I will live the life I chose

“Life is hard when you don't know who you are. It's harder when you don't know what you are. My love carried a dark shadow of pain, guilt and fear. I was lost for decades, searching while hiding my vulnerable truth only to find that the origins of my story will set me free.

I won't hide my true self anymore. I will live the life I choose.”

I adapted and modified the premise of the TV show Lost Girl, which ran from September 12, 2010 for five seasons until October 2015. I binged the first three season not in love with Bo, their super natural heroine but her human side kick Kenzie who, gawd, so totally talks and dresses like my inner 16 year old.

But I am fierce like BO; I won't hide anymore. I will live the life I chose before I entered this reality.

Who says we are NOT super natural?

My role is a detective like Bo’s; finding my tribe, my family, those who resemble my own powers of fantasy, vision, deep love for our world and a passion for truth that tears me up and lifts me into unknown heights. Like most cool heroines I was pushed into impossible obstacles and re-emerged like Phoenix from many ashes.

The best TV shows for me are those that kick their heroes to the curb and when we think it can’t get worse it freaking gets s o m u c h w o r s e…. and their path gets clearer and clearer.

When we’re slapped enough we awaken. If we are open to it. Not everybody is. Life is story; some like it deep, dark and hilarious, others want the pink and polished route. It’s all good, because it’s our movie, our role. Play it to perfection. And bad guys? They are there to be defeated. If you’re one of them acknowledge the experience and go for redemption.

Mine was the role of Cinderella knowing that she’s got the princess in her, somehow, somewhere. My Cinderella fought and rebelled herself into mansions only to turn around and smack, sabotage it and go back to the original belief. I’m guilty of something and have to repent. Growing up Catholic was a perfect part of the plot.

I landed in Topanga, California, in a job I called my purgatory. I took the “lessons”, accepted humiliations thinking I needed to learn to be “humble” until I exploded… actually my car exploded into a nearly fatal accident. Luckily only metal was damaged.
It was in 2013, a year after my dad had left the planet, my challenger and yet my safety cushion. The totaled car, (it is all my fault) was my last slap in the row of many smaller slaps and cartoon like situations asking me to wake up!!! See your disappointments, woman, face your angry martyr beliefs.... but I trotted on until I was forced to fess up.

When I shivered and cringed but finally admitted I was responsible for my “crap” I was breathing hard into my “sins”, not the ancient ones from the myth that had ruled my life - I’m making a rad movie out of that story - but the worldly ones from my past decades. Those I did not want to see. Like super natural Bo I sucked the life of a couple men, not being able to love them, like Bo I was confused as to what my role was and made mistakes trying to find it. I laughed and danced and stumbled and fell and gosh, it hurt others too.

I cried, moping in my cozy arm chair, “sitting in it” until I was able to see clearly through the veil of sadness and - forgive myself.

Only then could I open a new chapter.

From Elefant Journal:
“Awakenings tear us open. They expose all the yucky stuff, the shameful stuff, the secrets, the dreams that were never given a voice, the relationships that imprison us, the words left unsaid. Awakenings are a mirror we can’t turn away from, even in our ugliest, most tattered gown. They force us to get real, to get honest, to get transparent. They ask us to up level.

Awakenings don’t just come for anyone. They seek out those who are strong enough to take a hit. Awakenings don’t f*ck around, because they have a mission: to help us arrive. To arrive at our deepest place of love and compassion. To arrive at our endless inner wisdom. To arrive at the tender crossroads of accepting ourselves and loving others. To arrive at the place in which we are in full trust of who and what we are. To arrive at our shattered places and pour some light over them.”

The author of the article, Elizabeth Gordon, says that life isn’t like a movie but I say it absolutely is. My life is proof. I’ll show you in my memoir, working title “White Powder” Nothing is what it seems.

The script I followed is like that of a game where we can manipulate our avatar to a certain degree, an interactive script. We receive the blueprint, the character traits and talents, the back ground stories and the location - and wing it, make the best of it. The best means to follow the clues, see the winks and messages, to find our road map. We repeat levels until we get it and collect powers, weapons, tools and coins on the way.

The treasure is our fulfillment; owning our true essence and standing up for our self, be it total weirdness or utter normalcy.

My life is a dramedy series called Mea Culpa in which “dark nights of my soul” episodes are training grounds and provide cliff hangers for the next seasons. It premiered six decades ago and is still running.

“Mea Culpa” follows the life of an esoterically inclined rebel played by Angie Weihs, as she learns to discover her myth, the ancient blue print that controls her feelings, thoughts and every step but also contains the gifts of her abilities. Being torn between fierce rebellion and pampered princess she enters the castle of a super natural queen of wisdom.

In the scrolling credits I thank my many supporting actors, the director of eye opening situations, the countries providing dramatic locations and the stylist who created a wardrobe with foreshadowing and manifesting powers.

If I wrote my life’s script I took the screen writer’s rule of “killing her darlings” to heart, if I wrote this I am an amazing writer.

Life is a TV script. I’m about to write the happy end.

How to sophisticate your vinyl and be Cat Woman at any age

Yes. I love vinyl because I dream of being super, a woman with powers out of this world.

Owning my inner Cat Woman I love the liquid look of vinyl even more than the empowered edge of faux leather. I’d do head to toe vinyl if it weren’t socially awkward. My inner super girl has always been plastic fantastic.

