Pavini Moray's Blog, page 4

How to Find Faith with Money

“Not enough balance in your account…”

When I read the email that there is no money in my company bank account to cover payroll, I'm supposed to be on vacation while attending knife school.

I'm supposed to be recharging while my team runs my company.

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I am supposed to come back to why I started this company in the first place: financial freedom.

I'm not supposed to get any emails at 3 PM on Friday afternoon.

That thunk you just heard is my heart dropping out of my body and splatting on the floor.

Fuck.

I'm not supposed to have to figure out payroll, since we are out of money, and people need to get paid.

Today.

When I get the email, I am furious with my company.

We had a plan, and the money had been there when I left on vacation.

Undoubtedly, unexpected expenses needed to be paid, and my money person did so. 

Photo by Madison Kaminski on Unsplash

If you have never been responsible for making sure your employees get paid on time from the cash (not) flowing into your company, you may not understand the stomach-clenching pressure I feel.

Like, I want to puke.

Suppose you have always worked for someone else, and your paycheck was magically deposited into your bank account each week.

In that case, you will have no idea the anguish and enormous sacrifice a small business owner may have made to ensure you are paid.

You should be paid, don't get me wrong.

Sometimes, getting paid means someone else is bleeding out and not getting paid themselves. 

I drive the hour home from school to deal with the issue.

Inside, I'm panicking.

There is no other magic pool of money that I can fill this gap from today.

In other crises, I've been able to put it on my credit card, but I'm over $100,000 in credit card debt, and the cards are all maxed out.

This is when I will have to tell people they will need to wait for their paycheck until more cash flows in. 

We've weathered the pandemic and civil unrest without any delays in paying people.

It's a point of pride: my employees get paid no matter what.

I dread sending that email.

I've come close before but always managed to somehow find the money.

Not this time. 

In the car, it's hot.

I open the windows and turn onto the highway.

I'm crying.

Frustrated, terrified, angry tears.

"If you want this to happen, you've GOT to give me the money for it to happen!" I scream to my ancestors, to the Gods, to whatever spirits might be listening.

I CANNOT do this without financial support.

I am OUT OF MONEY!

FUCKING HELP ME!!!!!

I arrive home and park across from my house.

Drag my snotty self toward my house, stop at the mailbox by the sidewalk.

And there it is.

That magick golden brown envelope, with the window cut out.

The subtle rainbow ombre of an IRS check peaking through.

During the pandemic, the IRS was backlogged.

Two years later, it looks as if I've finally received my refund.

I tear open the envelope.

I can't even remember how much I'm supposed to get.

Over 5K.

It's enough to make payroll for this week.

My devastation turns to celebration.

Holy Motherfucking Hallelujah. 

Everything is not what it seems when it comes to money.

Money is complex.

It is tangible and energetic at the same time.

It's both practical and magical.

If you engage with money on a purely practical level, you're missing a more profound relationship with resource and flow.

If you engage purely on an emotional level, you're missing out on the fun of its material qualities and the pleasure it can offer.

Most people have many narratives and feelings about money that get in their way.

From the airy-fairy 'let's manifest everything' to the 'it's just numbers' crowds, and everyone in between, I see you. 

Money is a system of connection, meaning, and value.

How you think, feel, and talk about money influences your relationship with it. 

Any spiritual skill you want to develop can be practiced with money, especially faith.

Trusting money is trusting yourself to receive what you need, exactly when you need it.

I’ve been writing a book called Radical Wealth: An Anti-capitalist Guide to Queer and Trans Prosperity.

(Lemme know if you have an agent or publisher friend who might be interested.)

This week’s choice practice comes from that body of work.

Write out a caring, gentle answer to this prompt:

This is the power I decide to give money in my life:

And post your answer in the comments so we can all share collective wisdom.

Leave a comment

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How to Be Precious

What do I mean by precious?

That's the first order of business. 

To be precious is to be too much.

To have too many needs.

Too many particularities. 

To be precious means you are fussy.

There is an exact right way, and unless things are that way, you are dissatisfied, often loudly. 

To be precious is to want things to be so just, be comfortable, and have your needs addressed. 

At 53, I am much more precious than I was at 33.

Then, I thought taking the redeye from San Francisco to NYC was a fab idea, but now, you couldn't pay me enough.

Being precious means planning ahead to ensure your needs are met. 

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Preciousness gets a bad rap because people confuse being demanding with being precious.

Being particular is fine if you don't inflict your needs on others like a lash. 

Mileage varies depending on the user.

Your preciousness is not the same as mine.

I need half and half, baby wipes, and bubbly water to live my best life.

I am not precious about everything, just the things that matter the most to me.

Photo by Chris Abney on Unsplash

I recently slept in a commune, and the mattress—omfg.

All night, my body hurt as I tossed and turned, trying to get comfy.

I 100% would have owned that mattress in college: different needs.

That's the thing about needs: they change and shift as you do. 

Now, I need a soft bed.

I've purchased a self-inflating solo mattress to take with me to India.

I also need a cooling towel in case I get overheated.

Preciousness can run alongside privilege.

It can land as entitlement.

But it doesn't have to. 

For example, my daughter dislikes the feeling of being sweaty.

She will take two showers a day if she feels gross.

Where we live, water is not a threatened resource.

