The other day I was stuck in a reoccurring pattern. It wasn’t my favorite.
So I spent some time in my “underworld” to discover what belief was active and how it was playing out. I looked to see where it began, how it appeared over the years, and how it served me. I saw the protective intent in its formation and the limiting hold it had over me at present.
By the time I was done looking, I felt kind of muddy and tired.
Like I had grappled with a sea monster who lived hidden beneath the waters. Before I moved on, I identified a belief that would better serve my life. I planted that firmly in my mind and looked to see where it was already true. When that sneaky monster of a bad idea next swam to the surface, I turned away, no longer willing to reinforce its hold on my reality.
This practice of exploring murky spaces within isn’t a lot of fun.
It can be sobering, disheartening, and, at times, downright frightening. Yet, you can’t expect to enter a new year and create new dreams if you’re living an old, disempowering script.
Know this, you’re a magnificent story teller.
Since you’ve been young, you’ve been creating stories about yourself, how the world works, and what is possible. The plot lines were borrowed or absorbed from the larger story tellers in your life. Parents, teachers, friends, and societal instructors. All ideas tunneling into your little mind to plant those belief seeds, many of which are holding you back today.
All humans borrow stories from one another.
Often installed at a young age, they vary according to the unique path of human experience. The helpful stories invite self-acceptance, wellbeing and life satisfaction. The disempowering stories disrupt a sense of worth, innate goodness, and potential for growth. When those scary tales whisper that you can’t be happy, healthy, wealthy, creative, and meaningfully connected to others, they point you toward a path of suffering.
All because you think the story is true.
They’re simply the result of growing up human.
Today’s limiting belief made sense to your child mind and often served as protection or helped you navigate challenging circumstances.
When you cultivate an unwavering commitment to explore the beliefs you hold, they arise from their hidden depths.
Thus, making it easier to recognize what belief is running your daily existence. Start by asking yourself what story you’re telling yourself about a current struggle. Then seek the belief is hidden within that tale.
“I can’t do this or deal with this because …
I’m not worthy of happiness or not smart enough to succeed. I’m lacking time, money, experience. I’m too old, young, weak, or alone. Happiness isn’t possible for me. I have to suffer. The world is dangerous. I need rescue. I don’t have what it takes to succeed.” You get the picture.
Find the belief that fuels the disempowering story.
Limiting beliefs aren’t true, yet they may look like that in the present moment. If you want to be free, look for evidence of falseness. Look at the time, money, and experience you do have. Recall moments of happiness, positive social relationships, or the skills you’ve developed. When you notice the small pleasures, gains, and connections, you loosen the hold of that old rule.
A new year naturally invites you to choose new plot lines. Good thing you’re a brilliant story teller.
Peace be with you and with all. No exceptions.
Research has shown that cultivating positive beliefs contributes to prosocial behavior. You know that ‘feel good’ way of being kind, understanding, and compassionate toward your fellow humans. All of whom have an underground of conditioned beliefs. It also has been found to improve social connections. Committing to a positive mindset takes some work but it impacts your relationships, health, work success. Choosing and reinforcing positive beliefs supports wellbeing, resilience, and your potential to actually enjoy your life.
Learn the one essential skill that allows you to face any challenge with confidence, sturdiness, and inner calm.
More than a technique. It’s a game changer.
Three months ago, I unexpectedly entered into a relationship with a horse.
I met Zor during a visit to Liberty Stables in Florida, where I had gone to spend time with a friend’s horses. I had no particular expectations. I have no background with horses, no training, and no experience in equine-assisted therapy. I simply met this magnificent Friesian, and something quietly familiar unfolded between us.
I fell in love.
The women who arrive in my classes, retreats, and therapy sessions are sincerely looking for healing, expansion, clarity, or sometimes just a little room to breathe.
They are thoughtful women, deeply engaged with the people and work they love. Rarely do they arrive because they want another spiritual philosophy. Most are carrying something much more ordinary.
A life that has become full. Beautiful in many ways, but crowded.
About twenty-five years ago, I was driving with a colleague to a local conference. As we approached the hotel entrance, I noticed an open parking spot near the front door.
“There’s a spot,” I said, pointing to the right. He drove past it.
A few seconds later, another one appeared. He drove past that one, too. Then I pointed to a third. “There’s a spot.” Without the slightest hesitation, Dan replied, “I’ll leave that for someone else.” And he calmly parked much farther away. As we walked to the entrance, I asked about that statement.
During the Seeding the Light Gathering, I had the privilege of hosting Pascual and Jose Tomas in our home.
They feel like family as this was their second visit to New Jersey. We’ve also spent a week together in Damanhur and the Temples of Humankind in Italy. I’ve sat in many ceremonies with Pascual in Peru’s Sacred Valley. His flute playing often carried me up mountain trails in the thin air and hot sun.
I planned to work a bit, complete some projects, and enjoy slow days with plenty of relaxation.
All of that certainly occurred, but beneath it all, something else began quietly inviting my attention.
The plane had begun its slow fall toward the earth when a sharp ache pierced my ears. Half-dozing, half-aware, I surfaced into the moment just as the toddler in front of me woke with a scream that broke her open. The sound wasn’t defiance or misbehavior. It was pain.
I felt her small body struggling to make sense of something she couldn’t name.
Her mother bent over her with the tenderness of someone trying very hard to be a good parent. But her soothing came dressed in urgency, in the quiet pressure to behave, to use words, to be okay, to not disturb those seated around her. Her voice shook with the effort of managing her child’s distress and her own rising shame.
