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It’s so important to do the work to heal our unresolved upsets so that we don’t wind up our kids with our own frustrations and heartache and send them off into the world. 

It’s such an unfair situation bc so many of us parents are lacking the supports we need to heal our pasts. And we have these kids who are constantly asking us to meet their needs while our own unmet needs keep piling up.

But we have to do whatever we can not to turn our kids into containers for our resentment. They deserve better, just as we deserved better when we were their age.

My affirmation:

I look at my child and see myself at their age. I send them off into the world with my approval and my belief in who they are. Their being is who I speak to, not their behavior.

I look at myself and I see how far I’ve come.

I recognize that I have needs that aren’t being met and I remind myself that I’m worth the effort to figure out how to get these needs met.

I believe in who I am as separate from my own behavior. I give myself my own approval and believe in who I am.

—JLK

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I think a lot about internal voices. Probably because I grew up with a mother who heard voices in her head.

She was so upset to hear voices that didn’t belong to her taking up residence inside her jurisdiction, her property.

At first, she thought these voices were in the room with her, so she went from place to place, then from town to town trying to flee them. But the voices followed wherever she went.

That’s when she realized they must have been inside her brain. That the government must have implanted a chip.

She called it The Program.

And she felt that the purpose of this program was to punish her for not going along with The Program at large.

.

It can be so easy to dismiss someone who hears voices as mentally ill.

But when I looked deeply at my mother’s situation, I began to see that her problem was actually everyone’s problem.

It was only bc of her particular internal and external circumstances, that the problem manifested more on the surface of her life, rather than lying dormant as it tends to for most of us.

.

Similar to my mother, I also like to think of my mind as my jurisdiction.

I like to imagine that this head of mine is a great fortress, a barrier around my mind, to keep away intruders and their dangerous ways.

After all, this space inside my head is the place where I live, the place where I’m having this experience of being alive.

But when I examine the situation more deeply, I realize that our minds are not exactly local inside our heads.

When I look deeper, I notice that my mind is not only a home for my experiences and what I’ve made them mean over time, my mind is also a mirror, a recorder, a time machine, a projector, a museum curated by everyone who has ever been here before, and a community garden that has been planted from seeds cultivated by the whole entire world since the beginning of time.

.

My mother grew up bombarded by authoritarian voices. Voices that told her who she was supposed to be and what she was supposed to do, voices that her parents had inherited from their parents and their parents before that.

But my mother did not want to go along with their program.

My mother had a mind of her own, as they say, and the program that her adults were trying to force upon her simply didn’t fit who she knew herself to be. And this created a lot of conflict.

Thoughout history, when people refuse to go along with the program they were born into, first there are conflicts, then ultimatums, and if they still don’t comply, they often find themselves banished from their tribes.

Maybe today, getting banished doesn’t look the way it once did—some guy trekking through some desert with just the shirt on his back, past the outskirts of town to lands unknown.

But make no mistake—people still get banished.

Every time my mother did things her way, love was withheld.

“How could you be my child?!”

Or she was shamed through labels: “We’re sending you to a psychiatrist! Something’s not right with you!”

Punishments meant to shame her into submission so she’d stop the madness and get with the program already.

.

For whatever reason, some kids operate well inside the programs they’re born into.

And for whatever reason, other kids don’t.

We humans really are born with different traits.

My mother was born with brown hair, brown eyes, and a program of her own that operated best in the world as creative, wild and free.

If my mother had been born into a family running her kind of program, she might have thrived and gone on to create a life that matched who she was.

But my mother’s program didn’t match the program of her environment.

And instead of submitting, my mother’s spirit insisted on doing things her way.

She skipped school, bc she hated it.

She changed the grades on her report card bc she knew she was brilliant.

She shoplifted the things she wanted, bc the clothes her mother bought didn’t fit her soul.

When she wanted to be a flight attendant and my grandmother forced her into college, my mother swiped her roommate’s checkbook, took herself to the department store for a fancy new dress and then out to a fancy dinner and to see jazz afterwards.

She was kicked out of college, did her community service at a hospital where she met my married father who divorced his wife and proposed—which was the very first time my mother experienced the feeling of being wanted—and so she said yes.

And her mother called right away to offer her congratulations: “You’ve finally done well. You married a doctor. I’m so very proud of you!”

But my mother wasn’t happy. At all. She knew in her heart that she didn’t want to go along with this same old program.

And so, a few years later, she took me and we left.

And, everyone stopped speaking to her.

But even so, she held her head high and ventured out on her own, into the unknown, toward life on her own terms.

But, as many people find out, it’s hard to escape The Program. The Supposed-To-Be’s.

Because the program isn’t just running in the houses of our families of origin.

