Healing Your Kintsukuroi Heart; Part 2
LOW SELF ESTEEM IS A GATEWAY DRUG.
Taking Responsibility
 
This is part 2 in a series.  Click "Healing Your Kintsukuroi Heart" in the categories menu to go to the full series.
Click here for part 1 
 
Last week we identified that low self-esteem is the original “gateway drug” even if your challenges have nothing whatsoever to do with substance abuse. Click here to read the post.  I also said that, even if you don’t initially think it applies to you, I’d illustrate how it may - so stay with me. 
 
Today we’ll discuss how accepting this truth – that low self-esteem is source of our issues - can change this gateway drug into your gateway to healing.
 
LET’S EXPLORE SOME SCENARIOS:

• I over spent and I blew my budget.  And now I don’t have enough to pay rent.
• I am overwhelmed.  I don’t have enough time in my day to do half of the things I need to do!  But my friend asked me for a favor and I said yes.
• Instead of exercising and eating healthy just I sat on the couch.  I ate an entire bag of chips, half a package of cookies and submarine sandwich. 
• I’m busy!  I don’t have time to be nice.
• My best friend told me she wanted to go back to school.  And I told her what a stupid Idea I thought that was.  C’mon, at her age?
• I’m in a relationship with someone who verbally and emotionally abuses me. 
• Everything I own has to have a designer label on it where everyone can see it. 
• I went out with the girls for a drink last night.  YOLO!  I don’t even remember how or when I got home.
• I got into a relationship with a married man. 
• I slept with my girlfriend’s boyfriend.
• Every day I find a way to emasculate my husband.  It doesn’t matter if we’re alone or in public. 
• I blew the mortgage at the track.
• Who the hell does she think she is?  I gotta ask because...
• I screamed at someone in another car because they cut me off.  Then I gave them the finger and I told them where they could go. 
• You’re right, what do I know… I shouldn’t even try.
• I engaged in a battle with someone I don’t even know on Social Media. 
• I tell people exactly what I think, even if it hurts their feelings.  I’m honest like that.
• I spend hours, and hours, and hours on FB – watching a movie – shopping - cleaning the house - instead of pursuing my dreams. 

 
Do any of these statements – or a version of them – resonate with you?  Now read them again, but this time tack on the words “Because I feel so good about myself.” at the end.  For a clearer illustration you can watch the companion video by clicking here.
 
Now you get it, right?  It’s entirely contradictory.  Any type of behavior that doesn’t honor yourself or who you want to be, isn’t in service of your dream, or in pursuit of being or becoming the very best version of yourself, comes from a place of feeling “less than.”  People who truly feel good about themselves don’t think, speak, or behave in ways that are people pleasing, unhelpful, unkind, lack understanding or have a positive purpose – regardless of whether it’s directed inward or outward.  There’s no shame in feeling less than.  It just is.  And the sooner you can embrace that the sooner you can get on with doing something about making it better.
 
Note – don’t confuse an inflated ego with a healthy self-worth!  Ego is the opposite side of the same low-self esteem coin.  People who feel good about themselves don’t have to blow themselves up in an attempt to impress others.  A healthy self-esteem isn’t greater than or less than; It’s equal to.
 
SO, NOW WHAT?
 
I’ll tell you everything – step by step - in this series. Again - It’s free.   There’s nothing to buy to gain access to all of it.  If you’d really like you can read my book, Kintsukuroi Heart; More Beautiful For Having Been Broken, or order the companion workbook to this series, Healing Your Kintsukuroi Heart, both on Amazon, but you certainly don’t have to.  All you really need is occasional access to the internet and a pad and pen.  Oh, and a deep commitment to change… if only you could order that on Amazon!
 
HOW I AND WHY I CREATED THIS PROGRAM.
 
I had issues.  Big issues.  As I mentioned before, the specifics of how those issues presented themselves aren’t important right now.  I’ll talk more about them in a later video/blog.
 
Initially, I worked through my issues by taking the traditional route of therapy, medication*, self-help groups and talking with friends, which all worked and I still recommend.  But for me, they only worked for so long and only to a degree.  They were either too costly, didn’t go deep enough or they addressed the symptoms and not the root cause; I needed to dig down and truly change the way I looked at things and, most importantly, change how I viewed myself.  If I could do that, I knew my life would change. 

*Note - titrated off of my anti-depression medication with the permission and under the very close supervision of my doctor.  Never EVER replace the experience of another over the advice of your trusted health care professional!
 