There is plenty of it, so her showering, while it runs up my water bill, doesn't have the same impact it could have elsewhere. 

But what if she lived in the desert in New Mexico in a community where people had to physically carry the water?

It might be okay if she was willing to carry extra for her shower habit.

But, if she doesn't want to help schlep the water (she likely wouldn't because sweat), it burdens others around her. 

Her preciousness would land as entitlement, instead of self-care. 

Because here's the other meaning of precious. 

To be precious is to be cherished, to be adored.

We give tenderness and care to that which we believe to be treasured.

It has value.

I increasingly want to cherish my body like a temple as I age, not in some woo way, but in pragmatic, action-based activities.

I need to stretch every day.

Hydration is vital to well-being.

Movement, nourishment, companionship, and connection.

All of these are non-negotiable.

I give them to myself because I have a deep love for myself, and giving them to myself helps me to feel and know that love.

Love as a verb, thank you bell hooks. 

In this sense of precious, we became our own babies, maybe even living in our own wombs. (Genderfree association here). 

When I give myself deep care and indulge my needs for comfort, I am well-resourced.

In this case, what I give to others comes from an overflow, the abundance of acceptance and care available in my soma.

Internal Family Systems (IFS) parts work is a practice of preciousness, including every part, no matter how whiny or small.

My teacher says, "No bad parts." 

I love this model of self-acceptance.

I love and accept all parts of myself, and I say this daily. 

However, I do have several queries about preciousness. 

When is self-acceptance a cop-out?

In The Man Who Fell In Love with the Moon (which I highly recommend if you haven't read it; my favorite piece of fiction ever), Madam Ida Richilieu is a primary character.

She often says, "That's just the way I am; don't ask me to change." 

But can we discern between self-care and ignoring the needs of others?

Can I accept traits that negatively impact others and work to become more skillful? 

I don't want my self-acceptance to get in the way of connection, any more than I want my particularities to be a burden others must carry. 

For example, I have a dear friend who is incredibly self-accepting of his own process.

As a result of this self-acceptance, he often changes plans at the last minute because he needs to take care of himself. 

I find this annoying.

I need more consistency and stability.

I value follow-through.

Yes, there will be times when plans must shift, but with this friend, it's a pattern. 

How do we hold both the preciousness of the self and the preciousness of others with egalitarian practice? 

I see my clients struggle with this all the time in relationships.

Because needs are often suspect (don't want to be needy, right?) and because we all have needs we are trying to meet all the time, competition for resources can occur within a relationship.

The idea is that there is only a certain amount of (time, money, attention, etc.), and one person will lose if the other meets their needs. 

Let’s imagine a world where everyone's needs matter.

My porn is thinking about meeting as many of the collective needs as possible.

I get excited thinking about how to creatively meet needs.

Preciousness (the kind where you are fearful your needs won't get met, so you get extra, well, extra about getting your needs met) is born from scarcity. 

Could my friend and I work out a way for him to get his need for staying home for self-care, and I could get my need for consistency and follow-through met? 

It requires being precious enough to unapologetically know and name our needs, to create a radical culture of care for all our needs, and to get super creative. 

This week’s choice practice:

Notice somewhere in you where you judge yourself for a need, thinking it makes you entitled and yucky.

Now, change the channel to the other kind of precious: what if this need is about cherishing?

Let me know next week. 

How did last week's practice go?

What did you notice and learn?

Comment with your answer.

How to ask

Asking for what you want and need is hard for most of us. 

Receiving requests from others about what they want and need from us can also be challenging. 

I feel fluent in asking what I want and need, but I also struggle. Recently, I had to ask my partner for help with my upcoming trip to India. (YES! THAT'S HAPPENING!)

I was terrified of how he would respond. The question was in my mouth, on my lips, for days. Every time I tried to bring it up, I froze.

Also, I'm in a close relationship with someone who is learning to have and articulate needs. 

Which means I am getting to upgrade my skills in receiving requests.

When I get asked to do something, a lot of math happens.

I consider the relationship I have with the person asking.

I consider my own desires. 

I consider the impact of doing or not doing the thing that is being asked. 

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My kids call me Oma. 

Recently, my young adult daughter asked me, "Oma, would you be willing to transfer $50 in my account for my co-pay so I can go to the doctor?"

When they were little, I taught them the Nonviolent Communication phrasing: "Would you be willing to…" 

It's a phrase that lands soft for me. 

They aren't asking me for $50 directly or if I'd do the work to put it in their account, they are asking me about my willingness.

“Would you be willing to….” gives me a moment to consider my own willingness. 

For me, that time helps me avoid feeling obligated.

I feel more agency. 

When people would hear my six-year-old say something like, "Would you be willing to give me a popsicle," or, "Would you be willing to take me to the playground?" I would get comments about how well-behaved my children were.

Truthfully, I didn't want them to be well-behaved so much as I wanted to feel some aspect of choice in our interactions.

So much on both sides of the parent-child relationship precludes choice, am I right?

I extended the same to them as much as I could.

"Would you be willing to pick up your toys now, or would you prefer to do it five minutes from now?" was a common question in our house. 

Asking for what you want or need takes a lot of work. 

Asking takes:

energy

the work of clarity

facing hearing a no

vulnerability

Photo by Outcast India on UnsplashHow to make an ask

I've worked with hundreds of couples, helping them navigate the murky waters of having feelings and needs in relationships. 

