Robert Holden, in his book, Happiness Now, writes, “No amount of self-improvement can make up for any lack of self-acceptance.”  He went on to write,

Without self-acceptance, peace is impossible,
with self-acceptance, peace is yours.
Without self-acceptance, love has to wait,
with self-acceptance, peace is welcome.
Without self-acceptance, there is no happiness,
with self-acceptance, you know happiness.
Without self-acceptance, truth hurts,
with self-acceptance, truth heals.
Without self-acceptance, you can accept no one fully into your life,
with self-acceptance, you can.
Without self-acceptance, you are always hiding,
with self-acceptance you spirit is gliding.
Without self-acceptance, nothing is enough,
with self-acceptance, you are enough.
Without self-acceptance, you are not free to grow,
with self-acceptance, your potential is free to flow.
Without self-acceptance, there is no chance,
with self-acceptance, there is always a chance.

To live free I must let go of holding onto shame and set myself free to Love.

I can do all sorts of work to make myself kinder, happier, even more physically strong. But, if I don’t accept myself the way I am, if I carry any morsels of self-hatred, regret and shame, I will still be caught in the trap of believing the past is the present and I am my shame.

Yesterday, I had to give two TV interviews on the issue of the ‘homeless spikes’ that have been sprouting up in cities around the world. I am comfortable in front of a TV camera. I have given hundreds of interviews over the past years of working in the homeless sector, and am confident in what I have to say and how I come across.

Yesterday, in spite of my familiarity with the subject matter, and my passion for inspiring others to shift their perspective of homelessness to a more caring and collective understanding of our human condition, I didn’t want to do the interviews. I didn’t want to be on purpose.

Over the past few months, I have allowed some pounds to creep back onto my body. I think they may have snuck in while I was sleeping because I don’t remember inviting them but regardless of how they managed to take hold, I don’t like them. And rather than do anything about it, I’m doing my best ostrich imitation and avoiding the issue all together!

It isn’t that I’m saying mean things to myself, it is that I am avoiding everything about those extra pounds. While that includes listening to the self-chatter about what a loser I am to let those extra pounds creep in, it also means I am avoiding thinking about what I can do to reclaim my homeostasis. I am refusing to step into my power to take action — of any kind. And in my lack of taking action to create the more I want in my life, I am forcing myself to stay just below the level of true consciousness in the land of ‘if I pretend it’s not happening, it’s not happening.”

Ahhh, if only I could believe in make-believe I’d be able to make myself all perfect and shiny all the time!

I don’t need make believe to let go of shame. Regret. The Past.

All I need is a willingness to accept myself today, just the way I am, and know….  I am enough.

.

My father was an only child.

My mother one of ten.

Once, as a child, I met some of my father’s extended family. A step-sister and her children. I think possibly another step-sister too.

I’ve met many of my mother’s siblings, and some of their children too, but seldom, have I been able to entertain them at my house. They mostly live in France, though some still live in India where my mother was born.

Last night was special.

My Auntie Maud’s son, along with his wife and their youngest son are visiting their eldest who has recently moved to Toronto from Bangalore, India. They journeyed west for a couple of days just to visit my mother. Which meant, we got to meet too!

Last night, they came for dinner with my sister and her husband with whom they are staying. We laughed and chatted and shared conversation and sat around the dinner table as families do.

As I sat and listened and watched and took part, I thought about the strands of family ties that bind us around the world. From Bangalore to Paris, to the south of France to Canada and all around the globe. My mother was the only one of her siblings to move to Canada. Most of the others left in the 1950s shortly after India declared its independence. The city they lived in, Pondicherry, had been under French control for centuries. Suddenly, no longer a French protectorate, those with French passports were given an option. Stay and declare your allegiance to India, or leave.

My mother had already sailed away at the end of the second world war. Her siblings made the same difficult decision to leave their parents behind and most of them, never having lived, or even visited France, chose to adopt Viet Nam as their home. It was a difficult and short-lived decision. Colonial rule was on its way out and the French government handed over their power to the Americans. My mother’s family moved, en masse, to France where the majority continue to live today.

My Auntie Maud and her husband, along with my Auntie Marie-Therese, never left India. It is the land they love. It is their home.

Roots have always fascinated me. With neither of my parents born in Canada, and having spent most of my childhood and into my twenties living outside the country, I have often wondered about my roots, about what makes me Canadian.

Last night, as I looked around the table, I realized that it was there, all around me.

I don’t need to wave a flag, or tattoo a picture of our national animal on my shoulder.

My roots are not found between the blue cover of my passport or whether or not I can sing our national anthem in both official languages.

They are found right there, sitting around the table, sharing stories, sharing each other’s lives.

My family is my roots. My mother, my sisters, my nieces, aunts, uncles, cousins and my two daughters who are at the heart of what enriches my life and fills my soul with meaning, connection, depth. It doesn’t matter that many members have passed on, or that I haven’t met all my cousins and distant relatives, or where in the world we are. It is that we are connected through the invisible ties of family that bind us together all over the globe. And as I continue to add to the web of family ties, the strength of each strand grows more brilliant through the connections we make in tying strands from others lives into ours. C.C. and his son and daughter and his large extended family are all woven into the tapestry of my family, creating brilliant hues where ever we connect.

