In Alice Hoffman’s “Magic Lessons” there is a black wolf familiar (i.e. a partner spirit in animal form) to a young witch, who is named Keeper. I finished reading this book today, in a borrowed hour of alone time on my deck. Ivy kept me company, her shiny body pressed against my Kindle-holding hand, until the patch of sunlight became too warm for her dark fur and she retreated to a shady corner. It is the perfect story for this change in seasons, full of magic and wilderness and love and lessons in surrender. Highly recommend to any fellow souls inching into witchy season with eyes locked on the moon and hearts craving deeper connection to the divine feminine or mama earth. Keeper would have been a great alternate name for Ivy. My loyal companion, generous with her love, forgiveness, affection, attention and appreciation towards me. I see her soul and know it is good. Somehow, she believes the same of mine. That’s really all I came on here to say. That I’m grateful for good books. This season. An hour of alone in the sun. And most of all, my keeper. ✨🌙
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Dear Ones,
Someone told me recently “Do not feel guilty for your recovery behaviors. We help others by sharing who we are.” And honeys, aren’t we all in recovery from something, in one way or another? Jobs, relationships, families, bodies…losses, changes, mistakes, traumas big and small. One of the things I like about the word “recovery” is that it literally means to get back what was stolen. And within this definition of recovery, I keep learning that our truest selves are never fully gone, nor is the work of self really about making something new from nothing. We don’t have to start from scratch. They are there, have been all along, waiting to be brought back into the light - the very center of our beings. They have been longing to be recovered, remembered, and then reunited, in a sense, when we are ready and open enough to know them again. Bullying ourselves into recovery won’t work. Loving ourselves into it, will. I’ll go first... In the forever process of recovering Tricia, I am delighted to remember I am the girl who has swam in the exotic wild oceans of the world with sea turtles, sea lions, sting rays, sharks, and fish of every shape and color. I am the girl who was ordained online in order to perform 4 different wedding ceremonies, upon request of the betrothed, including my own beloved sisters. I am the woman who has carried and birthed two beautiful babies into this world, one accidentally without medication thus making me an extra freaking warrior goddess-badass. I am the girl who loves to kitchen dance, to walk quietly in nature, to talk and laugh with friends for hours about everything & nothing in particular, to devour books of all sorts in coffee shops and beaches and cozy corners wherever I can find them. I am the girl who has gone sky diving, twice. Been an extra on a TV show filmed in San Francisco. Held a koala in Australia, walked the farmland of my ancestors with cousins in Slovenia. Cried with awe while watching a pod of orca whales teach their babies to hunt fish while on a boat in Iceland, cried with surrender when I caught my first wave surfing in Costa Rica, cried from laughter as my sister and I were spun in dizzy circles by two professional Irish dancers in Dublin, cried with reverence while doing yoga in a cathedral while my friend sang hallelujah a cappella…I am the girl who can let herself feel so alive and grateful, she can’t help but cry. She is caring, wild, funny, mindful and free. I hope to have more of her, soon. How about you? Who would you hope to bring back (or meet for the first time), from the very center of your being, to then share with others? As we begin to approach the final weeks of this year, I encourage you to spend some time in this introspective space. And if you want a bit of support in that process, well, you know where to find me... love and light, trish Many years ago, I (accidentally) started a habit of thought whenever I have to enter into cold water. Stepping into the waves of the Jersey shore, my breath catching in sharp inhale as my muscles squeeze in request for retreat, I found myself yelping “I’m alive! I’m alive!” out loud - a mantra of sorts, a praise-full reminder, of the treasure to my body becoming engulfed in all the sensations of the sea. Plunging beneath the surface, chills shaking down my spine, the mantra screams in my head. A way of snapping into now, pushing past discomfort to find the heart of it all: I am alive. What a miracle. “mama, I want to hold you” … …covered in sand, salty wet legs, sticky snack fingers…I’ll take it all, baby, to hold you and watch the waves on a sunny, breezy beach day. 🌊 Because here with you? I’m alive, I am alive. And you, sweet Saylor, are a miracle. finally sleeping through (most) nights now equals 5:30am daily wakes up.