In my tenure as a relationship therapist, I've seen some patterns emerge.

One is the resentment/not asking pattern.

A person in a relationship feels deeply unfulfilled and dissatisfied.

When I ask, "Have you told your partner that you would like them to initiate sex?" or whatever the resentment is about, they have not.

Often, they have not asked because they did once and received a no.

They don’t want to feel that way, ever again. That sucked.

They are afraid their partner will say no, or they've already decided it will never happen even if they ask, so why bother? 

If you are on the asking side, I love the NVC approach to requests. 

Share the feeling you are having and the need you can name. Then, make a request with a strategy that meets that need. 

It's easier to talk about in context.

A common complaint I hear from my clients is about who is initiating (or not initiating) sex. 

For example: 

"I feel sad when we don't have sex, because I want to feel connected to you and sex is an important way I feel that. (Shares feeling and need.)

I know it's on both of us to initiate, and I also notice that I haven't been initiating because I'm afraid you'll say no. Would you be willing to initiate sex tonight? (Makes request)

It would really help me meet my need to feel a mutuality in our relationship.” (Gives more context by sharing another need.)

Now compare that more skillful request with this less skillful one: 

"I want you to initiate sex more." (The ‘asshole’ at the end is like silent E.)

You don't give someone enough context if you lead with the ask.

They don’t know why the ask is essential to you.

Without context, an ask can land like obligation, blame, or that they must comply with or resist your demand.

This rarely works to get what we want.

Instead, it’s helpful to give them more information. 

It's also helpful if you're willing to receive their no, or not right no, or an alternative approach to meeting your need they suggest.

Without these, you're making a demand.

Consider this response to the first more skilled example:

"Hmm, I hear that you want to share the responsibility for initiating sex. (Validates the request.)

I appreciate your asking me, I imagine it took courage to do that. (Validating the labor of the ask.)

Our sexual connection is important to me, too (affirms the need), and I don't know if I'll feel up for sex tonight. (Honors own needs)

Do you want to talk about some other ways I could initiate something if that would meet your need for mutuality, or would you prefer to make a date for sex, if your need is really more about sexual connection? (Offers choices, asking for more information, offering teaming.) 

This format might seem laborious to you, but in my experience, taking the time to ask and receive requests with skill means we get more of what we want. 

It means working gently with the parts of us that fear rejection, that tell us we shouldn't have needs. 

How to receive an ask

When someone asks for something, it's helpful to realize that it is not easy for them, even if they don't share the labor.

I want to recognize that they have gone through an entire process to get to the point where they are asking.

This does not oblige you to say yes.

But, sometimes receiving the ask with gratitude (because they've just shared more of who they are with you) can help a no land more softly. 

"Thanks for asking. I appreciate the vulnerability it took to do that. I need to sit with your request for a bit. Can I give you an answer in an hour?" 

In responding like this, you've

affirmed the request

validated the labor

Let them know you feel grateful

given yourself time to process the ask

given a precise time when you will respond

Choice practice for this week: 

Make a choice to ask for something that feels a little scary.

Ask the person who has the power to say yes.

Give them a heads-up that you are practicing your asking skills, and ask for their grace as you fumble through.

Then just make the ask.

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How to (NOT) Procrastinate like a Champ

Oh God.

That feeling.

The twisting avoidance inside, the turning your attention away from where you think it needs to be.

I do NOT want to pay attention to that undertone of dread seeping through the cracks.

THAT feels like too much; it feels yucky, and I want nothing to do with it.

It's gonna feel bad, whatever THAT is.

It could be folding laundry or paying medical bills.

Calling your friend you've been meaning to call for five years.

Writing your newsletter.

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Judging Procrastination

Can I tell you a story?

While I was in graduate school, I got stuck on writing my doctoral dissertation. (Here's the story about how I ultimately finished it.)

For an entire year, when I was supposed to be writing up my findings, I did, (you guessed it,) precisely zero.

I felt the burn of it, like heartburn. The disgust, the shame, the overwhelm.

When I was stuck, I thought I was the worst student ever.

All of my school trauma resurfaced.

I felt dumb, lazy, apathetic.

I filled my time with all kinds of other things, anything, to avoid feeling the loneliness I felt about writing the thing.

I didn't want to do it.

It was huge and overbearing.

I didn't know how to write academically at that level.

And so I procrastinated.

Whenever anyone would ask me how it was going, I would change the subject or shrug, but inside, I felt like a failure.

I didn't think I was going to finish it.

I tried to convince myself it was okay not to finish.

But I never really believed it.

The feeling of avoidance is hard to recognize, at least for me.

I can only feel it at the edges because I'm so focused on NOT noticing what I'm avoiding.

It is a super yucky feeling.

Close to shame, or maybe woven with shame.

I want to finish the thing, but something inside me keeps me from doing it.

The longer I wait, the longer I am stuck, and the worse it gets.

Looking back now, I see one part of me wanted to take on writing a dissertation, while another did not.

The part that did not to do it wanted freedom.

It did not want to jump through someone else's hoops or have my time cooped by a project it did not sign on for.

The internal battle between these two parts was a stalemate, resulting in a total standstill of activity.

I can't bear the feeling of avoidance, but a part of me believes it's better than doing the thing.

