I’m Not Sorry

“In what ways have you been asked to apologize for your body?”
– Sonia Renee Taylor, “The Body Is Not An Apology”, p. 14

As I sat in my backyard with the gentle Phoenix January wind blowing on my face and through my hair, reading these words made me snort in derision and stopped me in my tracks. I sat there for several minutes trying to pinpoint in what ways and for how long I’ve been asked to apologize for my body. How far back it was to when I didn’t feel like I had to apologize for my body. How old was I?

15? Nope, earlier than that.

12? 10? Younger? Many people I know would absolutely say younger than 10.

How do we even get here? Well, let’s start with the basics.

Women have long been told that we can’t acknowledge even basic bodily functions because it isn’t “ladylike”. That somehow if we acknowledge that our bodies exist and do what they were designed to do (even if that’s messy or not very fun sometimes), that it will diminish our attractiveness and appeal (*insert eye roll). We can’t bloat, burp, or fart. Don’t mention that you poop (even though every human does it every day), but maybe you can mention that you have to pee. Maybe. Especially don’t talk about diarrhea, because that’s pooping with urgency, and we can’t acknowledge a bodily function, plus that women have bodily functions with urgency.

You can’t vomit. If you have periods, don’t let most men know about it because it will make them uncomfortable. Definitely can’t have clogged pores on our faces, much less have breakouts anywhere else (like on our backs or butts). We can’t sweat or smell. No bad breath ever, whether it’s first thing in the morning or after you’ve eaten something particularly aromatic. For sure, you need to apologize for having hair anywhere but your eyebrows (which need to remain perfectly plucked or waxed), eyelashes, or on your scalp, because heaven forbid it grow above your lip, on your arms/hands/fingers, in your armpits, on your stomach or lower back, on your legs, around your genitals, or on your feet/toes (and if it does, you must be fastidious about removing it).   If we do admit that any of those things have in the past or do currently exist within our bodies, we often feel like we must do so in hushed tones, careful not to let anyone in on the “secret” that our bodies do what all bodies do from time to time.

Certainly another reality that is by no means rare is that people of all body types often develop stretch marks or cellulite, but apparently our bodies aren’t allowed to change. Our culture would have you believe that shrinking your body is always better and expanding is always a failure. (Unless you’re pregnant, then that’s fine. But also don’t get TOO out of control with the weight gain…… See what I mean? Even there, people make judgment calls about what weight gain is okay during/after pregnancy and what’s not.)

Many of us compare our current weight to what it used to be, 5 years ago or 10 years ago, and feel like we’ve “let ourselves go” (even though for most of us, thinking that we will remain the weight we were in our early 20s is completely unrealistic). Plus there’s this whole global pandemic thing, where many of us have gained some weight in the last 2 years due to massive amounts of stress and more sitting around our houses trying to minimize the potential catching and passing on of Covid-19. (Ironically I work out more consistently now than I did 5 years ago. But then there’s the whole our metabolism after 30 looks different than it did before 30). Logical reasons for a little weight gain as we are all just trying to figure out how to survive. But we consider ourselves less attractive and less appealing in our right-now-bodies, because sexy bodies apparently can only look a certain way.

And apparently 2 of the most important things that women need to be sexy are big boobs and a flat stomach.

Regarding the former item in that pairing, I’ve absolutely felt like less of a woman in many years of my life because of my figure. I genetically got the “petite figure” gene, which our culture erroneously lauds, but then shocker: genetically that also meant a smaller chest. Even well into adulthood, I sometimes felt like I couldn’t ever be sexy or beautiful, only “cute” like a teenage girl who hadn’t quite grown into her body yet. Like somehow if someone picked me, it would be “settling.” Statements like “real women have curves” left me feeling lacking. (And I absolutely admit that women who are curvy experience way more discrimination and judgment in our society due to fatphobia. That even if they have the bigger chest, they also have curves in other places and now somehow they take up too much space.)

As for the latter, the concept of women needing to have flat stomachs….. It feels like for most of us a mirage that we spend years chasing. Even though our abdomens expand and contract multiple times a day because our stomachs and bladders are doing what they are designed to do, we zealously believe that it must appear that our stomachs are flat always, that the expanding must happen invisibly. That our stomach needs to look flat, with no rolls, whether we are laying or sitting or standing or dancing or hunched over or squatting or what have you.

In an episode of the newest season of “Queer Eye”, Tan France was talking to one of their heroes Angel, who happened to be a trans woman. As Angel was trying on clothes at a store with Tan, she mentioned that she struggles with not having a flat stomach (mind you, Angel works out all the time and is a power-lifter. Very fit and still didn’t have a flat tummy). Tan gently reminded Angel that basically every woman he knows has a roll on their stomach. I was so grateful for that reminder. Women: unless you eat really restrictively and work out a ton, and perhaps have the help of genetics, you’ll likely have some fat around your mid-section. Because genetically, women often hold fat around their midsections. For the women who choose to have children, our bodies need to hold extra fat in our midsections. But even though it is incredibly normal, most women I know would say one of the things they dislike the most about their bodies is their non-flat stomachs because we see too many photo-shopped/liposuction-ed/actors-or-models-who-can-pay-thousands-for-personal-trainers-and-can-work- out-hours-a-day-and-who-eat-really-restrictively types of images of what stomachs are “supposed” to look like.

So yeah, that’s what the grand majority of women are regularly asked to apologize for about their bodies.

And that’s not even touching things like chronic illness or disability, like racism, like trans or non-binary bodies, like sexuality. And even in all this, I recognize my privilege. I get that racism is alive and well, that BIPOC face challenges and judgment and are asked to water down their “non-white-ness” on a regular basis. I get that while I deal with chronic illness, I don’t have a disability that is visual and the world is still largely accessible to me in a way that it is not for many people. Trans people continue to fight for basic kindness and respect from the medical community or how to get their gender marker changed on legal documents or to be able to use bathrooms that match their gender identity.  They are asked to apologize for their bodies, for making people uncomfortable or taking up space or for “inconveniencing” people.

I cannot speak to most of these things from personal experience. But I can speak to a few of them.

I recently finished “What Doesn’t Kill You: A Life with Chronic Illness – Lessons from a Body in Revolt” by Tessa Miller (if you have a chronic illness or love someone who does, I HIGHLY recommend it). I didn’t realize how deeply I needed it, how important it feels to hear the voices of others who walk through life with chronic illness. I’ve spent 16 years, since I was 16 years old, apologizing for my chronically-ill body. For half of my life, I have known that my body couldn’t do all that the bodies of many other young people could. I knew it the summer between my junior and senior year of high school during a 2 week “work crew” with my youth group, when the teens around me told me that I was exaggerating how much pain I was in, that I was doing it for attention, or that I was lazy and didn’t want to work as hard as they did. I knew it at 25 when I was in Hawaii and a friend of my husband’s who lived locally invited us on a hike to a waterfall, and I had a meltdown in our hotel room because I was afraid to go. Afraid that the “simple” hike wouldn’t be simple for me, that I’d have a flareup and be in pain in front of people I didn’t know well, and end up “ruining” everything. I continue to know that things like hiking, going to the gym, taking a yoga class, or even walking around Disneyland for a day can feel too vulnerable to do with people I don’t know well because it can feel so hard to say I can’t keep up with them. Another inconvenience, something to apologize for.