and so in my coffee fueled haze I remind myself: everything is on loan. grasp your friends hands to tell her with urgency, she is a light in your life sniff your sons head after a day near the ocean to inhale the perfect perfume of sand, sun and sea catch frogs with your daughter in muddy bare feet, and feel the vibration of her delighted squeals invite your dad over for sushi and chit chat, grateful for his generous, safe, love towards all your children tell a few trusted souls how tired you are, how solo parenting 24/7 in long stretches of days brings new appreciation for all the women doing it alone, for longer sit in the morning light, listening to the song of tiny, red chested birds and the distant rooster from the farm beyond the woods. hold your early riser, the child with neon blonde hair, close to your chest while he insists on more nursing and more nursing. let a tear fall with mixed gratitude and exhaustion. live a full, rich, meaningful life. rest in small moments. in one day at a time, happiness will follow. Dear baby,
Earth day bubba, who bangs on the porch door each day, demanding to be let out into the sun or rain or wind, elements be damned, so long as you can greet the day outside. You are as committed to your joy as you are your anger. I love all of your bold feelings, even when they challenge my own. I love so very much about you…your sparkly blue eyes and white-blonde hair, like a little surfer dude straight from the womb, I can practically smell the beach on your skin. Your wobbly but speedy run, as you charge towards me for a hug. Your laugh, your gapped teeth, your sweet nature of sharing and how you intently watch and mirror your sisters (both human and pup). I love how much you adore music and dancing. How you snuggle into your grandparents for reading books, and how you blow kisses to Saylor before bedtime. Your sleep is interrupted at best each night, and I admit that mama is often tired while stumbling to your room to comfort and soothe. But I’d be lying if I did not also admit that holding you is heaven on earth, and in the quiet, safe, calm corner of our home that feels as though it belongs to just you and me, I find deep gratitude for my life. As we rock together I am reminded of the magic within the crossbody hold of nursing, how we fit together as puzzle pieces. My baby, breathing softly, chubby hand tucked into the top of my shirt near my chest. Becoming your mom during a personally, particularly challenging season has taught me so very much. No doubt you’ll hear for years how you were born during a globally strange time for most. So if and when (when, baby, because that means you are truly living) you also find yourself in the shadows of humanity, wondering which end is up, I’ll remind you of what nurturing your beloved existence has shown me: You can do this. You can crack to the most tender, raw, vulnerable part of your being and survive. You can strip away all of the numbing and costumes. Without props for proving or pleasing or performing involved, you can be loved and accepted for who you are. You can show the people who truly love you most, any and all of your shame, darkness and fears. They, I, we, won’t turn away. Allow them to look right into your truth, voice shaking or tears falling, and relief will be felt by all. You can model for others what that kind of courage looks like, and how it can open a life to beauty in ways one cannot have imagined. Things will change. It will be scary and awkward and unknown. It will be f*cking hard. Push onward. Some things will fall away and it will be intensely sad to dwell in the layers that peel back. But other things will dig deeper in your bones and it will be stunning to feel them take up that much desired, deserved space. It is all possible. I wish you the presence to recognize the beauty. I wish you the strength to stay in the hot, uncomfortable places of your journey. Burn it all away when it no longer serves you, baby. What’s left is what matters. What’s left is your best life. Happy Birthday, G. I love you so, so much. xo, Mama Dear Ones, The wind is blowing outside our home as I type, howling to the extent that my two year old keeps gasping and saying ‘oh my! That’s so cold!’. Winter is pushing its way into our community in a physical sense - a perfect invitation to continue exploring our end-of-year energies. For me, as I mentioned in my last letter, this centers around a concept of “Wintering”. Wintering means: Surrendering, yet preparing. Allowing the freedom created within letting go to empower our next steps. Allowing our planning and curating to come from a curious, creative place of abundant possibility, rather than the limiting space of judgement, regret or fear. It means allowing what we have to be enough, while welcoming in what is needed for the future we are designing. Wintering means: Reflection, followed by release. The radical notion to continue living our lives while accepting that something felt right for us at the time/season we chose it, even if it no longer serves our path and we must journey onward without it. And end-of-year Wintering in particular looks like a whole mixed bag of many flavors to forgiveness. When we forgive self or others, there