Okay, there's something I don't talk about much because I feel like it comes across high falutin and me, I like to keep my falutin on the down low. You know what I mean.

I have watched untold hours of television in my life but now, I don't have a TV in my home. Once in a blue moon, I take advantage of having the login to a friend's Netflix account but that's one mighty blue moon when it happens.

Similarly, I used to check Facebook, oh, a dozen times a day probably. Now it's once or twice a week.

Recently, I turned off all of my technology for 24 hours. I'm pretty sure I reached for my phone every 90 seconds for the first few hours... and then there was all this time and quiet. I took a really long nap, a really long walk, read a bunch and wrote a little, and when the 24 hours were up, I knew I wanted to make those breaks a regular part of my life. It felt a little like taking a long, hot shower after getting really disgustingly dirty. You know exactly that feeling, don't you?

My shyness to share is related to how often people read virtue into my TV-free home, etc. Each decision, though, came from noticing a discomfort in response to these inputs. The relaxation of TV time turned into antsiness related to the preciousness of a lifetime; the pleasure of social media connections became anxiety as I scrolled down my feed; and my precious phone, my vade mecum (mom, I hope you're reading this - that joke's just for you!), adds a sense of urgency that, for me and my life, is out of line with reality. Don't misunderstand - I'm not denying that I'm important to some people. But I'm not urgently important. There's no one in my family, friend group, or professional world who's going to bleed out or melt down or give up if they can't get in touch with me for 24 hours.

So, what's the point of sharing all of this? Well, it's so you'll know how doggone virtuous I am. No, really no.

We have precious little control in our lives - I suppose that's what it boils down to for me.

We choose our spouses/partners but not who they become; our family is delivered however it's delivered. We choose our friends but with the great big caveat of who happens to be available to us as friends, both in terms of who we have access to and if they feel moved to reciprocate those friendly feelings. We rarely have a say over our coworkers and other professional contacts...

Technology, on the other hand, has off buttons. Question is, does it serve you to press them?

Only you know that, my friend. I trust your judgment and encourage you to trust it, too.

Sarah B Rawz has a lil something to share with you
You've got a ton to put into the world.
I've got some rad tools to help you make it happen.

And I've got a free sample coaching session so you can find out what they are. Email me to get it scheduled.

In line at the post office yesterday, a young woman stood in front of me looking somewhat distressed and antsy. At some point, she turned her head slightly toward me and began speaking quietly and urgently.

"There was a wreck on 81," she started.

Her quiet urgency, and the fact that she still faced forward, mostly away from me, made it hard for me to understand her but I gathered she was sharing some of the details of what she saw, and how she was trying to make sense of it.

"It's gotten so I don't even like going out," she said. And that was her segue to the shooting in Vegas and her belief that the shooter didn't act alone, perhaps hadn't acted at all, that this was a part of a conspiracy to distract the American people from bigger issues.

I naturally bristle at conspiracy theories and yet I can acknowledge the world is complex enough, and my reach is limited enough, that I can't rule much out... or much in.

I wanted to comfort this woman, to ease her pain, but all I could think to say is, "That must be very scary to believe."

She nodded vaguely and walked up to the now-available clerk.

I've been thinking about her since then and what else I could have said. I always want to go to statistics - that her drive to the post office was, statistically, far more dangerous than any public venue she could inhabit, but statistics are averages, and too ephemeral to stand up to the visceral discomfort of mortal fear.

I think if she were in front of me right now, I would say, "Focus on what you can control and try your hardest to release what you can't control. Wear your seatbelt. Drive more slowly and with greater attention. Be more intentional about telling the people you love that you love them. Be more intentional about doing what little you can to create the safer, friendlier world you crave."

But that, too, feels inadequate.

What would you say?

My sister, mom and I had a sort-of spontaneous play date at the National Folk Festival in Greensboro, NC, this weekend. We knew we were going to see each other; what we didn't plan on was spending the whole afternoon playing with and among the community there.

Our play was aided and inspired by two things: First was a clever section of the festival where my mom's good friend and former colleague Matt had the most amazing color-by-number-to-discover-the-image community art project and another group had a Make-A-Task, Pick-a-Task area. Second, my sister's deck of Sneaky Cards.

This is 1/3 of the overall color-by-numbers picture.

I colored, I picked a task... to make earrings and give them to a stranger.