In fact, if you look around, it’s pretty easy to find The Program gazing down at you wherever you happen to be, making sure you’re being who you’re supposed to be, and judging you if you’re not: at the grocery store, the doctor’s office, hospital, school, workspace, etc.

And in my mother’s case, those supposed-to-be‘s spoke very clearly:

“A woman is not supposed to be successful without a man.”

“A woman is supposed to know her place and do what’s she’s supposed to do.”

Or, “I’m so sorry but you are supposed to have qualifications to be a contribution in this organization. And those qualifications are supposed be approved by other qualified organizations. And you have none of the above.”

.

My mother was turned away from every opportunity she tried to seize.

But she didn’t give up. She continued trying to enroll people with her natural talents, her natural skills:

“Trust me. I have wonderful ideas! I can make a difference here!”

But no one took her seriously.

And in time, my mother began to do what so many of us begin to do. She began to meld all the ‘no’s’ she was currently receiving with all those ‘no’s’ she had already received from her childhood, and interpreted them all the same way:

“You're so very arrogant to think you have better ideas.”

“Who do you think you are anyway?”

“You’re a divorced woman. You failed at your marriage. You’re not wanted here.”

“See? Your mother was right about you.”

She tried so hard to ignore those voices from that old program. She continued her search for a break, for some access to the life she knew she deserved, but no one let her in.

And so she remained stuck on the outskirts, running out of money, running out of time, trying to parent me, and all with zero support.

.

As years continued on, years of defeat after defeat, those voices, those supposed-to-be’s grew increasingly louder.

But she still refused to believe those voices were hers. And still refused to believe that what they were saying was true.

That’s when she came to the conclusion that those voices must have been coming from The Grand Authority figure of them all: The Government.

The government must have been punishing her, just as her parents had, for not going along with The Program.

She didn’t understand the specifics of the government’s program, but in her mind, it was clear that someone from the FBI had picked her as the perfect candidate to monitor and punish her—for going against the old program and imagining she could create a new one.

So yes, my mother got paranoid.

But who could blame her?

What other reason could there have been for why nobody was letting her access a life where she could be free to be herself?

.

What my mother didn’t have, was the awareness to understand what The Program really was.

Not a program set up in some office in Quantico.

It was something more organic.

Something not ‘implanted’ but ‘planted’ in the collective minds all over the world: the seeds of the supposed-to-be’s.

And the most important thing to know about these seeds is that they’re not planted to intentionally harm people by keeping them out. They’re planted to protect the people thriving inside.

They’re the seeds that declare unanimously that the supposed-to-be’s are in fact what’s supposed to be.

And the way these seeds travel is via the winds of agreement.

They blow like pollen all over the globe and begin sprouting and growing in minds everywhere, and if they’re not recognized for what they are, their growth can suffocate the natural growth of what we’ve planted in our own gardens.

.

It’s hard enough to keep nurturing our own natural growth on a good day. But next to impossible to be our true selves if we’re in survival mode, trying to find the means to survive in a world that doesn’t seem to give a shit about our survival, all while hearing these messages judging who we are, and feeling so sorry for us that we just didn’t have what it takes to be who we were supposed to be.

.

My mother’s problems didn’t begin when she heard voices.

Her problems began because she didn’t have a mentor, a wise person to help her understand where all these voices were coming from.

And her problems got worse when she couldn’t handle the sound of the voices anymore and started to self-medicate to drown them out.

And her problems got worse still when she lost everything, wound up on the street, and got treated like garbage, which only affirmed her paranoia that people wanted her to fail as her punishment for having the audacity to think she had the right to live a life based on who she was, instead of who she wasn’t.

.

I am who I am today bc of what my mother went through. And I only wish I’d learned what I now understand while my mother was still alive.

And what I’ve learned is this:

When you hear voices in your head that aren’t yours, voices telling you who you’re supposed to be and what you’re supposed to do, instead of listening—pause, and remember—that these voices aren’t speaking to you personally.

What you’re picking up are just the sound waves from that old radio station that’s been broadcasting for eons, Station WSTB, Supposed To Be Radio, where the voices of who you’re supposed to be share their opinions all. day. long.

But guess what? You don’t have to listen. You can make your own sound waves, by broadcasting your own voice, by sharing what’s meaningful to you based on who you’ve chosen to be through your own set of values.

You won’t be a guest on that old station. You’ll be creating a new station. And people will tune in. And be glad they did.

We cannot keep ourselves separate from the world, bc the world is inside of ourselves.

But we can choose who to be and where to stand and put our efforts into creating the kinds of environments that are a match for who we are.

