Trusting Ourselves

Dear friends, 

I hope you are well, enjoying the beauiful days of early summer. 

For me, and, I know, for some of you, even amidst the beauty and celebrations of May, the last couple of weeks have been pretty intense. Along with the many things going on in the world, a report was released about a week and a half ago detailing the extensive abuse of a very well-connected person here in Louisville, a former Presbyterian pastor who, more recently, was very involved in, and often leading, interfaith initiatives. I have known him for about a decade. The report details his abuse when he was pastor before I knew him.

I am connected to many, many people who either experienced his abuse, both while he was a pastor and in the decade since, or who are reeling from the news of it. I know that keeping more people safe from him means sharing his name, and I have and will in other contexts. Here I am choosing not to. I don't want to speak/write/see his name*. 

Since the report came out, I've been part of many conversations with people about the report, their experiences, and the resulting shame, embarrassment, self-doubt, confusion, anger, grief, and more. I have also experienced this range of emotions. I could write volumes about each emotion, but today self-doubt gets the spotlight.

When I work with people, I often say, "I do not want you to trust me to the detriment of trusting yourself." 

There are so many ways we are taught to ignore, deny, dismiss, or numb our inner knowing. We are taught that there are authorities- religious, political, secular, familial- who know better than we do. We are encouraged to trust and follow them, even when our bodies are giving us warning signals that something is off. If trauma is a part of our story, understanding and trusting our bodies' signals is even more complicated.

Self-doubt serves a charismatic, abusive leader well. The patterns of manipulation only become clear in retrospect or from a distance. Once we see the patterns, we question, "Why didn't I see it?" "Why did I laugh that off?" "Why didn't I speak up?" 

Even outside of the context of abuse, self-doubt is a normal part of being human. Wanting to see the best in someone and offering grace are also so very human and really quite wonderful. That we would experience these doesn't mean there's something wrong with us or that we have reason to be ashamed. We're just human- messy, complicated, beautiful humans. 

Knowing this, the question then becomes: If self-doubt is so pervasive, how do we move toward self-trust? 

I belive it's through practice. I believe it's through tuning to the body and being in dialogue with it. Dominant culture doesn't encourage us to love or honor our body wisdom. Compassionate Communication has helped me tune in more skillfully and identify more easily what my body is telling me- that I want safety, ease, acceptance, understanding, something else. 

When I'm struggling, thankfully I have a few friends I can turn to to help me see and move through what is murky, unclear, difficult. I have come to trust them because when I've been most vulnerable, they have been ever so gentle with me. They affirm my worth, even when I'm feeling low. These are the ones who, even when challenging me, do so in a care-filled way. Even when they present a perspective very different from my own, they give space for me to be choiceful about what I do with that perspective. These are the ones who, in action and word, help me to trust myself more, not less.

This is how I hope to be with others. Sometimes I do so well. Other times, less well. I will keep trying. 

And I wonder about you: 

How or when do you experience self-doubt? 

What or who has helped you to trust yourself more? 

I'd love to know. 

If you want to explore self-trust with me, the next Savoring Time mini-retreat is coming up on June 9. Each one of these in-person experiences is an experiment with our individual and collective wisdom. June's theme is Light!

For a more sustained and a deeper dive into self-trust, I'll be facilitating The Artist's Way starting August 17th. I am offering this on a sliding scale and have payment plans available. Through June 15th, there is an Early Early Bird rate of $50 off for the Standard registration level. 

I am also excited to be a part of my first gallery art show. The opening reception is coming up this Thursday, June 6th, so if you want to see my collages and the works of Joan Zehnder and Kathy Christian, I hope you'll come to the show or visit the gallery during the 6 weeks it's up!
     
To learn more about these and other events, visit this page. If they speak to you, I hope you'll join me.  If you know of others who'd love this work, please share with them!

With love, 
Cory

*I originally wrote this for an email and did not link the report. Here, though I am still not using his name in the post, I am choosing to link the executive summary and the full report about the abuse. Both were originally posted here. If you decide to read them, please give yourself time, space, and whatever other support you might need to process. They are not easy to read and, as noted above, can bring up a lot of strong emotions. If you are a survivor of abuse, please be particularly care-filled as you decide if and how to engage.

Do You Know How Beautiful You Are?

Dear friends, 

A few days ago my mind was wandering as I sat in the passenger seat of my friend's car. During a lull in the conversation, an image began to form in my mind: 

A mirror with the words, "Do you know how beautiful you are?" written around it. I let my mind continue to clarify the picture and then told my friend, "I know what my Art Squared piece is going to be." 

For 11 years Louisville Visual Art has hosted a fundraiser, Art Squared, for which artists donate a square piece of particular size to be auctioned. I submitted a piece for the first time last year and am happy to do so again this year. 

After the car ride, I started working on the piece, first writing on the canvas in a spiral, "Do you know how beautiful you are?" over and over. Then I covered it with paint. I'll put a round mirror in the center and around it, I'll again spiral the words. 

As I've been creating, I've been reflecting on the question. How many of us truly see the fullness of our being, all the ways we shine brightly, the ripples of love emanating from our simple existence?  