Happily, there was a clever kid there who helped me work through how to make earrings given the delightful yet limited supplies provided. Turns out, you tie loops of yarn and hang them over your ears. As so often happens, though, when one problem is solved, another presents itself; in this case, who would be delighted to receive yarn and duct tape "earrings" from a stranger?

Alex. Turns out Alex would.

This is Alex, who gamely - enthusiastically! - accepted the "earrings" I made!
This is Alex, who gamely - enthusiastically! - accepted the "earrings" I made!

She was in line for food and I full-on interrupted her conversation. I don't know what they thought was happening - maybe that I was cutting line? - but those around us hushed and tuned in. When Alex not only accepted my earrings but asked if she could keep them, the crowd around us cheered.

Legit cheered.

Friends, it felt awesome. It was up there with applause at the end of a particularly well-received talk.

We were off and running then with the Sneaky Cards, a game that offers all sorts of creative challenges that involve connecting with others.

Together, my sister, mom and I:

  • Found a doppelganger for my mom.
  • Passed a card to someone who said our secret keyword, "Sorry."
  • Challenged a woman wearing a pink shirt tied with pink cord to pass the card to someone wearing sequins.
  • Took a selfie with a stranger. This one was all my mom and she found a fella who had just made a rad mohawk of a hat at the Make-a-Task booth.

    This is my mom's excellent Selfie with Stranger.
    This is my mom's excellent Selfie with Stranger.
  • Hid a card in someone's bag without her knowing it. The reverse pick-pocket was the edgiest of the challenges we took on and my sister rocked it out!
  • Started a chain of cards going from person to person wearing superhero-themed shirts. So far, this is the only card to be registered - the teen girl we gave it to logged in and passed it on like a champ, er, superhero!
  • And, my personal favorite because it scared me the most: We got a line of people waiting at a food truck to do the wave. My mom got me talking - as she said so wisely, the longer we waited, the harder it would be. My sister took video. What I wouldn't give to see the wave started by the purple-shirt-wearing woman who accepted the card!

Forgive the quality of the phone video but I think you get the gist!

I'm sharing because I'm still delighted by the whole thing - the games and the amazing diversity and great vibes of the crowd. The National Folk Festival is a beautiful event that brings together a world of music and culture. The one performance we managed to catch all of included percussionists from Latin America, the Caribbean, and Egypt, and a beatboxing dad/daughter team. Throughout the day, we heard the tinkle of an Asian string instrument, the strumming of a Mariachi band, and saw several people in native American garb preparing for a performance. We weren't able to get deep enough into the crowd to see the breakdancing competition...

Still, I keep asking myself: What's the real point of sharing this? Is this just a public journal entry?

Or is it an entreaty for you to go out and connect with your community?

Our rush, our fear, our current social-political discord inspires us to disconnect from one another, to avoid eye-contact, withhold simple greetings from strangers, close the gap in traffic instead of allowing another person to merge... I get it. I often rush past opportunities to connect with others, and also often feel that painful vulnerability of "Ayah, I smiled at ever person in that place and no one smiled back at me...". It hurts every single time.

I have to believe, though, that the effort matters every single time.

If the idea of reaching out to others feels too risky to you these days, I encourage you to instead try and tune into others trying to reach out to you. Try and notice the person offering you a random smile in a store, or holding a door. Try and notice the person making a gap for you in traffic, or slowing her walk slightly so that you can reach the register first.

Once you notice, there's a world of opportunity for reciprocation.

Forgive me a kumbaya moment, my friends, but these little gestures and smiles, in my mind, are what add a little more warmth to our days and connection to our communities. And is there ever too much of that?

(No. The answer, for me, is no.)

Sarah B Rawz has a lil something to share with you
You've got a ton to put into the world.
I've got some rad tools to help you make it happen.

And I've got a free sample coaching session so you can find out what they are. Email me to get it scheduled.

August 22, 1996 is kind of a  big deal for me - that date marks the near-fatal culmination of an unhealthy teen relationship.

I've written about it a bunch, in personal essays, fiction, poetry. I shared it with however-many of the 300,000 readers of the Greensboro News & Record who turned to the opinion pages when I carried a regular column there, and made a submission to the My Turn column in Newsweek. I didn't hear back from them but I did like that piece.

This year, I debated whether to say anything about it or just let it go on by.

Part of the internal argument to let it go this year was about just being that far into the healing process. Certainly, there's plenty of room yet to go, but it's more like picking the dog hair out of the car's upholstery after a scary, but successful, emergency run to the vet. The remaining lessons are noticeable and sometimes even painful, but mild compared to what came in the first years after, when it wasn't even healing, really, but just coping.