We’re living in exciting times where new voices are being heard. And new environments are being created where more people can be a contribution and thrive doing what they feel they were born to do and be who they feel they were born to be.

And new seeds are blowing through the winds. Not so much through agreement, but through permission, permission to be free to be ourselves.

And these seeds of permission and encouragement are growing hearty in the minds of more and more people.

And of course, some people who have operated well inside those old programs might be nervous. And it makes sense. They might not want any new seeds growing inside the gardens in the jurisdictions of their own minds.

But I think with a little flexibility, they might come around and realize the benefit of having diverse gardens in the world. Gardens where people with every trait imaginable get to grow. Because gardens that are diverse are the most hearty, and keep us all operating at our highest potential as we share this planet together.

-JLK

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A new story…

Sometimes I wonder if a long time ago, humans were ok with seeing themselves as visitors passing through.

Like flowers that open up in spring and willingly share the best of themselves while soaking up all the world has to offer and somehow finding peace in this interchange.

A reverent sort of ‘it is what it is,’ knowing that our ingredients will be the nutrients that feed the next season.

I wonder if humans realized that our visiting here was not to serve only ourselves, but to serve a vital larger purpose—to absorb the parts of the world we spawned into, transmute what we absorbed through our unique vantage point, and then upload the beauty of our blossoming into the hearts of our loved ones.

Maybe a long time ago, we took this as our career—this sharing our growth with everyone we loved.

Sure we planted our seeds to grow the physical parts of ourselves, but what if the purpose of these physical selves was more a container for these other things: for planting the seeds of love and wisdom in each other’s hearts through our stories, so that they can live on in the future generations.

Maybe once upon a time we were comfortable as continuations.

But maybe once upon a time, someone fell too in love with their blossoms.

Maybe they had a nice long look at their growth and decided not to give it away. Maybe they decided to keep it instead. Cherish it. And even flaunt it.

Maybe they took their neighbor’s attention off of watering their own seeds and said, “Excuse me for interrupting, but have you ever seen anything so magnificent in all your life?”

And the person lifted up their eyes and said, “Oh wow! You are right! Never ever have I! How did you blossom so magnificently?”

And the man said, “I get it. You want to blossom like this too, don’t you.”

“Why yes! Of course I do! How can I…?”

“Well, I will tell you what. If you water my blossoms with your attention, I will give you a share of my blossoms in exchange.”

“Oh, wow!”

So that’s what happened.

The person focused his attention on his neighbor’s extraordinary blossoms, and in exchange, he was given a share of his neighbor’s blossoms which he then flaunted in the vase they came with.

And the following day, he interrupted his neighbor on the other side, who was busy watering her own seeds, to show her what she didn’t have.

“Excuse me for interrupting,” he said. “But I thought you might like to see my extraordinary blossoms!” And the other neighbor looked at the blossoms he was holding and she said, “Lordy! Where did you get these blossoms!?”

And he pointed to his neighbor on the other side. “If you give him some of your attention, he may also give you some of his extras in exchange.”

Before long, every neighbor in the neighborhood had shifted their attention to the man’s magnificent blossoms, which were growing even more magnificent due to all the attention they were receiving.

But every neighbor in the neighborhood also seemed to be avoiding the fact that these new magnificent blossoms had not been cultivated within themselves, and that they were all neglecting their own blossoms that were.

Instead of focusing on their own experience of being in the world and sharing their unique understanding of it, they were now spending all their energy focusing on getting what they didn’t believe they already had in abundance.

And slowly, they stopped understanding the world through their own experiences and began to only understand the world through this man’s experience instead.

But the blossoms were so lovely, and they loved the new attention they were receiving from their neighbors, and by the time they got home from a long day of work, they were too tired to think about it anyhow.

But in time, there was a problem: Their own blossoms within were beginning to wilt. And then an even bigger problem began: The blossoms they received from the man were also beginning to wilt.

The man was so upset, he marched right over to his neighbor’s house and knocked on the door.

“Oh hello, how can I help you, neighbor?”

“We are growing so tired giving all of our energy to your blossoms. It’s upsetting enough that my own blossoms are dying inside, but now, even the blossoms you’ve given me are wilting!”

“Well not to worry.”

“What do you mean not to worry!?”

“I will tell you what,” the man said. “If you continue watering my blossoms with your attention, I will give you this bed to rest in after you’re done. This bed is so beautiful and comfortable, you won’t even care if the blossoms live or die.”

And he was correct. The man and his family loved their new beds. In fact he was so proud of his new bed, he decided to interrupt his neighbor on the other side to flaunt how well-rested he was.

His neighbor‘s cheeks immediately flushed with jealousy. “Where are the bags underneath your eyes? You look so bushy-tailed! What is going on?!”