I suspect most of us don't see our beauty clearly. I can recall times I've wished a friend or acquaintance could see their light shining in the same way I could. A few months ago a friend expressed that same wish for me. Until she said it, I hadn't even realized how much I was obscuring the radiant parts of me from myself.

I've been offering myself more grace since then, practicing care for the parts of me I judge to be less-than, practicing connection with my brightness even during circumstances that may not feel easy, bright, or beauty-filled.

When I am confident in my love-core, what I believe is the essence of each of us, I can respond from that center. When I am only aware of the gnarly parts of me, the hardened places, the parts that may seem grimy on the surface, I may respond from those shallower, less steady places. I want to respond more consistently from the center. 

Since the beginning of 2024 I've been spending a lot of time in my studio, mostly creating collages. The studio is a place where my whole being comes out. Yesterday's time there included working on the Art Squared piece focused on beauty and on a piece about rage. Externalized in this visual form, I can see all parts of me as beautiful. 

As I'm writing, I'm thinking about Howard Thurman's words: "Don't ask what the world needs. Ask what makes you come alive and go do it. Because what the world needs is more people who have come alive." 

Isn't that when we're at our most beautiful- when we're doing what makes us come alive? 

The thought bring conflicting emotions- joy for those who can do what makes them come alive, gratitude for the ways and places I come alive, and grief for those who don't have the same access to what gives them life and amplifies their beauty. Rather than following the grief at this moment, I'm going to focus on the joy, gratitude, and aliveness. And I wonder:  

What makes you come alive?

Where and how do you see your own beauty? 

One place I connect with mine is in retreat spaces. On Sunday I'm offering this month's Savoring Time mini-retreat, with the theme of Bloom! These sweet times to slow down have been so life-giving, so beauty-filled. 
 
Saturday was going to be the start of The Artist's Way. Recognizing that my excitement to start as soon as possible was a bit hasty, I've moved the start to August 17th. If you were considering the process and summer dates didn't work, I hope you'll join us in the fall. The Artist's Way offers many, many opportunities to connect to your own beauty and the beauty around us. 
     
To learn more about upcoming offerings, visit this page. If they speak to you, I hope you'll join me.  If you know of others who'd love this work, please share with them!

With love, 
Cory

Practicing Flexibility

Dear friends, 

For most of my life, my body has been quite flexible. This has changed over the last several years and for the last month I've been in physical therapy because I have a frozen shoulder, though I'm not sure what I did to cause it. When I've told people about the diagnosis, I've heard numerous stories of other people's experiences of frozen shoulders. I've concluded that, as these things go, I've been pretty lucky. My shoulder didn't start quite as frozen as other people's and I've steadily regained the ability to move it in directions it wouldn't move a month ago. 

A couple of days ago I gave a presentation to young people. The organization I was working with asked me to create a session on a particular topic. I put together the presentation, shared it with someone from the organization, who said she liked it. And then came presentation time...

Let's just say it didn't go how I hoped it would. Still I persisted in trying to give the presentation I had planned. A handful of kids were with me the whole time. A lot of kids were done even before we started. As I thought about it afterwards, I noted that the number of young people was much higher than expected, the presentation was late in the day, and also, it is late in the school year. Given those circumstances, it would be difficult to keep kids engaged about any topic, let alone the serious one I was talking about. Oh, and did I mentioned I was giving the presentation in Spanish? I used to teach Spanish, but it's been a while since I've been immersed in a fully Spanish-speaking context. 

I have several more of these presentations to give. I've thought a lot about how I can change the presentation to engage the kids more and how I can be better prepared for what is out of my control. 

I've been asking myself: How can I build in more flexibility to begin with and how can I increase my agility so I can adjust course in response to the audience and circumstances? 

Flexibility is a practice. Everyday I have the opportunity to learn anew how far I can move my arm in one direction or another. It keeps changing. 

Flexibility is a practice. I gave a brand new presentation for a group I've never worked with to an audience I didn't know in a language that I haven't used regularly in awhile. All of these conditions felt contraining.

With more presentations to give, I have the opportunity to practice flexibility here, too: to stretch in relationship with the organization I'm working with; to bend the content more to the interest and willingness of the audience; to flex my Spanish skills; to learn, to learn, to learn.

Other areas of my life are giving me the opportunity to practice flexibility, too. Stretching, I've decided to offer a facilitated process of The Artist's Way starting later this month. Additionally, I'm being extending myself in new directions through other work that is coming to me.

All of this is also teaching me about my limits. My physical therapist knows when he's stretching me past pain I can tolerate by the way my breath changes and my face scrunches. In other situations, it's up to me to state clearly: I cannot or will not bend that way. This doesn't work for me. I will do this, but I won't do that. 

And now I wonder about you:

Where is your life encouraging you to practice flexibility? 

In those areas, how does it feel to stretch?

Is it a welcome lengthening, a hurt-so-good feeling, or a pain that's beyond what you're ready for? 

What limits are becoming clear to you? 

I'd love to know. 
      

To learn more about The Artist's Way and other offerings, visit this page. If they speak to you, I hope you'll join me.  If you know of others who'd love this work, please share with them!

With love, 
Cory