THE SPACE BETWEEN
Every year I take myself away on my birthday to make space for new beginnings. Last year was my first solo trip, more here, surrendering up Aspen Mountain with no fear, with Michael Singer’s “The Surrender Experiment” in my ears, “finding my flow thru my fight, to independence, not lonely. I listened to my body, and my heart, instead of my ego. Finally free, I surrendered.” It was no accident that the freedom I was feeling was preparing me for my true surrender experiment, nearly one month later when I jumped into my first medicine journey.
This year, my birthday came and went nearly a week or so ago and as I packed for my trip, I felt less excitement, more reality. Recognizing I’d just been through nearly a year of blowing up everything. Veil lifted, recalling memories, putting together pieces of life circumstances I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. Before leaving, I sat down in my closet, surrounded by all the things I don’t need. Materialism once suited me, but the more I look inside myself the less I seek out for anything to fill, define or distract me from my reality.
Under the clutter, I found the unopened Celine box he gave me. We were dating at the time, while he was still kind, and strangely knowing. His card read: August 4, 2020: “Dear Olivia, Most Precious One, I wish you a year full of unexpected blessings & miracles.” Woven into this past year’s pain, fear and therapy, were blessings and miracles, most definitely, if we’re speaking optimistically. Perspective is everything.
I packed lightly and flew west to run through trails and up mountains but my sentiment was heavy. For the first time, on my birthday I didn’t want to celebrate anything, more so questioning, WHO AM I without all this wounding? For the majority of my life, I’ve been living a lie — not consciously. But the confusion clouded this year’s desire to celebrate me. Until I realized that this year is actually not thirty five, but year one of truly being alive, with clear eyes and new understanding of why I’ve been hurting and fighting, empty inside, defining myself by doing because it was always too painful to just be me, hiding behind all of the stories I’d blacked out, which I’m now remembering and untangling thanks to psychedelic assisted therapy.
So August 4th 2021, I cried in my hotel sheets, embraced my inner child and wanted to fall back asleep until the day was over. Eventually I coerced myself with my self-taught resilience and empathy, to flow thru the fight, and get going. I wiped my face and walked to grab a decaf Americano in the fresh mountain air and my favorite mountain town. Jour de Fete, Celebration Day, is my go to cafe, where I spotted old friends who hugged me effortlessly. We parted ways and I found peace in embracing my newfound need for ample self compassion as I ride through my rollercoaster of unpredictable emotion. Still untying my trauma, but no longer hiding behind the darkness I’ve seen. Happy Year One of getting to know me.
I got my mind right but my body was still stuck in sluggish energy. I ignored it and climbed up Aspen mountain, grounded but still effervescently. New me no longer dissociates entirely, and prefers to be present, no book in my ears to distract me, just trusting mother nature to carry me. And in the silence, my self inquiry shifted to the space between — where I’ve been and where I’m going. I’ve forever defined myself by doing, but now this new me is determined to do less and just be. But as a doer, I find myself frustrated in what that actually means! It isn’t something I can conquer, and demands a more subtle approach, which is quite challenging!
That in between is where I found myself when I attempted to write my yearly birthday letter, acknowledging where I’ve been, am and plan on going. But this year felt like blank space to me. Sure, I’m proud of my courage and inspired to keep sharing but simultaneously I’m just getting acquainted with this new me. A gift, Actually! My birthday wish has always been, “to be free.” And all this internal work, albeit gut wrenching, is literally setting me free — free from the ego, the persona I’ve hidden behind as a result of my wounding.
But this blank space feels crippling. This year hardly flew by. It feels like it aged me 100 times, but not once did I question Why Me? Even in the darkest moments of suffering, I didn’t get lost in self pity of inquiry, knowing that life served this to me for good reason, and it’s now my choice to embrace the journey or continue suffering. I’m grateful for clarity. Most spend their lives counter correcting or suppressing. I know helping others is my calling. Sharing was undoubtedly both the most challenging and gratifying feat I’ve accomplished in a while. That in itself is worth celebrating.