is no lack of acknowledgement for harm caused. It’s truly impossible to have real intimacy with anyone without this. Forgiveness requires transparency and accountability. Yet it does not require complete absolution of all negative thoughts forever. Positive feelings don’t wholly erase negative ones. With forgiveness, we are less likely to be sensitive to, or triggered by, negative memories while seeing our hurts (self inflicted or otherwise) as part of who we are, yet not an all-encompassing representation of our beings or our lives. They co-exist. They are some, but blessedly, not all. Thank goodness, because there are things far more worthy of our energetic investment. In Wintering we are deepening our roots with trust in our unique process. We acknowledge that we survived another year, darlings. What did we learn? How did it change us? Where will we create transformation through active choice, healthy boundaries, and juicy, resonant, risk in the future? Thanks for sticking with me on this food for thought journey. More to come... In Gratitude, Trish Dear Ones, Last November I wrote to you about lessons from leaves: on grief and letting go, in the heart of pandemic energies swirling about our lives, crippling much of what we held to be constant & true for so long. A year later, as many of us begin to finally come up for air, I am once again in a space of reflection within this earthly cycle. Each transition from fall to winter freshly shares the knowledge within trees hundreds of years old, seasoned in their wisdom, alive and ancient without ego or fear, a part of the cycle that has repeated for centuries. “Wintering” is a new concept for me (and one I plan to share more on, soon!). For now, I’ll just say I think it’s the ultimate season of surrender. For a long time I assumed if I didn’t let all of my feelings and reactions be deeply personal, it would somehow make me less of a person. Less alive, in a sense, since feeling the whole spectrum of our daily humanity is what actually makes us human, right? It makes us real. Even more than feeling those feelings, I was borderline compulsive in charting my responses with great detail - either in the flash of a moment, or through revisiting for weeks (months?) over and over. I thought if I surrender to this thing, this thought, this outside opinion, this less-than-pleasant scenario, I am giving up control of my life. It’s equivalent to waving the white flag of defeat. It’s losing, and it’s dangerous. Now I believe: Surrender is not giving up. It is giving over. Surrender is a form of detachment. It is neither kind, nor unkind. Surrender is freedom, and peace. It’s space, wide open, beckoning me onward versus remaining small and stuck. Surrender is trusting my organic ability to course correct. Knowing my worth, my place in the rhythm of it all. Then letting the rest fall away with softness, with opened palms instead of clenched hands. Surrender is like the trees transition from fall to winter: we don’t fight the natural cycle. We don’t rage against our ancient, rooted knowledge that it is time to let go. To rest. To let it be...to die, even. Because only from there, new beauty can grow. This is the energy I want to enter our next year with. How about you? We can ask ourselves when we feel our fight against surrender: Dear Ones,
Several years ago I traveled to Ireland with my family. It was time well spent on long country drives, admiring surviving pieces of rich history, in colorful seaside towns, and cozy pubs. With heaping plates of fish and chips, shepherd's pie, cold glasses of Smithwick's with a Guinness top, and crisp pints of cider never too far from reach. What I wouldn't give to be feasting on these treats again, now. As part of our adventures, we had the privilege of a semi-private tour on an old Irish dairy farm, inhabited and cared for by the same lineage for centuries. Our host, named Paddy, of course, was a gentle soul of a grandfather. We strolled the property in our wellies and rain jackets as he shared stories of his family history, welcoming us into both his current home for tea with biscuits, as well as a stop in the original master house still kept on the land: the place where he was born, as well as his mother, his grandmother, and many more babes before them. Our group of about 40 eager visitors squeezed politely into the tiny space. Paddy took to an old stool, settling in with a sigh and a matching creak of its wood to his bones, then began to recite a classic Irish poem by Mona Tierney from memory. Not a sound was uttered by the intimate crowd. We were captivated by his cadence, the way his truly sparkling blue eyes lifted and dropped in rhythm with the words. His beautiful accent sealed the deal for our delight in this man. O’ What is it all when all is told This ceaseless toiling for fame and gold The fleeting joy of bitter tears We’re only here for a few short years Nothing’s our own save the silent past Loving or hating-no thing can last Each pathway leads to a silent fold O’ what is it all when all is told What is it all a grassy mound Where day or night there is never a sound Save the soft low moan of the fanning breeze As it lovingly rustles the silent trees. Or a thoughtful friend