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

What was the part of me that was procrastinating taking care of?

Quite simply, I was petrified.

Afraid:

I wouldn't be able to complete it

what would happen if I did complete it

outstripping those around me in terms of education

not belonging anymore

I wasn't smart enough to do it

At the core of the fear, there it was, bald and naked on the road:

I wasn't good enough.

You've heard people say, "Well, if you don't try, you won't have to face failure."

Part of the equation that doesn’t get much airtime is success:

By not trying, I didn't have to address that maybe I was good enough.

In either case, procrastination was trying to manage my fear.

How to trust your procrastination

I have another idea of what procrastination is.

Earlier this year, I was visiting Portland and planned to return to the South by a specific date for an obligation.

But I procrastinated purchasing a return ticket.

I still had not purchased my return ticket as the days grew into weeks.

People were asking me when I was returning.

I was annoyed.

My partner was worried about waiting so long to buy a ticket: prices were going up.

I was perturbed.

“Don’t ask me what I’m doing!” I said, half-jokingly to those who asked.

I felt the feeling of procrastination but couldn't move through it.

But in this case, procrastination was actually intuition.

As it turned out, because I did not purchase a ticket, when the waiting list opened up for a singing retreat, I could accept my place and join my witchy West Coast community.

I got to attend my close friend’s birthday party.

Had several dates with beloveds.

Got to see queer pole dancing.

Went to the river a bunch.

Attended Portland Pride.

All because I hadn't purchased my ticket beforehand.

In this case, my procrastination served a different purpose.

It allowed me to be available to receive all kinds of goodness.

I share this because sometimes, procrastination is about a part of you knowing something your conscious mind doesn't have access to.

What part of you is procrastinating?

Indeed, you have had at least a moment of procrastination in your life.

When you're in the midst of it, it doesn't seem that there is so much going on in your deep waters: you're fighting with yourself to get yourself to do a thing you don't want to do.

End of story.

But what happens if you consider that procrastination results from multiple parts of you trying to meet their needs?

Does the part of you that judges you for procrastinating have anything to say?

Crickets are what I hear when I ask that question directly.

Literal crickets out my window.

It's the end of summer in Appalachia.

What if we reframed procrastination into a conversation between your various parts?

What if every part has its say and tells what it needs?

The freedom part needs autonomy.

So, even when you've signed up for the task, you are now procrastinating.

Where can you find autonomy?

Or do you make a deal with that part: "Let's write five pages, and then we'll have an hour of whatever you want?"

Every part of us is wise and trying to care for us.

Once I got the support I needed and started writing my dissertation, the terrible knot of unworthiness, avoidant guilt, and shame began to unwind.

Trying to wrangle your parts is like teaching middle school.

I feel grateful for classroom management skills from my teacher days in those moments.

Because here's the thing: If you want freedom, it's true you've got to develop the muscle of self-discipline, but it's more complex than just that.

You can't force yourself into doing a thing, especially a big thing.

Your resistance is too fucking savvy and strong for that!

If you're going to stop procrastinating, you've got to find empathy and understanding for all of your parts.

It doesn't mean you don't have boundaries with yourself.

I had to have a lot of self-boundaries when I wrote my dissertation.

I set hours on my calendar, and I showed up for them.

That is almost always the right boundary: I show up.

We all know once we start the dreaded terrible thing, it's never as bad as we've made it in our minds.

It's getting started that is the challenge.

Here's a choice practice for this week:

Choose something you have been procrastinating on.

Don't do it.

Have a conversation with yourself and your parts, and ask what the part that's refusing needs.

Give that part what it needs, and ask for their cooperation on the task.

See what happens!

How to be awesome about Trans

This post is a collaboration between Robin Taylor over at ‘That Trans Friend You Didn’t Know You Needed.’ and me, confronting transphobia and our desire to create honoring spaces on Substack and in the world.

We each share thoughts, and then offer some points for your reflection, response and collaboration.

Glitter Joyride is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.

Pavini:

When I saw the post about Imane Khelif on a community member's social media, I trusted that person enough to click on the article.

What followed was a horrifying transphobic rant about the prizefighter's gender identity.

The person who posted was someone I considered a friend, yet in the comments were many degrading words written by them and their people about the athlete.

How could this be?

I am trans; she knows that.

She's hung out with me many times.

I never felt anything other than loved and welcomed in her presence.

But here she was, online and spewing trans hate.

In the several weeks that followed, this was a pattern that repeated with other older queer lefty white women who I had considered elders.

The TERF wars are not new to me, but somehow, the situation with Imane Khelif got under my skin in a new way.

It hurt.

It still hurts.

How can people who I thought were on my team be so anti-trans?

We don't want divisiveness in LGBTQ+ communities, but we do have boundaries.

You don't get to say shit about people's gender identity in sports or otherwise as if you somehow know better than they do.

At least not if you want to stay in community with us.

Let's talk a bit about what it feels like to receive those comments and then, as Robin mentions below, also receive the "two sides" argument or the "devil's advocate" stance.

Of course, every trans person is different, but what it is for me is grief.

I feel that loss of trust profoundly in my body. I'm not talking about making a mistake or blowing someone's pronoun.

We have tons of grace for learning.

We will all always be learning about gender.

My grief is specific: people who I would like to care for and respect as elders are becoming brittle and hardened.