But.

As much as I love dress up for dreams and empowerment and wish to be part of a wondrous Universe where so much amazingness is possible I’m not a kid with a light saber or in for cheap thrills.

I am a woman who wants to marry her rebel edge with elegance.

How to erase the imagery of being childish or, worse, a dominatrix snapping her whip?

How take the risqué vinyl vibes off the table and let sophistication come in?

How to take beer, bikes and rattling chains out of faux leather?

Get your feminine softy to play with your punkier self and for the casual daily life add

• chunky knits

• sweet and cozy sweaters

• classy jewelry

• faux fur

• cotton shirts

• athleisurewear

• sneakers and chucks

• tweed

• rustic plaid

• designer glasses

• I chose a cotton top by designer Prabal Gurung

I chose vinyl pants not skin tight leggings.

Adding the feminine contrast makes the outcome pure sophistication rather than risqué.

Romantic ruffles do the softening trick really well.

However, if you like an edgier aesthetic like me, even combining soft pleather and glossy vinyl works when keeping your cool by using an expensive designer belt and calming color blocking.

Dare to be you - or a different you.

Looking for your inner wild? Wonder if there is one?

To step into the vibe of vinyl might open up new insights into the story of YOU.

Our styling journeys for clarity, branding or memoir dig a little deeper. Why do you love or hate vinyl? What’s the feeling it provokes? What’s the desire or belief behind it? Where does it comes from? Who’s voice do you hear?

Getting to know thyself via dress up is the most fun therapy ever.

My wild went for all faux; a pleather dress and shiny stilettos. What saved me were the glasses…

For an edgy look choose

• pencil skirts

• message or graphic tees

• feathers and silk

• unique purses

• statement jewelry

• knee high boots

If you’re in for a challenge go for plastic fantastic and let your power girl out.

Check in with Loretta, the introspective adventurer, she bravely accepted the challenge of a metallic pleather skirt. It brought her to take pictures in an ancient ruin where she discovered her inner Goddess rising like a Phoenix from the ashes.

For the love and hate of drama

“You’re so dramatic!!”

Who hasn’t being blamed for being “out of control”? I certainly was castigated for my theatrics. I even was “hysterical”, which is the next and meaner patriarchal judgment often ingrained in our own set of beliefs. Many of us have internalized the need to be modest good girls and to criticize our “drama.”

When we own our drama we don’t need it anymore.

How? We discover what our past drama holds for us as a guide to our truth.

Drama can be petty, bitchy, blaming and egocentric because its goals are petty, needy, manipulative and superficial. Drama can also be fierce, passionate, creative and freedom fighting; in both cases it is an amazing dagger to cut though the bullshit of ourselves and our situations; a tool “to know thyself” and an illustration of our true desires.

Rule No 1 : Don’t blame your self for your dramas.

Being theatrical, colorful and “loud” is a reaction to women being labeled the “lesser” human for centuries; drama is a rebellion against inequality and powerlessness. Sometimes we need to yell to be heard and seen or whistle in the darkness to feel safe. Drama can be seen as a step in a woman’s evolution.

Drama is done to us and we do it to others.

I once cut my wrists to convince my partner that I loved him but just enough for the theatrical effect; I created a make-believe to make my point. He was much older than me, a father figure. My unconscious intention was to hurt and scare him; it was drama for revenge. Needless to say a month later I moved out of his mansion and on with my life’s journey towards my truth. I did not not get what I wanted but what I needed; clarity. It was the first time that I hugged my tantrum throwing inner child with an understanding smile of her pain. She giggled adding ketchup to her cuts to take dramatic pictures.

Done to us drama can be painful; when I was pregnant in the 80’s the man I thought to be the love of my life freaked out. He yelled that I had set this “evil plan” into motion because I wanted to “nail him down.” My heart crashed into pieces when he pushed me onto the floor and I lost the child. In this one dramatic situation I saw his lies and the fake reality I had created but also had a vision of an ancient past in which a woman had been stabbed to death in my 700 year old house. This was fateful drama; the beginning of a journey into an ancient story stored in my genes, a story that ruled my life.

Drama is explosive and can shatter the illusions we believe in.

Rule No 2 - Don’t blame others, be responsible for your drama.

What provokes us, is a part of us. We attract mirrors of our beliefs for the purpose of our journey.

Being able to watch our drama queen without guilt or embarrassment is freedom.

I have grown to love the emotional challenges of my past; my theatrical nature has made my life into a movie or a TV series with amazing cliff hangers. The soulful and sometimes devilish director of my script gave me the challenges I needed to get to my happy end. I embarked on all facets of drama; I attracted “silly” scenes I could fume against because my life was bland and I was bored. I exercised my creative powers to transform a situation or tame a wild beast, exaggerated the tiny to make a huge point, attracted painful drama because my soul needed me to see my truth or set emotions into scene to achieve a goal.

Midlife adds wisdom and self love; when we take responsibility for our past dramas, for the stumbling stones and challenges, the crazy seeming obstacles, and the often male monsters we invited, we enter the best of theater; expressiveness, raw truth, vulnerability, and openness to deeply listen and act on the dialogue.