And then there’s sexuality. Coming out of purity culture and trying to unlearn all of the harmful beliefs I was taught has been a war in and of itself. Mix that in with a sexual pain disorder, that is complicated and perpetuated by my other chronic pain issues, and there seems to be an endless myriad of ways that both the Christian culture I came from and our hyper-sexualized American culture tell me that I’ve failed. Before I got married, I needed to control, contain, dampen and extinguish any sexual thoughts and certainly needed to keep myself from acting upon them. Then magically, I was supposed to put the ring on my finger, say “I do” and then feel free to have glorious, uninhibited, “God-approved” sex 3 days a week to make sure my husband stayed satisfied/didn’t become addicted to porn/cheat on me (please note: my actual husband is incredible and have never said/believed these things. This is just the BS that churches/pastors/Christian books frequently communicated).  So even though my actual husband has been incredible, I still felt absolute crushing amount of shame when vaginismus showed up on my wedding night and has been a part of my body, my marriage, and my sex life for the last decade.

It has taken a LOT of therapy to release a lot of that shame, and it’s still something I wrestle with. No one ever intentionally taught me to think about having my own sexual ethic and boundaries, about what it means to figure out a sexuality that actually works for me in my real life, with my actual circumstances, with my actual body. There was never a discussion about the wide range of frequency in desire that is not always dictated by gender. There certainly were never discussions for many people that I love about the potential of being gay, lesbian, bisexual, or asexual because those weren’t even considered as valid realities. There were so much pressure attached to this very narrow set of expectations around sex, that if you varied even slightly, there was so much shame and stigma attached. No room for becoming or learning or changing. Another thing to be sorry about and to apologize for.

I’m really really sick of it. Aren’t you? Of being sorry for existing. Of thinking we need to be quieter and take up less space. Of feeling like we need to hide normal human experiences. Sick of feeling like we need to apologize for our bodies just showing up in the world like a normal human body would?

So I’m not sorry.

Or I’m trying not to be. It’s something I want to keep choosing, to not be sorry for this body of mine, for the rest of my life.

And I’m committed to making room for all the humans around me to feel less sorry about their bodies too.

That’s a reality worth fighting for.

Don’t Dull Your Roar

What’s better than getting a tattoo for your 30^th birthday? Getting TWO tattoos for your 30^th birthday. Last week, I posted about the other one I got this spring (you can see it and read about it here: https://nicolecliftonblog.wordpress.com/2020/07/02/my-name-is-victory/); now I’d like to share with you about this one.

My talented friend Ellie designed this minimalist piece for me of 3 powerful creatures, each evoking powerful imagery.

 

Lion. Dragon. Shark.

It stands for:

“Don’t dull your roar. Don’t extinguish your flame. Fight for your fierce.”

 

Now I’m aware that this tattoo that happens to be my 8^th tattoo overall also has some serious Enneagram 8 energy to it, for any of you Enneagram fans out there. These images are connected to strength & to ferocity; for me, they’re also connected to creatures who are sometimes feared or misunderstood for being who they naturally are.

There are a lot of assumptions about 8s. Not all 8s are the same, but some assumptions that are true for a lot of 8s and are true for me is that I’m direct, independent, not afraid of conflict, like to be in charge, don’t like to feel like someone else is controlling me, worry about being betrayed or blindsided, have a hard time relaxing for long periods of time, etc. However some things that people assume about 8s that aren’t true for me is that I’m not hyper-competitive or always angry. I absolutely still get anxious and afraid. I am actually very tender-hearted and a very deep feeler. I cry A LOT. And I don’t definitely always enjoy conflict; I don’t like to debate just to debate. I just am willing to say the hard things that need to be said, because it’s authentic. It’s what’s real and pretending things are fine when they’re not is a waste of time. I’m internally compelled to move into honest, authentic spaces. I feel physically uncomfortable and at war with myself if I’m pretending things are fine when they aren’t. It can be really lonely to be that person. To feel injustice deep in your bones, to not be able to let things go, to sometimes be the only one who is willing to speak up and say something, even if you know so many other people feel the same way.

Now, I am FAR from perfect. I have made MANY mistakes when it comes to having hard conversations and still mess it up. Learning to not react, but to respond. To take my time before walking in with all my frustration and energy that I feel is justified, but feels overwhelming to people and puts them on the defensive. Learning tact and wisdom on when to have those hard conversations, how to phrase things with intentionality and compassion, trying not to assume the motives of the other person, etc. have all been things I’ve been learning and will keep learning.

At the end of the day though, I know that my personality holds a lot of power and there’s a lot of responsibility that comes with that. I know I have the capacity to steamroll people, to be bossy and controlling, to let my anger run the show. I know I have the capability of dominating others or hurting the hearts of people around me because I’m not thinking about what comes out my mouth before I say it, of speaking first before I listen. I know I can get cynical and jaded and can spend a lot of time complaining. I know that and those will always be things I have to keep working on.

AND.

My passion and my strength are not a liability; they are an asset. Bringing less than my whole self to the table isn’t something I want to do, because it’s betraying myself. As I have left my 20s and walk into my 30s, it was a commitment to myself moving forward that I wouldn’t dedicate large parts of my heart to churches or jobs or relationships that view my strengths as a liability instead of as an asset. I won’t spend large amounts of time in spaces or with people who ask me to water myself down or that only certain strengths of mine are acceptable. With people who want me to dull my roar, who want me to extinguish my flame, tone down my ferocity, because it makes them uncomfortable. I can keep all of those things and still communicate love. I can be a high-intensity person and have my life exude empathy and compassion for the hurting.

For myself and others like me, we are turned into the pain happening around us and we won’t go back to ignoring it. Not just in our own stories, but in others we know, and even in masses of strangers we’ve never met. We are seeing the narrative of the stories that people want to sweep under the rug. I may not be able to convince everyone to put down their broom and stop sweeping, but I can absolutely pick up those rugs and throw them outside. No more pretending that pain isn’t there, that it’s not real.

This week, I co-hosted part 2 of a summer webinar series called “Assets, Not Liabilities: Re-Defining The Conversation Between Ex-vangelicals and Pastors.” It’s been such a cool experience to be able to have this conversation with a co-worker of mine, him representing pastors and ministry leaders, while I represent ex-vangelicals and people who feel disillusioned with the evangelical Christian faith they grew up with. Often people who have gone through faith deconstruction are treated like they are dangerous, something to be avoided, a liability. During this series, I have voiced that our deconstruction actually is an asset, something that has changed me and us for the better. That I don’t want to have to stay silent about my story, about my pain, in order to fit into spaces that I used to fit into. I won’t settle for that. I want true belonging where me and my whole story and all my gifts are welcome. I understand that who I am, the things I say, the stories I hold (mine and others who have trusted me with theirs) make lots of people uncomfortable. I can’t change that for them. I can only seek to live more authentically.

So this tattoo is a reminder to myself to not settle for less, to let the glory of who I am show up in all its goodness. To remember that to be able to speak truth to power is a strength. To remember that my roar, my flame, my ferocity have the power to change the status quo and to protect those who have been hurt. That I can seek wisdom in how pursue those things, but I don’t have to change who I am. I get to be fully me; I get to be fully free.