Over the years I’d gathered inspiration through books and movies.  Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert.  Gift from the Sea by Anne Morrow Lindbergh. Under the Tuscan Sun (the movie).  AYear by the Sea by Joan Anderson.  Educated by Tara Westover.  Wild by Cheryl Strayed.  Love Warrior by Glennon Doyle Menton.  The list goes on. (All linked below!)
 
However, most of the books and films in this genre, wonderful stories that I have deeply loved (I recommend them all and have linked* all the titles above and below), came from a place so unique that, although fabulously inspirational were, for me, mostly unrelatable or unactionable – the experiences of the very fortunate or wealthy, or situations so extreme that very few people find themselves – offering remedies that were simply out of my reach.  I wasn’t in a position to take time away at the beach or travel around the world to find myself, I had to work!  I didn’t have extra money or a scholarship to an Ivy League school.  I deeply admired those who did and longed to be in their shoes, but I simply wasn’t. There were times when I couldn’t even afford to buy those books or a ticket to the movies, I checked them out of the library.  But I read them.  I watched them.  They inspired me and gave me something to shoot for! 
 
So, being a determined and resourceful little bugger and having the professional training, I devised a way to do these extraordinary things – to embark on a life-altering journey of healing – without leaving home and with rather ordinary resources.  These “ordinary” circumstances are what often stops women from doing something extraordinary.  You are my people and I am here to inspire you! 
 
I put myself on an intense minimalistic, at home self-retreat.  Exactly what I would do if I paid thousands of dollars to go away on retreat or soul searching quest.  I committed to addressing my issues via holistic wellness, intentional physical exercise, and the mind/body/spirit connection.  I tried new things.  I practiced yoga and meditation, and began living with defined intention.  I unplugged and sought peace, quiet, and solitude.  These things are easily accessible and available to all of us for free or at very little cost.  In fact, once I went into this wholeheartedly – a time of concentrated self-discovery and minimalism - I actually saved a ton of money.  This realistic vantage point is one way in which I feel this program is different; it's wholly accessible and meets you at a place where many of us find ourselves when starting over.
 
I know it works because I created it, I’ve applied it, I’ve lived it, I’ve practiced it and afterwards, the really poor life choices I’d been allowing to enter my life on a daily basis became inconceivable to me.  Not because I focused on changing those choices but because I changed how I felt on the inside.  The positive choices I began making became a symptom of how I felt about myself just like the negative ones had been. I didn’t work on the symptoms –I addressed the root cause of the symptoms.   I healed the person who was making them.
 
To be clear, I had to clean up the mess of some of those choices and so will you.  Not to worry, I’ll help.  I’ll give you the tools and we’ll go over all of it, step by step.
 
Now is your time to work on acceptance.  To ready yourself to embark upon a journey of deep and lasting change and true transformation.  Next week, we start the transformation.

Quote of the Day:
"The positive choices I began making became a symptom of how I felt about myself just like the negative ones had been. I didn’t work on the symptoms –I addressed the root cause of the symptoms.  I healed the person who was making them."  
Amie Gabriel
​
If you can relate to any, or all of these statements to any degree, I’ll see you here in the next installment.  Thursday, January 21st at 1 pm Pacific time.

Can you relate?  Are you considering participating in this program?  Please let us know what you think!  Comment below... I's love to hear your thoughts! xoAmie

Scroll down for the YouTube Companion Video! 
​
Read Amie's Book:
​KINTSUKUROI HEART; More Beautiful for Having Been Broken
​Order on Kindle or in paperback by clicking on the Amazon Affiliate Book Link below!
​*As an Amazon Affiliate I earn from qualifying purchases

Check out the video for three big announcements for the New Year!  Let me know what you think in the comments!  xoAmie

Order Amie's book. KINTSUKUROI HEART on Kindle or in paperback by clicking on the Amazon Affiliate Book Link below!

​Thank you so much, xoAmie

The water rushes onto her head, washing her down, surrounding her with white noise and taking the last of the lather with it, down and away.  Fast down her shoulders and back, it cleanses her; when she shampoos her hair, when she soaps her skin.  Even the dark places where the soap can’t reach.  That place far back in her mind and deep in the pit of her gut where her past lives.  The place where, if she’s not very careful, her memories can make her dirty again.
 
The spigot makes a slight high-pitched squeal as she turns off the water.  She reaches for the towel that she placed, neatly folded, atop the shiny white toilet tank, right outside the combination shower and tub.
 