I’m not free of old beliefs but when I attract drama these days they take up less time and space. I still get stomach pain and tooth ache to wake me up from stubbornly resisting what’s right in from of me. Letting go of drama happens when I explore which old pain or belief has created or tints the situation emotionally. Exercising the power of my new self confidence and self worth and taking pain and judgement out of the equation I can either participate in or quit.

I have grown to acknowledge and step away from the emotional challenges of my past, my theatrical nature wants to write her own script.

Drama Queen is a journey in which the dramatic tantrums of the young princess evolve into the confident theater of a queen.

“Drama is an exciting, emotional, or unexpected series of events or set of circumstances,” is its simple judgment-free definition.

I intend to write my life’s next TV series with amazing cliff hangers and fun challenges matching the new insights and powers in my luggage; it will be an exploration of what it means to live and love as an empowered woman and if there’s magic in the 21st century. The joyful creative drama I allow myself this time around is the passion of my stories, dialogues and my theatrical wardrobe.

In the comments below, I'd love to hear about your dramas and what they might have given you.

Mirror, mirror

One of my style sisters, inspiring me in her creativity of radical outfit combos, mentioned that she is watching out for what she wants the world to know and what she wants to keep “private.” I don’t even consider privacy anymore, I thought astonished, I’m an open book.

Private.

The word didn’t let me go. My I-phone rang. My friend Angelika, who I met in Santa Monica 25 years ago and immediately felt like a long lost sister, called me from Sicily. She is a writer, translates spiritual and self help books from English to German and travels the world while doing so. I hadn’t talked to her in a year.

“I love to follow your journey on FB and how far you have come,” she said. “You look so powerful and happy. How are you?”

“Not always happy,” I said, “I feel lonely some times…” “Me too,” my joyous life-loving friend answered.

“I told tell everybody”

“Me neither.”

I told Angelika, who is not into IG or posting personal stuff on FB about my Instagram journey; how many empowering women “mirrors” I have met, opening my heart and my eyes to who I really am and what I would like to give to the world. She told me about the people she meets every day who leave her adventurous stories recharged and inspired but that she is longing for a bigger goal of what she might be able to give to the world.

My intuition told me that she is missing a tribe to support her on her journey to discover her message. Her intuition told her that I need “real” people.

After an hour on the phone we split with resolutions; she would open herself up to my Instagram family and I would open up to “real” people and talk to them “just like that” in cafes. Making “Contact” reminded me of how Alien I often feel.

I too keep things private.

A poem I had written two years ago came to mind. It ended in me wanting to be brave enough “to walk the streets naked.” I don’t foresee ever doing that literally (insert fierce emoji). It is a metaphor to fearlessly show and tell all that I am.

Differently on different media.

I show who I am on IG and wrap images into ideas, I add a little more “flesh” to the story bones on FB, get real - and wordy -on my blogs and let it flow like a gorgeous waterfall into adventurous stories in my upcoming memoir.

“Confessional” writing is an art, so are brave posts on social media; the right dose of truth can be magical.

I put my self out there to feel it out; I might cause a yawn or excitement or even fall on my face. That’s how we learn, by being brave.

I got to be brave because of the women I met in the process; my mirrors and support.

I met women who vibe like me, my style sisters who uplift me to dance and dare “more”. I encountered women with different energies who make me think, feel new feelings and expand. I found compassion and the wish to give. I discovered clarity of what I want in women I fancy and feel sisterhood with. I saw who I am not in women I feel worried about or afraid of. I adore myself in baroque mirrors and wonder about my distortions in the broken ones.

I see myself in you.

The idea that our life is a creation of our mind, that we only see what our own set of rules and parameters, our beliefs let us see is scary but true. There is no objective “real”. When you read my words you interpret them from your point of view.

“We hear what we WANT to hear” is our demise but also our chance.

A business coach once fired the aggressive sounding question at me, “Are you coachable?”

“Yes”, I stuttered.

I wanted to be a life coach. The experience with my own therapy journey had been so rewarding that I needed to share all I had learned. I owned my intuition now and was confident that I’d be able to heal others. Let’s create a program, let’s create a course, yes, yes, yes.

“Your website is wrong,” the business coach went on, “you’re bad in writing copy. I can teach you how to write copy that convinces your readers to buy.”

I felt resistance. I did not want people “to buy into me.” I kinda hated copy as it felt so artificial and demanding. It felt like the old me who got what she wanted by manipulation. I owned my doubts and did not hire her.

I’m a bad marketer, it’s just not me. What now? I wanted to be worthy to be paid for my knowledge, love myself enough to be rewarded for who I am.

I really wanted to hear the word coachable. So I put out the mantra that I am. Coachable.

I did not get the immediate answer to my wants and needs but a play list; women and their vibes and stories. When we’re not immediately getting what we want it’s easy to give up on those cool slogans like “the universe has your back.” It freaking often feels it doesn’t. But darn and yay, it does. Just not as expected. In my case not in a fat paycheck or huge opportunity but in thousands of likes, feedback, comments and dialogues.

I listened.

Life is a movie.

On my journey to stepping into my power the director of my life (I call her my inner knowing) presented me with supporting actresses. They tossed stones to stumble over in my way, impressed the heck out of their me with treasures, shocked me with a little poison and gave me hope with beautiful bright vibes of personal power and fierce feminine fun.

