Change does not feel like breaking bread. Nope. It does not feel like chopping wood either. It is not like swimming. Or running. Or even climbing. Nope none of these. However hard some of them are. Change is so much harder. It feels like learning to walk on water. Learning to fly without wings. It feels like being scared to go out in the dark and having to go out regardless. It’s like having to walk into a haunted house and there is nobody walking in with you. Should I go on? I think you get the feeling. Even though the word change is not a synonym of darkness or haunting, or even flying without wings, it might as well be. At least if someone had told us what change really is, we would not have put it under the self help category. It would have been the 8th wonder of the world. Rare. Miraculous. Almost inhuman. Like the Great Pyramid at Giza and the Hanging Gardens of Babylon. Because if we knew how hard change is we would prepare accordingly. We would train for it. We would find a way to invent wings. Expecting it to be scary and impossible would have prepared us for the trip. So since it is never too late. Here it is. Change is the hardest thing you will ever have to experience. It is like being reborn without getting a new body. (Click to Tweet!) Having to use the same brain doing something new with the old commands. It is like asking ourselves to speak a new language without anyone teaching it to us. So enough with the world talking about change as if we are breaking bread. We are not. We are going into the battlefield. The jungle. The darkness. But here is what I am proposing to take with us. Night vision glasses or in other words, wisdom from before the loss. Also some people who have been there before. They know the stakes, and the ghosts that live in the haunted house. Photo reminders of ourselves as kids. Diving in the ocean water without holding our breath. And above all, well, above all the skill of falling down and getting back up again. You also did that as a kid. When you got your new body and learned to walk. You never considered giving up then. Life is made of moments of change stemming from very difficult losses. You are born to learn how to change. And fine, sure, you can also break bread. But not before you grab those night vision glasses. My dear friend, I have been writing to you for 8 years and my responsibility has always been to tell you the truth. I am not a self help author, I am a battlefield warrior with many bodies all in one. With night vision and breaking bread, Christina P.S. On March 8th, I will be in Phoenix, Arizona for a book signing event for Where Did You Go? - for more details, click here. P.P.S. Hope you have found your way to the Where Did You Go? Book: https://www.amazon.com/Where-Did-You-Go-Life-Changing/dp/0062689622Read More
It comes like a tsunami. It forces itself inside your house. With madness. You run out your front door. When the tsunami ends, your house is destroyed. Your things don’t look like your things anymore. Your bed is not in your bedroom. Your kitchen has no food that can be eaten. You sit and cry on the floor. You say to yourself I can make this work. This is better than trying to find a new house. You spend your days attempting to move the bed back inside the bedroom, but it won’t fit. Your kitchen appliances have stopped making you dinner and cleaning your dishes. The tsunami ate them up. You think you can start doing their job too. Make dinners from scratch. Clean every plate, by hand. By the end of the day you are exhausted and your bed is still in the hallway. Days go by. Then weeks. Months. Years for some of us. And your life inside the house starts to look like the tsunami did. The destroyer. The chaos keeper. The end of you. But this is what it will take. Complete life destruction to move out. It takes exhaustion. Pain. Torture. The daily kind. And now you know. At last. You know. You have to stop fixing what cannot be fixed. The torture of making a new life may not be as hard as trying to hold on to the old one. (Click to tweet!) And as you exit the door of your old house. Heading towards the unknown. You find the courage to not go back inside. You find the strength to look away. Take your first breath and make your way to living once again. With lots of unknowns, ChristinaRead More
I wish I could go back. Back to the beach, laughing like drunk fools getting lost in your eyes holding each other as if we were immortal. Like the sea always is mimicking the waves, buzzing with love, mesmerized. The sunset flaming over us, luminous, against your young skin. Stepping on the sand, earth mingling, loving that moment you were here breathing the same air, living all there is to live without thinking of the end. Without knowing. And now, now the sea is empty of you, unplugged from us without the breath that brought us together. But with lastingness that puts a spell on our heart extending the moment that was... into infinity. With lastingness, —Christina P.S. I hope my new book Where Did You Go? Has found you.Read More
Some days it’s like your life is inside a boxing ring. You are being thrown around. You can’t get out, or look like you are in pain. Nobody knows what this really feels like. They think you can handle it. But deep down you are hurting. Fantasizing that you are crawling out of the ring. Hiding somewhere so life can’t find you, and throw you around. How long can you stay? Taking the punches. Can they see you breaking? Can you keep going long enough, until the match is over? Until they are done with you. You don’t even want to win anymore. You just want to make it through. Make it until you are allowed to let go. Find solace in something. Offered the band aid. The fixing of the bruises. The time to recover. But where do you go? How long do you have to search the world? To find a resting place. In a tiny corner. Hidden enough to hold you for a while. (Click to tweet!) So you can find your way back to believing in a life without a boxing ring. Where you don’t need to crawl and find the band aid. Where you have days just breathing the air. Looking at the sun. Surrounded by hope for a better life. With many matches in the ring, ChristinaRead More
Christina’s strange but accurate weekly letter about life after loss.