At some point, though, I realized there was also an old gremlin message at play, too, one that said it was somehow bad to keep sharing my story. Part of the message said that it's because it makes people uncomfortable to hear; part said it's because it's a relatively minor trauma in a world where, well, where people go through things like happened during the childhood of the fella who was the antagonist in my story of trauma. Part of the message said it's shameful to have gone through such a relationship and attack in the first place.

One of the cool things about learning to really hear our gremlin voices is that once we get a fix on their messages, we can think them through and feel them out, to figure out what they're actually saying and decide what to keep and what to 86. Each of those messages about my story is some form of should, as if there's one right way to live, one right way to heal, one right way to grieve.

Last week, I looked up a quote that's been churning around the back of my mind since I stumbled across it after my grandma's passing last year:

Grief is subversive, undermining the quiet agreement to behave and be in control of our emotions. It is an act of protest that declares our refusal to live numb and small. There is something feral about grief, something essentially outside the ordained and sanctioned behaviors of our culture. Because of that, grief is necessary to the vitality of the soul. Contrary to our fears, grief is suffused with life-force. It is riddled with energy, an acknowledgment of the erotic coupling with another soul, whether human, animal, plant or ecosystem. It is not a state of deadness or emotional flatness. Grief is alive, wild, untamed and cannot be domesticated. It resists the demands to remain passive and still. We move in jangled, unsettled and riotous ways when grief takes hold of us. It is truly an emotion that rises from soul.

-Francis Weller, Entering the Healing Ground

As a culture, we have a terribly limited tolerance for grief, giving the most leeway in the event of the loss of a loved one, though even there we find an unspoken time limit, adjusted based on the age of the person lost and the bereaved's relationship to that person. The causes for grieving, though, are expansive and appear throughout our lives, regardless of our challenges and opportunities.

Part of my process of healing has been grieving the loss of trust that I experienced during that time, and my sense of safety, and that unique feeling of immortality that those of us who were raised in safe homes take for granted until it's, jarringly, gone.

Grief also comes from sources less likely to make their way into the plots of Hallmark Specials. Grief can come from recognizing that we've drifted from our spouse or best friend, or from rain and a defective air mattress dulling the shine on a long-awaited vacation.

Hell, grief can even in the midst of joy. Here, parenting comes immediately to mind, like the loss of independence and increased financial responsibility that parallels the joy of becoming a parent, or the bittersweetness of helping a child move into her first dorm or apartment.

Grief, like all feelings, just is. It isn't good or bad, right or wrong. It just is. And we can either be the rigidly-built beach house that's eaten bit-by-bit by hurricane floods, or we can be the one in which a piece of the house is allowed to crumble so that it can become a conduit for the waters that might otherwise more deeply damage the whole.

That's an oversimplification by a long shot, of course, but it's a pretty image, isn't it?

So, I didn't exactly talk story on this anniversary, but not because my gremlin voices poked at me with sticks sharpened by the sometimes thoughtless, sometimes fear-based input people have given me over the years. Instead, it's because the healing and learning that mark our greatest lessons often take us in a spiral where we revisit the lesson from different angles and a greater distance as we develop more tools and greater understanding. From where I am in that spiraling path right now, I don't need to be knee deep in the memories of August 22, 1996, but rather swimming around its wake.

As I move through this 21st season of introspection, growth, and healing, I wish for myself, for you, and for that one person with whom I shared that terrible August morning latitude for ourselves and our feelings. I wish for all of us that we're able to loosen our grip on the idea that grieving is selfish or detracts from our gratitude or even that it's virtuous, and that we instead are able to hold onto the idea that it is simply necessary, a part of these complex lives of ours.

Sarah B Rawz has a lil something to share with you
You've got a ton to put into the world.
I've got some rad tools to help you make it happen.

And I've got a free sample coaching session so you can find out what they are. Email me to get it scheduled.

Whampus was a name that came to me in an instant as I was reading The Artist's Way at Work. The activity at hand was to notice the various voices originating in my grey matter, parse them out, and give them proper names.

Whampus was the biggest and baddest of my gremlin voices. He's the one who tells me I'm not enough, that I'm a fraud and everyone is going to figure it out, that I might as well not even try.

Naming him and a handful of other problematic voices has been so helpful in giving me a little space from them that making that suggestion to others has become a habitual part of my life. Rarely do I work with a client, give a talk, or counsel a friend without making this very suggestion.

