Skip to main content

The Magic Continues!

Kids are back in school, and on this cold wintry day I sit in quiet with the sun streaming in. I feel open and thankful.

Last night I was feeling constriction around school starting, and the holiday being over--moving back into the daily grind, devoid of the magic of the holiday season. I also felt the mess of the piled up dishes and the clutter of the girls' things all over the house. I saw the Christmas tree needing to come down that looked out of place now that it was the 2nd of Jan. I felt myself walking through the house with a familiar dread and anxiety, aimless, not knowing where to begin--stressed out. When my daughter got bit by her hamster, I felt myself wanting to shut up her loud wailing, instead of comfort her. I felt myself wanting to shout at her I told you so, when she began shouting that the hamster was going back to the store.

It was time to get real with the pain.

So, I called my friend Shelley, who has become my tried and true releasing buddy. We just started to utilize each other in this way a few months ago, and we will never go back. A quick two minute phone call is all it takes for us to do our own intuitive version of the Sedona Method exercises. TWO MINUTES! It went something like this:

"Shelley," I said, "I need you to help me release on the fact that the holiday is ending, and the daily grind sets in tomorrow, the magic of the holidays is gone, and I am afraid that it will ravel me up into a tight ball of constriction, and I'll lose the flow and the sweetness, and that it will feel hard. I don't want to feel like my well-being is continually in competition with the schedule, and I don't want to feel drained, stressed out and pulled in all directions, mad at myself and mad at the kids, and mad at life."

We laughed at my thoroughness.

She asked me if I could welcome my sense that the daily grind is kicking in and that it is going to make me suffer.

I said "NO, I can't welcome it."

She said, "can you be okay with being unable to welcome it?"

I said no, because I really wanted to be able to welcome it, but it was squeezing all the life out of me. It is hard to welcome the squeezing.

She asked me if I could welcome the sense that I believe that it is going to be hard.

I said no. I couldn't welcome it, because I didn't want to believe that it was going to be hard.

She asked me if I could welcome my resistance, my wanting to push it away and pull it closer.

I thought about it for a moment, felt my inner commitment to letting go, and said yes.

She asked me if I could, in just this moment, let go of needing it to be hard, and anticipating difficulty in the future.

This made me laugh/cry, always the sign of release.

It always makes me laugh when I finally realize that I have braced myself for the worst case scenario.

I said " yes," and my mind added, "just for this moment."

She said that I could have my pain and resistance back after letting go of it for a moment.

This always makes me laugh, how much I find I want to hold onto the pain, how hard it is to let it go. It makes me think of keeping a dead and rotting cat, and holding it and petting it, like you'd see a mental patient doing in the movies, just because they can't let go of it and bury it already. EWWW.

My wise friend said, "can you open to the possibility that this time can be just as magical as the holidays, even more?

"Yes. " I said.

"Can you feel into that yes a little more?"


I felt a mixture of appreciation and weightlessness, and a little mistiness in the eye region.

And the paralysis that had set in gave way. I found my ability to comfort my traumatized bitten daughter. I picked up two of my favorite fun children's stories off the bookshelf, and gathered the girls on the couch. They snuggled up to me in their soft pink jammies and we read in the glow of the Christmas tree, which had somehow regained all its splendor.

We sang in Row Row Row Your Boat in rounds, and played a game where we held hands and then shared the first image that came to us. I thought of hamsters making valentines, my youngest thought of our living room full of butterflies, and my oldest thought of her bedroom bedecked in Webkinz (stuffed animals with a virtual life online), including a giant Webkinz cat bed, and a turtle desk. I thought that sounded interesting.

There was my magic, and, yet, the holidays were over.

Since then, I received an arbitrary email in my inbox saying that this month would be my most magical one ever.

I believe it.

So, this morning, I woke up with a quiet me, moving slowly, and feeling I have all the time in the world (and we were on time for school!)

I find myself sitting here knowing that my girls got the best of me, their warm and toasty breakfast, and the little extra love I showed as I gathered their backpacks and bundled them up in coats, hats, and mittens.

And on the way to school, I was able to extend the possibility of release to my daughter who was anxious about the seating arrangement in her classroom that would be different.

I asked her if she could open to the possibility, that no matter what, it could be better than perfect. I asked her if she could open to the possibility that no matter what it looked like it would be for the best.