I’m dramatic and react with feelings. They sometimes are physically expressed in my body; I shiver and cringe, smile or giggle and jump up and down with joy. You should see me going through my IG feed…

In the mirrors of others I saw where I was at; I did not want to make money being a life coach. It took me a while to get back to my true desire; to be a journalist and writer who can’t wait to finish the fantastic trilogy waiting on my shelf after my memoir has cleared the path.

All that to say; I paid 40,000 for my life coach but we are life coaches for each other; for free. It’s an amazing web of giving and receiving energies, lighting up each other hidden talents, fears or desires and expanding each other with who we are.

My “supporting actresses” were amazing side kicks and in return I swing my sword as Gabrielle to their Xena in their own amazing queendoms.

“I needed your energy right now,” a woman commented on one of my posts recently and that’s what we do; collecting energies of other women like pearls on a necklace until I have one that fits.

One day I will wear my necklace and be stylishly “naked”, wearing my soul on my skin. In public.

Screw invisibility and what does it mean to be visible?

“Watch me, watch me..”

When I was a teenager I tortured my parents to watch each and every one of my hundreds of dives into the public swimming pool; I was so cool and got better by the dive. Did you see THIS one???

“Look at me,” was my attitude entering college classes, parties, conferences in my twenties and thirties. When I became a mom “me-me-me” melted away in the love for my son. My life was about him, the new number one on my list. As a single mom I stored my career, fame and fortune, fashion and party fun in the basement. I loved Pinky and the brain, Pokemon, power rangers, skiing, hang gliding and our road trips showing him the country. Who needs grown ups when adventures with my kid were so fulfilling?

Then he left and I was on my own.

I went to a party. I walked through the bar filled with eighty people. The large mirror showed me sassy in a tight black lace dress.

Nobody, not one person looked at me.

I was 55 and INVISIBLE.

My ego woke up with a scream; she was angry and swore to combat ageism. It prescribed the belief that midlifers are “going down” and have nothing to offer; they are irrelevant for the advancement of society. Arriving at senior-dom we are burdens to society, living of social security or driving to our final destination in a cushioned carriage of our savings. The road to death is plastered with senile senior moments….

Not for me. I’m a rebel. I have a rad futuristic screenplay on my desk. How can I be taken seriously?

My goal was not just to make midlife prettier and easier to cope with but rebellious. I did not want to please but shake awake. Not the “advanced style” but my way.

I raised some eyebrows with “sexy over 60” low cut outfits and got to hear that I should be a lady not “desperately trying to look like twenty” with my teenie bopper looks. I responded, “I’m shooting for 16.” Yeah. I let my inner child play.

Look at me, I am cool over 60.

I had a couple thousand followers but hits and comments were mediocre.

“Women are afraid of being rebellious,” I was told, “forget it already. It’s so teenager.”

Okay then. I calmed down the rebelling and posted nicer, sweeter, more fashionably accepted outfits and lots of pink. Pretty in pink helped me to warm up to my feminine, compassionate self and got me more likes but didn’t raise engagement.

I was not relatable.

I have something to say. Please look at me.

It hit me when I watched a woman friend doing everything “right’ for likes. She lived her life and styled her social media solely for applause. Every action, gesture, outfit, smile or word is calculated to please and is meticulously set in scene for the agenda of being approved of. I had always loved the idea of “fake it to make it” but this strangely hurt me. It reminded me of my 20’s and 30’s when I fulfilled my womanly manipulation “duties”, testing how far I could get with sexy charm and smart theater. I regretted having flirted and elbowed myself into success.

My recent pleasing attempts felt like manipulation now and I did not want that anymore. I did not want to desperately long for getting the ball tossed to me.

My life coach had taught me not to enter a room with “look at me” but with “who are you?” So I did.

Look at them. They look amazing over 60.

So truly wonderful, so out there!

Sometimes I had to dig deep into my self loving confidence to overcome this unnerving little thing called competition and the fear of not being good enough; I feared women were “better” than me, richer, fancier and designer clad with creative and make up teams, photographers and agents. I didn’t have that, gawd!!

We only get what we can handle; I had learned to listen and to be open. To really see what they show.

Women I adore don’t always tell stories or have life coachy wisdom accompanying their pictures; their pictures show how arty, empowered, fierce, fearless and creative they are. They don’t talk about their real, we feel it. Others add heartfelt words coming from the depth of who they are and ring little bells in our heads.

I looked into many mirrors and they looked back at me.

The more honest and authentic I became the more women responded to me from their heart. “Your vibe attracts your tribe” proved true.

Look at us, we are ageless. We make visible who we truly are.

I was back to the beginning. I am a rebel. It doesn’t matter that not everybody likes it. Looking at the world “my way” isn’t a demise I need to hide; it is my power.

I decided against botox and fillers even when women friends with facelifts looked ten years younger than me. I did not do color, filter and style coordinated galleries. I did not gray my hair when many others did. I do not wear neon colors as the trend scares me (nice little challenge right there) and I sometimes write more words than I am supposed to.

It felt like my life depended on it; I had to be the real me.

I am a rebel with the cause of me.

A woman friend in Europe mentioned that she is always controlling what she wants the world to know and what she wants to keep private. It hit me like an alert as the word private was not even in my vocabulary anymore. For me it is the other way around; what can I dig up that is share-worthy as it might in some way help, inspire, enlighten or uplift my friends and followers?

