I see you.
I am sitting here in my bed writing to you while my little boy snuggles next to me, and I am picturing you in my mind.
And lately, you’ve seen me a lot, too.
That is my way of inviting you into my “home” — and by home, I don’t mean the physical space I inhabit with my family.
I’m talking about the home I’ve created in my mind and my heart that is open to you and full of the wisdom, knowledge, grace, support and laughter I can offer you with my work.
I see you scrolling through your news feed and smiling at or considering a post.
I see you clicking the link to Body of Work page and reading it once. And going back later to read it again.
I imagine you thinking these thoughts:
“Is this for me?”
“This could change everything. I want this.”
I see you just like I saw myself five years ago. That photo at the top of the page was taken around that time.
I look at myself and I see the eyes of a woman wanted to do so much more with her life — yet couldn’t appreciate all she’d created in the 40 years she’d already lived.
I see a woman who was not living up to the spirit that was within her.
I was afraid of failing.
I was afraid of what people would think if I worked the way I wanted to work.
If I raised my family the way I wanted to raise my family.
If I looked the way I wanted to look.
It wasn’t only about being afraid or doubtful; I just didn’t think it was possible.
Any aspirations I had about feeling like a rock star in my life, I’d snuff out with my thoughts of:
- “People don’t feel that way or live like that unless they’re special, lucky or privileged.”
- If I could lose about 25 pounds, I’d feel more confident and live the kind of a life I want to live.”
- “There’s a part of me that thinks I have something unique to offer the world, but that’s me being unrealistic again and sinking into my magical thinking that just sets me up for disappointment.”
I used to think: Maybe someday, I will …
- travel to places I think I might love.
- wear a ball gown and dance with my friends.
- write beautiful things.
- speak to, teach and lead many people in a way that is captivating, unique and inspiring.
- be the confident and majestic subject of stunning photos.
- guide another woman to actively live a life she once told herself was asking for “too much” or inaccessible.
This went on until I got to a place where you might be right now. That place where “someday” just doesn’t cut it any more.
People ask me when things changed for me — if there was a lightning-bolt moment or a catalyst where I could say, “I knew then that there was no turning back…”
Sometimes that happens and the clarity is booming — you can’t turn away from it.
I’ve had a few of those moments in life, but more than anything, it was a whisper within myself that I got quiet enough to listen to and act upon:
“I’m almost 40 years old. I can do what I’ve been doing and get more of the same, or I can step into something completely different and live up to the spirit that is within me.”
One day in June 2011, I said “yes” to myself and making my dreams come true. I say “dreams” because what transpired when I made this decision to change wasn’t just an action or choice; it was more sacred than that.
Our dreams are sacred, whatever they may be.
And how do you realize your dreams? How do you create your Body of Work?
You take personal responsibility for your well-being.
You get clear about what you want and how you want to feel about your life.
You commit to simple, significant shifts and practices that change your brain so you can change your life.
You let go of perfection and embrace resilience.
You find a way to move your body on purpose for joy and self-respect — where it’s not transactional (as in: “I move you — you lose weight.”)
You seek joy instead of what or who has done-you-wrong. That’s boring, anyway.
You get conscious.
You slow down and pay attention.
You are curious instead of crucifying yourself with judgment.
You get awake.
So I see you, girlfriend.
I was you — standing in the shadows of my own life and waiting for a sign.
And if you’re waiting for that sign, I’m here to whisper: “This is it.”