When she was first shown this small apartment three weeks ago, she was pleased to find the bathroom had all white porcelain fixtures and original tile.  She liked it.  No real reason at first, it just looked nice and crisp.  She quickly discovered that if you’re careful and keep it clean and wipe the water spots up before they dry, it always looks so shiny and new, though it probably dates back to sometime in the early ’60s.  Its outward appearance defied the years of abuse, the tears, broken glass, blood and scum it had, no doubt, endured.  And after all that, all it took was a good scrubbing and a buffing with a clean, dry towel and it looked sparkling and as good as new again.  It doesn’t escape her that a bathroom with white porcelain can keep a lot of secrets.
 
She takes the pale blue towel and lets it unfold.  As she buries her face in it, she inhales its freshness.  It was clean.  It didn’t smell of mildew or of someone else.  It was new and clean and it was all hers.  She patted herself dry and wrapped the towel tight around herself.  She gently pushed aside the white eyelet shower curtain her mother had given her and stepped over the side of the tub onto the matching pale blue bath mat.  The towels and bathmat, and nearly everything else in the apartment, were gifts from her mother for housewarming.  Her mother would have given her anything to keep her safe and warm. It’s how she was…  and she was just so grateful to have her girl back in one piece.  
 
She removed the towel from her tall, gangly frame, bent over at the waist and wrapped it around her head like a turban.  Sparingly she applied her lotion, walked into her bedroom and slipped on the clothes she had laid out for herself, making sure to keep a light on only in the room she was occupying.
 
Tonight, she would wear jeans, her new lavender V-neck sweater (that sort of looked like cashmere) and a pair of black boots with medium high heels.  She wanted to look nice but not like she was trying too hard.  She turned out the bedroom light, went back into the bathroom and quickly blow dried her hair and brushed her teeth.  As she put on her makeup, being careful not to make eye contact with herself, she began to wonder how she’d… “Stop it,” she said out loud, scolding herself.  Her chin dipped toward her chest and her hands dropped to the corners of the sink as a way of steadying herself.  She froze, barely breathing.  Thinking about anything other than the simple tasks at hand wasn’t doing her any favors (especially after what happened a couple of days ago).  She breathed, closed her eyes and, having gathered herself, softly said “OK.”  She finished by putting on a little apricot lipstick and a bit of gloss, ignoring the slight trembling in her hands.  She took her matching hand towel and dried out the sink and left it nice and shiny.  It was so easy to buff the surface and make it look pretty.  You certainly couldn’t tell that someone had just spit in it.  She neatly draped the towel over the rack so it would dry, and snapped off the light.  She grabbed the black dress coat that she had worn to her new job and headed out the door.  She hadn’t felt up to arranging a ride for tonight, so if she wanted to catch the 7:23 pm bus she’d better move.
 
After less than a minute’s walk down her street, she arrived and sized up the other people at the bus stop.  A woman, about twenty-five years old, held the hand of a little girl who looked about four.  They were both bundled up against the cold city night and the little girl’s dark eyes shone with a smile in the lamplight.  Upon her arrival at the bus stop the two women instinctively exchanged glances and a quick smile – safety in numbers.  A boy of about sixteen, who seemed deeply committed to communicating his taste in all things retro-punk via his posture and wardrobe, sat slouched over, hands jammed into pockets, feet propped on the seat of the bus stop bench and his butt on the backrest.  Lots of piercings, spiky black hair, unlaced combat boots and a leather motorcycle jacket that was way too thin to keep him warm in this weather.  I guess it’s not too cool to let on that you’re freezing your skinny ass off.  Anyway, he’s harmless.
 
The city bus rolls up and the doors slap open.  She lets the mother and child go first then she makes her way up the steps, dropping exact change into the fare box, and finds a seat where she calculates someone is least likely to sit near her.  She’d be there in ten minutes, although she doesn’t want to go.  The thought of it terrifies her.  If she goes, she’ll have to talk to people and she’ll have to tell them the truth so maybe they can help her.  She wanted to call out to the driver to wait.  She wanted, with every fiber of her being, to bolt off the bus and run like hell, but the only thing that frightened her more than going forward was going back to where she’d been.  She knows that, like the memories that haunt her, some ghosts are real. Some ghosts are real and they can hurt you.  So, she doesn’t call out and she doesn’t run.  She forces herself to stay quiet and to stay put and, although she’s scared to death, she goes anyway.  She goes because, despite her cool, polished exterior, she is desperate.  The driver shuts the doors and off they drive into the night.

Want to read the rest right now?
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​Thank you so much, xoAmie

They were just going to get tipsy.  That was the goal.  Two childhood best friends, born two years apart but attached at the hip, as their mothers would say.  
 