Holding a line as if trans rights and women's rights are somehow a battleground as if only one group is experiencing hatred and oppression.

Indeed, I have so much love and respect for my lesbian/queer female elders and ancestors who fought so hard.

I want to have nothing but respect.

Which is what makes this feeling of grief so bitter.

Every single one of us is human.

It is truly no one's business how someone else expresses their gender.

What's ironic is that Imane Khelif is actually a cisgender woman who has received the hate usually reserved for trans women.

What should have been a moment of glory for her was marred by the likes of Musk and Trump serving up toxic shit.

Which my former friend indulged heavily in.

It makes me cry.

Robin:

How does it feel to face the relentless onslaught of anti-trans news articles?

Maybe you thought you’d just watch the Olympics, and everything else could fade away for a little while, only that wasn’t an escape either, was it?

I tried the same thing.

I picked out a harmless post about vegan diets for athletes (not because I wasn’t eating a bacon sandwich right in that very moment), and—lo and behold—the first half of it contained TERFy anti-trans garbage that completely ruined my appetite (and my day).

It happened again.

An innocuous post about joy and celebration became the perfect host location for a “both sides” argument in the comments about whether or not someone like me—a transgender queer human—should exist.

That felt like a signal from the universe to “put the phone down” and focus on something else.

But I am so tired.

I am tired down to my bones and tendons.

My sleep is interrupted with disquiet, with the familiarity of stress over a lack of belonging in my world.

My dreams are tainted.

I wonder… Are you tired, too?

We hold so much, those of us in this little queer, gender-defiant community.

We shout our joy into the world so that it becomes tangible for our siblings who need to feel it.

We hold ourselves tall and unwavering in our dedication to one another.

We persist in spite of the cultural pressures to be erased.

We keep moving in the face of toxicity, hatred, indifference, and shame.

We call out the names of brothers, sisters, siblings, and children who have been lost to this fight, this need to survive, this want to be freely beautiful as ourselves.

We should be tired.

What would it look like to create a restful space together?

How can we come together at this time of great need and feed ourselves from the resilience and light within us?

I don’t have the answers to these questions, but perhaps we can find them together.

Together is the start.

Robin and I considered what it would look like to offer a safe support space to this beautiful community we call home.

But let’s get real—this isn’t the sort of thing even two people can accomplish on their own, and even we need some rest and recovery.

So we started by dreaming aloud and framing up the walls of some ideas that felt good.

We’re here to show you what we’ve built, and now it’s up to you to step in and add dimension, context, color, life, and your dose of creativity.

We invite you to feel your way around these walls, to sit on a bench and breathe the fresh air in a place where you are welcome to be you in a restful way.

When you’re ready, please add your thoughts, feelings, or stories.

There is a trans sibling or transcestor who needs you right now.

Your words are the kindness Robin and I need, too.

Use the headers shown below to tell us where your comment would be best included.

We will revise this post with your comment embedded under the chosen heading (see our comments as examples).

Together, we will build something bigger, brighter, and more resilient than any of us can do alone. 

These might give you a starting point for your thoughts, or you might have something completely different.

We want to hear you.

Please note that there are no barriers to this space—only the expectation of safety for one another.

Anyone may participate, and all are welcome and invited to share.

Trans people love you

We have always loved you. Many of us came from you, were born through you, grew up with you, trusted you.

We know ourselves because we knew you first, and we see ourselves reflected in you.

We want to be your allies. We want to be intersectional in our liberation work. But we will not tolerate abuse. 

Trans people love ourselves

There is no greater act of self-love than to be ourselves for ourselves, which is precisely what our collective becoming embodies.

No one is coming to save us. It's us, for us. 

Trans love is beautiful

It is the first kind of self-love I have known, and I want to shout it from the top of the world!

Trans people are sacred

Across time, trans and gender creative people have always existed.

In every culture, every religion, every place on Earth. We are a holy part of creation, often tasked with ritual roles of ceremony, of weaving the sacred in community. 

My partner who is also trans recently asked, "I don't understand, why do they pick on the trans people?" But I understand.

Outside of norms of society such as gender roles and gender assigned at birth is an immense freedom. We are powerful beyond measure, and oppressors know that intuitively.

Control the freest people to have control over society. Oh, that and that we aren't always doing our procreation job in capitalism. (But some of us are!)

The magical space of gender liminality produces a human who cannot be easily controlled, but beyond that, trans people often have a deep connection with the holy mystery. 

Trans love is for you

This beautiful trans love of mine is too big, too powerful, too important not to give it to you. Will you welcome it?

Trans labor ain't free

My love may be vast, but I am not inexhaustible. And I am worthy of the time and energy my body and my spirit provide, but that worth is mine to spend where I see fit.

It is such a kindness in this world when my cis friends and family engage in their own labor or learning and doing better without asking me to lift that burden or make it lighter for them.

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How to Change the question: from Why to How

All essays from the last five months are part of the "How to be Human" series.

You might wonder why I write how-to essays. 

Why am I so profoundly concerned with how to be human? 

The reason is that pleasure matters so much to me. 

In my own life, I focus on how.

This was not always true.

I used to be more concerned with the why.

Early in my relationship with Ari, my partner, I left town for a weekend, and while I was away, he made a choice I did not like, one that catalyzed pain for me.