“I’ve got a new bed. Would you like to try it out?”

“What do you mean a new bed?!”

So the man showed this other neighbor inside and she sat on the edge of the comfortable bed and immediately became angry. “But… how did you get this bed? When I sleep on a fucking rock?!”

Before that moment, the neighbor never minded sleeping on a rock. The neighbor would close her eyes and water the seeds of what was meaningful to her in the world until blossoms within her grew with such profound beauty it brought her to tears.

But that night in her rock hard bed, all she could think about was how her neighbor was probably so much happier. And so she knocked on the door of the man with the beds.

“The blossoms you gave me are also wilting. I would like a bed too. What do I need to do?”

“Hmmm. Well, I suppose if you work a little harder, and water more of my blossoms, I could exchange your extra attention for this lovely bed to rest in afterwards.”

And so it was settled.

And within a very short time, the entire neighborhood had lined up outside the man’s door for a bed of their own.

“Yes,” the man chuckled, feeling so lucky to see his influence growing. “Of course I will give you a bed. And if you work harder still, I’ll throw in this stove!”

Nearly every villager in the neighborhood began working for the man, which meant nearly ever villager began neglecting their own ingredients, their own seeds, their unique way of processing their own experiences in the world and transforming it into the wisdom and poetry that would one day be uploaded into the hearts of their loved ones.

Instead, there was only exhaustion from trying to keep the man’s blossoms alive in exchange for all these new ways of finding comfort that kept their minds off the misery caused by the emptiness that was growing inside them.

At night, when their children cried, instead of telling the stories that had always filled their hearts generation after generation, they now taught their kids how important it was to work hard, and how beautiful their futures would be if they never gave up. Futures filled with beds and stoves and fancy cars to drive back and forth to their jobs in comfort. Futures that other, more regular people could only wish they had.

“But I want to hear the stories you used to tell!“ the children cried.

“Oh my precious child. I will have to tell you more of those stories later. I’m just too tired from watering the man’s seeds all day.”

“But those seeds aren’t even beautiful,” the children cried. “I miss those beautiful flowers you used to grow. I miss how you used to give them to me. How I used to love them so! Now you have no time. So I have nothing!”

“Well if I stop working, then we won’t be able to afford all these beautiful things we have!”

“I don’t care! I hate them all! And I hate you!”

The man had never seen his children so upset, so he made an appointment to speak with his boss.

“My children are empty inside,” he said. “I’ve come to give your blossoms back. I’m going to go back to the way things used to be. I’m going to nurture my own blossoms again. So that I can share them with my family.”

“Very well. I will come collect your beds and your stove and your state-of-the-art refrigerator and… your easy chair.”

“No. No, please. Not the chair.”

“I’m sorry. But we had an arrangement.”

“But… my family is in pain! My wife feels empty inside, my children feel empty! They have no blossoms in their hearts. No one’s growing! Everyone is miserable!”

“Hmmm… I believe I know what your problem is.”

“What?”

“You need to teach your children better.”

“What? Teach them what?”

“I will tell you what. I will build a school that will teach them how to properly take care of my seeds and my blossoms.”

“Your seeds and blossoms?”

“Why not? They just need to stay busy. Who cares whose seeds they are? It’s not the way of the new world to let them just sit around all day thinking about the way things used to be. They need purpose! They need to share in the labor of watering seeds! It’s called… progress!

Otherwise, when they’re older, weeds will sprout and grow over all the hard work we’ve done. And we will lose everything! Oh, they will be so proud to be a contribution to our community! And get this—the child who does the best work will inherit my entire garden!”

“Really?” This sounded impressive to the man. “I bet my child has what it takes to be the best!”

“Why not? Let’s find out!”

So the man went home and excitedly told the children the good news. And the kids and his wife were pissed. “I can’t believe you let that jerk brainwash you!”

“Now now, have some respect,” the dad said. “If it wasn’t for that jerk, we would all still be out on the plains eating raw meat and digging roots!”

So the kids started going to the man’s school.

And they did as they were told.

And time marched on.

Generations passed, and the neighborhoods, schools and workplaces were now filled with these people’s children’s children’s children.

But sadly, nearly every one of them walked around with a feeling of emptiness.

Sometimes it was a deep emptiness within them, but sometimes, it felt as if somehow, the emptiness filled their entire being. But the even weirder thing was, they weren’t even sure what they were missing.

It had been so many hundreds of years since the days of uploading each other’s natural blossoms into each other’s hearts, that no one even knew that such things existed.

No one had any idea of what it was like way back when, when a person’s purpose was simply to experience life and process it through one’s unique vantage point and then share what was discovered through profound and beautiful stories which were then uploaded into each other’s hearts.