And my heart felt warm when she said a simple yes, then proceeded to chat amicably about the different possibilities of kids that she could sit by, how she'd already sat next to some of the most annoying of the bunch, so her chances were good she could like it!

So, here I am basking in the bliss of an ordinary January 3rd, down a road of possibilities that didn't seem possible before I released my fear and opened to the truth my heart knows--that release is what opens up a doorway to a new kind of experience, and leads you joyfully through it, and all it takes is a willingness to find a way to feel better.

I've since decided that I am instituting a new ritual about taking the Christmas decorations down this year. I think it will include Harry Connick Jr, dancing, lighting candles, reminiscing about the meaningful holiday moments, and daydreaming about the year to come!


  1. Oh Good-ness.

    I feel the release. I will come back to this post again & again. It's like a deep, full breath.

    Thank you for sharing the beauty.

  2. Hi Brooke,

    Letting go, letting things be and letting love lead the way. Bravo girl.

    Love Nige

  3. Wherever did you get that Santa tombstone picture? Love it.

  4. Thank you for including all the inner and outer dialogue in the release process. I need to ask myself those questions. I appreciate your honesty about all the nos before you got to yes. I am not there yet in my process, but your story gives me hope that I will be.

  5. Wow, Brooke! Thanks for the magical transition from one moment to the next. The details carried me through all of the emotions with you, and here we are on the other side :)

    I, too, will revisit this magical post.

    Happy New Year!

  6. When I read your writing Brooke, I am struck by what an amazing mother you are to your girls. It truly sounds like they get the best of you, and that makes my heart sing.

    Yet another beautiful blog post... letting All That Is, simply Be.

    Thank you.

    Elloa xx


Post a Comment

♥ Thank you for taking the time connect with me here. ♥

Popular posts from this blog

RIP Poltergeist

After over ten years of an incredibly intense journey as a seeker, I find myself lying fallow. Taking a rest. When I first discovered this uncomfortable fact — threat to the hamster wheel that was my spiritual rat race, I surrendered for dead, but something wouldn’t let that fact sit as truth. I was lying fallow, but this implied that after a good rest, fruit could follow. This had nothing to do with death.

I am humbled at the courage it takes to write. For many years I kept a blog read by only a handful of very supportive people, and you’d think that after sharing writing for so long with perfect strangers, writing would have gotten easier. Actually, it got harder. In fact, at one point I was so paralyzed, I just stopped writing altogether. It was just too vulnerable. There was no trust there anymore, and I attributed any courage I had had to my youthful ignorance.

However, life continues, as it inevitably does, and there is still this pang to write, and it grows stronger and strong…

Here With You

Photo by Daria Obymaha on
Sinking lips into your tiny round cheeks, I'm home. Holding your tiny head to my heart, caressing my chin to your downy baby 'chicken fluff' we'll come to call it later, I'm home. Taking in your baby magic scent, I'm home. Pressing nose to nose, forehead to forehead, staring wide-eyed into each other's eyes, I'm home. Toting little bum and dangling legs around my middle, I'm home. Filled with purpose as you point where to go, what you see, I'm home. Your eyes, new windows to a world I thought I knew, I'm home. Holding you with fever, picking you up when you fall, I'm home. Navigating the years between, boxes of your firsts, every paint brush and pen stroke a miracle, I'm home. Saving pottery penguins, turtles, shiny red roses, a burrito with all the fixings immortalized in clay, I'm home. Kid sister fruit and craft stand on the corner, change clinking in coin purse, magic for the neighborhood…


The other night I had a vivid dream that my youngest daughter had died.

There is a time when I would have been unable to even bring this to consciousness, let alone write about it. It has always been my deepest, darkest fear, to lose a child, and this fear has always been there prominently with my youngest.

In the dream I could conceptualize her under her grave, which happened to be in a dark, jagged cavern of colorless rock and stone--no lush lawn, no flowers, just a gaudy gravestone, that glowed, like a tacky neon sign in Vegas. I found myself digging frantically in the earth under her grave marker to retrieve her little bear, so much loved by her in her five short years, that it is no less 'real' than the Velveteen Rabbit.

I found the bear mixed with rubble above where she was buried, brushed it off, and clasped it to my heart, as if it was the last part of her I could keep with me. I pressed the little bear hard to my nose, sniffing for remnant smells of my daughter. The smel…