The strange idea popped up that my personal life had become of service.

Confessional literature is an art, so is raw, real, rad posting in social media. We learn to give the world what it wants to see and to be true to ourselves in the process. In a world where ageism waits at every corner we become Dalis and create what we feel.

I tune in every morning before my post; what does this matter to me and why does it matter to the world? I wrap it into pictures, stories, fashion and outfit ideas in a dance of fun and philosophy.

To be seen we have to be relatable but for our message to be heard we reveal what’s underneath the wrap.

If you’re still searching for the branding of YOU your daily exercise of being true to your Self will get you there. It took me two years of testing; thrills of “that’s me!!” and disappointments of “missed it” to hear my message and find a way to make it visible.

The path is as personal as the outcome.

I go with the trendy flow and make it “mine” by feeling what’s in it for me.

I post pics with my dog because women love pooches but also because she is my Guru, my emotional support buddy in so many ways, not a decoration.

I post pictures of my style of the day because that’s what everybody is looking for but focus on what resonates with me; what makes me feel happy, fierce or protected. I let the latest trends wake up new, story telling emotions and show how outfits can guide and empower us.

If I’m ever going viral as a naked nymph over 60 I’ll better have a cool reason that aligns with everything I am, a message that enlightens not just a quick fix for my glory.

I am a rebel with the cause of me for you.

Latest in midlife many of us realize that there’s more than following the norm. We discover deeper levels of ourselves, interesting inner movies we might have neglected while trying to be a master of fitting in. We played “extras” rather than taking on the role of heroine.

It’s fun to “have stuff” but fulfilling to be our true selves.

It’s the inside that counts.

Which doesn’t mean that hanging in pajamas or unisex baggies is the cozy solution, on the contrary, the confidence of self worth is just the starting point. If we don’t want to be seen as “sleepers” rotting into retirement we spice up our uniqueness; she usually is neither the slob nor the trend obsessed fashion sheep. It’s the woman who has worked like a coal miner to get to her truth and shows it.

We are our brand when we are true to our Self.

Making our power visible is a necessity to be taken seriously.

I met a middle age woman recently, overweight, hair cut from a barber shop and in baggy clothing bare of any fashion sense. I sensed my judgment but also her pain. We started talking.

A documentary film maker from the Midwest she was bitter not to be taken seriously. She was the creative force behind the film they were shopping around and nobody ever addressed her but always her male business partner. She was ignored. She hated “these bullies” and blamed superficial Hollywood for not seeing her.

“I am invisible,” she said with a tremble of repressed tears in her voice.

“I know the fear,” I responded, “I am a midlife woman with a Sci Fi fantasy script. I can imagine the Gen X assistant of the assistant producer’s eyes glaze over looking at my age and not listening at my pitch.”

I will very carefully decide on what I will wear.

I did not say that loud but I swear if I could give her a make over, even Hollywood would take her seriously. Outfits talk.

People judge a book by it’s cover. And - shouldn’t we show our content in our form?

I am looking for a book designer at the moment because my upcoming book cover has to show at first glance why people have to read it. I would like you to get a feeling of my soul when you look at it. It’s the same with our style. We are the invitation to the world to look at us. I’m not sending out burnt-at-the-edges punk letters when I am throwing an opera themed party.

Visibility that lasts and is satisfying to both, our bank account and our soul is created in the very specific unique beauty each of us are. We style our life from the inside out.

I let go of wanting to be visible. I dug up one of my old posts, one of those foreshadowing guides, where I promised that I would walk my talk. I do it in many different shoes, that’s my thing; to be many facets of myself. Sometimes I fall on my face like recently on plateau heels; I made a story of of it.

I’m an explorer and share what I find, inside and outside. What’s your thing?

Look at us, we are ageless. We make visible who we truly are.

l

Chin up, sisters.

“I would love to blow your brains out,” he said, so stern, so ice cold that… I shut up.

I imagined the content of my skull splashed on the wall and finally stopped shouting and screaming for what I wanted from a partner unimpressed like a rubber ball you try to hit a dent into. It was in the 80’s when I didn’t understand that you can’t yell for love. You can’t demand to be seen.

My life was a fight to understand and the path to knowing was plastered with challenges. Emotionally but never physically abused by a man I punished myself plenty for being a “wild woman”, a female who fought for her right to be her true self.

I saw the content of my bag on the ground three days ago when I stumbled and literally fell on my face, my chin to be exact. My laptop (lovingly called my brain) and phone were intact. My dog was fine too, looking at me astonished, What’ are you doing on the dirty asphalt of the parking lot?

A minute later I stared at my bloody chin in the mirror at home. It burnt and my knees started to hurt. I had punched myself in the chin. What the heck?

Falling on my knees hurt pretty bad, the scarped skin mostly hurt my vanity. It began swelling, adding blue and black tones; I look like the bearded lady…

By now I know that I get “messages” when I don’t listen. I had actually asked for nice notes this time, Universe!! But no, I got kicked... like I will be kicked out of my home of 20 years by a developer forcing me to make long overdue decisions.

As I’m all about transforming mess into might I pondered about the attributes of the chin; determination, perseverance and attitudes like "stick out that chin" or "chin up!"

“The chin can be seen to indicate many things such as resolve, sternness, obstinacy, character. Your ability to take the blows of life on the chin. Also willpower, stubbornness, bullishness, bravado, determination, pride.”