I am becoming more and more of myself, and I hope that’s a journey we are all on. You don’t have to be an Enneagram 8 or be a big personality to be free. You just need to be you, even the parts of you that are actually a gift even if others in your life have tried to minimize them. We need you, ALL of you, to show up to the table. You can do things that I cannot, and vice versa. We need each other and I hope we are all just helping each other be more of who we were always meant to be, the healthiest, wisest, fullest, most integrated versions of ourselves.

 

My Name Is Victory

“My name is Victory.”

These are the words I recently tattooed on my body (and yes, rib tattoos do hurt as bad as they say).

 

The surface level meaning of this tattoo plays on the meaning of my name Nicole. While “Nicole” is a French name, the origins of Nicole/Nicholas actually go back to ancient Greece; it is a compound of the words “victory” and “people” so it has been roughly translated to mean “victory of the people.” Ancient Greek mythology includes the goddess Nike who personified victory. So “My name is Nicole” and “My name is Victory” have some crossover if you happen to be interested in etymology.

 

However, this tattoo means so much more than that.

Just over a year ago, I wrote my most vulnerable blog post to date called “It’s Time To Name It” in which I finally named the journey I have been on for now 9 years with a sexual pain disorder. I had danced around it and talked about it without naming the diagnosis before, but it was time to write about this taboo topic that no one wants to talk about. This is an excerpt from that post:

“Even just defining and describing all of this feels uncomfortable, because even though I’m just talking about body parts, women have been taught that discussing “our lady parts” is inappropriate and shouldn’t be talked about. Which leaves people in isolation when they are struggling, feeling like they are uniquely defective. That’s how I’ve felt for so long. Uniquely defective. Deeply broken. An utter and complete failure…

I know that shame thrives in secrecy, but the kicker is that there aren’t really a lot of pre-existing safe spaces to talk about this. There is no vaginismus support group I can drive to. Our American culture says they have all the answers about sex, and on the opposite end so does the Christian church I grew up in. And yet neither of them creates a safe space to talk about something like this. I’ve clearly been shaped by both cultures and yet both left me completely ill-equipped to face this reality.”

————-> (If you’d like to read the rest of it, you can do that here: https://nicolecliftonblog.wordpress.com/2019/06/ )

To put it lightly, this has been a pretty significant part of my 20s and certainly the most challenging part of my marriage since literally Day 1. Since all of my tattoos represent either wisdom that I’ve gleaned, truth I need to remind myself of, or a painful part of my story that I’ve worked to transform into power and passion, it’s no surprise to me now that I would end up with a tattoo representing this part of my story (even though in the first few years of marriage, I couldn’t even have imagined doing so because I was so ashamed and just wanted this part of my story to disappear and be erased).

So I’ve been mulling over getting a tattoo to represent this journey for 4 or 5 years, and my personal process with tattoos is that I have to want that tattoo for at least a year before I’m willing to permanently place it on my body. I’ve been sitting with this design for probably 3 years, but the meaning of the tattoo has changed since then and made it even more sacred to me. While there have been a few times over the last few years that I almost got this tattoo, I finally decided that I wanted it for my 30^th birthday……..but then COVID happened so I had to wait until late May to actually get the tattoo.

I wanted it on my ribs because I wanted it in a place you could not easily see. It represents where I have battled my deepest shame and so I feel protective of it, not a story that I want to explain to a grocery store clerk or an acquaintance at a business meeting who might see one of my other 7 tattoos (depending on what I’m wearing) and ask about their meaning. People warned me that getting a rib tattoo would be excruciatingly painful, and it was, but honestly it felt fitting for what has resulted from the most excruciating battle against shame in my life. This intimate story, forged of deep pain, where sometimes it felt like I couldn’t breathe because the shame was so thick and sharp made all the sense in the world to me that this particular tattoo would be over my ribs, a natural protection for our most vulnerable, essential organs that keep us alive and breathing, that keep us from being crushed.

So I knew 4 years ago I wanted this tattoo, wanted this placement, wanted it to represent my journey with my sexual pain disorder, but back then I had an entirely different definition of what victory meant. Back then, I thought it meant that in order for me to have victory, I needed to obliterate this pain. I needed to conquer it and banish it from my life, never to return.

**********

When I returned to counseling with this new therapist (who took me MONTHS to find and waiting to find the right fit was absolutely worth it because she is the actual best), that is what I set out to do. I was so desperate to defeat vaginismus, to move on and never look back. Ironically, that’s not how therapy works; I knew that, and yet that’s what I wanted anyways. I had bought into the lie that “victory” in this area of my life could only mean one thing, that I needed to be permanently 100% healed. It took a LOT of sessions, a lot of EMDR to help re-process my trauma, a lot of crying, a lot of letting my shame rise to the surface and letting my critical voice “fight” with my therapist in order to start to realize that I had to learn how to love, forgive, and accept myself first before I could actually do any healing. I wanted a guaranteed formula to rid of vaginismus and then thought that I would just automatically be better. I had to start with how I talked to myself, how damn hard I was on myself for “taking too long” and not “doing enough” to defeat this. I was cruel and harsh towards myself, blaming myself for “failing” over things I actually couldn’t control, which just grew my shame and made me even more hopeless.

You see, I was deeply afraid that if I couldn’t claim victory over this, that eventually my husband would get tired of it and leave me. And if that happened, I would always be alone because no one else would ever want to love me and put up with this, with me. And until I named that fear, faced it, talked it through with my husband, I couldn’t move forward (because the reality is my husband is incredible and him eventually leaving me if I couldn’t heal myself from vaginismus wasn’t actually an ultimatum he wanted to communicate).

I had to realize that my best efforts were more than enough, and that there were some things about my particular case (like I already have a full body auto-immune disorder that includes chronic pain, muscle tension, etc. that there is no cure for….. so unfortunately, why wouldn’t that also affect this part of my body since my uterus and vagina contain muscles, which would make my body less receptive to treatment/typical treatments to have less impact than they would for others with vaginismus) that might mean I would never be able to fully eliminate, conquer, or vanquish vaginismus from my life. Which meant…. I was probably going to have to learn how to live with it. I may experience some success, some progress, some healing, but I also may continue to have some level of symptoms. So I could either figure out how to accept it and love myself so that I could create a sexuality that actually worked for me in my actual body in my actual life instead of comparing it to whatever ideal I had…….. or I could be miserable and hate myself for all the years to come, living in fear that I eventually would get divorced and be destined to be alone.

I decided to do the hard, slow, vulnerable work of learning how to offer myself unconditional love.
I decided that I needed to change my definition of what victory meant.

The reality is that diagnoses like vaginismus and vestibulitis are fairly rare and that can feel lonely. What’s not rare (and what I truly didn’t understand) is that SO MANY people struggle with complications in their sex life. It’s not like everyone else has it figured out and I’m the only one who has issues. Be it sexual pain disorders like mine, differences in sexual desire between partners or differences in different sexual activities, changes in desire due to SO MANY things (stress, mental health, age, etc.), body image shame, sexual boundaries, sexual communication, physical health issues or disabilities that impact sexuality, physical carrying shame from past experiences, carrying shame from lack of past experiences, struggling with being able to be present, the damage of purity culture, the impact of abuse, internalized homophobia or transphobia for members of the LGBTQIA+ community because of what people/society have communicated about their value & worth, SO MANY THINGS. So many people carry shame around sex and were taught unhealthy things about themselves, sex, their bodies, etc. I am not alone in that and neither are you.