They may not have had fancy beds or fancy cars back then, or fancy stores to buy so many more fancy things, but they were filled by the moments they were in. And they were filled with the kind of pride that comes when one’s labor yields the actual fruits they then fed themselves with.

Now, these people walked around working all day, but for what, they weren’t sure. Feeling so empty, as if severed from some former reality, and no one had any idea what to do about it.

The only time their emptiness made sense was when one of their loved ones passed. But still, even though they missed their loved ones, the missing was somehow even bigger than that.

It was as if they knew somewhere in their hearts, that they hadn’t quite had the time or opportunity to be given what their loved ones had wanted so badly to plant in their hearts, but could never find the right time or place to do so. And the loneliness was almost too much to bear.

Then one day, one of the children in the neighborhood grew so depressed that she refused to move. “My heart,“ she kept crying. “My heart hurts. It feels so empty.”

Her poor parents didn’t know what to do. They hugged her and they kissed her and they bought her all the shiniest most expensive toys and gadgets that money could buy, but she still wouldn’t stop crying.

Days went on and still no end.

So finally, they took her to the fancy hospital around the corner, were experts worked around the clock helping all the neighborhood grown-ups and children loosen all the pain they were having.

And the mom explained to the doctor, “She won’t leave her room. All she does is rock back and forth and cry that her heart is empty. She refuses go to school. She refuses to talk about it. But I can’t just stay home with her anymore. I have to work!”

“Well,” the doctor said, examining the X-rays. “There’s nothing wrong with her heart. I think she’s good to go back to school. I’m sure in a couple days she’ll be good as new!”

But her mom didn’t feel right sending her daughter back to school in such a state. So she asked her mother, the girl’s grandma, to come stay with her during the day.

The girl was so excited. She hardly ever got to spend time with her grandma bc she was usually so busy at school and with sports.

And her grandmother was also delighted! After all, she spent way too much time alone and had grown so many beautiful flowers in her heart that she wanted to share, but no one ever seemed to have any time to receive them.

So the following day, after her mom went to work, the grandmother invited her granddaughter to sit next to her on the couch.

“I have something to share with you,” she said. “Something that might fill your heart.”

“You do?”

“Did you know that a long time ago, the purpose of life was just to spend time like this? Sure we had hard work to do, but it was all in the name of filling our stomachs and having a warm place so that we could share with each other—the ideas we had, and the feelings and thoughts that we had.”

“Really?”

“That’s right.”

“Well, what happened?”

“Well,” the grandmother began. “I’ll tell you the story the way it was told to me…”

And for the rest of the day, the girl’s grandmother filled up her heart with story after story. About the man who stopped watering his blossoms to flaunt them to his neighbor, how everyone was so mesmerized by something they didn’t think they had, that they forgot to water their own seeds. Until everyone forgot they even had seeds. And they forgot about the treasure that was their hearts and instead focused on working hard enough to earn these other kinds of treasures, that were nice, but were certainly no replacement for the treasures that they used to share, and how everybody grew so very empty and so very lonely.

“That is so sad, grandma,” the girl cried. “I wish my heart wasn’t so empty.”

“But really, it’s not empty, my sweet girl. All those seeds are still in there, just waiting for you to water them with your time and attention. All the stories that have ever been told still travel through your blood. You have the seeds of every mother and father who came before you. And if you listen deeply, their stories will blossom and your heart will feel full.”

“You know what, grandma, it already feels full from these stories you’ve shared with me!”

“That’s right.”

“I don’t want you to ever die, grandma,” the girl said, giving her grandmother a giant hug. “You’re my favorite person.”

“I understand, my dear. But the purpose of life is not to be here forever. We are here to blossom and gift our blossoms to our loved ones. Who we are exists in these blossoms, in all these best things we have to offer. And in this way, I will always be part of you, right here in your heart.

One day, yes, my body will pass. And at my funeral, you’ll see, people will bring me flowers. But what they won’t understand is that what I really wanted, was to give them mine. My flowers are the blossoming of my time here, my flowers are meant to be planted in the hearts of my loved ones, so that my blossoming can nourish the seeds you’re now planting in your own heart.”

After the time spent with her grandmother, the girl began to heal. And the girl began to listen to her heart and share the growth she was experiencing, which began to fill other people’s hearts too.

And then one day, her grandmother passed.

And just like she said, everyone brought flowers to the funeral. Her grandmother was right. They still didn’t quite understand the purpose of being alive that they’d forgotten. And the girl held her heart, and cherished the flowers her grandmother gave her. And she heard her grandmother’s voice. And the girl smiled bc she knew her heart was not empty.

