Naked in a Tutu Getting a Tattoo


Yesterday was my 46th birthday.  Truth be told, I have been celebrating all month so technically this is still the 18th day of my birthday.  The majority of people bombard me on the 17th.  I don’t think they understand the concept of how I celebrate.  Either way, I love them for the texts, calls, emails and cards. I am filled with immense gratitude.  I am a little girl at heart.  I haven’t always been like this.  Waking up after dying for a little while makes you appreciate life in a way that others cannot relate to or want to understand.  That’s okay.  That’s what makes me giggle and keep needing to hear the earth sing every morning. I wake up every day with gratitude for those songs.

Last week I was dancing in my own tutu with little girls while making fairy houses in the woods.  I went in the creek with them.  I danced down the field.  I did what I don’t ever remember doing as a child.  In my family birthdays weren’t a big thing.  They came and went with a small cake, minor recognition and a gift.  There was no party or invitation.  It wasn’t until I left my ex and my mother passed away that I decided I would make up for that.  My ex never acknowledged my birthday.  If it wasn’t about him then it really didn’t pertain to him.  So imagine 41 years of not feeling special about the day you were born?

For as long as I can remember I always wanted a tattoo.  I wanted something that spoke to me about my life.  I’ve waited.  Yesterday my best friend and daughter took me to get one.  The tattoo artists, Baker, who was awesome, said that “A tattoo is a trophy of a good experience.” As I was being shaded, the needle moving back and forth to create the red in the heart around the dragonflies I inhaled deeply and almost cried.  This was going to be my trophy for experiencing the return to my life.  Consequently, the word life is inside the heart.  I sat through him writing it on me being conscious of the letters permanently sticking to my back.  Life has a way of waking you up when you aren’t paying attention.  I am doing more and more the things I have never done.  I am moving through the phases of the dragonfly from birth into the metamorphosis of beauty while passing through love. If I believe and think myself as loved, I can love, believe and accept others. If I forgive myself, I can graciously forgive others. We cannot give what we don’t own in ourselves. If I hold compassion for me, I can surely be compassionate for others. I can give all that I am.

Wow…this is my life, full of love and dragonflies. In a way I felt I was silittlefairytting there naked, raw to the core, thinking of my tutu and dancing with the fairies.  We create from what we know and allow of ourselves.  There’s no difference between me and a homeless person or someone with a needle in their arm ready to check out of this world.  What separates us is the choices we make, the paths taken, and the awareness to continue.  That’s it.  I have been fortunate to have an amazing support system of loved ones who drag my ass out of desperation when I have slipped.

No matter what the struggle is you are still alive and can make a choice.  If you want to dance in a tutu do so.  If you want to sing in the supermarket, do it.  We are here on such little borrowed time to be able to love and enjoy one another.  Don’t let the projection of others or your own insecurities tarnish your dreams.  Go for them. Make them happen.  Now if you would excuse me I have to go find my unicorn and take a ride through the forest.  Have a magical day!

Love Heals

I woke this morning disoriented trying to find my place into this world.  Re-entering the existence of life from the dream realm is often a bit tricky for me.  I had just dreamed that I had a beautiful tattoo that read “Love Heals” right on top of a beautiful turquoise-colored dragonfly with a bit of lavender around its wings.  I was so lost in the dream state that I found myself up and looking at my back on the mirror in darkness to see if I, indeed, had a tattoo.  Once, gathering my bearings, I sat back on my bed.  It has been a tough twenty hours.  My face and body show the signs of exhaustion.

When you have children the first order of business is making sure they are safe.  We love them with all we have and in that love we try to make sure they function and live in safety.  I say a prayer every morning for each one of my six children.  At night, as I move into the dream world, I close the day with another prayer for each one.  But yesterday I learned a valuable lesson:  I have no control of what happens to them.  I have little control of what happens to me as well.  And, I often wonder if my prayers get heard! Ultimately we are all here in this world to learn.  Control is all a façade that we have created to understand the order of things.  It is an illusion.  We have NO control, but we have choices in determining the path of how we will achieve the lessons.  We can go the easier route or just slam against a wall in a difficult manner.

Detaching from the chaos of fear and control is not easy.  I have an extra gene in my body: an anxiety gene.  It takes all of me, especially now that I live out here, to surrender to God and allow things to just happen.  I am getting better. I can honestly say that I have evolved in this “knowing” that things will be whatever they are supposed to be. But, when one of my children does something that rattles everyone else in the household I have to stand back and truly realize there is little control of anything.  It’s a reminder.  It’s a constant reminder!

Children are not ours to own for the time they are with us.  They are here to teach us so much about life and ourselves.  Each one of mine has brought invaluable lessons to the table.  They have molded me in ways that I don’t think anyone else could have impacted in my life.  Through their disorders, disabilities, and strengths I have learned to love unconditionally.  I am learning to just love others profoundly without judgments and criticisms.

Remembering this dream, now an hour after awakening, I understand that love is the only thing I am responsible for with anyone.  I can be here to love, physically protect (up to a point) and pass down the lessons of experience.  But, kids are funny that way…they don’t learn from our experiences.  I know I have never acquired someone else’s experience as my very own.  I don’t walk into a wall.  I dive into it with the force of being thrown off the Empire State Building.  I don’t know how to do anything in a minimal way but I am learning.

My children are gifts.  I am learning with each one of them that when they do something “out of the ordinary” I need to step back, instead of getting angry, and acquire the lesson in that experience.  It’s tough.  It’s not a job for the lighthearted.  Being a parent is the toughest job out there.  I pray that love is enough to heal the wounds of this young man who spent the first four years of his life in an orphanage.  I pray that love is all he needs to see that self-destructive behavior is not accepted here in this house but in another year he will be considered an adult and will pay the consequences.  I pray that my heart opens wider and my love travels into his heart on that dragonfly and he feels it….forever.