There is room for you to become, become who you want to be. There is no timeline, you have not fallen behind; there is time enough for you to become. You don’t have to have all the answers now; you don’t have to be a “master of sex” now or a “sex god/goddess.” That’s way too much damn pressure and nobody needs that.

There is room for you to redefine victory in your life. To have a sexuality that actually works for YOU in your real life, not based on what someone else told you that you have to have, because otherwise you are failing or defective. There is room for you to do the work of facing those shame tapes you have playing in your head, of dismantling the power of the lies you’ve believed that are not serving you.

You deserve freedom and victory. Mine didn’t end up looking like what I thought it would when I first dreamt up this tattoo, but it’s more true and honoring, more authentic and nuanced, than the vision of victory and freedom I held before. This authentic version of victory allows me to celebrate my 9 years of marriage tomorrow in sweeter, new ways because I have fought for my marriage and I deserve to celebrate. You deserve victory, freedom, and goodness even if you can’t “fix” yourself or make the messy parts of your story go away. You are still deserving of love, empathy, compassion, kindness, and commitment. From others and from yourself.

You were made for more, for goodness. So was I and I am learning to trust that more and more.

My name is Victory.

**************************************************************

Nicole Clifton is a life-coach with Restoration Counseling. She has her Masters in Psychology and a decade’s worth of coaching and mentoring experience. While she is not a licensed therapist and cannot treat anyone for mental health conditions like vaginismus, do EMDR, etc. she is available to walk with people through challenging relationships, processing harm from purity culture, faith deconstruction, etc. You can find out more at https://www.restorationcounselingnoco.com/nicole-clifton or email her at nicole@restorationcounselingnoco.com to talk about individual, virtual sessions.

Nicole is also a writer, speaker, and leadership development specialist. If you’re interested in partnering with Nicole on topics like this blog, head to www.nicoleclifton.com to learn more. You can also follow her on her public social media pages: Nicole Clifton – AlwaysNYourCorner on Facebook or nicoleclifton_inyourcorner on Instagram.

Legit Or Not Legit? That is the Question: FAQs of a Life Coach

Hey all! As I’m almost 5 months into this whole life coach gig with Restoration Counseling, I’m realizing that lots of people have some questions about what a life coach actually is and does. I’ll be honest and say that for YEARS, I thought a life coach was kind of a weird job, like not a valid or real job. Life’s irony is excellent. Sooooooooo I figured if you were like me and felt a little judge-y about life coaches, or even just felt like you had basically no exposure to what a life coach was, I would do a little FAQ to help you understand more of what I do!

 

What is a life coach?

A life coach is basically someone you pay to come alongside you in a specific time in your life to help you work through a problem, issue, or obstacle. There are different types of coaches; some focus specifically on career-related things, physical health & wellness, etc. I would consider myself a life coach that deals with self-awareness, relationships, transitions, goal-setting, etc.

A life coach is meant to be an objective person who can offer you perspective that maybe your friends and family may not be able to offer. They can ask you good questions. They can help reality check any lies or shame that you’ve internalized and help you re-frame those messages. They can offer you acceptance right where you’re at while simultaneously seeing your potential and pushing you towards a healthier version of yourself. They can help you reach your goals and make positive changes in your life. Hiring a life coach is a way of prioritizing your personal growth and investing in a healthier future for yourself.

 

What are the qualifications of a life coach?

It depends! Obviously depending on what type of coaching you are looking for, the qualifications may be different, so always look at the qualifications of your life coach to see if they align with what is important to you. Do your research and make sure that the life coach you are looking at is qualified to guide you in that capacity.

For me personally, I bring both education and experience to the table. I do have an advanced degree in the field of mental health; I graduated with my Masters in Psychology in 2014 and studied counseling in my undergrad degree as well. I also have a decade’s worth of experience mentoring and coaching. I’ve led & managed multiple teams, had anywhere from 5-15 people I directly mentored every year, and was sought out by others who had other opportunities for mentorship & coaching but also wanted time with me. At my former job, I was voted & awarded the title of “Most Influential Staff Member” out of thousands of employees; I am also a TEDx speaker and presented at Grand Canyon University’s inaugural event in 2017. (check it out: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3uLHjwpuFXc )

As for my current role as a life coach, I have chosen to pursue that through an established counseling organization called Restoration Counseling. I am a part of their virtual team, so I see clients via Zoom across multiple time zones. I am overseen by a licensed therapist, have professional accountability, and receive ongoing training. At Restoration Counseling, we are invested in story work and the Re-Story approach because we care deeply about not just helping people with surface-level behavior management, but helping people find deeper healing by getting to the root of our struggles and delving into our life stories that have helped shape who we are.

 
What do you, Nicole, specialize in?

Generally, I help people with self-awareness, relationships, transitions, goal-setting, personal growth, etc. My age specialty is college students & young adults (18-30), but I do work with adults of any age. I do have a couple of specialized topics that I do coaching in and those include: body image, Christian faith deconstruction and/or reconstruction, & building bridges between LGBTQ+ people and Christians (so either someone who identifies as LGBTQ+ and has some connection in their story to Christianity, or to someone who loves someone who is LGBTQ+, is Christian, and is figuring out how to better understand). Outside of Restoration Counseling, I do leadership coaching for teams, businesses, and groups trying to create a healthier group dynamic, work environment, etc. You can find more information on that at my personal website (www.nicoleclifton.com)

 

Why should I hire a life coach as opposed to a therapist?

This is one that used to matter to me a lot because I used to question the validity of life coaches. Actually, when I was interviewing at Restoration Counseling, I asked the owner of the practice (who is a licensed therapist): Why would you hire me? What value to you believe I could add to your team even if I’m not a licensed therapist and you are?

His answer obviously impressed me since I ended up working for them. What he said was that there are so many people in the world who are gifted helpers and healers, who have deep wisdom and insight…… and they don’t necessarily have to be licensed therapists. Obviously it is still important to function with a high ethical standard, but believes that if someone doesn’t need help with a mental health diagnosis, there are some people who could benefit just as much from seeing a life coach as a licensed counselor. He told me that because of my education it gave me the edge to understand mental health in a crucial way even if I wasn’t treating people for those things, but would have deeper understanding if it was a part of their story. He also highly valued the experience I already had in mentoring & coaching, seeing the reputation and legacy I had already built for myself. Knowing that he and my direct supervisor saw the value in me, my experience, and what I brought to the table, I felt compelled to join the team.

Another HUGE benefit of hiring a life coach over a therapist is that is can be less expensive! As previously mentioned, I am not a licensed therapist which means I can’t diagnose you or treat you for a mental health condition. Since I’m not a licensed therapist and seeing people for issues that require a higher level of care, I don’t charge as much! If you don’t need to be seen for a mental health condition, seeing a seasoned, experienced life coach can be an excellent alternative to help you work through whatever life challenge you may be experiencing.

