Merry freaking everything

So much has happened since we last chilled. So very very much. And this entire time I’ve been writing to you, in my wee noggin, narrating the world and its unfolding of events to help you understand, to give you a foothold. A better way. So many hard heavy things are dropping like anvils from the sky, and there is so much escalating fear and disaster down below as we run like beheaded chickens but without the freedom from our thinking panicking brains that sweet beheaded-ness would afford us. Unlucky ducks.

Where do I even begin?

I want to give you the kit for putting yourself back together –you who were just pushed out the window of your oil and gas job and left to Ker-splat on the pavement next to your box of personal effects. I don’t understand the Hello Kitty merch, but at least you didn’t go it alone. Mew. Or YOU who are part of the “crying in the bathroom” club because grief is contagious between cubicles and zooms and we all feel one another’s. I want to sit down with you and help you clean up your emotional hard drive so that 1222 things aren’t running in the background that don’t need to be there, so that you can get a breath in or some z’s; at least 3. No one should be forced to function right now with less than 3 full z’s. I want to help you dial down that donkey meet edge nineteenth nervous break down feeling, when you have been asked to consolidate all that you do in a day with all that Kitty and her friend were doing before they got pushed out the window —and still somehow shine like the beacon you truly are, if only Redbull came triple strength in Venti. Since when was work life balance supposed to be negotiated from the ledge of your company’s newly merged office tower with the shakes?

And what do you tell someone when you are a leader and can’t say It’s gonna be okay, because actually it’s The Hunger Games? How do you lift up those who depend on your leadership, or your friendship or your parenting? May the odds be ever in your favour? Don’t say that.

How do you bolster and support your child when your co-parent is toxic or mentally ill in an aggressive ugly way that is hurting all of you, and all that wants to come out of your mouth is “Because Daddy/Mommy is an asshole, sweet pea”. Or an axe murderer. Or a psycho. You can’t say that. You won’t do that. But you’re scared of what you can’t say. You’re scared of what they do say. The false accusations and the gaslighting and the projecting and the deflecting and the blatant abusive attacks which have immensely painful consequences. UGH. Don’t I want to gallop by aloft my noble steed and cut you down from that noose with my mighty sword!

Remember that scene in Kung Fu Panda, which if you haven’t watched consider it assigned homework by moi, where the Zen Master is told there is some BAD NEWS, and he responds “There is no good news or bad news, only news”. And then he hears that Tai Lung that terrifying teeth gnashing blue beastly enemy has been loosed from prison and is headed to his town and he follows with “That IS bad news”. Well, I am so sorry you injured yourself trying to get back to healthy exercise and now you are stuck in a heap of motionlessness in the middle of impending lock down and can I get you a straw for your wine? Can I poke it right into the box for you? Or would you prefer a Miss Kitty sippy cup? That IS bad news my friend.

I am going to share my emergency tissue with you, because it was a tough week for a break up. Just in time to join all of those ‘going it solos’ who are headed into another lockdown and a holiday one to boot. Look out, because hamsters can learn to scream and Fluffy can’t bear another six months of that woeful moaning sound you make when you have binge watched your thirty third Hallmark movie and you’d sell your first born for just one kiss *squeeeak *camera pans to Fluffy sporting broken reindeer antlers. You know I am actually proud of you, because there is this whole pressure to have someone, a warm body and companion to survive Covid with, and yet you and I know that Covid decision making can lead to dangerous liaisons. You did the right thing. Your unborn children will be proud. And relieved. The world is a gentler kinder place because you were brave.

And you know what else, turns out that lockdown is a perfect time to get flattened by devastating childhood memories with just you and four white walls to project them onto, like a scary carnival scene with clowns and mirrors and you know that it is not your fault and we know you’re healing but are you even kidding me? NOW? Haven’t you been through enough?