with whispered prayer May sometimes break the stillness there Then hurry away from the gloom and the cold O’ what is it all when all is told What is it all just passing true A cross for me and a cross for you Ours seems heavy while others seem light But God in the end makes all things right He tempts the mind with loving care He knows the burden that each can bear Then turns life’s grey into loving gold O’ what is it all when all is told. I had originally planned to end this brief writing exercise with just those words. But a college friend shared a favorite family proverb from her dad, a true Irishman, today on her on Instagram that inspired me to expand with a final thought. Her quote: “It is in the shelter of each other that people live” (thank you, @noracanz ,for this lovely bit of food for thought). When all is told of this life, I hope it is a story rich with investment in kinship. Connection. Shelter shared; safe space for self and others to dwell. When I think about my life thus far, the highlights - the moments of real, fulfilling, deep living, whether joyful or painful or somewhere in between - have always been blessed by the physical, emotional, or spiritual shelter of others. Living means loving, hoping, suffering, adventuring. Living means growing and healing, forgiving and serving. Living is hard. Full stop. Yet it is made easier, worthwhile, even, by a thoughtful friend with a whispered prayer. Let us choose to shelter each other, so that we all may fully live. Grace & Peace, Trish Welp, I told my husband two years ago that these photos would never see the light of day (though I didn’t mind obliging him in silliness during our maternity shoot with baby S). But since we are officially back in Philly, not having maternity pics taken for baby 2, and quite frankly I am leaning into being more lighthearted as a form of my 2021 words “release/surrender” ….behold! My Eagles loving man, pretending to hike, hike, hike deliver our child. Good Lord, I hope these make y’all laugh.
On a less light note: So many kind people messaged both publicly and privately about my last pregnancy Instagram post, sharing thoughtful compliments about me and the bump. Thank you again for that. I have never posted a photo with so little clothing on, so the extra vulnerability was present, then met with really gentle encouragement. The response, however, also prompted me to broaden these womanly body thoughts a smidge. Mostly, I feel I need to clarify that I am the furthest thing from self conscious about my pregnant body. In fact, the power I have felt while growing my babies has allowed me to worship my skin more than any other time in life. It’s the AFTER that presents a…problem? I resent this. I resent that a switch gets flipped, without my permission, as soon as a baby is birthed. Deliciously soft, curvy and plump change from being acceptable and cooed over, to residing on a rapidly expiring timeline of grace. I resent that any man, anywhere, across all time and space in the history of the universe, has any drop of privilege assumption to say a single word in regards to a woman’s postpartum body (yes, this happened to me). Ma dudes - even if you had the God gifted ability to grow human life within your being (which, you don’t) or experienced the process of delivery, vaginal or c-section, and it’s effects (yea, you do not) OR could sustain said birthed life with nutrients created from your being (nope. not in your wheelhouse) …maybe still keep it to yourself? Like...deep, deep down in the depths of self that never see the light of day, ever? Really this applies to all people and all body commentary, but I don’t have time to dive into that right now! Thirty minutes to write while my toddler naps, and whatnot. For me, what’s worse is that I have resented women who do “bounce back”. Even when it happens fairly naturally, without a ton of effort, while I’ve been consumed with trying not to care how many steps I clock each day just to hit movement goals. Even if they’ve obviously kicked their own asses with commitment to exercise and mindful eating, and I’ve slothed it up watching reality TV with a sleeping newborn on my chest. I have resented the before and after photos shared publicly, that strike me more as an effort to gain approval for “after" than to acknowledge any meaning in the journey. (We coaches are obsessed with the journey, far more than the destination!) We do not have time for unpacking the media's obsession with "bounce back" stories, either. Just know that it's not news to be praised. It's toxic. Even if postpartum women have every damn right to make these bounce-back choices for themselves, and *technically*, I do, too…the choice feels so heavily influenced, doesn’t it? I sincerely want to know why. Why is this your goal? And I’m annoyed at myself that, even as a professional Life Coach, I could still find a way to react by briefly questioning the dignity in another persons process. Which makes me no better or evolved than the rest. Which proves it’s never truly about “them”. So why am I triggered? I resent that the internal debate never seems to fully cease. Maybe I want to push my body and see how she transforms. Can’t that be enough? I remember Brandon saying once that part of his love for fitness comes from his fascination and awe of how he can manipulate his body - how it responds to him - and I have always felt that to be a powerful and curious place, rather than ego driven. But how do I know how much of that is for outside approval or a false sense of safety from judgment, versus my soul-goals and personal perceptions? When I say I want to be strong, have more energy for my kids, am I telling the whole truth, or just hoping I’m not totally betraying my feminist-body-positive stance by wishing for abs like I had in high school?