Was this a call to woman up or a punishment for trying too hard? Being too determined? A slap-warning to better watch out?

Was I holding on to something too stubbornly?

The Tarot cards’ Fool said that sometimes to take big, bold, “foolish” chances is the answer.

The Magician added that it’s time again to draw strength from the realm of spirit, trust the will of the higher self and that opportunity is afoot if I take action to seize it.

The Lovers talked about sharing the treasures of our heart with another.

Over the weekend the bruise changed into the shape of a kiss.

“You are loved,” my friend Deb commented.

My fierce, chin up, ambitious self is loved?

I got into magical boho arrows and sacred geometry flowers adorned yoga pants, grabbed my ReBelle power tee and walked to my espresso two streets away.

“Rebelle with the cause of me” is the mantra on my recently designed shirt. The cause of ME…

Falling was my fault, I thought. Mea Culpa.

I have a bucket list Los Angeles, which I check off creating videos for IGTV, “What I love in LA and the outfits that get me there.” I wanted a diary of my fancies and also did not want to regret missing out on what I came here for. A not so serious side note the bottom says, “Interview Brad Wright”, and “talk to Lana Wachowski”, (client of my hair dresser!) screen writers and movie/TV making professionals I look up to in admiration. I probably wouldn’t get to that…

Chin up to the cause of ME…

I would so regret living somewhere else in the world and never having acted on a dream I worked on so many times but buried it in business ideas from being a life or style coach to opening an online store. I was guided by the need to make money rather than my initial spark; the script I gave my safe job and life up for three years ago, the one I’m just a tad afraid of because it’s so BIG.

This is about Mea Culpa, my manuscript Mea Culpa. The cause of ME is to balance an ancient betrayal in my trilogy of redemption and love.

My life had been structured by a feeling of guilt, going back to an underlying medieval story re-awakened by my parents and continued in many adventures. I had written the first draft of my screen play “Mea Culpa”, when I arrived in LA two decades ago. I had tried many times, studied screen writing, went to conferences but never finished it. The ending, the solution did not feel right. I recently discovered but why acting on it. This project would take too much time…

The chin punch just became another clue in my journey; to regain my trust of sacred timing, that my script of life is perfect as it is. The solution of Mea Culpa is the beginning of a new life, no matter if it will be a trilogy written anywhere in the world or a TV show finished and pitched in LA.

BUT - I will only get my answer when I am brave enough to put the bottom of my bucket list up to the top. Transform the Fool who was tripped by her foolishness to walk on high plateau shoes up a rough hill to the cool fool who takes a bold step.

A punch on the chin can knock you out - and into a new adventure.

Put your shields down to live life fully

My fierce sister’s at Forever Fierce Revolution interviewed me for their newsletter #shieldsdown.

I love the questions Deb Guitierrez asked.

#ShieldsDown began in January as a movement within the movement of Forever Fierce.  It is being courageous, vulnerable, and brave enough to take off your armor, let your shield down, allow yourself to be seen, to be understood, and to know you have something that someone needs to hear.  It's okay to be who you are, the one with the battle scars, and to know you are not alone.

If you were to give a name to your shield, what would it be?   
 

I always had trouble finding names for my books or businesses.  The only perfect name I found so far was for Luca, my son.  For three weeks he was called the "baby" while I tested dozens of names, which didn't fit.  Finally the name Luca clicked.  I realized only later that it meant "light".  It turned out to be an intuitive and foreshadowing choice as I let him shine light into the darkest corners of my psyche.  I wanted to be aware and free of my "stuff" and not see his world through the veil of my fears and needs.  Being authentic and transparent, I helped him grow into his true self, not my expectations.  My son was my first "shields down".

It was a journey, not a given, and I did not lower my protective shield against a world that had hurt and disappointed me.  I was still trying to prove that I, "just a girl", was good enough to be loved.  I went through struggles and purgatories to make my point.  I was a warrioress with the cause of my freedom and actually collected swords for a while.  I baptize my shield "Battle Star", symbol for a journey in which a star will be born from the ashes of her battles, a confident woman open to give and receive love.
 

Is there an experience in your life or moment when you decided it was time to let your shield down.  If so, what experiences unfolded for you?
 

Hitting 60 I started the Ageless Rebellion; angry about ageism and afraid "to go down".  This was it; I had to find and embody my true power, my ageless essence and blueprint.  In the process, my urgent NO to aging turned into a playful YES to life.  Instagram became my amazing sidekick.  Every day I posted a true feeling, newfound viewpoints or "truths".  My hashtags became my mantras.

I created an Avatar, the vision of my fearless self and my undying inner joy no matter the battles.  My name loosely translates into Angelic Queen's Wisdom.  What a journey it was to wiggle in her boots and to begin walking my truth.  She is my deeper power unfazed by experiences that hinder me to be "real".

Not yet fully saying yes to myself, I bought a ticket to FierceCon last October, but felt resistance to get in the car and drive 16 miles.  I was afraid not to be seen, understood, to be too different.  So I arrived late.  Literally with cold hands and feet I entered the room where empowering stories were shared on stage.  Several women in the audience looked up and, recognizing me from Instagram, they smiled, happy to see me.  Hugs, kisses and open-minded conversations after the presentation softened my resistance.  To be brave enough to hug somebody I thought didn't like me was a step into personal freedom.  It was true; if I wanted to be loved, I had to be love.