But healing is a forever thing. My scars remain as do the stories, and while I’m no longer running from nor defined by the memory, I will always be self reflecting. Apropos that the mirrors in my Box + Flow studios shared phrases that spoke to me. There were no mirrors in the workout room, no distractions, feeling only, but mirrors were on the walls externally, and written on them, my mantras for inspiring.
On the front door, “Everything You Need is Inside.”
Upon entering: Face Yourself to Free Yourself.
In the restrooms, “Show Up or Sit Out,” And “Messy is Sexy.”
And the messy, raw, real, Olivia is emerging, shamelessly. No longer through the lens of PTSD. Rape victim. Assault survivor. Woman. Me. I know it makes some uncomfortable. I’ve never been for everybody. But what matters is that I am for Me, finally free.
And with freedom comes judgement. People see you differently when you open up so vulnerably.
“I didn’t have time to read your blog but XX told me you have a great story.”
I try not to get triggered by word choice, knowing that acknowledgment in itself takes courage, but certainly wouldn’t wish my great story on anybody. I just hope that sharing promotes others to face their own wounding.
My last morning in Aspen, I woke up early, and honored my inner little lady’s desire for something sweet. I eat pretty “healthy,”nourishing, high fat, protein, lots of greens. My body doesn’t typically crave otherwise. But Young Olivia wanted Paradise Bakery, where I frequented for ice cream as a child. I arrived at 6:30a, second in line, spontaneous decision, without time to contemplate what I desired. The muffins were fluffy and staring at me, the smell awakening my entire body. But how could I choose one instantaneously?! Banana Nut, Blueberry, Lemon Poppy — gluten free! I landed on banana then changed my mind just in time. And as I waited for my decaf outside, I snuck my first bite. The warm, scrumptious delight deserved my focus entirely. I grabbed my coffee and found a bench across the street. I methodically flattened the brown bag on my lap, undressed the confection, spinning the muffin carefully, until the wrapper was eliminated, piece by piece, tempted to devour the delicacy rapidly, but instead patiently built intensity, before savoring the warm, lemony poppy — Even scraping the wrapper with my teeth after, not wasting anything.
The perfect bite and ending to a trip spent introspectively. I love Aspen, but returning to Austin was even better. Escapism is nice but I currently prefer feeling all of my feelings. My homecoming though felt confusing. I anticipated travel and then felt pseudo empty upon returning, again frustrated by the space between, questioning my purpose post shit storm, post suffering, in this dust storm of wondering, even emailing friends and experts, questioning how to impact the greater good with the tools I’m curating.
And then it hit me, post psychedelic assisted therapy, which I embarked on for the first time in four months, just this week: Like therapy and life, it doesn’t get easier, we just get stronger. I’ve mentioned the medicine only presents what you’re ready to see. Well, Thursday, I went in guns blazing. ready to see love and lightness after a year of painful memories. And sadly, there were more demons hiding beneath, continuing to shed light on even more that I’ve blacked out of my memory — and suffice it to say that it was shocking, leaving me gutted and wondering how this could have happened to me. And yet, with it, more clarity. Blank spaces of my timeline now filled with understanding, questions answered that I went in session with intention on finding, like When was NO taken from my vocabulary? leaving me vulnerable to all these horrific occurrences following, Or Why did I really transfer from Boston University? I wasn’t prepared for the answers, to put it mildly, but after seven hours, I left bruised but not debilitated, knowing I’m supported, because I have me. This year has both humbled and proven that I am strong enough to endure, anything.
Yesterday, as I ran around Lady Bird Lake, post birthday, post therapy, I dropped my need to figure out anything, nor anyone to guide me, with devout trust that I can pull myself through entirely. Recognizing with strength (and Leo energy) that I am the fire. As are you. We are the water, the air and the earth, too. We are matter. We Matter. And our stories matter. The good, bad, and the space between. I no longer run from my memory and no longer worry about where I’m going. My fire will continue to burn brightly because I am me, as long as I remember to breathe, pause, and just be. I finished my run and eliminated my questioning, clear that my wish for us all is to stand taller after we fall, and continue being more who we are, void of the conditioning, shame and self blame as a result of all our suffering. I share my commitment with love and hope you’ll agree, no matter how challenging life feels, there is always something worth celebrating.
Flow thru the fight.
Love always,
Olivia
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