…does it matter? We can feel it all, right? "Yes, And.” is what I teach regularly. How does that apply here? How might my values come forward more strongly, to help dictate my choices and the feelings that follow? Why does it seem that, despite such beautiful efforts by women on a global scale, this feels like impossible harmony: Some women will rock their hard earned abs and feel great in a bathing suit, and others will stroke their soft, stretch marked bellies and feel just as fine in a bikini. And no one looks at the other with eyes that label “good” and “bad”. Labels become too boring. And then all of that energy we save from refusing the cycle of comparison is used on things like, gosh I dunno, actively loving our communities, our kids, our friends, our earth? Can we imagine what would be possible from there? I know we can. I know we have. So where is the gap? In what is possibly the worst closing thought of any post I’ve written…in part because my kid is waking up, in part because my thoughts are scattering...I have no clear answers to any of this. Except: Somehow, despite all odds and never ending loop thoughts as I age, change, transition, thoughts that need to be navigated with deep grace and perspective, I love my body. I do. And I really, really, really want you to love yours, too. grace and peace, trish Dear Ones, There is a simple coaching tool offered to clients, as designed and taught by CTI (the program I attended), called The Wheel of Life. You may have walked through this process with me, depending on our dynamic! In the exercise, we take an assessment of satisfaction, ranking 1-10, in eight significant areas of overall life. It’s a snapshot to help us dive deeper into the balance of wholeness, and a reliable way to get some conversation flowing. One piece of the wheel I’ve been thinking about more lately is Physical Environment. This can be explored on a larger, take the leap, kind of scale through examining the cities, communities, states, even countries we live in. And it can also be narrowed in on, focusing on the physical structures we eat, sleep, work, dwell most often within. Asking: How does this place or space reflect how I wish to feel on the inside? How does it inspire me, or help me live in greater alignment with my values? What feels missing? What feels really good? As someone who has chosen to adhere to a mainly home-based life in the past year (per health guidelines I trust most), I don’t think I have ever let myself envision what our house energy could be with some serious design thought to this extent before. Plus, ya know, pregnancy and nesting are VERY real vibes. This morning I turned to my husband and said something along the lines of OK, that’s it, no more slow growing into this space. I need changes, refreshes, new organizing. We are stagnant. I believe this can help. (And I need them before baby #2 arrives so LET'S GO BIG DADDY!).. .We made a list together of the heavy lifting he’ll need to do, borrowing pieces from one room to loan to another. I took some furniture pics for marketplace selling of things that no longer serve or feel in frequency with our vision. I finally ordered a few frames and prints I’ve been dragging my feet on for gosh knows what reason. And I purchased a handful of tools to help me get organized - ultimately, a gift to my mental health from current self to future self. Which pretty perfectly brings me to our next client spotlight segment! I am happy to share with you the mission of SortJoy. CEO Stefani is a delightful young woman I had the pleasure of working with in an official coaching capacity, and whom I also consider a friend. In her own words: "SortJoy makes eco-friendly home organization tools designed to simplify and elevate your space. We are dedicated to doing no harm to the environment and making products that you can feel good about bringing into your home. I personally have 3 bins being shipped to me for baby #2's nursery & the living room toddler play area. I really love this idea of using beautiful, simple, eco-friendly pieces to help me wrap my head around staying organized in the chaos of motherhood. I also love the versatility (for use in other rooms as our needs change) and nod to conscious consumerism - which has been a desired family value for awhile now. Congratulations on your new venture, Stefani! Learn more about SortJoy's mission on Instagram, via their website, or by contacting Stef directly. In Gratitude, Trish Quick tips to supporting small businesses like SortJoy and TGL Coaching:
That middle of the path pause, deep breath with hands clasped by her heart, seizes my spirit each time I see it. “Moon” is a favorite word of hers. So is “nakie”, which she just started asking for this week, and which we oblige each evening for a few minutes pre-bath. Her soft little body running wild through the house, Ivy always by her side, trying to sneak a lick of freshly exposed sweet baby skin. She squeals with delight and the pleasure of ultimate freedom, making us laugh harder when she stops at the fireplace to say “butt! hot!". We howl out the window into the dark. We marvel at the birds visiting our deck feeder. We clap for the squirrels who leap along the fence at Auntie’s house; tiny, fluff tailed acrobats performing through all seasons. I wonder how her development will be different, growing from baby to child during this time of predominant isolation. I wonder if she’ll have a harder time connecting with other kids, as play dates are still mostly an unknown concept (outside of the absolute blessings that are my niece and nephew). I wonder how my mothering would be different…better…if I were able to safely show her more of the world’s treasures; how I’d show up for her, if I still owned the ability to fill my emotional tank outside of a family pod, with time spent in the nourishing company of good friends and autonomous adventure. I wonder how our modeling of partnership might speak more clearly to our true, shared values, without the additional stressors of all things stemming from a pandemic. How our attention, affections, appreciations would flow more freely and organically. How she would witness more thriving romance and less survival companionship. But there is that middle of the path pause. There are the “wows” she whispers when approaching a tree. There are the toddler gifts of a leaf, a rock, or a stick, which are given with wide eyes and a smirk of pride at her discovery. There is the wonder and the wild we must be managing to encourage, regardless. And I’m proud of that. Even as I wonder, I am hopeful, for there is much magic yet to be revealed. It seizes my spirit each time I imagine this for her. In Gratitude, Trish Hygge: (pronounced hoo-guh) is a Danish word used when acknowledging a feeling or moment, whether alone or with friends, at home or out, ordinary or extraordinary, as cozy, charming or special. Winter has never been a favorite of mine (other than the month of Christmas, of course). Growing up in NJ, and attending university in PA, meant plenty of years worth of snow, ice, biting winds, frozen fingers, dreary landscapes, not enough sun, runny noses and wetness creeping into the accidentally exposed cracks of my outwear, frustrating the hell out of me. In some parts of the world, winter spans an unimaginable lifetime. (Or, in actuality, months and months and months). “How do you survive the coldest, darkest months here?”, we asked our wicked smart and funny Icelandic tour guide during our August visit several years ago. “Oh! We drink. We are great drinkers! Vodka. Do you want some? We also make babies and get many university degrees.” MmKay. Options. I like it. Side note: this same tour guide was horrified that we all ate, and enjoyed, crab. “We wouldn’t even feed crab to our CATS!”, she exclaimed with disgust. Apparently, bottom feeders + seaside towns + storms and shipwrecks = “You could be eating your neighbor! Ack!” So, I have given some thought to what Hygge may look like during this particular season of predominant isolation. From now until March (ohgodwhy), you will find me indulging in a list of options to keep the deepest winter blues at bay. Or at least, to minimize their power and be reminded of patience and hope. How do you make the most of these difficult winter days, especially with greater limitations in place? Please share in the comments! 1. Flavored coffees + teas, inside of cute/funny/pretty mugs. I will never not adore a cleverly dressed cup of something warm and tasty! Mugs are one of my favorite gifts to receive. I'd fill all my cupboards with them if Bran would allow it! The trick is to pay attention to each step in the beverage creation process. It's a lovely mindfulness practice: Make it a sacred ceremony. Engage all our senses. Don’t rush. Enjoy.
2. Bundled evening walks with Ivy. (we’ll see how long this one actually lasts). She helps me fill my lungs with fresh air after hours spent indoors, reminds me to move, and allow the starlit sky to put things into perspective. Sometimes the cold hitting my face on the first step outside feels precisely as deliciously jarring as a jump into the freezing ocean on a hot day: A necessary plunge to awaken the cells from a state of stagnation. Bam! You’re alive. Feel that? 3. Baking pastries, eating one (two, probably three) and then delivering the rest to the doorsteps of loved ones. This fills the house with heavenly scents but keeps the tummy-turning excess away. 4. Candles, candles, candles. Most of them flameless. I’m sensitive to smells, so other than a select few I keep in the rotation, I prefer the look of flickering light over the too-strong smell so many exude. 