They were eight and ten years old when they met on the school bus in a quiet New England town.  The younger girl moved in down the road from the older girl and they became fast and constant friends.  Around the rest of the world they were shy, gawky and insecure, but when they were alone together, they became relaxed and silly and bold.  The comfort they felt in each other’s presence allowed them to be their true, best young selves. 
 
They lived less than a mile away from one another on either side of a state park that the locals called The Castle, and the several hundred acres of woods that lay between them was their playground.  They fancied themselves woodland creatures and this was their kingdom.  It was their enchanted forest, full of folklore, fairies, and frogs.  They were princesses and tomboys in equal measure.  You were just as likely to find them knee deep in the Castle pond, catching fish and bullfrogs with their bare hands and running through the woods like wild animals (moms’ words again), as you were to find them singing Scarborough Fair in a round and pretending their horses were unicorns.  Like twins with a secret language, they knew each other’s thoughts, and like sisters, they could fight like cats and dogs.
 
Each turn of the season brought new adventure.  They belly-crawled through spring meadow grass, seeing just how close they could get to wild cottontails, and peered over the pond’s edge where gelatinous masses of frogs’ eggs hatched into pollywogs.   They caught fireflies in jars on warm June nights and found refuge from the hot afternoon sun under the generous shade of the pines.  They washed away the sticky New England air in the inground pool behind the younger girl’s house and in the dammed-up creek in the woods behind the older girl’s home.  They spent cool, rainy weekends listening to music and working puzzles in the older girl’s playroom, her mother making them lunches of chicken noodle soup and buttered bread.  They rode their bikes through the swirling autumn leaves, the older girl always riding faster down the hills.  They gathered up the cast-off plumage of oak, maple and birch into enormous piles and dove in, delightfully smashing crunchy handfuls into each other’s hair.  Though the houses on their road were few and far between, they knew all their neighbors and all their neighbors knew them.   They went trick or treating on Halloween night and caroling on Christmas Eve, flashlights and the moon through the bare arms of the trees lighting their way.  They built snow forts, and sledded down their driveways or any clear hill they could find.  Their childhood smelled like rich, sweet earth and decaying leaves, like horses and saddles, like skunk cabbage, bullfrogs and wet rocks.  It smelled like honeysuckle and hot tar, like melting snow and raindrops, like wood smoke and pine.  Their childhood smelled like the deep New England woods. 
 
When they had grown to adolescence, the woods offered cover as they gleefully spied on the boys at the private academy down their road.  Like secret agents, they moved from tree, to rock, to tree, silently inching closer to the edge of the grassy school grounds, straining to get a better look at their crush du jour.  On the rare occasions that they were discovered, they always had a well-planned escape route – like the time a big twig snapped loudly underfoot and gave them away.  It was an all male boarding school and when the boys clapped eyes on the two girls in the trees it was like ringing the dinner bell for hungry field hands.  One of them yelled “GIRLS!” and they all came running.  “Oh, nice move, Hiawatha!” one girl teased the other and they screamed and laughed with giddy horror as they stealthily disappeared into the trees.  The boys gave chase but the academy’s dorms housed young scholars from all over the state – meaning: this wasn’t their woods.  Once the girls had vanished into the forest, which they had come to know like the back of their hands, the boys had no prayer of finding them.  Plus, the boys weren’t allowed off campus.   
 
And so, it was.  There would be first dances, first kisses and puppy love, and like the safety and sanctuary of their beloved woods, their friendship remained.   Until one day the news came that the younger of the two would be moving away.  Far away.  A long plane ride away!  It was a leveling blow and there was melodrama and many tears, but the decision had been made.  In consolation their families promised that they could visit.  
 
The following summer, the promise of a visit was kept.  It was on this trip that the idea of their first foray into the forbidden world of adult beverages came up.  They were thirteen and fifteen years old, and they relished one other’s company as much as ever.  They had a sleepover at the older girl’s house, just like old times.  They sang every word of their favorite songs, giggled over crushes, debated the pros and cons of having short hair verses long hair, and stayed up to see if anyone good was on the late-night talk shows.  
 
“Have you ever had a drink?” the older girl asked.   
“Huh?”  the younger girl said.  
“A drink.  You know, booze!”  whispered the elder. 
“No!  Have you?” the younger replied.  
“No.”  And after a long pause, “Do you want to try it?   We can raid my parents’ liquor cabinet!”  Half intrigued but always afraid of getting in trouble, the younger girl said, “I don’t know.  I kind of want to but… what if we get caught?”  
“Oh, pfft!  We’re not gonna get caught.  It’s not like we’re going to get falling down drunk.  We’ll just get a little tipsy! C’mon, live a little!”  
“OK,” the younger girl agreed, “we’ll just get a little tipsy!”  She giggled when she said the word.  It was such a silly word and, by virtue, it felt pretty harmless.
 