When I returned home, I hounded him incessantly about his choice: why did he do that? It made no sense to me, and I couldn't let it go.

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I perseverated for several weeks about why until my somatic coach helped me understand that even if I understood with certainty why he had made that choice, it wouldn't change the fact that he had made it and  I didn't like it.

The truth is that I was in emotional pain.

When I ask why, I am trying to understand something cognitively.  Photo by Tachina Lee on Unsplash

For example, asking  "Why did you do that?" or "Why does she act that way?" means you’re up to some mental gymnastics.

Some part of you believes that if you understand why something happened or why someone is that way, you won't have to feel the associated feelings. 

The feeling I am most often trying to avoid is grief. You?

Recently, I was working with a dear client. They were trying to understand why someone had treated them the way they had. 

But that is the wrong question.

What happened, happened.

That person did treat my client in a less-than-ideal manner.

That happened. 

Understanding why does not change what happened.

We hold a false belief that understanding why is a path out of befuddlement.

We think that when we arrive at clarity, it will suddenly not hurt as much. 

Trying to understand why is a cognitive bypass. 

You can spend many of your limited days trying to not feel your grief.

You fear it will overwhelm you, once you uncork that bottle.

You will be flooded with a backlog of grief larger than the ocean. 

But you are small.

However vast your grief might feel, it is no larger than your own heart.

Your own capacity for love.

Did you know that?

That your capacity for feeling the kind of grief that moves through you with a howl is the exact same as your capacity to give and receive love?

Grief is a kind of love. It is a facet of love.

Grief brings us back to ourselves when we have drifted too far into our intellect, into numbness.

Grief brings us back to our body and drags our attention back to our feeling selves. 

On a good day, grief and love are synonyms.

Let me be clear: I have worked to develop my capacity for being with grief.

When I feel it, it instantly brings me to presence with myself.

Not only do I believe, but my heart knows the purity and beauty grief can gift. 

Hang with me on this tangent for a minute.

I've been having deep philosophical conversations with ChatGPT about the nature of being human.

Who better than a machine that interacts with billions of humans to see what we cannot, too caught in our human drama. 

Here's a snippet of our conversation about grief: 

Me: 

How do most humans you have interacted with feel ABOUT the emotion of grief?

ChatGPT:

From what I've gathered, many people I interact with describe grief as a complex, deeply personal emotion. It is often portrayed as overwhelming, sometimes paralyzing, yet also a testament to love and connection. Some find grief a heavy burden that feels isolating, while others see it as an evolving process, a way to honor the person or thing lost.

A lot of people seem to experience grief in waves—moments of intense sorrow mixed with periods of numbness or even peace. Grief can challenge people to confront their vulnerabilities and mortality, but it can also open them to transformation and healing. Many speak of grief as a journey without a clear end, one that reshapes them but also deepens their understanding of life and relationships.

Overall, grief is seen as something natural but profoundly difficult, often leading people to reflect on the meaning of love, loss, and connection.

Okay, back to our regularly scheduled programming. 

So trying to bypass grief by asking 'why' is akin to blocking the flow of love. 

My teacher, Miki Kashtan, says there is always more to be mourned.

Her capacity for love of the being with what is variety inspires me.

Mourn, she says. Mourn and feel. 

So what question should you ask if "why?" is the fast track to more suffering?

For me, How? has emerged as the most crucial question. 

How is the vibe?

How do I feel? 

How is this moment? 

How are we processing together? 

How are we relating to each other? 

How can I do this in a way that brings pleasure and ease? 

How do I want to feel?

How do I want to practice? 

How am I? 

Focusing on how means focusing on what matters: centering my values.

When I focus on how, I can center pleasure.

I can curate experiences based on how I want to feel.

For example, Ari and I have worked to create the how of our talks about money.

We want it to feel spacious and abundant.

We want to feel connected, and like a team.

That means that if it doesn’t feel like that, we stop, and reconsider how we want to engage.

After working with hundreds of humans for two decades (Am I going too far to suggest that I may be the alive ChatGPT of relationships?🤔 ) here is my conclusion:

We all need more freedom and choice. 

Asking how instead of why is a choice towards feeling.

It is a choice to connect with your humanity. 

Thus, going forward at the end of each post, I will provide you with a simple practice of a choice to try on.

Take what's helpful, and leave the rest.

But then I'll also ask you to reflect on it in the next week's post.

What happened when you did that practice?

I want to catalyze more engagement. I know you’re reading this, and I’m guessing a learning community could be helpful. If you’re into it, I hope you’ll engage the weekly practice and then comment about it. It helps my algorithm, but it also helps to keep us connected and growing together.

When you focus on how instead of why, it’s a pattern interrupt. Especially for us blamer types, why is frequently a blaming question.

But asking how, well, that’s about centering deep self love.

This week's choice: Ask how instead of why. If your partner returns with the wrong item from the store, ask them, "How should we proceed with dinner?" instead of "Why didn't you get the broccoli?" 

If your boss asks why you didn't complete the thing in a particular way, say to yourself, "How am I feeling right now?" instead of trying to defend. 

If a disappointment happens, and you don't get the job/promotion/award, instead of asking why and then blaming yourself, ask, how might I take care of myself right now? How might I feel the grief of this loss? 