5. Winter movies. Vibes like “Tumbledown”, “Bridget Jones” , “Serendipity” , “Groundhog Day” (eek, is this too close to pandemic-home now?), “New In Town”, “While You Were Sleeping”, “Grumpy Old Men” , “Miracle”, “When Harry Met Sally” ...we’re keeping it light under the weight of winter, ya know? 6. Lotion all over my bodacious, pregnant bod post-shower or bath, followed by extra TLC on the ol’ tootsies via snuggle socks. I love to soak in a tub so hot that it almost burns off a layer of my skin (<--exaggeration. but yea I like it real hot). I’ve been told I shouldn’t do this while pregnant, but Saylor turned out beautifully and still adores bathing with her mama, so I’m not so worried about accidentally boiling this babe, either. 7. Stretching in a warm, sunny living room will hopefully help thaw my limbs and heart. Pregnancy stretches is a more accurate description, as there will be minimal feats of strength. Did you know a woman with child over the age of 35 (hi, me!) is clinically labeled a “geriatric pregnancy”? Yea, well, this Golden Girl is greasing her joints to prevent any hip breaks. 8. Read and read and read and read. Read in bed with a diffuser full of essential oils humming beside me. Read on the couch covered in layers of blankets and Ivy’s head on my lap. Read in front of the fireplace, with my daily allotment of caffeine. Read my magazines delivered for free, thanks to a seemingly never ending amount of expiring United Miles Brandon has, that need to be cashed in for random magazines or lost into the mileage abyss. Read outloud to Brandon, since he falls asleep trying to read on his own. Story time is such a happy time for me. I am in need of recommendations, always. Whaddya got for me? 9. Crockpot meals once or twice a week. Makes dining in daily feel homey and nourishing, and the leftovers keep so well. I have started prepping most dinners by 11am, acknowledging that by 4 o’clock I am super spent and zapped of my will to cook. As I tell my clients daily: no shame in figuring out your own rhythms and tools to set yourself up for the most success possible. 10. Coloring! I say this without a trace of humor: I have been wayyyyy ahead of the zen coloring movement for YEARS. Kicking myself for not capitalizing on my stress soothing go-to back in the early 2000’s. This season I’ll be filling out a coloring book of postcards, then sending them off to people I love, miss, just wanna say HI to. Let me know if ya want one. No form of connection is too small these days! 11. Music playing from morning until night. Lean into your vibe that day. We’ve been rotating the likes of: both quarantine Taylor albums, Bon Iver, Chris Stapleton, Maggie Rogers, Leon Bridges or Bonnie Raitt Pandora stations, Fleetwood Mac, and Frozen I&II soundtracks, which make me want to gouge my eardrums out from over-listening, but damn does it make Saylor so freaking happy to hear. ElsaAnnaOlafSven (as Say calls you all at once), you haunt me. 12. Light therapy for a few minutes each day. Snagged a lamp on Amazon, nothing fancy, just your basic UV-Free version. I'm experimenting with keeping it on my desk during client sessions, or perhaps moving it to my nightstand to help me rise from winter slumber with a bit more ease. Again, no shame in inviting in whatever tools may be available to aid us on our wellness journeys. Winter will continue to unfold for many weeks (I repeat: ohgodwhy). I would LOVE your thoughts on Hygge in general, and especially any ideas or suggestions of what to add to this list! I will also pop back on to update as I trial/error/pivot my own efforts. Grace & Peace, Trish Dear Ones,
Per usual, I am several weeks behind the official start of a new calendar year with my letter to you all. Blame it on any number of things - pandemic fatigue, motherhood, pregnancy, winter blues. It’s all truth, yet here we are! Surviving, occasionally thriving, and always marinating on topics of the heart, mind, and soul. Let’s dive right into the good stuff. Here’s where I landed with my Word/Intention for 2021 (resolutions rarely work, y’all. get on the intentions train): Release (verb): "allow or enable to escape from confinement; set free” Set free. Oofda. Release many (most?) expectations for this year. Release any hard-set visions of how the arrival of baby #2 will/should go. Release the need to prove, perform, or please others in order to be “liked”. Release martyrdom in motherhood. Release the false notion of needing to control the family ship full time in order to avoid hurts. Release the long held stories that only serve to limit me. Release and be free to create imperfectly. This may sound a bit like I’m giving up a lot from a space of defeat, but that is not how it feels to me. Rather, that I am practicing setting free the fears wrapped around what might be, in order to dwell, thrive, be curious within and about what is. There is so much more breathing room in releasing. There is so much glorious possibility. My daughter was watching a new episode of Sesame Street the other day, and I was struck by a little jingle they sang throughout the show. Essentially, as the cute, furry monsters were faced with various tasks or opportunities for problem solving or creating, they’d say: I wonder… What if… Let’s try!