every so often life comes completely full circle. call it synchronicity. serendipity. fate. coincidence. call it whatever you like.

it’s f*cking incredible.

last summer, i drafted an instagram post with the above middle finger illustration [that i drew in college] in the aftermath of the George Floyd’s murder.

i waited a week. i was afraid. i posted it anyway. i was fired up. [i still am.]

those closest to me were thrilled i was ~~finding~~ using my voice. using my art to inspire difficult conversations. to inspire change.

then a cold dose of reality…

my then-“boss” pointed my middle-finger post to HR and said someone in my old company had sent it to him [i’m convinced this was a blatant lie].

word got back to me and the fear flared up again. should i take it down? had i done something wrong?

then i got angry.

the boss i had saved from numerous fires was actively seeking to sabotage my career and reputation. [i have never been more sure of how toxic masculinity and white supremacy seek to silence voices / stomp out the “wrong kind of flames.”]

it devastated me and yet, i stayed in that situation for a few more months.
joining calls with so much anxiety i could burst into flames.

i was even given advice to “grin and bear it.”
[a phrase that only makes me think of rape victims.]

i was frozen. i smiled.
the world was in turmoil. this job was fine.
miserable, soul-crushing but “fine.”
i could power through. i always do.

a few months later… our entire department [20-or-so folks] was eliminated. “boss-man” included. i had stayed and sacrificed for nothing.

i heard the news when i was in wisconsin putting out more important fires on the home front. i told ~~my family~~ everyone i was relieved.

i was fine.

until there was an explosion …

later that fall, two things happened that detonated a blast inside me. i wrote about the hail of f-bombs…

my brother-in-law lit the match. my older sister saw the flames. i was protecting myself with anger … and then per usual … i wanted to run from the heat. we started packing to drive home from wisconsin a week earlier than planned.

but i cooled down.

i stayed. i powered through.
we worked. we cleaned.
we celebrated bella’s birthday.

it would all be fine.

after finishing more major projects at the stone house, we returned home to missouri and it was time to start looking for new creative director jobs… but i was still frozen.

i had lost my spark.
– AN EXHAUSTED bird

losing my job was one thing but the personal injury of how i was treated was a whole different pain. i had rarely been burnt so badly by someone i trusted and was doubting my ability to judge people — on top of doubting my career choices.

two of my greatest strengths were now in question. i felt weak. cold. stiff.

i was terrified to make the wrong move and be scorched again.
– A FRIGHTENED BIRD

this was now a pattern in my life. a match is lit… lose something [a boyfriend in college, a life in chicago, an uncle unexpectedly, an old roommate to heroin and finally a job] … and then feeling the burn i fall into a deep depression of self-doubt.

then extinction… bury myself in work until i was burnt out to fill the dark void.

was i really fine?

my fire had become a smoldering heap of bullshit.
– A charRED BIRD

the embers…

everything changed when kim reached out about a start-up called Clear & Cultivate. at that point it was still an idea. one that tapped into so much of the passion areas i love — marie kondo / konmari tidying combined with personal development and self-improvement … bonus points for a brand that sounded like i had created it. fuck yeah!

kim and i were both in similar — yet different — delicate places. two badass woman who were tired of jumping through burning rings of fire. we bonded over our mood boards. she didn’t care that mine was still upside down. [quite symbolic]

“join one of the calls.” she said. “i think you need this.” she pleaded. she was a few states away but i knew.. she knew.. i was NOT fine.

in december, i stepped into the hot seat as a founding “Cultivate Club Member” to focus on clearing the aches & pain inside of me.

what i found was a safe space with incredible supportive women who want nothing more than to soothe and bask in each other’s hope. a space to stoke the fires you’re unwilling to turn and face.

i read the books. i hung the banner. i perfectly folded up the t-shirt. i took ALL the pictures and posted them on instagram. that was it, right?

now i would be fine?

nope. i’m aiming for better than fine.

think of it as a controlled burn.

it takes time to regrow.

they’re calling Cultivate Club a personal growth collaborative. i view it as group therapy. i’m not addicted to drugs or alcohol … i’m addicted to perfectionism and self-sabotage. i need to (re)learn self care and surround myself with others seeking the same treatment for self-inflicted wounds.

it’s hard as hell. that’s why it’s a year… and it’s only may. [yes, that is intentionally uncapped for a reason. it’s all uncapped for a reason.]

the tagline introduced cemented why i wanted be a coach.

FUCK FINE.
– ANGRY BIRD

i thought of my middle finger image and the saga that surrounded it from a year ago.
… i thought of my father-in-law sitting in our living room in january with a fucking broken femur bone insisting he was “fine.”
… i thought about the numerous times my parents told me not to worry about them — or the house falling down around them — they were “fine.”
… and i worry about my sister working from 6am to 7pm on a daily basis… making us late to watch my nephew’s soccer practice yesterday. she’s “fine.”

apparently everyone is “fine.”

fine is
~~no longer~~ never has been good enough.
– FIRE BIRD
[ … SEE WHAT I DID THERE?]

it’s incredible to be among the founding participants and watch this thing catch fire … [kim and i are driving to NYC next week for a photoshoot with the 20+ coaches who will be lighting fires in others starting next month.]

i’ve never shied away from being the first one on the dance floor… or the only one dancing.

i’ve come full fucking circle...