliar territory for me. Jen Lemen just reminded me of a tender conversation we had when Ben was a few months old. "I can't be the little sister anymore!" I exclaimed. "I have to be different..."

It's good to remember that we don't have to get it right every time, but the power is in listening deeply and trusting ourselves. There is also power in widening the range of who we get to be in the world. What parts of you don't get expressed? Your sexy? Your soft? Your vulnerable? Your bad girl? What would be possible if she got a little airtime?

photo walk with the sisters

Gypsy Girl Alex , on the Shutter Sisters photo walk, SF, Canon Rebel Xti

One of the highlights of the weekend at Blogher was the Shutter Sisters photo walk. We wandered through Chinatown and found colorful umbrellas, gorgeous signs, lotus cakes and potstickers. I realized as we walked how long it had been since I had gone out with my camera for the sole purpose of seeing.

transmissions from Blogher

Maggie Mason, Jen Lemen, at the Alltop Kirtsy party, Canon Rebel Xti

typewriter at the Alltop Kirtsy party, Canon Rebel Xti

red lanterns, Guy Kawasaki's house, at the Alltop Kirtsy, Canon Rebel Xti

Jen Lemen and me on the bus to the party, Canon Rebel Xti

These are pics from the kickoff party at Guy Kawasaki's house last night. It was fancy! and fun... and the backyard was surrounded by the most stunning circle of redwoods. But the best part was seeing my girls... more photos as the weekend unfolds.

hiding out

self-portrait, top from All About Cute, Canon Rebel Xti

I rarely cry anymore.

While I was pregnant with Ben, I thought it was hormones. A gentle cocktail that left me feeling grounded, even, content. It was how I imagine being on an anti-depressant might feel, protected from the high highs and low lows of the world. After years of trying to conceive, it was a welcome respite. My theory was that I had cried my quota of tears, way too many, and I was done crying for a long while. I was all dried up.

But even now, 19 months later, I rarely cry. There is a way that I no longer have the indulgence of looking at my inner life like I used to. Sometimes this is a blessing... focusing on this other life called Ben, on the immediacy of the moment and his needs (and not my own) protects me from my own mental drama. At best it keeps me from obsessing about things I can't control and leaves me more present.

The down side is that I feel disconnected and confused a lot of the time. A simple question like, "How are you?" can disarm me. I find myself wondering where to look for the answer, How am I?... and I'm never sure. I've trained myself to just say, "Great!" because if you don't know, then why not? (and some people are just being polite and don't really want to know how you are anyway...) but somehow these simple questions stop me and point to some sadness in me, some ungreat part of me that I haven't untangled yet.

I share this partly by way of an apology, or rather an acknowledgment. I haven't been sharing as much here or as deeply. I've felt a bit more quiet and hidden, more like the superhero pendants I recently designed and not the bright bold superhero necklaces of before. Becoming a parent has left me feeling less visible in the world, tucked away a lot, not going out that much or wearing hottie clothes, feeling more simple and less shiny.

And I'm okay with this. It's the being less visible to myself that concerns me. Have you ever gone through a period like this? When you didn't have access to your deeper layers?

And then there's the crying. It seems to happen only when I see a sad movie, and then I am sobbing in big gulps and my throat swells from trying to hold it back.... Did any of you see Sex and the City? I cried my freakin eyes out. I cried during the movie, when I got home and even a week later when I talked about it with a friend. It opened the floodgates. I was like one of those dudes that never cries when they lose their parent and then 5 years later they find an old watch or something and they cry for three days straight.

I'm not sure where I'm going with this. After trying to come up with some snappy post for several days I am going to have to satisfy myself with something from the heart. A snapshot of where I am today, a bit tangled up and a bit less shiny than normal.