… At what age do we stop being encouraged to approach our lives, goals, feelings from that space of open curiosity? When does out-the-gate perfection override the natural journey of learning? I don’t know, but I am (as all good Bravo housewives say) OVER IT. It is utterly organic for us to wonder, try, fail, learn, succeed. It is the absolute natural way. Consider what would be possible if the alternative patterns of thinking/doing (or not doing) were released… To commit more vulnerably to my work, I’ve signed up to join thousands of other creators embarking on a journey with our crafts for 100 days, courtesy of the official #the100dayproject !! I’m looking forward to writing everyday, and sharing as much as possible on IG, in coaching letters, and on my good ol’ faithful blog (such a loyal friend, however deeply neglected)... Even with baby boy arriving in this time frame, I feel pulled to honor my passion for coaching AND writing simultaneously. I want to show my daughter, especially, the value in exercising our spirits in these ways. I paid the $70 for all the prompts and support, since money is a big accountability partner for me. Dollars well spent, I’d say. If there are any ideas, questions, topics you might be interested in reading about from my (coaching, mothering, partnering, sisterhooding, activist, laughably flawed but onward-ing, grateful life-ing) perspective ... I AM ALL EARS. Cheers to Release, Trish Dear Ones,
It’s amazing how drawn we are to fleeting things. We view sunsets and shooting stars, fireworks and a turn of seasons with wonder and reverence, yet often struggle ourselves with all the impermanence built into being human. On one of our daily walks this week, my girls and I found ourselves pausing under a beautiful tree, full of crimson, orange and yellow shades, watching the leaves quietly let go of their branches. I was struck by the way they quivered, an almost imperceptible shake as though singled out by a mysterious breeze, before falling peacefully to the ground below. It made me feel as though nature itself, in its most pure, perfected cycles, may feel momentarily fearful of change; that perhaps it, too, grieves the loss of one life, as it leads to another. The concept of grief has come up quite often in my coaching sessions this year. Through my work with clients I have found a new perspective on this energy. Mostly: when someone passes, there is an “acceptable” period for grief. Services and ceremonies act as a way to say, witness this; it’s real, and hard, and hurts. There is an undefined public permission slip to move through complex feelings without shame, or judgement, as it is necessary to affirm a loss in order to begin to move through it, no matter how long that next process takes. But physical loss in this sense is not the only space where grief yearns to be processed. And I believe we are doing ourselves a disservice, especially now, by not acknowledging this truth. This year has been, and continues to be, nothing like we imagined. Nothing. My family, for example, had visions of sweet friendship and familial reunions upon moving back to our original home town. We pictured weekly hang outs, kiddo playdates, long weekend trips and local adventures, settling into a rhythm with loved ones we’d longed to live near again. We planned for travel galore with our baby girl. And while we have managed to patch together a bedraggled collection of connections here and there locally, it is nowhere near what we had so deeply looked forward to. My husband misses his family, who do not live closeby. I yearn for our daughter to share her life with all those we love, but have not seen for months. So this is where I find myself most days: Grieving with dignity over the loss of a life we planned for. Trusting it is safe for me to let go, landing in the space of the unknown, instead. To tremble, even, before releasing my desires of “how I thought it would be…” Dear one - It is necessary to affirm your losses in order to begin to move through them, no matter how “small” you may fear they are, or how long that process takes. It is OK to grieve this year in its layers of messy. Grieve the stalling of a career trajectory. Grieve a transition to motherhood looking more isolated than any mama should have to bear. Grieve a child’s lack of important social education within a standard classroom environment. Grieve a holiday without festivities or traditions, celebrations or visits with loved ones. Grieve the desire for connection and partnership, while dwelling in necessary solitude. Grieve for the suffering of our collective communities - in health, business, marriage, family, culture. Grieve. Tremble. We are a part of nature in its most pure, perfected cycles. The loss of this life will ultimately lead to another. Our wheels will make a full turn. With love and support, Trish I stumbled upon this recipe via Pinterest two years ago, and it has never disappointed. While pregnant with Saylor, I would essentially whip up a batch every week, keep a few for myself, then send the rest into work with B. Keep in mind my husband worked at the time for a lab studying the ketogenic diet (meaning: low carb/sugar), but his coworkers snatched up these puppies in minutes each time he delivered them. THAT'S how good they are :) INGREDIENTS
INSTRUCTIONS
happy baking, trish |
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