If you’d like to hear more about why you would choose a life coach, you can check out this short video from my direct supervisor Tracy Johnson:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=youtu.be&v=IdmLe2x1Ecg&fbclid=IwAR1Ap4NrPIC4DWVLzDVvvnZQxzLw1K9i_tku1UQ5Xwjwi7bOay2UOfMkmFg&app=desktop

 

Do I need to have sessions every week in order for it to be beneficial?

Nope! Some people have the time, emotional space, and financial resources to enter into a more focused season of coaching and want to have sessions every week. For others, they can’t and that’s totally okay! Coaching can still be beneficial even if you go every other week or even once a month. Could that mean having to look at your budget and either cut back on some things or temporarily say no to some things for a season in order to invest in yourself? It might. I do believe that your holistic health & growth is worth that effort; I know when I have made those choices in my own life, I have never regretted it.

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In the midst of life’s transitions, I want to be someone who is in your corner, someone who will offer you acceptance and support right where you’re at, and also holds hope for you in what can be so I can walk with you towards that. In my own life, I have watched the power of transforming pain into passion. To walk with someone in a difficult season, or even just season of wanting to learn and grow, is such a privilege and one I do not take lightly.

To find out more information on working with me as your coach, visit my profile at www.restorationcounselingnoco.com/nicole-clifton or email me at nicole@restorationcounselingnoco.com

 

This Is Me: 12 True Statements About This 30-Year-Old

Hey all, it’s been awhile. Listen 2020 has been a ridiculous year so far, on so many levels. I’ve needed to go quiet again to deal with some of what’s in front of me. However, I recently read Jen Hatmaker’s newest book “Fierce, Free, and Full of Fire” and at the very end, she writes out 12 statements that are fully true about her. She encouraged readers to do the same for themselves if they were looking for ways to be more fully integrated with who they really are. As I’ve now completed 12 years of adulthood, I suppose that coincides with the 12 statement I’m about to make. I have been doing a lot of reflection even just about the last 10 years and pondering how tumultuous my 20s were; I see how much I’ve changed since the last time I entered a new decade of my life. So this felt like a timely reflection. Here they are, in no particular order.

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– I love to read and I love to learn. I have been book-obsessed since I was small. They feel like magic to me and holding one in my hands feels like having a friend. I can’t do the e-book thing except on rare occasions when I’m forced to; real, tangible books are where it’s at. I always pack too many books for trips; I never get to them all. I have a “To-Read” list that I will likely never complete because there will always be more good stuff to read out in the world! Call me Belle, call me Hermione Granger, but being in a bookstore or library makes me thrilled & ecstatic, while makes me feel safe, peace, and at home. I want to be a life-long learner, and that means not just in what I read, but in the other media I consume, the experiences I choose, etc. There is always room to learn more and to grow into a healthier, wiser person.

-I’m an ambivert. I used to think I was an extrovert and over the last 5 years I’ve come to the realization that that’s not entirely true. I am a Both/And person. I have seasons where I see that extroversion be more dominant, and other seasons where my introversion has been more dominant. The last few years I’ve been more introverted on many days. I’ve craved more alone time because I’ve been recuperating from a lot and have had to be really careful with how I spend my emotional energy. Now at 30 years old, I am just trying to be more self-aware and pay attention to what I need in the moment.

 

-I need to verbally process. I love to talk. I just do. I like being able to share my thought process with my safe people, to be able to talk myself towards a decision, to gather input and feedback. Sometimes I have to verbally process the same situation with a few different people in order to feel settled moving forward. Lots of time I already know the right thing to do and just need someone to listen, to be present and hold space for me to move all that’s jumbled up inside of me out into the world so I can de-tangle all of it and see clearly what I need to move forward. And I also know that sometimes I will miss the mark, so I surround myself with people I deeply trust and who are incredibly wise. I know sometimes I need input to help me when it comes to my blind-spots.

 

-Injustice deeply matters to me. I cannot NOT care; I can’t stop caring. Whether it’s about LGBTQ+, racial injustice, body image, toxic masculinity, rape, abusive relationships, human trafficking, mental health, etc. and more all get me going. I am not the perfect ally or advocate in any of these areas, but I want to continue to keep educating myself and being willing to use my voice/influence to create awareness about issues like these so that I can better love those who have been more marginalized. Like everything else, there is always more to learn and always more ways I can be invested in making the world a better place.

 

-I believe in the power of story. I love learning the stories that have shaped the lives of others and integrate story work into how I lead and how I love. I think our story is what makes us who we are. So many of us function on autopilot, not taking the time to review what has already been written and think about how it may impact the story that will be written in the future. Being able to return to previous chapters to find patterns, to identify shame we gathered along the way, process how important characters have impacted how we show up in current relationships, etc. are all so important. Engaging with stories is powerful and has the capacity to transform who we are and the relationships we have. As I design my future as a writer and a speaker, I know that my story is the platform that will move me into what I want. I know that it is the power of story that connects us all, that changes hearts, that prods transformation.

 

-I was designed to lead. Now there are times when it is absolutely better for someone else to lead. Someone who is more qualified and capable, and I’ve tried to be better at taking a step back when I need to in order to fully support someone else’s leadership. And……. I’m not a background kind of girl. I wasn’t made to live there all the time. None of those traditional gender roles or complementarianism that I learned about ever made sense to me; it’s not how I was designed and I feel it in my bones. I’ve got big dreams for the future and I’m excited for what’s to come.

 

-I’m an Enneagram 8 (with a 9 wing).I was designed to rock the boat, to challenge the status quo when things aren’t as they should be. I have what it takes to speak truth to power. I can smell BS from a mile away. As Sarah Bessey says, I believe in being a peacemaker not a peacekeeper, which means that in order to have true peace, sometimes we have to have hard conversations so people can find actual healing, love, acceptance, justice, peace, etc. I will not dull my roar. I will not extinguish my flame. I will fight to protect all the ferocity and strength that I possess, because it is an asset and not a liability. Yes, I am deeply passionate and crave intensity. That’s typical for 8s. Lots of people assume 8s don’t feel very deeply and that’s certainly not true about me because I feel things really deeply (and yes, it’s exhausting). I also don’t love competition just for competition’s sake. I don’t like to argue or debate just because; I absolutely am ready to go though if it’s something I feel deeply convicted about. I don’t take delight in challenging authority just because, and it can actually feel really lonely for 8s to always be that person or be seen as a troublemaker. For me, I try to take that and spin in, knowing that I have the capacity to be the best kind of dangerous.

 

-Christian faith is a part of my upbringing and pieces of that upbringing still remain in my life. Faith deconstruction has changed me for the better. I am a more loving, integrated person than I’ve ever been. More patient and a better listener than I’ve ever been. More gracious, more gentle, more kind than I’ve ever been. And I am realizing how much of church culture has hurt people, myself and so many people I’ve loved. I’ve delved into dismantling the toxic beliefs of purity culture, learning what it actually means to be sex-positive and have healthy conversations around sex, realizing how much the church has hurt LGBTQ+ people, how much the church is missing the mark when it comes to addressing racism, etc. Call me an ex-vangelical or a progressive Christian or what have you, but my faith or convictions about faith no longer fit in the spaces that I grew up in. I’m still figuring it out what that means, but there has been so much freedom and goodness and healing out here in the wilderness.