So many people are empty inside and starving. We think our lives are supposed to have some grandiose purpose that we must accomplish for ourselves before we pass. And with that as our goal, of course we’re terrified of death. We think if we don’t accomplish our grandiose purpose, our lives will have been in vain. But to me, that’s only bc we stopped seeing ourselves as continuations. We forgot that our purpose here is not only for ourselves. That our purpose here is to experience all that life has to offer and to then pass on the gifts of understanding and beauty that we’ve grown in our hearts.

We have to stop comparing our blossoms and start filling each other up again with the stuff that got us here in the first place—time together, stories, wisdom, humor—instead of rushing to get somewhere better.

We can be gardeners again, and teach our children to be gardeners. Sharing the stories of our experiences here and sharing the experiences of those who were here before us. We can expand our hearts and then water as many parts of the earth that we can before we continue on…

-JLK

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I think the reason some kids don’t do well with school is because some kids are led by their own interests, and they are naturally driven to grow through their own interests.

Ideally, they’d need only space and time and some resources and like-minded people to nurture their ideas, along with the fertilizer of our guidance and loving awareness. 

But this seems nearly impossible the way most school systems are structured today.

Even though so many teachers and administrators are well-intentioned, these interest-led kids are often seen as defiant.

But what’s really going on is that many of these kids physically cannot meet the expectations of the classroom bc their brains have simply not been designed to.

But instead of letting these kids explore their own interests, they’re given accommodations to try and make it less painful for them to meet the expectations that are in the interest of the classroom.

I have a feeling that school systems will one day find a way to accommodate many different styles of learning, but for now, us parents of interest-led kids are kind of left to our own devices to do whatever we can to make sure our kids’ natural seeds get to blossom.

-JLK

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When it seems like our kids are keeping their feelings locked inside themselves, it can be upsetting. And we might be tempted to go scrounging around trying to find the perfect key.

But sometimes, sharing a story about our own difficult feelings from when we were their age is just the thing they need to help them better understand what they’re going through.

-JLK

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I’m learning that it’s ok to let things go—the battles, the worrying, the analyzing, the calculating, the trying to control outcomes.

Sometimes it feels like I’ve been holding my breath for decades, inspecting every moment for cracks in the dam so I can rush to repair it before it breaks apart and sweeps away everything that I count on.

But I realize more and more, that it’s time to practice letting this job go. It wasn’t a realistic endeavor anyhow, no matter how meaningful and sincere my intention was.

Safety has to begin inside me. I can’t control circumstances. But when I’m steady and centered inside myself, I’m able to respond as the best version of myself.

-JLK

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I read something where a person was being shamed for getting support for their mental and spiritual health, and I thought about what might be under the behavior that I could relate to, and it inspired me to make this illustration…

I used to think it was a sign of weakness to get support. Until I realized I had created the identity of ‘being strong’ to survive the fact that no one ever showed up for me when I needed it.

It was a badge I bestowed upon myself to honor the fact that I had summoned the strength to survive on my own, regardless of who wasn’t there.

But then I burned out and really needed support.

Support from others is not a substitute for my own support, but it reminds me that other people have resources I don’t have access to. Ways of thinking that expand my perspective so that my blind spots aren’t keeping me from seeing the full story of what’s happening within me and around me.

And when I allow other people to support me, it inspires me to want to use my own resources to support others.

That’s how we spread support through the world, so we don’t create new generations that need to muscle through and tell themselves they don’t need anyone, just to survive the fact that no one’s there.

-JLK

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The reason telling someone to ‘suck it up’ isn’t a good long-term solution is because sucking up an upset that’s trying to be released only sucks it back to where it came from until the next upset, when it erupts again, only more upset than it was before.

Instead of teaching our kids to suck up their upsets, maybe we can ask ourselves if this is something we’re teaching our kids bc it’s what we were taught.

And if we are carrying around decades of upsets,

we can ask ourselves… are we comfortable? Are we doing ourselves a favor by carrying all this stuff around? Would it feel better to let some of this shit go, if we had a safe place to do so?

I don’t know about you, but I grew up under the impression that my feelings were a complete waste of everyone’s time. I got eye rolls and looks at the clock and, “Come on, are you really gonna make this all about you? That’s really selfish.”

I grew up with the clear message that my upsets were not only unimportant but unsightly and worthy of contempt. Something others clearly didn’t want around.

So I sucked them up like the garbage I figured they were and I felt them grow into the kind of anxiety that kept me company every moment of the day.

And then I had a son. A son with feelings of his own. And when he got upset, I would get so scared that people would be harsh with him and withhold their love, and I would immediately try to protect him from these other people’s wrath by helping him get over his upsets in the least obtrusive, quickest way possible.