I say to them: That voice ain't you, baby. It's not logic, it's not wisdom - it's an animated collection of all of the naysayers you've interacted with over the years, all of the ways you've felt outside of the "norm," all of the failures and disappointments and hurts you've experienced.

It's fear under a magnifying glass.

I say: If your gremlin voice feared malaria and then saw a mosquito on the wall, it wouldn't swat it with a rolled magazine - it would blast it with a cannon and take down the wall, too.

There - that last bit. That's the bit that hit me last weekend after years of using that example. Maybe you're already on it - maybe you already see what I was missing all this time.

Malaria is worth fearing.

Maybe not here in Southwest Virginia, but if I was in sub-Saharan Africa, then I would be a fool to ignore Whampus's fear. No need to hike the rainforest hauling pirate battle gear, though. Instead, I can pull the message from behind the magnifying glass, sift through the hype, and find the kernel of useful information. I can wear bug spray and use a mosquito net.

I can use his warnings that I'm a fraud to double-check that I'm being as authentic and straight-up as I can be. I can use his junk about not being enough, that trying isn't even worthwhile, to check my motivation and reconnect with that part of me that knows that he's wrong, that I have a lot to give and that the effort is good for me and good for the people I have a chance to affect.

I saw Whampus once during a Focusing session (a partnered meditation technique that rocks my socks). Far from the fanged, club-carrying monster I expected, he looked like a nervous, shaggy, blue muppet. I knew in that moment that he wasn't malicious; he was scared. For me. And that he believed that the way to protect me was to scare me, too. Maybe, he seemed to think, if he frightened me enough I would hide and, in that way, be protected from hurt and danger.

I had been reprimanding him when what he really needed was a hug.

To those of you who have heard me ramble on about gremlin voices, my apologies for having only a piece of the picture to share with you. I hope you'll now join me in seeing their messages as a call for a little treasure hunt for the golden nuggets hidden in the rubbish, and in offering that part of ourselves some gentle compassion instead of berating.

I hope you'll join me in the discovery that there is no part of our ever-complex beings that are undeserving of love.

Sarah B Rawz has a lil something to share with you
You've got a ton to put into the world.
I've got some rad tools to help you make it happen.

And I've got a free sample coaching session so you can find out what they are. Email me to get it scheduled.

In my 30-second ad last week, I told the rad community builders at Network NRV that people often misunderstand who it is I work with - some think coaching is for people who are unholy messes, incapable in some way. The exact opposite is true: I'm lucky enough to work with some of the most driven, empowered, productive, visionary people I've ever met. Coaching isn't about fixing anyone but rather enhancing the badassery that is already there.

Which makes it all the more funny to me when my clients confess - as so many of them do - to being lazy.

Yeah, no.

To them, I offer a tool that I now offer you. I call it Radical Time Tracking though somewhere early in my coaching career, a client renamed it The Terrible, Horrible Thing and for its honesty and its homage to Maurice Sendak, I've adopted the name.

Here's how it works:

Step 1: Find a means of documentation that you'll remember and utilize. I prefer a scrap of paper that I can carry around all day without having to open my phone and risk the distraction of a half-dozen notifications. If you're an all-app kinda kid, go for it.

Step 2: Track your time. Every minute of it. All day. Billable and administrative work, yes, and also travel time. Meal and snack breaks. Bathroom breaks. Excursions into the rabbit holes of social media and search engines. Self-care, networking time, social time. All of it. From waking to bed.

That's it. You do that for as many days in a row as you can. Me, I shoot for three days at a stretch whenever I do it because I tend to be on my best behavior on the first day, avoiding those rabbit holes because I know I'm going to have to write them down. Days two and three tend to be a little more typical of my work/play style.

What makes it Terrible and Horrible? It's uncomfortable to really look at where we spend our time, and tedious to note all of it. But it's doable and valuable in that it tends to provide two kinds of useful info:

  1. Invisible time sucks, the things you don't really value but you do out of habit and that hoover up time. I certainly spend more time on social media than I value.
  2. Your actual level of productivity. This is the one that tends to really get people. I found it pretty uncomfortable to get a clear picture of just how much time I was spending on social media when I first did this but what was even more notable to me was that I was actually spending the rest of the time pretty doggone well and was just expecting to be able to get more done in any given hour or day than was realistic.