They could not, however, just waltz over to the liquor cabinet and pour themselves a drink, so before they left the older girl’s bedroom, they had to have a plan. Having never “drank” before they weren’t quite sure how to go about it.  What should they drink and how much?  They didn’t know, so they decided they would just take a little bit from every bottle.  It was the best way to leave no obvious evidence of their theft, since no one bottle would look like it was missing anything when compared to the others. They also decided that, once poured, they should bring it back to their room to drink, to lessen the risk of getting caught in the act.  
 
It was late.  The older girl’s parents were asleep in their room down the hall and she needed to keep it that way.  She gently clasped the doorknob and turned it as far as it would go. Willing it into silence, she eased open her bedroom door. She could hear light snoring coming from her parents’ room.  They slipped out into the hallway, their bare feet on the carpet making no sound.  Barely breathing, they moved in slow motion as they crept onto the stairs, toes hovering for an instant just above each step before making contact. Freezing in place when they thought they heard something.  Regaining movement when the sound of light snoring confirmed the coast was clear.   Step... wait... step... wait... step... wait... They moved like ghosts.  
 
Finally, they made it into the kitchen.  The door to the liquor cabinet was one they’d never opened before.  They knew where it was and what was in it, and there was an unspoken rule that it was strictly off limits but, until now, they hadn’t cared; they’d been far more interested in where the chips and cookies were kept.  Tonight, that changed.  Tonight, they had a laser focus on the bottom corner cupboard.  Behind its door they imagined a portal into another world, a GROWNUP world.  They opened the door to the cupboard and stared at its contents for a minute.  In the windowless hallway, their eyes had fully adjusted to the darkness and, although they’d turned on no lights, the kitchen – with double windows over the sink - seemed bright by comparison.  They stared at the bottles; some tall, some round, some square, some with textured glass and some with smooth.  The low light of the moon through the windows glinted on the glass and danced on the surface of the various potions. It had already begun to intoxicate them. 
 
They grabbed two tall milk glasses and, silently working their way through the bottles, poured until each glass was about two-thirds full.  Then, armed with their contraband, they tiptoed back to the stairs.  
 
Once returned to the safety of the bedroom, they got right down to business.  They stood facing one another in the middle of the room, glasses in hand, eyes locked.  There was no turning back.  They were excited to cross a threshold and leave part of their childhood behind.  
“You ready?” the older girl asked. 
“Yeah,” the younger girl whispered, quickly nodding her head.  
They clinked glasses, whispered “cheers” and, bringing glass to lips, never losing eye contact, they each took their first tiny, timid sips. 
“BWAH!” the older girl said in a huge expulsion of air as her eyes flew open wide.  A shudder ripped through the younger girl’s body from head to toe, like a wet dog flinging off water, and she said, “Holy shit, it burns!”
  
They quickly gathered themselves and regrouped, looked at each other and nodded, indicating they were ready to go again.  They took a second tentative sip.  This time it went down just a bit easier. As the older girl pulled the glass away from her lips, she watched in horror and amazement as the younger girl kept going.  She tipped the glass back, gulping down the rotgut concoction like a third-year frat boy.  She chugged it all to the last drop without coming up for air, and with the bottom of the empty glass facing the ceiling and the rim still to her lips, she fell back on the bed behind her.  Arms splaying out wide, milk glass loosely in hand and staring at the ceiling, she just lay there, astonished, waiting to see if she was going to puke
.  
“Holy, shit!” said the older girl, laughing. “Are you ok?  How did you do that?”  
“I don’t know,” the breathless, younger girl said, and as a smile moved across her lips she added, “but it felt pretty fuckin’ good.”  
She started to laugh, softly at first then louder and louder and, as a feeling of complete and utter release came over her, she raised her voice and said, “Holy SHIT!” 
“Shut UP!”  said the older girl in a frantic hushed voice. And through her teeth she hissed, “You’re gonna wake up my parents!”  
 