I never actually used the expression ‘suck it up,’ but what I did came from the same place—I just dressed up my discomfort with my son’s upset feelings into ‘helpful negotiations’ and ways to help him reframe his upsets before he was ready to, before he even had a chance to be with his upset feelings.

It took me awhile to notice that his anxiety was growing. And I began to realize that my approach wasn’t the best idea.

It took me awhile to realize that what his upsets needed was an invitation to be upset. And I began to realize that his upset feelings weren’t scary. They were just upsets. And they only got bigger when he got the impression that they weren’t wanted.

Our feelings are important. Really important. Not just to keep to ourselves, but to be shared with others.

Feelings are how we get to understand ourselves and each other better. And they’re worth investing in, bc feelings are the ingredients that grow connections. And connections are the ingredients that grow relationships where safety and fulfillment are priorities.

So if we want to role model another way for our kids to handle their upsets than to suck it up, then we have to figure out what to do with our own.

There are so many ways we can release our own upsets. My favorite way is simply by telling the story of what happened, or by writing a letter about the upset. But a person could go to therapy, make a painting, dance, sing, make a video game, or just sit with the upset for as long as it takes until it turns into something else.

Whatever way we can think of that feels natural, so that the upset feelings get to be expressed authentically, heard, validated, understood and ultimately transformed into something that makes the upset person feel safe, known and fulfilled.

-JLK

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I see a lot of lists describing symptoms of people who lack executive functioning skills and the trouble they have with day-to-day tasks.

And though I get the importance of gaining these sorts of skills, what I rarely, if ever see balancing this conversation, are lists describing conceptual functioning skills or empathetic functioning skills.

Yeah, the person might be missing their appointment, can’t figure out what the fuck to wear, and they’re burning the oatmeal, but I don’t believe these things are happening because the person is dead inside during these times.

Maybe they’re in the middle of daydreaming a story into existence that would melt someone’s heart. Maybe they’re creating associations that could solve problems that’ve never been solved before.

Maybe they have conflict management skills that could turn two enemies into friends. Or the kind of compassion that could help someone see themselves in a new empowering way.

I think it’s important to realize that behind every lagging skill is an applied skill. It just might not be what’s needed for the task at hand. And maybe it’s not a skill that’s currently in high demand. But maybe it should be.

Having all the ducks lined up in a row doesn’t serve any good purpose if the ducks are hollow and miserable inside. Yes, improve skills—communication skills, executive functioning skills, etc, but goodness, please don’t executive function out a person’s natural gifts.

-JLK

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One reason I began to ease up on the demands I placed on my son was not only thinking about how stressful it was as a kid when so many demands were placed on me, but because when I examined the voice I was using to dish out all those demands, it wasn’t entirely my voice.

It was my father’s voice, my aunt’s voice, my stepmothers‘ voices—all the conditioning I had absorbed that tried to convince me what was necessary to have a life that was normal, proper, successful and safe from judgment.

But when I listened to my own voice, all it wanted was to understand what was important to my son, to connect with him as he is, and guide him through grace, love, acceptance, and flexibility.

-JLK

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When I’m on the receiving end of someone’s reactive behavior, instead of internalizing what they’ve said and making it mean something negative about who I am and who they are, I try to remember: this person may have gotten triggered by something I said or did that reminded them of something toxic from their past.

And even though they may be standing right there in front of me, lashing out, they may be protecting themselves without recognizing that they’ve slipped into a portal to their past.

But before I also get reactive, I try to pause and check in with myself to see if I’m also being triggered by my own unresolved upsets from my own past.

And if this is the case, instead of also entering my own portal, I try to see if I can find a bit of compassion for the both of us, and say something validating. Something like, “You know what, if I said anything to upset you, please accept my apology.”

The times I’ve taken this route (and believe me, I’ve tried many other routes) I have watched the other person’s demeanor change, as if they’ve left their past and returned to the present moment with a look of relief, along with their own apology. Which, to me, is something much more pleasant to internalize and carry around.

-JLK

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I made this illustration based on things I’ve been learning on my healing journey, to remind myself and anyone else out there that if you sometimes find yourself stuck in the feeling that you don’t matter, that you do matter. All of you matters. All of you is worthy of understanding, appreciating and healing.

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Shaming doesn’t disappear big feelings, shaming only hides big feelings. Turns them into secrets. Places them on the back burner until further notice to slowly heat up and keep a person from breathing right.

Validation on the other hand allows feelings to be heard and understood, and allows feelings to do what everything likes to do—change into something else—to evolve.

Being with our own feelings and creating safe spaces for others to be with their feelings, lets ourselves and each other experience the seasons of our emotions, and I think this is perhaps one of the greatest gifts there is.