The vibe of acceptance and openness of many of the nearly 100 women let pieces of my armor drop.  I took this safe place with me into daily life.  It is okay to be me.  It's okay to tell my friends, "I love you right back".
 

Is there something you believe will manifest this year by being more open to living with your shield down?
 

I had a dream as a kid where a friendly person invites me to come closer and when I do, he slaps me in the face.  Recently, it appeared again when a woman friend made me regret that I had opened up to her.  To see "old stories" as what they are, stories from the past, and leave my battle star shield in the basement, manifests new friendships as it means that I can give without agendas or fear.  I can let go of "good or bad" expectations.  I might even be open enough to meet my knight, who also let go of his shining armor.

Writing my memoir with the mantra of shields down let me feel deeply into my past.  I saw the beauty of being guided and always protected even when I thought I had to fight against the whole world and on my own.  Not being guarded has made my writing so much more alive as it allows me to see and feel so much more.  I am present on every page.  It's truly magical.  I intend shields down to be part of my book's success.
 

Is there something you want to inspire or encourage others to do, see, feel or be, to be brave enough to let their #shieldsdown?
 

Remember how good it feels to realize that others aren't perfect either?  That there are stories behind often glossy facades; struggles, pain or losses, fears and hopes that make people human, approachable and - lovable?  Many of us want to see the deeper levels of others.  I personally am bored when everything is nice and all questions seem to be answered.  We are humans because we want stories of all colors.

The first step is shields down to our true self.  Self love lowers our shields.  We love ourselves no matter what the world might say and that is power.  The additional benefit is when seeing our world through the eyes of self love we see so much more love in others around us.

#Shieldsdown is a process.  I do little exercises almost every day.  From my experience, even if you're not a writer or have the intention to publish a book, writing your story is a wonderful tool to go deeper and feel your truth.  It might be different than the stories you remember.

Exercising our authentic selves on social media can be a challenging and revealing path, as what we consider interesting might not always be immediately appreciated.  How can other people see us when we don't show ourselves?  I applaud myself when I don't delete an authentic or heartfelt post on Instagram, which doesn't get my usual count likes.  Shields down is an empowering tool, not to post for likes, but to put a message out we feel is important, enlightening, rattling, uplifting or entertaining.

When we are in alignment with a message that truly matters to us it will eventually matter to the right people and #shieldsdown attracts and expands our like minded tribe with similar goals.  When we step into our #shieldsdown persona with passion and creative fun, like wearing a new outfit, we eventually become what we wear.

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Witches, courtesans or flappers; it's hair liberation time.

"The artist must create a spark before she can make a fire, and before art is born, the artist must be ready to be consumed by the fire of her own creation." ~Auguste Rodin~

The Spark

You call yourself a rebel”, one of the women in my Ageless Rebel group commented, “ why are you not going natural and gray your hair?”

“I tried,” I answered. “What grew out was this dirty mush of dark blonde and gray; I looked terrible.”

Who wants to look dirty and gray, duh. But curiosity stayed with me. Months later I found a gorgeous, white long-haired style wig in my mail box from wig maker Lucy at LA Beauty Wigs. It sat on a mannequin for three weeks. I was scared and drawn to it at the same time.

I get these spurts of bravery. Go for it. NOW. So I did. “Let’s see how I look with white hair” was my spark.

The Fire

On a peaceful Sunday with church bells ringing in my mind I tried the wig. I threw on an outfit that felt right, intuitively and without much planning as often, and we did a set of photos.

After I pushed away a slew of critical voices, my inner bullies, who bitched that this was bizarre, too theatrical, too silly and that it’s not Halloween I felt a weird shiver that elated me. This is goddess-y….

I had chosen a transparent black dress over a black bikini and looking at the photos I realized I did not portray an esoteric goddess a la Chris Griscom but a sensual Aphrodite with a heavy dose of courtesan. The courtesan is my deeper story, which has guided and haunted my life for decades and she’s frequently showing up to remind me that I have to see, feel, understand and“resolve” her.

“It’s pretty witchy,” commented my son.

Witchy? I didn’t want to look like a witch….

The fire of my story began to burn.

When my mom brushed my tousled hair when I was a tomboy kid I cried that it hurts too much. “Who wants to be pretty has to suffer,” she answered. “You don’t want to look messy like a witch.” I kept my long shiny hair curled and strawberry blonde for decades; disrupted by a few unfortunate perms, styles and horrible yellows and a few daring attempts of letting my hair down messy and wild.

Hair can be as much drama as power.

“It's just hair!” said my ex when I was complaining and swearing at my super short, spiky hair do, which I had chosen in the 90’s after my son was born. My ex had annoyed me asking not to wear high heels (I always wore heels) and bright red lipstick ( I always wore lipstick) as I “was a mother now.” I refused to be a traditional mom; to give my son the chance to grow up being who he really was I needed to be free of old beliefs. I wanted a dare; a new kind of power; become a straight forward, focused warrior protecting my child no matter what. No more nice girl; my long hair was symbolic for the “sexy girl” and what I really detested was the touch of “bimbo blonde” - it had to go. Cutting it off was giving my ex and society’s expectations the finger. I was in great company; for the rebellious flappers in the beginning of the 20th century cutting their hair was liberating them from having to be demure women; bobs emboldened.