Still lying back on the bed, the younger girl laughed and yelled out at the top of her lungs, “I DON’T GIVE A SHIT!  I DON’T GIVE A SHIT ABOUT ANYTHING!”  The feelings of self-doubt had left her.  The low-grade anxiety that had been her constant companion for as far back as she could remember was gone.  The worry of displeasing her father had vanished.  The fear of not being good enough and that nobody liked her had disappeared.  She felt free.  For the first time in her young life, the invisible, inexplicable burden she’d carried on her narrow shoulders and the soft pressure, like a hand on her chest, had been lifted.  Fears, pressures and weights that she didn’t even know were there until now, were gone.  Having no other frame of reference, she had no sense or awareness of something that had always been there... until it wasn’t.  
 
That night she never did wake up her best friend’s parents – and the trip to the liquor cabinet was just another one of their thousands of secrets – but she’d gotten way more than tipsy.  The girl who was shy and sweet and far too sensitive for this world had tasted freedom. And a demon had entered her young body leaving behind a key and a map.   
 
The next day the fear and the pressure were back but now she was aware of their presence… and a way to make them go away.

Next week's post, the last of the complimentary previews, Chapter Three; White Porcelain  on Thursday, December 24th at 10 am Eastern, 1: pm Pacific time

Want to read it all right now?
Order on Kindle or in paperback by clicking on the Amazon Affiliate Book Link below!

​Thank you so much, xoAmie

​Different ages.  Different decades.  Different circumstances.  There are specific events in our lives that shift our paths, write our stories and break our hearts, adding layers, depth and complexity to the clean-slated girls we once were.  
 
Each chapter in Part I of Kintsukuroi Heart is a non-fiction stand-alone story.  A collection of vignettes offering glimpses of the exact moment in a woman’s life when something happens, either by choice or circumstance, that changes her course.
 
In Part II we see how these experiences, though deeply personal and unique, are the threads that intertwine and connect us all, fostering compassion and empathy for one another and, hopefully, for ourselves. 
 
In Part III we see how, as women, like all forces of nature and works of art, our beauty is formed through refraction, revealed in dimension and contrast, shadow and light, our benevolence becoming both the result and the salve, the subject and lens.  The road may be beastly but the result, if allowed, can be spectacular.

​“Kintsukuroi: kin-tsU-kU-roi (noun) (v. phr.)  ‘To repair with gold.’ The Japanese art of mending broken pottery with lacquer dusted or mixed with powdered gold, silver, or platinum.  As a philosophy, it treats breakage and repair as part of the history of an object rather than something to disguise, understanding that the piece becomes more beautiful for having been broken.”

“We delight in the beauty of the butterfly but rarely admit the changes it has gone through to achieve that beauty.”  ~Maya Angelou~ 

Next week's post, Chapter One; Waiting Room on Thursday, December 10th at 10 am Eastern, 1: pm Pacific time

Want to read more now?  I can't wait to share this book with you!
Order on Kindle or in paperback by clicking on the Amazon Affiliate Book Link below!

​Thank you so much, xoAmie

“The order or disorder of my surroundings is directly proportionate to my state of mind.  Visual and physical clutter is the external manifestation of my internal clutter.”  
 
One of the greatest gifts I’ve ever given myself was tidying up and organizing my home.  No matter where I lived it seemed there was never a sense of order which, for me, meant no sense of peace or calm. 

Initially, it was the entire place.  It was a mess.  It isolated me and I never opened my home to family or friends because I was ashamed. God forbid someone showed up unannounced “Sorry about the mess!  I’m right in the middle of purging and reorganizing the whole place!” I’d smile and lie while cringing inside.  Even when I finally managed to straighten the common areas, there was always a section, a room, that was jam packed with junk, boxes never unpacked, clothes; cupboards and closets that oozed forth their jumbled contents whenever I dared open the door. It was stressful, and because I couldn’t lay my hands on anything, a massive time thief.

Long before I'd ever heard of "Sparking Joy", I made the decision to face the overwhelming task and address it once and for all. There is a lot of emotional energy tangled up in that mess and to move it is to unleash it.  Doing so was greatly upsetting and often made me feel sick to my stomach.   I knew it was going to take several weeks or more to tackle it all but it had to be done.

I’d pick a day, shore myself up mentally, open the windows wide, and attack.  I did it piece by piece, section by section, room by room.  I made piles: trash, donate, sell, keep. Once I lay my hands on something, I would only allow myself to set it down in one of the four piles.  If I didn’t love it or truly need it I let it go (this often required some seriously tough self-love: “C’mon, Amie, just face it.  You are never, EVER going to use that pasta maker.”) And there was no room for excuses: “But this belonged to so and so” or “Whosiwhatsis gave it to me!”  I was no longer in the business of being an emotional storage unit.  For clothing, it had to meet all three of the following criteria: it had to “flatter the wearer”; aka make me look and feel like a million bucks, be age appropriate (just because I can doesn’t mean I ought to!) and have no tears, stains, or wear, otherwise it was gone.