My "lazy" clients? Sure, they have their own time sucks but, more so, they were beating themselves up for having a limited amount of time and energy in each day. They were judging their levels of productivity based on an unrealistic should rather than the reality of their busy lives.

Next time you're feeling that stomach-churning sensation of being on a hamster wheel, or your inner gremlin voice is chanting "lazy" into your ear, give this a go. I think you'll be struck and perhaps even pleasantly surprised by what you find after three days of tracking.

Sarah B Rawz has a lil something to share with you
You've got a ton to put into the world.
I've got some rad tools to help you make it happen.

And I've got a free sample coaching session so you can find out what they are. Email me to get it scheduled.


When I was an uncomfortable, awkward teenager, I used to wish that I could sort of konk out until all the big unknowns of my life were known: what I would be doing, with whom I would be spending my time, who I would be...

At the time, I imagined it would all be shored up by the time I was 40. Yeah.

Wednesday is my 39th birthday, kicking off my 40th trip around the sun. I guess I don't have to tell you that though there's all sorts of great stuff going on in my life these days, my teenage self would have been mighty disappointed to wake up in this person who has few (if any) solid answers and an ever-increasing pile of questions.

What my teenage self couldn't have anticipated, though, was the comfort I would come to find in uncertainty, even an excitement, a sense of possibility. My teenage self couldn't have wrapped her head around the idea that what is compelling about this life, for me at least, is the process of exploring, discovering, learning; that certainty is no longer a comfort for me but a red flat suggesting that I've gotten too narrow in my perspective of what is and could be.

When my paternal grandmother passed back in 2002, she wasn't ready to go. At the time, I thought it was tragic, the idea of her struggling against that greatest of transitions. Now, what strikes me as vastly more tragic is finishing the work of becoming before that final breath.

What else would be compelling enough to fill these precious, complex days than to continue to discover ourselves and the potential of our lives?

Sarah B Rawz has a lil something to share with you
You've got a ton to put into the world.
I've got some rad tools to help you make it happen.

And I've got a free sample coaching session so you can find out what they are. Email me to get it scheduled.

So, I've been undergoing a heck of a transformation, the culmination of which is a new brand (which, in my case, is also a new last name!). It has been one seriously fun and uncomfortable process to choose the new name, find my way through who I am now as a person and a professional, and prepare myself to share that with all of you.

To celebrate, I want to invite you to come to an evening of play and stretching, much like the fun and discomfort this process has given me! There will be bouldering and climbing, food and community, and (thanks to Charlie Whitescarver of Whitescarver Photography) live blues with Smokestack Lightnin' Blues Band!

Bring your friends, bring the fam! We'll be playing and partying from 6-9 and I hope you'll be there at 7:30 when I announce my new identity!

**This is an alcohol-free event, both to honor the chunk of the community that doesn't imbibe, and because this event is about full-on, bold-as-all-get-out experiencing, no numbing allowed!

Like many Jewish folks, I tend to toast with the Hebrew conjunction l’chaim which means to life. To me, it’s a beautiful sentiment because it’s not qualified by anything. It’s not to a fantastic life or to a lucrative life or to a peril-free life. It’s just to life, whatever that might include in that moment. If it’s beautiful and joyful, hey – to that life! If it’s daunting and treacherous, well, then let’s acknowledge that, too.

In my early twenties, though, I somehow discovered that one of my friends, who didn’t know the word l’chaim, experienced the kind of automatic translation our brains so often make when song lyrics are opaque. It’s tiny dancer, not Tony Danza. In this case, it was l’chaim and what he heard, for years, was “Look who I am!”

We got a good laugh when we realized the misunderstanding but, dang, that’s a pretty great affirmation, too. Imagine sitting with a group of friends, beverage of whatever sort raised, eyes searching each other’s out, with a rousing pronouncement of, “Look who I am!”

Pretty great, right?

I was thinking about that this morning as I listened to a Pandora playlist I’ve been massaging to offer the ultimate at-home hip-hop club experience. You know how it goes training Pandora stations, and it’s getting there… So, this morning, an Iggy Azalia track came up. Of the maybe four tracks I’ve heard her on, at least two of them include a line that cracks me up every time. She says, “Iggy is!”

I can’t help it – I love it! It’s jam packed with bluster, for sure. An almost hyper-confidence seems to be a part of mainstream hip-hop culture but why not? The other side of that coin is our fetish for denying our skills and talents and, I’ve got to ask you, is it serving us?