I am blessed.

I don’t need roots to know where I stand. I simply need to look around the table and know, this is where I belong.

Namaste.

On Saturday as part of my role as a facilitator in the G2 portion of Choices, I was asked to take on a new role in training the coaches on the Purpose Process. It was my first time giving this section of the training and I was nervous.

My l’il ole critter was having a field day. “What if you blow it?” “What if you mess up?” “What if you…. blah. blah. blah.”

Now, five years ago, maybe even not that long ago, I would have given into the critter’s voice and made myself sick with worry about this new responsibility and how well I would or would not do.

I would have made it all about me.

Time can be a powerful ally. Over time, I have learned to disconnect from the critter’s nattering. It is not all about me. In that knowing, I have embraced the idea of beginners mind as the pathway to doing my best. In beginner’s mind, I do not have to have all the answers. I simply need to be open to the experience so that my best in that moment can shine.

I’d had ample time to prepare and practice that portion of the training, I was ready. I’d also had lots of opportunity to let go of fear, self-judgement, self-criticism and anything else that would stand in my way of giving my best because I know, in beginner’s mind I never have to be perfect. I simply need to be completely present.

My ego (aka Nasty Critter) would like me to believe there is no room for mistakes. There is no forgiveness. There is no grace.

My ego would like me to feel the angst of having to be perfect as the only path to accomplishing my goals.

My ego, and my heart, want the same things — they do not want me to fail.

The difference is, my ego believes I will, my heart knows I can’t.

My heart knows that doing my best is all that I can do. In that place where my heart is at ease, I am embraced with knowing that my best is good enough — and if I’m not accepting that truth, I’m making it ‘all about me.’

Letting my ego step in and take over would have set me up for failure.

Stepping back from ego to focus on my mission of inspiring each coach to know that their best was good enough and that they each had the capacity to step out of ‘it’s all about me‘ thinking. My purpose wasn’t to ‘look good’ in front of them. My vision was to awaken within each of them the knowledge that they had the power, the information and the tools to create a safe and courageous space for their trainees  to find the words to their purpose.

I gave my best to inspire their best. In that space of grace, where my best is good enough, ego chatter fades into the joy of being present, without worrying about ‘how am I doing?’, ‘what are they thinking about how I am doing?’ ‘do they like me and how I’m doing or are they sitting there judging me and finding fault with everything I’m saying and doing?’

Instead of focussing on me, I got to focus on the information I was imparting and how best to get it across.

Instead of making it all about me, I got to move into that space where I could listen and watch for signs from the coaches that signalled they got it, or something needed more clarification.

Instead of fearing the outcome, I took my gaze off of continually questioning ‘how am I doing?’ and focused instead on creating a safe and courageous space for learning to happen so that fear could fade away for all of us.

And, added bonus, I had my co-facilitator who has given the training many times, right beside me to catch me if I fell.

It was a great lesson in letting go of fear and my need to ‘be perfect’ to fall into that space where living my purpose was I all I needed to create better in my world.

I am an alive and radiant woman, touching hearts and opening minds to set spirits free.

I’m coaching at Choices  and off to be part of miracles unfolding in every heart.

Be back Monday!

Have a great rest of the week.

We planted flowers yesterday. We raked the lawn, tidied the hedges, swept the walk and laughed and joked and connected as a team and a community.

We were at one of the buildings owned by the Calgary Homeless Foundation to help out with spring cleaning. It was fun and fulfilling and, it was a break from ‘the office’.

And when we finished, we went to a local pub for a late lunch and laughed and joked and shared in the harmony of having spent some time outside working together.

A year ago, this was a problem location. The neighbours were up in arms. A group of citizens were banding together calling for the shutting down of the Foundation’s housing first programs in their neighbourhood.

We had meetings and talks and emails and phone calls. We worked together; the agency that manages the programming in the building and works with the tenants, all of whom have long-term lived experience of homelessness; the police who respond to calls and were concerned by the high level of calls from the building. We worked with the community, the businesses in the area and the Alderman’s office to find a path to common ground, to that place where the label ‘homeless’ doesn’t equal ‘criminal’, undesirable or any host of other names we throw at people whose lives we do not understand and whose condition often scares us.

This was our second year of planting flowers and gardening at the building. No one came out to help last year. No one came out to chat.

Yesterday, one of the tenants came out and helped us garden.

Yesterday, a woman sat on the front steps and shared snippets of her journey.

Yesterday, a woman chatted from her balcony and told us how pretty the flowers looked. Another man chatted from his balcony and eventually came down to chat some more and have his picture taken.

And as I was leaving, another man called out to me from behind his screen door. “Didn’t you use to work at a shelter?” he asked.

“I did,” I told him.

“I remember you,” he said. And then he shared what it was like to be housed. To have a home. To have a place to call his own. “It’s hard,” he said. “I don’t always remember how to be here.” and then, he laughed. A shy, quiet laugh. There was no nervousness in his laugh. No trying to hide some unnamed discomfort. It was an honest commentary on his situation. “It sure is better than living in a shelter and on the streets,” he added.