– I love my people really deeply. Really deeply. I feel deeply protective of them and once I’m in, I’m in. I’m known to say “I’m in your corner” on a regular basis because I want people to know I’ve got their back. There have even been situations or people that I should have walked away from sooner and I didn’t because I so deeply believe in the power of love and wanting it to heal in the ways and times that I want it to. I have to remember that every once in a while, I have this savior complex pop up and must remind myself that I cannot save people, I cannot fix people, I cannot change people, I cannot always protect people. Glennon Doyle said that “maybe love is the opposite of control” and as I age, I’m trying to figure out how to integrate that into how I love other.

 

-I believe in authenticity and vulnerability. I think that so many people spend so much of their lives pretending, wearing a mask, hiding certain emotions or parts of who they are. It’s literally suffocating us. It keeps us lonely. We worry about being judged when so many of us have experienced similar pain, similar shame. Being vulnerable can feel scary or even excruciating, but like Brene Brown says, it is also the birthplace of all we are longing for (love, belonging, etc.) As an Enneagram 8, I’ve had to work really hard at learning to lean into vulnerability, to reach out to my people when I’m struggling and need help. I’ve also struggled a lot with perfectionism and am often my own worst critic. Learning now how to be kind to myself in areas of my life that have held my deepest shame has been really challenging. The truth is that life is really messy and life brings pain to us all. We were not made to suffer alone. I feel like there have been so many seasons in my life where I have craved that authenticity in relationships and in community, and I have known that sometimes I need to take the vulnerable risk to go first in sharing so that others feel safe to do so as well. I want to offer others “the gift of going second.”

 

-I believe in the transformation of pain. I hate clichés like “Everything happens for a reason” because sometimes the only reason is that our world is a broken, messed-up place and lots of bad things happen that should never have to happen. We don’t have to subscribe trite, hollow sayings to make meaning when people need to honor their pain because it matters. AND we have the capacity to heal from our pain. To make meaning in our own time and in our own way. Knowing that pain and grief will always be present in our stories, that we cannot eliminate vulnerability from our lives. But I have chosen to take the most painful things in my life and to do the hard, intentional work of healing so that the pain doesn’t always have to be so sharp and raw, but that the pain can be transformed into passion and power.

 

-I believe in hope. Not light and cheery optimism, not fluffy, cotton-candy happiness. Gritty, messy, tenacious hope. I am not a glass half-full kind of girl. I say I’m a realist, which optimistic people normally equate that to being a pessimist. Okay fine, whatever. It’s a mix of both. What keeps me from jaded, cynical thoughts that would consume my entire being is hope. Hope sometimes means faith in God, in things that are bigger than me. Sometimes hope means gritty resilience after feeling the full weight of pain and letting it transform you. I believe in creating the futures we want and not settling for the subpar realities that may be in our present. The reason that things like love, hope, peace, justice, etc. still move us is because they still matter. They are worth taking a stand over. They are worth fighting for. They are worth the effort and the work and the tears needed to forge a better world and healthier relationships.

I’m a wounded healer, a hope carrier, a love warrior. I am fierce and resilient. I am tender-hearted, a deep-feeler, a world-changer. I’m the best kind of dangerous.

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For more from Nicole, see:
http://www.nicoleclifton.com
Facebook: Nicole Clifton – AlwaysNYourCorner
Instagram: nicoleclifton_inyourcorner

To work with Nicole as a life coach through Restoration Counseling, head to:
http://www.restorationcounselingnoco.com/nicole-clifton

Positivity Won’t Protect Us From Vulnerability

These are weird times, my friends. We are in the midst of a global pandemic, and we are all just trying to survive. For the most part, we just do what we have to do to make it through and that’s okay. It’s okay not to be our most productive selves right now. Even in the midst of chaos, we absolutely need things that will bring us joy and offers us comfort. However, the truth is that this season will also be rife with grief, tingling with anxiety, bursting with sadness. We will run into frustration and not know how to cope with feeling out of control because most of us don’t know how to handle this kind of vulnerability.

See, we have believed the lie that happiness is the most important feeling. So many of us chase it incessantly.  Our culture LOVES to keep things positive. There are so many shirts, mugs, social media posts, etc. that say things like “radiate positivity.”  Being positive and optimistic isn’t always a bad thing. Some people are naturally more drawn towards that, and that’s totally great. The world needs optimists, just like it needs realists. However, there is a time when positivity actually can become detrimental; it’s called “toxic positivity.” Toxic positivity is when you can only engage with feeling happy or positive to the extreme where you cannot engage with other emotions you deem as negative, so you become intolerant of those emotions in yourself and in others that are a normal part of the human experience.

When something hard happens to someone, we are so quick to reply with things like:

“Well everything happens for a reason”

“You just need to focus on the positives”

 “It could have been worse”

 “There’s always a silver lining”

 

Or if you come from a faith background like me, you’ll hear things like:

“God is in control.”

“This is all in His plan; you just need to trust it.”

“God is good, all the time; all the time, God is good.”

“Just pray and surrender it to the Lord.”

 

We say these things while people are still in the middle of their pain. What phrases like that can end up sounding like to the person who is hearing them is:

You’re overreacting.

You need to get over it.

You’re too much and you make me uncomfortable.

Your authentic reality isn’t welcome here.

You’re not trying hard enough to feel better.

 

Is it possible to learn things from our pain? Yes, I absolutely believe that. AND people have to get there on their own, we cannot hurry them to that place just because we feel uncomfortable. People have to feel their feelings and go through the process in order to arrive at a place of learning and wisdom. When we don’t let people do that, we actually end up causing more pain and more damage. Plus, when we minimize or shut down the emotional experiences of others, we make ourselves less of a safe place for the people in our lives to talk about how they’re really doing. Here are some examples of the difference between a healthy response of validation & support versus a response of toxic positivity.

Some people think that by acknowledging painful emotions that we are making life harder than it needs to be. The long-term truth is that we will do more damage to ourselves by stuffing our emotions down. We can engage with and feel our vulnerability, sadness, anxiety, anger, and grief without it completely consuming us. The reality is that SO MANY of us are experiencing vulnerability right now and we often don’t know what to do with our own vulnerability, much less someone else’s.

Speaking of not being immune to the vulnerability of the season: I’m a life coach with Restoration Counseling and a few weeks ago as this stuff with COVID-19 started to intensify, we started thinking about ways we as a team could offer resources. For me, that came in the form of offering webinars for young adults, college students, and high school seniors as they are coping with the loss of this season; I also hosted a similar event for the parents of those students. The goal was to help people navigate all that we are feeling, to validate those feelings, to talk about some practical coping skills, etc. The ironic and wonderful thing is that even though we are offering the help, we are still human beings and we are still navigating our own emotional experiences in the midst of this uncertainty. I had never hosted a webinar before and learning any new technology is normally a little anxiety producing for me. As we are looking to get ready for my first webinar, I was given log-in info that had an typo in it and I ended up getting locked out of my organization’s Zoom account for 30 minutes…..only 15 minutes before we started. As my bosses and I are scrambling to find a way to fix it (and we did, literally right as we were starting), I realized that I was experiencing my own anxiety as I was trying to help others cope with their anxiety. Thankfully the other 3 webinars didn’t experience any more technical difficulties, so I’m grateful for that and now I’ve got another new skill. Regardless, there was vulnerability in that experience. There is vulnerability in hosting a webinar and hoping that people show up, and that if they do, they feel connected to what you have to say. We are all trying to adapt our personal & professional  lives to deal with the massive change in front of us, and there is a roller coaster of emotion that can come along with that. My vulnerability in the midst of this is something that can connect us, just as well as (if not better than) just talking about things I’m happy about or thankful for.