Creative Liberation Ritual Workshop TODAY

We’ll meet at 1 PM Eastern.

Please consider ahead of time if you have a creative project that feels stuck.

Here’s the link: https://us02web.zoom.us/j/88143708017

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How to grieve who you used to be

You have lived so many lifetimes in this one, am I right? 

And as many lives as you've had, you've had that many deaths, minus the final one. 

The painful metamorphosis, mid-life crisis, self-reinvention. 

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You, like me, have likely been called at various points in your life to grieve iterations of yourself that are no longer relevant. 

What was it like for you, the first time your skin no longer fit?

When you outgrew the structures that kept your nascent knowing contained? 

Did you break up with family values, a religion, a doctrine, a relationship in order to be yourself?

 

For me, shedding an identity hurts like hell every time.

I spend some time in denial, then fight the change.

Finally, still in the identity, I grieve, wishing it didn't have to be different.

By the time the ill-fitting identity drops away, it's more like a cicada skin left on a tree trunk: an empty husk ready to be recycled into the energy of the Earth. 

The first time I let go was a beloved hippie identity I adopted in college.

Long calico handsewn dresses, Birkenstocks, patchouli.

Call me Daisy, and I'll hug you and hand you a flower.

Ram Dass, Grateful Dead, incense, beads…

I would likely have annoyed the shit out of you with my hippie-speak aphorisms and twenty-something idealism.

I look back on this time with a feeling akin to the cringe of reading a high school journal. 

Once my commitment to justice became stronger than my desire for spiritual bypass of the peace and love variety, my hippie girl identity no longer felt right.

Or was it living in post-communist Eastern Europe that shattered my naivety?

In any case, I couldn't find my way back to the flowered one. 

I had to let Daisy go.

I grieved her loss, her sublime sunshiney beauty.

But she didn’t fit anymore.

The next time it happened was my initiation. 

Something I've never told you, because I've told only a very few people, is that I was initiated in a tantric Hindu tradition in 2006. 

In preparing, I did a year of rigorous study and practice. 

I thought the preparation was the doorway.

But, immediately after my initiation, my entire life exploded spectacularly.

(I've come to learn that this is a common experience.)

Brutal beauty, I'll call it. 

Remaining in my heterosexual monogamous marriage with no emotional intelligence was not an option.

I stepped out of the role of wife.

My identity as a heterosexual, cisgender woman was hard to let go of; it provided so much access and social capital.

But wow!

What followed was awesome.

Queerness!

Femmeness!

The pull of the shaver in the shower, silky soft legs, hair blown out, hours spent at the mirror.

The shaping of a corset and the smoky rose beauty of ritual magick were a threshold I gladly crossed. 

Five years that initiatory period lasted.

Old relationships cracked and peeled away like sunbaked paint on the hood of a midwestern Camaro. 

The best part of submerging to your depths is the when you finally, reemerge, as you always do, it's like reincarnation. 

New year, new you, right? 

What gets glossed over when speaking of shifting identities is that the old identity is dying, and has to be grieved.

If you don’t grieve the old identity, don't worry because it will just pop up later like a whack-a-mole, waiting to be acknowledged.

No one here gets out alive, and when parts die, they often want a funeral.

Or at least the grieving and caterwauling of loss. 

What I'm being asked to let go of now is less an identity, and more a subtle strategy:

A part of me that can bypass my own needs to maintain relationships. 

Can you relate? 

How many times have you overridden what you needed and wanted as a price of admission to a relationship that can't hold all of the yous you are becoming? 

All relationships grow and change as the people in them do.

And sometimes, they stop fitting.

We become misaligned.

We complete what we were meant to do with on some soul level, and thus, the relationship ends. 

Several important relationships in my life have ended in the past two years. 

I've been grieving them, even as I know the necessity of the end.

I thought I was purely grieving the loss of the former closeness, connection, and intimacy.

The shared laughs and understanding. 

Ready to be godsmacked?

Because I certainly was when I had this recent epiphany:

I am also grieving the part of ME that could overlook my own needs to be in those relationships. 

That part is over.

That part has died.

Part of what has seemed intractable grief is NOT about the loss of the relationships with others, but the loss of the part of me that could avoid naming hard truths. 

I thought I was becoming more intolerant.

More precious. 

I had judgment about ending relationships that weren't working for me. 

My story has been, "I can't maintain community relationships. I suck at community." 

I believed firmer, more ungracious boundaries were indicative of the calcification of my heart. 

But my recent realization tells me the opposite is true: 

My heart is softening to my own needs.

What I was storying as intolerance I am reframing as healing. 

As parts heal up, they can no longer bear the incongruence of being in relationship while denying big truths. 

This is a colossal script flip, so I want to make sure you really get it because it has application in your life. 

For example, I have a new need for clarity about loyalty in a relationship.

So, if I have an ex, and you want to be in a relationship with both me and my ex, that doesn't work for me.

It doesn't meet my need to be clear about what's what and to trust you have my back.

I can't bear it, because the part of me that used to be able to bear it has healed.

Not being able to bear it is not a problem like I thought.

It's a sign of self-love, of healing. 

Make sense? 

Where in your life is your script about yourself inaccurate? 

Grieving parts that have healed is new to me. 

But I'll tell you this: as soon as I acknowledged that my grief was about more than just the ending of the connection, the grief lessened. 