Truly, how often have you squelched your own ability and individuality beneath the crushing fear of getting too big for your britches or appearing narcissistic? Good golly, how often we mistake self-acknowledgement for hubris.

Look who I am!
Iggy is!

These emphatic exclamations are all embracing the same thing: what is.

It’s so easy to live in a world of if/thens. If I had this, did that, was lighter, smarter, wealthier, better… then life would be worth celebrating. Then I would be valuable.

Look who you are, my friend. Exactly as you are right now, flawed, as are all humans, filled with talent and uniqueness and potential, as are all humans.

I’m raising a glass to your life exactly as it is right now, as flawed and filled with potential as you.

This past Saturday marked 19 years since I was attacked by my ex-boyfriend. People are often surprised at how casually, how willingly, I talk about an event that almost took my life.

Given that the attack was a stabbing, I've sometimes had new friends remark with surprised amusement on my attachment to the rather large chef knife among my kitchen tools.

I sometimes like to tease people for their use of the phrase "stabbed in the back" to describe betrayal. That sure leads to some delightfully awkward moments!

For those of you who still have trauma - whatever the type of trauma - still churning in your guts and waking you at night, know this:

I have 19 years under my belt.

In that time, I spent the earliest 2 years in a profound depression; that was followed by 6 years of lesser depression.

I have spent countless hours in therapy with a wonderful therapist who used a variety of tools to help me reduce my fear to manageable levels.

I took anti-depressants for the better part of a decade.

I have a supportive family who paid for much of the above in addition to offering scads of emotional presence, and have had loves who were patient with my delicacy, my outbursts, my triggers.

Know that when a friend who had dealt with her own domestic traumas suggested to me that I set myself a goal of having forgiven my ex by the time the scars on my back had healed, I thought it was impossible; I couldn't imagine forgiveness. I still have scars on my back, three shrunken dashes that have been mistaken for the sites of laparoscopic surgery. I have forgiven him. I have even forgiven myself, a much more difficult accomplishment.

Know that my timeline isn't your timeline. Maybe you'll roll through your healing more quickly; maybe it will take much longer. There's no timetable to healing, only steps forward. And sometimes steps backwards.

Know that you are not alone. That the people who can't bear to hear your story, or sit with your pain - the ones who want you to suck it up or get over it - they're dealing with their own baggage, triggers and discomfort. That's their journey, unrelated to you. Keep talking. Keep sharing. You'll find the people who can hold that space and when you do, your story will not only heal you, it will help them heal, grow, deepen, too.

Know that if you do the work, if you allow the healing, you will someday realize, perhaps with shock and gratitude, that this trauma has transformed into one of the most profound gifts of your life. Nothing facilitates our growth like discomfort and, friend, this is discomfort big time. You'll come out of this with a greater understanding of yourself, more strength, deeper roots for grounding and, my personal favorite, a pretty darn impressive tool kit for sitting with others experiencing trauma.

Know that just like personal growth itself, healing might just be a lifelong journey. Just last year, my coach helped me uncover a very subtle barb still in my side from that time. It had been so long, I didn't even notice that there had been discomfort until the barb was gone.

Know that there are no silver bullets to healing, no quick fixes, but there are some things that can facilitate the journey including:

  • Professional help whether a therapist, coach, spiritual advisor or whoever - the important part is that the person and technique feel safe and right to you. Seeking and/or accepting help isn't a sign of weakness but rather a sign of courage.
  • Being thoughtful about who you let into your journey and your space. On one end of the spectrum are the people who want you to suck it up and move on; on the other end are people who want to wound-bond with you and keep you in that weakened state. Seek the people in the middle, the compassionate ones who are excited by your growth.
  • Honoring your journey in whatever way feels right to you. It's important to me to acknowledge my anniversary every year. I know people who prefer to let their trauma anniversaries pass by unnoted. There aren't right or wrongs here as long as you're working from your authentic core and not voices whispering should.
  • Perhaps most powerful and most difficult of all: Being compassionate toward yourself. If you feel like crying, cry. If you feel like laughing, laugh. Try not to judge the tears or laughter but simply be with them. Say to yourself, "This is where I am right now, and where I am right now is exactly where I need to be."

Know that you are not broken. You are like the Japanese pottery which, once cracked, is repaired with gold and, in that way, made even more precious and beautiful than when pristine.

Sarah B Rawz has a lil something to share with you
You've got a ton to put into the world.
I've got some rad tools to help you make it happen.

And I've got a free sample coaching session so you can find out what they are. Email me to get it scheduled.