When I was done sorting, the items I wanted to sell went on Craig’s List that same day and the garbage and giveaways were taken out of the house immediately.  The trash went to the curb or straight to the dump and all donations went directly to the car to be dropped that day or as soon as the place was open.   I had one hard rule: once it was out of the house it didn’t come back. 

Then, I’d clean the area top to bottom.  The more I had gotten rid of the easier it was to put away and organize what was left.

It was a huge job but once it was done, I felt amazing.  For days afterward, I would keep going back to the newly cleaned area to gaze upon and admire my work.  I started keeping my car clean, too. How different this all made me feel!!  Oprah Winfrey (or maybe it was Nate Burkus on the Oprah Show?) once said “Your home should rise up to meet you.”  This is so true!  Few things feel better to me than waking up or coming home to a tidy space.  It shows respect for my belongings, my home, and myself. 

​xoAmie

How do you feel about keeping you home in order?  Have you done it? Do you hope to?    Or do you like your crap just the way it is, thank you very much! 

Please comment below.  I'd love to hear your thoughts and experience!  Maybe you have a source of inspiration you'd like to share? 

Recommended Inspiration:

Marie Kondo has Sparked me some serious Joy!!  https://konmari.com/
Six words: Nate Burkus, Oprah Winfrey, 'Nuff Said: http://www.oprah.com/home/take-nate-berkus-home-with-you_1

​No one can hold you prisoner for the mistakes of your past without guarding the gate and keeping track of the key.  The inmate and the warden are trapped in the jail together.
​
If there are people in your life that refuse to support or recognize your growth, it may be time to let them go, or at least keep them at arm’s length.  Their inability to move on isn’t about you it’s about them.  They cannot recognize in others what they are unable to accomplish themselves.  If they are determined to try and shame you, it is due to their own shame.  If they keep bringing up your past, it is because that is where they live. People who feel good about themselves don’t try to make others feel bad.  The trap, however, only exists in their mind.  Wish them well and leave them to it.  To free yourself, you only need to walk away.

xoAmie

HEALING YOUR KINTSUKUROI HEART; Part 2
This is part 2 in a series. 
Click here for part 1
 
Last week we identified that low self-esteem is the original “gateway drug” even if your challenges have nothing whatsoever to do with substance abuse. Click here to read the post.  I also said that, even if you don’t initially think it applies to you, I’d illustrate how it may - so stay with me. 
 
Today we’ll discuss how accepting this truth – that low self-esteem is source of our issues - can change this gateway drug into your gateway to healing.
 
LET’S EXPLORE SOME SCENARIOS:

• I over spent and I blew my budget.  And now I don’t have enough to pay rent.
• I am overwhelmed.  I don’t have enough time in my day to do half of the things I need to do!  But my friend asked me for a favor and I said yes.
• Instead of exercising and eating healthy just I sat on the couch.  I ate an entire bag of chips, half a package of cookies and submarine sandwich. 
• I’m busy!  I don’t have time to be nice.
• My best friend told me she wanted to go back to school.  And I told her what a stupid Idea I thought that was.  C’mon, at her age?
• I’m in a relationship with someone who verbally and emotionally abuses me. 
• Everything I own has to have a designer label on it where everyone can see it. 
• I went out with the girls for a drink last night.  YOLO!  I don’t even remember how or when I got home.
• I got into a relationship with a married man. 
• I slept with my girlfriend’s boyfriend.
• Every day I find a way to emasculate my husband.  It doesn’t matter if we’re alone or in public. 
• I blew the mortgage at the track.
• Who the hell does she think she is?  I gotta ask because...
• I screamed at someone in another car because they cut me off.  Then I gave them the finger and I told them where they could go. 
• You’re right, what do I know… I shouldn’t even try to do that.
• I engaged in a battle with someone I don’t even know on Social Media. 
• I tell people exactly what I think, even if it hurts their feelings.  I’m honest like that.
• I spend hours, and hours, and hours on FB – watching a movie – shopping - cleaning the house - instead of pursuing my dreams. 

 
Do any of these statements – or a version of them – resonate with you?  If so, read the one(s) that do(es) again, but this time tack on the words “Because I feel so good about myself.” at the end.  For a clearer illustration you can watch the companion video here.
 