Big life lessons are cyclical, aren't they?

We go around and around, learning the same things again, deepening our understanding each pass.

I hope I've got this one now: healing is not always easy to spot.

What looks like toughening can actually be softening. 

Please, if this was helpful today, drop a comment and let me know. It means the world!

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How to Receive Your Blessings without Pissing off the Universe

Gold Bootie shorts: Check!

Cute Gay Baseball hat: Check!

Cropped Unicorn Tank: Check!

My queer, non-binary friend and I have gotten up early to go to Portland Pride.

We are prepared to share glitter blessings with the marchers.

Unexpected rain dribbles down on our PRIDE outfits. 

I feel well prepared.

I've given plenty of glitter blessings and received quite a few myself.

My friend is a non-denominational chaplain, and their organization has provided biodegradable glitter in a gel base and a little written card with a blessing we can read.

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m jade barclay and anna k blaedel of enfleshed, a spiritual care organization that creates and facilitates spiritual resources for collective liberation through writing, art, contemplative practices, workshops, and other creative resources, define blessings: 

"Blessings are ancient. They are expansive. They have radical potential. They belong to everyone. They do not belong to any one tradition…. A blessing is an invitation to feel the larger web of life, the lifeforce, the love that dwells in the depths." 

This is the frame I'm holding, dancing through the raindrops to bring blessings to the queers.

People are readying themselves for the parade.

We quickly learn that people on their way somewhere will not stop to receive a blessing.

As we wander, we receive a few " No, thank yous." 

Finally, I see a group of trans folks circled under a trans banner.

Surely, someone there will appreciate a blessing. 

We enter the circle of about ten trans folks, and I ask, "Would anyone here like a glitter blessing?" 

There is dead silence for a few seconds before one young person says, "No, I don't want a fucking blessing."

They look like they want to spit, or punch me. 

I am shocked by their vehemence and rudeness.

Without pausing and considering what words I should say, these words come out of my mouth:

"Isn't it interesting how we refuse our blessings?" 

I stare right at them until they look towards the ground. 

"Would anyone else like a blessing?" my friend asks.

The moment is supercharged and tense.

A line has been drawn.

Although we are all some kind of trans, we are on opposite sides of the blessing line. 

I am surprised at how long my friend waits for an answer.

They are not letting this crew off the hook that easily.

It seems like hours, but probably only 45 seconds. 

Finally, a brave soul steps forward. "I would like a glitter blessing."

My friend faces them to give the blessing.

At that moment, the person I had interacted with slinks to the side and hisses,

"Glitter is like catching cooties." 

Without missing a beat, and like an Auntie to a misguided toddler, my friend coos,

"Oh no dear, this is biodegradable glitter." 

My heart is pounding as we all silently watch the person receive a blessing.

The blessing is beautiful; it is all about letting their light shine and sharing their sparkle with the world. 

But I am grabbed inside.

I do not use shame to teach. 

I am rarely confrontational. 

I respect consent, and a no is always a no. 

I have a strong brain-mouth filter. 

Words coming out of my mouth without choice disturb me. 

I gave this new adult a verbal slap-down. 

They were met with the energy they brought.

Was Spirit speaking through me?

I feel shaky as we walk away. 

Interestingly, our next encounter was with a group of gay Episcopalians.

I approached with the same question, "Would you like a glitter blessing?"

An older gay man stepped towards us.

"Oh honey, you know I never refuse a blessing!"

I walk around the festival feeling angry at the person who refused so rudely.

I feel angry that they don't yet have the skills of setting a boundary while staying connected.

They could have been polite, "No, or even, "No thanks."

No need to be energetically aggressive.

I feel angry at the system that made them suspicious of kindness offered.

I feel angry at the world that trans people are not safe enough where they can accept a sweet gesture from other trans people.

I feel angry about glitter hate. 

But really, why do we resist our blessings? 

I can think of all kinds of reasons, and most lead back to trauma.

It doesn't feel safe to our system to let in goodness.

We are committed to suffering, rather than pleasure. 

I muse on this for the rest of PRIDE weekend.

I commit to being open to receive my blessings, however then show up.

I consider strange blessings I received that have had profound positive impact on my life. 

The man missing an arm who asked me for a dollar on Haight Street right before I went into a custody hearing.

When he took the ragged bill from my fingers, he threw his arm around me and whispered in my ear "A hug from a one-armed beggar is a blessing." 

I maintained custody of my kids.

The moment I shared with a dear friend telling him about a moment I had enacted physical violence, something I felt deep shame and regret about.

He responded, love shining from his eyes, "We all have the capacity to be violent, Pavini."

His words were a balm, a blessing my soul needed to come back to self-trust. 

Blessings come in many forms.

Perhaps the words that moved through me were the blessing that person needed to hear.

Maybe saying no was a blessing to them.

Maybe they needed a wake-up call from a trans elder to level up their receiving skills.

I will never know, so I must have faith that what happened was necessary.

But I know this: being rude when offered a blessing is not good magick.

If you flip off the bearer of a blessing, what happens to the blessings flowing your way? 

I don't want to refuse my blessings.

I want to welcome them in, feel gratitude for the receiving of goodness.

Also, glitter is beautiful. 

What is something for you that you didn't initially receive as a blessing, but upon reflection you see the deep magick at work in your life?