But now my short practical cut with its punk-ish vibe felt too boyish; I had pampered my male attributes for far too long. I had been a fierce rebel in a prettied-up woman body as I had hated belonging to the “weaker sex.” The short hair was a physical expression of my past story, a symbol for flexing my muscle and being my power. The disappointment of it feeling so wrong became an awakening, my first step into longing to understand what female power was. Maybe I was the bow not the arrow and being a woman was the power I had been looking for.

Just hair? Why is hair such an emotional thing? My ex was right in it’s being just a material entity, and yet it a bad hair day can change moods, attitudes and even evoke feelings of grumpy despair and not wanting to face the world.

There’s so much more to it than vanity.

Hair is an expression of our health and mood, our mindset and soul; it’s our trademark. Our hair do is right there in other people’s faces; what they see first when they meet us. Hair is what people identify us with.

When our hair style aligns with our truth, confidence is born even when in a dress that’s so not you.

What does our hair mean to us? To our souls? Our stories?

The effect hair has on our psyche is born in ancient stories, which are with us in our genes or collective memory.

Hair is part of magical, mystical storytelling.

Rapunzel’s lover came to her because of her hair, Medusa with her snake head froze people into stone and the Egyptian goddess Isis gently aroused her dead lover, Osiris, back to life by caressing his body with with her silky, long hair. Fairies and aliens with otherwordly power are depicted with mystical long white hair and, staying in Hollywood; I loved the witches of Eastwick.

Hair has a dramatic history.

Women were regarded dangerous for centuries and many attributed their sexual, seductive power to their hair. From the fourteenth to eighteenth centuries, long-haired “witches”, often women brave enough to stand up for their knowing of herbal and other healing powers, were burnt at the stake as conspirators with the devil. They were stripped naked, put in a white gown of purity and their long manes were cut off.

Women’s long hair was hidden, wrapped or cut to diminish or eliminate female power in every century. Women’s head were shaved to humiliate them publicly.

Hair can be a personal revolution.

When we drastically change our hair it can cause personal revolutions. Short hair can make us feel “fucking fantastically free” and a white (purple, blue, pink…) mane can pull us into our feminine magic and stories we might have rejected or dismissed before.

“Angelica, your hair!!!!”

Working as a wedding planner for a restaurant in California I was told to wear frumpy, non-sexual dresses and put my hair up. I called this decade of my life my “purgatory.” I figured this punishment was my karma for having been a seductress in another life time or at least having her memories torment me with guilt. I accepted humiliation because something in me said that I was “bad.” I cried and sweat, cursed and lamented my way through it ending in a car crash - my fault - that nearly killed me. I had accepted deprivation of my self and my fury had to unload itself somewhere.

My purgatory ended in an explosion and it took me five years to rise from its ashes.

I am embodying my female power every day a little more and my outfits are an amazing sidekick. I am still surprised sometimes about the revelations and stories they guide me to.

When my son said that I looked witchy I jumped backwards. I can play with archetypes of demanding goddesses and accept the sinful courtesan as one of my foremothers but witches? It wasn’t so much the evil witch who scared me or the “silly” fairy tale of magic, it was their real history; they were living, breathing, healing and empowering sexual beings who were murdered for the audacity of wanting to be free.

Many of us are simultaneously scared of and fascinated by witches, by magic and mystery because we are simultaneously scared and drawn toward our own personal sexual and spiritual power.

Healing is about expression, so if I have the witch in me I shall let her free and see how she feels - like an outfit.

My hair looked flat this last month, waves did not want to hold, the color seemed lifeless and it’s structure was tired. I am drawn into the developer scandal in Los Angeles, personally attacked by the relentless greed of men who ruin entire neighborhoods and thousands of people’s lives. My powerlessness and tiredness showed in my hair.

Witches were said to unleash hurricanes when letting their hair loose.

So I might just do that.

For you who like quotes and women who run with wolves, I love these three by Clarissa Pinkola Estés

"Fairy tales, myths, and stories provide understandings which sharpen our sight so we can pick out and pick up the path left by the wildish nature. The instruction found in stories reassures us that the path has not run out, but still leads women deeper, and more deeply still, into their own knowing. The tracks which we are following are those of the Wild Woman archetype, the innate instinctual self....”

"To adjoin the instinctual nature does not mean to come undone, change everything from right to left, from black to white, to move from east to west, to act crazy or out of control. It does not mean to lose one's primary socializations, or to become less human. It means quite the opposite. The wildish nature has vast integrity to it. It means to establish territory, to find one's pack, to be in one's body with certainty and pride regardless of the body's gifts and limitations, to speak and act in one's behalf, to be aware, alert, to draw on the powers of intuition and sensing, to come into one's cycles, to find out what one belongs to, to rise with dignity, to retain as much consciousness as we can."

"It's not by accident that the pristine wilderness of our planet disappears as the understanding of our own inner wild nature fades," Estés adds. "It is not so difficult to comprehend why old forests and old women are viewed as not very important resources. It is not such a mystery. It is not so coincidental that wolves and coyotes, bears and wildish women have similar reputations. They all share related instinctual archetypes, and as such, both are erroneously reputed to be ingracious, wholly and innately dangerous, and ravenous."