I am sure that any day now Astronomers and Astrologists are going to join forces to announce that they have discovered a new planet and have named it FUCK and that in 2020 it dropped into some massive retrograde on asteroid steroids and we’ll be one small well targeted nuclear explosion away from the good old days and normal people problems #whoneedsavaccinewhenyoucanblowupaplanet.

What if you’re just lonely? Or scared, that someone you love is gonna kick it, or that you’re going to lose your sense of taste to Covid and gain 300 pounds out of desperate longing for the flavour of what you once knew to be chocolate. Because death, well what a welcome reprieve from a world where candy tastes like celery and wine tastes like water. That is the opposite of the miracle we need.

And if you’re not circling the drain, you have a friend who is, and yes you can give them a first aid kit containing a few sessions with me this holiday-ish. I will cram in a fruitcake, some crash course power healing and a letter from Santa. I will stuff that stocking with better days and better feelz.

I was in the mall in the wee hours of a Monday morning some weeks ago, avoiding crowds and getting some shopping for my little mom and aunty, getting my fix of ethyl methyl liquid covid killing juice absorbed into my DNA through my skin, when I spotted a pair of Christmas jammies that bore the sentiment “Merry Everything”. Which I loved so very much. It was joyful and inclusive but not judgy all the same. It seemed to throw its arms open and rejoice. It’s okay if we have different ideas of goodwill, goodwill is good! All on a onesie. Sure, maybe I had a contact high from too much hand cleaner, but I thought “I am gonna start using that one”. Ho ho ho. Merry Everything.

And then this week happened. And I was too gosh darn busy getting all y’all back on yer feet to write about it.

More people got dead, and hurt and dumped on. More anvils dropped from the sky.

The planet FUCK circled the atmosphere of Earth, with its Big Kid Bike and its Big Kid Voice and skidded to a menacing stop sort of like an Amazon delivery truck being driven by Mr T.

So I’m here today to tell you that it’s not okay.

It’s not going to be okay.

It’s the Hunger Games.

But also, you may not know this, but you’re Katniss.

You’re the Girl on Fire in the making (even if you’re not an actual girl). You, friend, have incredible strength and softness, a capacity to feel pain and to answer it with compassion and to heal. You have a spark that we all need, a gift. You have someone to live for and lead for, even if you don’t know who that someone is today. Someone who needs what only you can give.

And it’s time to take a bitch down.

This crazy heavy heart stopping week, I have also been brought to goosebumps and even verklempt-ness by THINGS you have shared from your hearts to mine.

You have thanked me for getting your family through.

For taking the time and finding the words to lift you out of the mire.

To change your course permanently and dramatically.

For seeing you, when you haven’t felt seen.

Beloveds you are always asking me if the work I do with you is draining. And my answer is this.

No. Because I see who you really are. And I know I can lift you up. Get you back on the horse you didn’t even know you rode in on. And that lifts me up.

I don’t have to believe in some airy fairy effin goodness.

I KNOW it. I mainline that stuff. I have bro’d down with the CHOIRS of ANGELS and they asked me about you. We’ve done Molly together (it’s a drug that makes you happy the kids tell me). And that was before I started drinking the Kool Aid, and the hand cleaner. Hand cleaner wasn’t even a thing back then. It just sat in the bathroom drawer waiting to get chucked, threatening to interfere with immune system building. Haha.

So join me in a round of dahoo dores. While you are hoping, or scared to hope, or lighting a candle in the darkness, or trying to staple antlers to your screaming hamster, I will be lighting the fuse and aiming it at FUCK. And I’ve got back up. And I won’t quit until we’ve blown up all of that pain and suffering. And you my deserving beloved are returned to your rightful place as the hero of your story, riding your flaming chariot, and leading your people to freedom.

Fuck FUCK.

And Merry Freaking Everything.

— Love Erin

P.S. 2021 I am bringing on the love. I’ll be featured in a podcast all about better loving, from healing your broken heart to intentional dating to creating a relationship that thrives, and I’ll be launching a sister site for all of you relationship and love enthusiasts, with all kinds of insights and offerings. Stay tuned!

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