So here’s another vulnerable example. Most mornings these days, I am trying to start my day with going for a walk. I can do so while still abiding by CDC standards (stay more than 6 feet apart from anyone you encounter, don’t touch anything, no enclosed spaces, etc.), but it helps me start my day on a better note. I get to put in my headphones and listen to good music; I get to try and reconnect/reintegrate myself with my body, just trying to start my day a little more grounded. A few days ago as I was walking down a particular street, I saw a mom and her 2 young kids outside in the driveway, drawing with chalk. The little girl looked about 4 and was sitting in this fancy, red, sparkly dress as she created whatever masterpiece was in her mind. Her mom said something to her that I couldn’t hear (since I was across the street maintaining good distance), and the little girl ran up and hugged her mom. Tears started to well up in my eyes and a lump formed in my throat. Not only was it a sweet moment, but I realized in that moment….. “I miss hugs. I miss hugging my people. I miss scooping up my nieces and nephews. I miss hugs from my friends. I wish I could see my Grammy and kiss her cheek. I miss physical presence and nearness.” The vulnerability of that moment, of the ache of being near to the ones I love, was and is still very fresh. Those tears in my eyes and that lump in my throat are back even as I write to tell you about it. It would be easy to say “You’ve got so many things to be thankful for. Yeah it’s hard, but just focus on all the good things you’ve got going on.” Yes, I have plenty to be grateful for and yes, I do actually think about those things too….. and I also need to honor my sadness when it shows up. The depth of my love for others deserves to be honored because grief is the price of love.

This season is vulnerable. We cannot avoid vulnerability, sadness, anger, anxiety, or loss just because we want to stay positive. Can we be positive sometimes if that feels like an authentic expression of where we’re really at? Absolutely. We still need laughter, joy, and play.  We can still practice gratitude. This isn’t a push to say we all need to be negative and constantly talk about how terrible everything is. However, there are lots of terrible things right now and they are just as valid to be talked about if that is authentic to how we’re really feeling. It comes back to honoring what’s authentic and true in you’re here and now. I may not be a naturally optimistic person, but I do believe in the power of hope. And the truth is that you can be hopeful and not feel happy.

So that’s what’s true. I’m holding hope; I am a Hope Carrier. I know that deep down in my soul. And I will let myself feel all the feelings that come my way. I will not label them as good or bad, or myself as good or bad for feeling them. They will just be, and all of them are a part of who I am and make me a more alive human. They make me a better leader, writer, wife, and friend. They make me resilient. I’d rather be vulnerable, resilient, and fully alive than happy all the time.

 

 

To see more from Nicole, head to:
http://www.nicoleclifton.com , or find her on Facebook (Nicole Clifton – AlwaysNYourCorner) or Instagram (nicoleclifton_inyourcorner). For more information on working with Nicole as your life coach, please visit www.restoratationcounselingnoco.com/nicole-clifton

When Your New Year Isn’t Incredible

For anyone that spends any time on social media, it seems like your feed has been full of posts that say things like:
“2020 is off to a great start!”

“Loving all the good things coming my way this year!”

“2020: New Year, New Me!”

“Already killing it with my goals for the new year!”

 

Soooooooooo what if your new year hasn’t felt all that amazing? What if you’ve already experienced some pretty hard things in these first 3 weeks? What if you had some brutal circumstances that were a part of your holiday season that have now bled into your new year because hard stuff rarely resolves quickly?

Yeah, me too.

 

I know that the new year can feel really exciting for a lot of people because it can feel like a reset button, a fresh start. If that’s you, I certainly don’t mean to squelch your spirit. If you’ve got zeal and zest for life right now, hold on to it.

I just needed to give a voice to those of us who have had already had to fight for joy in 2020, who have had to battle shame, who are fighting wars that most people won’t get to see.

 

I just want to say this:

You are not alone.

Even if our circumstances differ, there are SO many of us who have had a rough start to the year. There are so many of us with weary hearts, hearts that are fighting to heal, fighting to not let shame have the final say. Maybe you screwed up really badly, in a way you never thought you would and the shame has been so sharp and suffocating. Maybe you’re grieving a really significant loss. Maybe you’re still dealing with a chronic illness, with mental health, with tension in your marriage. Maybe you’re exhausted from a really messy holiday season due to unhealthy family dynamics. There are so many ways for us to be heart-broken.

 

We all know this, but its worth repeating: social media doesn’t tell the whole story. It certainly doesn’t tell mine. While I try to be open and authentic on social media, sometimes the shitty stuff that happens to us is still really new and raw, so we have to process it more privately first. That’s where I’m at right now. My heart has been in a really vulnerable/tender place, and I only have the capacity to engage with a limited amount of people right now. So I’m being very careful and selective with only letting a few people into this new, crappy life circumstance. That could change over time, but I know that I get to choose who I want to share with and how/when I want to do that. It’s easy to see posts of mine that show fun Christmas celebrations or posts about my new job as a life coach that came out this past week, and think everything is positive and magical in my life. I promise you, it’s not.

I too am trying to hold the tension of the Both/And, the weighty reality of this really challenging thing as well as practice gratitude for the things in my life that are still going well. Some days I feel much more consumed by the things that are hard. I am trying to figure out how to deal with the reality that life still goes on, even though it may feel like something has drastically altered the course of your year.

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So what now? How do we move forward with the other 345 days of this year, even if the first 21 have been draining?

Well I’m just figuring it out too, but here are a few things I’m choosing to do for self-care right now:

-Identify your safe people and let them love you. It’s letting people help you run errands. It’s accepting gifts like flowers, treats, or a book. It’s saying yes to invitations of going to movie or going to coffee so you don’t isolate yourself in your house. It’s letting people come to your house for a movie day. It’s reaching out to people even if it’s just to receive a text message full of encouragement. It’s letting your people remind you that you are worthy of love and kindness, even when things are hard, when you’ve made a mistake, or feel like you’re failing. Their love and grace for me has reminded me that it’s okay to offer myself grace too. It’s been medicine for my soul. Having to ask for help is HARD when you’re used to being independent, but the truth is we all need help sometimes.

-Tell yourself the truth. One of my favorite ways to do this is by writing truths I need to remember on my bathroom mirror, then I start and end each day by saying them out loud to myself. I did it when I was learning to have healthier body image after my eating disorder, I did it while I was doing EMDR to work through the trauma of having a sexual pain disorder, and I’m doing it now. I pulled a handful of these from author John Lynch’s content from “On My Worst Day” and then added a few of my own.

-Still choose self-care. If you’re like me and your own worst critic when you screw up, you’re prone to punishing yourself beyond what the actual, natural consequences will be from the circumstances at hand. You’re still allowed to eat things that make you happy. You can still take a bubble bath or lay outside in the grass with a good book. You can still listen to music and sing your heart out. Sometimes it feels like you can’t because you feel like you don’t deserve it (that’s the shame piece), but fight for your heart to get those things back because you will NEED them to survive your hard season.