The problem is that many of us parents have a lot of unresolved feelings on our back burners. And many of us are smoldering inside. And now we have these kids with the audacity to have feelings of their own, but we can’t deal with them, because we still haven’t dealt with our own.

And so we shame our kids because that’s the way we‘ve learned how to ‘get rid’ of feelings, and our kids start stacking up their own unresolved feelings on their own back burners and everyone starts to walk around smoldering together.

I think one way to heal this cycle is for us parents to address what’s on our back burners first, one feeling at a time. To bring our feelings to the forefront of our attention, feel them and validate them, whatever they are, so that they can be free.

And then, we can be available to let our children have their feelings without feeling threatened by them. We can welcome their feelings as they emerge and we can validate them, whatever they are, so that their feelings can do what everything wants to do—evolve into the next thing.

-JLK

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Questions I Ask Myself

What my life should look like…

vs.

What my life already looks like…

I thought about this while standing at my kitchen counter shoving food down my throat, while at the same time thinking about cleaning the kitchen.

I had made a meal that actually turned out great. But yet, I was unavailable to enjoy it, bc in my mind, I have been trained to know what enjoyment is by what it looks like, and in this case, I figured it should look like a clean kitchen with a stable-looking person standing in it.

Where did I get this idea?

I think this bill of goods was first sold to me from television and magazines, and then sold back to me again by grown-ups who’d also been sold the same bill of goods.

And the promise and premise of the goods?

Happiness is something that looks like happiness—a still-life to be longed for, pursued, and purchased, if you have the means…

But the truth is, life isn’t still. It’s constantly moving, and moving in flux. And any vision of ‘happiness’ that we have is constantly being mucked up by the reality of life’s internal and external chaos.

But even so, many of us choose to hold on tight to our visions of happiness. And then decide that it must be life’s movement that needs to be controlled, scripted and choreographed, so that it doesn’t keep messing up these still-lives that we are working so hard to assemble.

But what about how we feel? Where do our feelings fit into this bill of goods?

Well, from what I’ve noticed, *to feel* doesn’t look like anything, bc it’s experienced. And it’s experienced privately. And our feelings can’t really be photographed.

And if I do attempt to compare my feelings about the ever-changing-unscripted-and-unchoreographed-movements-of-my-life to what I think my life *should* look like, I’m probably going to experience anxiety.

And I will probably try to cope with this anxiety by continuing to rearrange how things look in my life, since that’s what I’ve been taught happiness is.

And then I will wait for my circumstances to be looked at through another set of eyes and hope that they will agree that my circumstances do indeed resemble what I’ve been sold in that old bill of goods.

But what if I don’t get that stamp of approval? What if the people and circumstances around me keep messing up my attempts to control and mold my chaos so that it looks a certain way?

Well, I’m probably going to continue being anxious, and I’m probably also going to get resentful, burned out and pissed off.

And this doesn’t sound like a very good way to spend the moments of my life.

So what I’m thinking is, to heal from this ever-spiraling cycle, I might want to ditch that old bill of goods and make awareness the priority over happiness.

Awareness is very different from happiness.

You cannot be sold awareness. And awareness cannot be bought. Awareness is something that’s available to anyone who remembers to access it.

It’s noticing the movement and chaos around us and within us, along with our feelings about it.

And it’s deepening our awareness ever so slightly, so that we can suddenly notice that there’s actually some beauty in our chaos, some wisdom and compassion in our chaos, and that our feelings about this chaos can actually move us like poetry.

Awareness is a way to turn abysmal circumstances into scripture, any hole in the wall into an unfolding chapter, and any feeling about it into something profound.

Awareness turns who we already are into the meaning makers of our lives life instead of giving that job over to circumstances, people and contexts that don’t even know who we are.

Awareness shifts our actions from trying to make our lives look a certain way to connecting with the real experiences and feelings within us and around us, and being pleasantly surprised by the unexpected things they have to offer.

—JLK

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Thinking about all the people who’ve been forgotten about and disappointed, again and again. 

Maybe your victories were stepped right over, your milestones neglected, your birthdays postponed. 

If this is you—I feel your pain. 

But one thing I’ve learned that I thought to share, is to make sure not to disappoint yourself. Your own pat on the back is not a cheap substitute. Your own gifts are worthy to give to yourself. 

In fact—nobody knows what you love as much as you do. So please take the time to give yourself what you love. Don’t let your disappointment consume so much of your energy that you wind up neglecting yourself. You are worth your own attention. Your blossoming matters.❤️

-JLK

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It can feel strange and unsettling to cut ourselves free from the constraints of the past… But we can support ourselves by giving ourselves our own kindness, compassion and encouragement.💕