Now you get it, right?  It’s contradictory.  Any type of behavior that doesn’t honor yourself or who you want to be, isn’t in service of your dream – or in pursuit of being or becoming the very best version of yourself, comes from a place of feeling “less than.”  People who truly feel good about themselves don’t think, speak, or behave in ways that are people pleasing, unhelpful, unkind, lack understanding or have a positive purpose – regardless of whether it’s directed inward or outward.  There’s no shame in feeling less than.  It just is.  And the sooner you can embrace that the sooner you can get on with doing something about making it better.
 
Note – don’t confuse an inflated ego with a healthy self-worth!  Ego is the opposite side of the same low-self esteem coin.  People who feel good about themselves don’t have to blow themselves up in an attempt to impress others.  A healthy self-esteem isn’t greater than or less than; It’s equal to.
 
SO, NOW WHAT?
 
I’ll tell you everything – step by step - in this series. Again - It’s free.   There’s nothing to buy to gain access to all of it.  If you’d really like you can read my book, Kintsukuroi Heart; More Beautiful For Having Been Broken, or order the companion workbook to this series, both on Amazon, but you certainly don’t have to.  All you really need is occasional access to the internet and a pad and pen – real or virtual.  Oh, and a deep commitment to change… if only you could order that on Amazon!
 
HOW I AND WHY I CREATED THIS PROGRAM.
 
I had issues.  Big issues.  As I mentioned before, the specifics of how those issues presented themselves aren’t important right now.  I’ll talk more about them in a later video/blog.
 
Initially, I worked through my issues by taking the traditional route of therapy, self-help groups and talking with friends, which all worked and I still recommend.  But for me, they only worked for so long and only to a degree.  They were either too costly, didn’t go deep enough or they addressed the symptoms and not the root cause; I needed to dig down and truly change the way I looked at things and, most importantly, change how I viewed myself.  If I could do that, I knew my life would change. 
 
Over the years I’d gathered inspiration through books and movies.  Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert.  Gifts from the Sea by Anne Morrow Lindbergh. Under the Tuscan Sun (the movie).  A Year by the Sea by Joan Anderson.  Educated by Tara Westover.  Wild by Cheryl Strayed.  Love Warrior by Glennon Doyle Menton.  The list goes on.
 
However, most of the books and films in this genre, wonderful stories that I have deeply loved (I recommend them all and have linked them below), came from a place so unique that, although fabulously inspirational, were for me, mostly unrelatable or unactionable – the experiences of the very fortunate or wealthy, or situations so extreme that very few people find themselves – offering remedies that were simply out of my reach.  I wasn’t in a position to take time away at the beach or travel around the world to find myself, I had to work!  I didn’t have extra money or a scholarship to an Ivy League school.  I deeply admired those who did and longed to be in their shoes, but I simply wasn’t. There were times when I couldn’t even afford to buy those books or a ticket to the movies, I checked them out of the library.  But I read them.  I watched them.  They inspired me and gave me something to shoot for! 
 
So, being a determined and resourceful little bugger and having the professional training, I devised a way to do these extraordinary things – to embark on a life-altering journey of healing – without leaving home and with rather ordinary resources.  These “ordinary” circumstances are what often stops women from doing something extraordinary.  You are my people and I am here to inspire you! 
 
I put myself on an intense minimalistic, at home self-retreat.  Exactly what I would do if I paid thousands of dollars to go away on retreat.  I committed to addressing my issues via holistic wellness, intentional physical exercise, and the mind/body/spirit connection.  I practiced yoga and meditation, and began living with defined intention.  I unplugged and sought peace, quiet, and solitude.  These things are easily accessible and available to all of us for free or at very little cost.  In fact, once I went into this wholeheartedly – a time of concentrated self-discovery and minimalism - I actually saved a ton of money.  This realistic vantage point is one way in which I feel this program is different; it wholly accessible and meets you at a place where many of us find ourselves when starting over.
 
 
I know it works because I created it, I’ve applied it, I’ve lived it, I’ve practiced it and afterwards, the really poor life choices I’d been allowing to enter my life on a daily basis became inconceivable to me.  Not because I focused on changing those choices but because I changed how I felt on the inside.  I healed the person who was making them.  The positive choices I began making became a symptom of how I felt about myself just like the negative ones had been. I didn’t work on the symptoms –I addressed the root cause of the symptoms.
 
To be clear, I had to clean up the results of some of those choices and so will you.  Not to worry, I’ll help.  I’ll give you the tools and we’ll go over all of it, step by step.
 
Now is your time to work on acceptance.  To ready yourself to embark upon a journey of deep and lasting change and true transformation.  Next week, we start the transformation.

"A healthy self-esteem isn’t greater than or less than; It’s equal to."
Amie Gabriel