-If you need to, reach out to a mentor, life coach, or counselor. There is no shame in that game. It is WISE to let people you trust sit with you in the middle of hard things. You don’t have to go it alone.

 

It’s okay if the year didn’t start off the way you planned it. Your year isn’t doomed and you are not doomed. Even on your worst day, you are capable of growth, change, and making amends. Even on your worst day, you still have strengths that are going to help you tackle the challenges you are facing. Even on your worst day, you are not defined by your failures. On your worst day, you are still resilient. Wherever you’re at and whatever you’re dealing with, know that I’m in your corner.

Finding Peace Without Producing

I was in a meeting earlier this month and we were talking about how we are often our own worst enemies. That is certainly true for me. I am harder on myself than most people in my life probably are on me, and I’m certainly harder on myself than I am on most people I love. In therapy, we’ve identified this as my critical self (as opposed to my integrated self that is connected to wisdom and truth instead of fear and shame). I’m assuming that voice will always be a part of me because I’m human, although its role in my life is changing and shrinking.

Elizabeth Gilbert says “The parts of yourself that you do not love are terribly vital, because they demand that you dig deep- deeper than you ever thought you would have to dig – in order to summon compassion and forgiveness for the struggling human being whom you are.”

I’ve spent so much of the last 2 years learning how to be kind to myself in what I believed were my failings and really were just the realities of me being human in a messy, broken world. My sexual pain disorder and all the havoc that has wreaked on my marriage. My body breaking down and getting sick more times last year than it ever has. My emotional capacity for relationships and just trying to get through the day to day. I throttled back in so many ways because I had to, it was the only way to survive.

 

This week, I realized I had been away from my job for 6 months. I’m grateful to have had this season and I’m realizing that I am not in survival mode anymore. Still resting and recuperating, but in not so dire and desperate of a place than I was back in May. I don’t have stay throttled back to survive anymore.

So often I thrive on intensity. I love the way it makes me feel. I’m often an all-in or an all-out girl. If I choose it, I CHOOSE IT. I recently attempted to watch a few Marvel movies, realized how much stuff is missing in between random movies because all the story lines are so interconnected, so out of aggravation, I decided to watch all the Marvel movies in chronological order. I love intense, deep conversation in relationships. I don’t love that people in my life are suffering but I don’t mind being in the trenches with them because the authenticity of connection that can be found there is life-changing.

There are also consequences on sustaining yourself on intensity. Shauna Niequist talks about “being strung-out on the drug of efficiency” and that she “worshiped at the alter of my to-do list, ignoring the cry of my body and soul like they were nothing more than the buzz of pesky mosquitoes.” When I read those words for the first time a few years ago, I knew they were true for me and I knew I also couldn’t leave the season I was in to get the deep rest I so desperately craved.

 

So it’s another Both/And. Finding the value in intensity and the goodness that can be found there, but learning that you cannot live there all the time. I’m reminded that when I went to counseling, I thought I was going to conquer my vaginismus, to claim victory over it. Instead I learned a completely new way of being. Of relating to myself, my relationships, and how I see the world. I learned the value of self-compassion, that there is peace to be found outside of the intensity as well. That I can be my own worst enemy by demanding intensity in every are of my life and of myself.

I keep coming back to this question: Is soft and gentle enough? A month ago, I sat on a couch with my best friend and cried about how being with myself in this season still feels so new. I’m learning to relate to myself without all of my fire, without a consistent source of frustration and agitation. I’m trying to figure out motivation where anger and exhaustion are my fuel.

 

Who is this softer Nicole, who is slower to speak, slower to say yes and commit, slower to produce? Is she just as stunning and exceptional? Is she just as wise, just as strong? My critical self tells me that I am less of all of these things, and yet my integrated self is convicted of the truth that I’ve let the old be burnt away and I’m waiting for new things to grow. The roots are already there, I can feel them, and there are shoots beginning to sprout up.

 

My anger was also my fire that protected me, kept me safe. I know the fire is still in there if I need it, but I’m not keeping it on a constant burn. Which means I can take new risks. New risks as I pursue my dreams, new risks in my marriage…. and that’s really scary when you believe that it’s the constant fire that makes you who you are, makes you special.

I know that keeping that kind of fiery momentum, though I needed it for the season I was in, is what got me to this point beyond exhaustion. It’s why I’ve spent the last 6 months resting and recuperating from the deep burn-out I had been experiencing, and quite frankly I’m still recuperating and probably will be for some time.

So what if in my marriage, I intentionally choose vulnerable, not-easy conversations and interactions and intimacy without kicking my intense I-Make-Things-Happen attitude into gear? What if going in soft and gentle, listening to my body AND mind AND heart for wisdom is the key?

What if I pursue my dream by not making things happen on my timeline, but continuing to allow rest and slow and small to fill me up and heal me, trusting that new goodness is growing in me? Can I believe that I’m not giving up or being lazy but trusting in the timing of what’s ahead before I drown myself in the weight of “Too Much” again, that I’m releasing the first draft of the timeline that I make that normally is loaded with unrealistic expectations?

 

So where are you your own worst enemy? Where are you the hardest on yourself? What things do you subconsciously, or even actively, avoid because it feels too vulnerable? I’ve come to realize that where we’ve been hurt the most or experienced the most pain is where it’s hardest for us to take risks.

 

For me, in this season, that’s two-fold. My marriage and my sexuality are still really hard to take risks in because of how much they’ve been pulverized in the last 8 years by these diagnoses. The other, that I’m coming to realize, is how I see myself in what I would consider a “work” space. My work, myself possibly as an employee, a creator, what I have to offer the world that has value and someone would consider paying me for. That part of who I am feels vulnerable too. The timing makes sense. My last job started a month after I got married; I’ve been carrying both important, heavy loads for almost a decade.

Shauna Niequist opens her book Present Over Perfect by talking about “letting yourself be loved, in all your imperfect, scarred, non-spectacular glory.” This is the season of my life, letting myself be loved (by others and myself) in all my imperfect, scarred, non-spectacular glory. I haven’t made the last 6 months look spectacular by producing anything to prove to people that I’m really going to achieve my dreams, or that my marriage is miraculously the best it’s ever been. And that’s more than okay. I can love this version of me too. One that’s not fiery and intense all the time, one who is soft, gentle, tender, who has a smaller capacity, and moves more slowly. Shauna says it so well: “Now I know that the best thing I can offer to this world is not my force or energy, but a well-tended spirit, a wise and brave soul.”

I’ve sustained myself on my force and energy, now I’m cultivating that well-tended spirit to become a wiser and braver soul. And the funny thing is, I know my force and energy isn’t gone. That fire I have is God-given. It’s safe enough to leave the fire off right now to focus on something else, so that then I can learn to have that fire back in a different way, a wiser way.

Even with the holidays coming, when it’s so easy to get swept up in the swirl, I choose to keep finding rest, to set limits, to pause long enough to experience deep joy. I’ve so often been my own worst enemy when I’m not performing “the way I think I should.” What if the gift I give myself this season is permission to be free of that, to just show up fully present and be a human in all my imperfect, non-spectacular glory? And maybe by doing that, I can make more room to take risks in the areas that mean the most to me. It’s a gift idea you might want to think about for yourself too because in this culture we could all use a little more joy and a little more peace.