Later, at lunch, I chatted with the restaurant manager with whom the managing agency from the building and I had met last spring to talk about his concerns about the building and its tenants. “It’s been quiet since we met,” he said. “The agency has done a fantastic job of dealing with our issues.”

It is always the challenge of this work. Our perceptions. Our fears. Our misconceptions interfere with seeing there is a path to common ground. There is a way to live together in harmony. It may not be ‘normal’, but it can be better than living on separate sides of the equation, fighting each other for our right to stand our ground.

We say, not in my backyard, in the hopes that by declaring our sacred ground, we will not have to step across the line to see the view from someone else’s perspective. We hope that by holding onto our fears, we will not have to drop our guard to acknowledge that we each have a right to find our way home, no matter our condition.

To find common ground, we must let down our guard.

Yesterday, I worked alongside my team on the ground around a building that houses formerly homeless Calgarians.

It was a good day for community building.

“I owe it all to going to jail,” he tells me as we sit in the living room of his bachelor apartment on a Friday afternoon, the sun streaming in through the windows, the sound of traffic on the busy roadway outside a constant hum in the background. He has agreed to be interviewed for an article I’m writing for an agency’s annual report. He is one of the tenants they house with long term experience of homelessness. “I want to do whatever I can to help. They helped me.”

Life wasn’t easy. It still isn’t. But he’s alive and that’s what counts he tells me. Foster care at 12. The streets at 16. He ran with a tough crowd. Saw a lot of Canada but doesn’t remember much of it. “I was drunk a lot. Stoned too.” And then he adds with a shy laugh. “And then, I got lucky.”

Lucky was going to jail for eighteen months, he tells me. “Never saw that coming,” he adds. “Thinking that prison would be the best thing that ever happened to me.”

It was in prison, he got diagnosed and started taking meds for a mental illness. “I owe it all to my mental health worker. She saved my life.” And he motions to the room in which we sit. The guitar. The training certificates hanging in a line on one wall. A child’s drawings on the fridge. “I’m here because of her.”

Here is a large one room bachelor suite in a building that is specifically for individuals with low income and lived experience of homelessness. He has lived here for 9 months. His plan is to keep living here, to keep gaining stability, to keep building his life. “As long as I stay good. I can live here. That’s my plan.”

Find value in all things.

For this man, going to jail is where he found the most value. It changed his life. For the better.

Another woman I interview tells me that four years of a debilitating illness was hard. Really hard. It took away her independence. It stole her self worth.

“I didn’t plan on getting sick,” she tells me on the day I interview her. “At first, I fought it. I thought I could keep working my way through it. But I was too sick and just kept getting sicker.”

Eventually, she lost her business. Her home. Her way.

“I was really lost for awhile,” she tells me. Her voice is quiet. Soft. Her eyes look away as though she can still see those days clearly. “I almost gave up.” And then, she got help.

“I never thought I’d have to reach out for help. That wasn’t me,” she adds with a laugh. In reaching out she discovered a world of possibility. It was different than the world she imagined, but it was there none the less. “I found all these people willing to help me. I used to think I was all alone. I wouldn’t change any of it, just to know that.”

Find value in all things.

It doesn’t matter if we judge something good, bad or indifferent. If we are experiencing it, there is value in it.

This week, starting on Wednesday, my youngest daughter and I are coaching together at Choices. It’s founder, Thelma Box, created the program 35 years ago to help women cope with life and divorce and everything in between. Many of the women who first came to the seminar were like Thelma. Single mothers. Divorced. Trying to keep their families together. Trying to keep themselves from falling apart. Thelma found value in her experiences by creating value for others.

Eight years ago, I sat in the seminar room for the first time and wondered, “what’s the value for me in all of this?” I had just spent 3 years rotor-rooting through my soul in a desperate attempt to find my answers so that I could help my daughters heal from the relationship that almost killed me. When I stepped into the seminar room I figured I had it all worked out. I was there because my best friend asked me to go. “I need you to go for me,” she said. She had helped save my life. It was the least I could do for her.

Little did I know that by stepping into the seminar room that first Wednesday as a trainee, I would find a lifetime of value that continues to inform and enrich my life, and my daughters lives as well. It wasn’t that I needed fixing. It was that I needed a safe, loving environment to be who I am without fear of being judged, challenged or dismissed. In that loving space, I grew to accept me, just the way I am. And, my daughters and I grew to know and accept each other, just the way we are. In that place, Love connected us and forgiveness and caring and grace became our field of engagement.

I didn’t know what value there would be for me in that seminar room eight years ago. It doesn’t matter. Sitting in that room, being in it again and again as a coach, the value I find far outweighs the time and energy it takes to continue to be part of the program.

And in my commitment, my daughters continue to explore its value in their lives. And what could be better than that? To know that they matter. That they are magnificent. That they have tools to live their lives outside their comfort zones.

There is value in all things. Our job is to find it and live it for all we’re worth.