Category: Personal Growth

Hello 2026!

Yesterday I said my goodbye to 2025. Today I welcome 2026 with wide eyes and hopefulness. The change and progress brought to me in 2025 will provide a strong foundation for further growth this year.

There’s something in the air, I think. A sort of electrical charge that is lifting me and motivating me to keep moving…one foot in front of the other…with openness and childlike enthusiasm.

I don’t make resolutions because I know I won’t keep them, but I can hold tightly to the tail of the new energy stream I’m feeling and ride it through the ebbs and flows of change.

I am resilient. Life has taught me that. I can do this.

Goodbye 2025

In 2025, I found myself again. I spent huge amounts of time in my studio making art or just tinkering. The Universe delivered me the answer to relieving my chronic pain, which was literally life changing. (Mold in my crawlspace was the culprit.) I did some inner work that moved me out of constant anxiety and allowed me to enjoy life again.

I’ve felt my relationship with my daughters grow this year. My circle of friends has expanded. I’m getting out of the house again, to just have fun. For a person who struggled with acute anxiety for years, this is a HUGE deal!

Some highlights:

  • Road trip for a week’s vacation in Dallas with my daughters and grandkids
  • Launched my art website, MelEricksonFineArt.com (FINALLY!)
  • Displayed my art in three exhibits
  • Got myself a SCORE Mentor to support me as I grow my business
  • Played Bunco several times with a Meetup group
  • Took a Book Binding class
  • Listened to an Eagles cover band at 3rd & Lindsley
  • Enjoyed several shows at the Ryman Auditorium (Whose Live Anyway, Sarah Millican, Chris Isaak, Wanda Sykes)
  • Saw Henry Cho and Drew Lynch at Zanies
  • Hosted a Halloween party

The holiday season was exceptionally busy for me. Here’s a rundown:

  • I went to two Christmas parties; at one I learned how to play Flip 7, at the other I learned Left, Center, Right. Both were great fun.
  • I saw two live performances of A Christmas Carol – both tongue in cheek;
    • In Drunken Christmas Carol, the actor playing Ebenezer was intentionally drunk and unrehearsed. It was a hoot!
    • A Christmas Carol Cocktail Experience served audience members four themed cocktails over the course of the 90-minute event. Rideshare anyone?
  • I saw Lights Under Louisville, which is Christmas lights in a drive-thru cave. (If you ever get the chance, you really should go. I recommend the trolley rather than driving your own car so you can see the lights above you as you drive under them. And there’s so much to see you don’t want to be distracted with driving.)

I’m so grateful to the Universe for bringing these experiences to me. The world seems to be burning down around me, but somehow, my personal slice of it has been beautiful.

The Child Inside Me

There is a child inside me

She lurks in the corners of my soul as I navigate my life

She has been waiting for her chance to come out and play

.

I worked so hard for so much of my life

to raise my kids

to keep myself safe

.

I tried so hard to fit in

Hoping to be seen – to be heard

My inner child has been very patient

.

My kids are now grown and have their own lives

I’ve no one to care for but the dogs

No one to tell me what I can, can’t, or should do

.

The child is now free to play

She’s with me when I garden

She helps me tell my story through my blog

She’s there when I create the art that brings me so much joy

.

And she’s there to tell me it’s okay

when I start to feel weepy over old memories

or the state of the world

Breaking Free: A Journey to Independence

At 14, all I wanted was to be married to the boy across the street. He was going to save me from life with my bipolar mother.

At 17, we were married. Life was sure to change for the better. This was the answer.

At 18, I was angry. He did what he wanted, when he wanted, and I was restricted to either work or home. I had one friend he approved of.

At 19, we separated so he could find himself. He was 22 by then and had been with me five years already. He wanted to explore other relationships. Three months later, we were back together – not by my choice – I had been enjoying my new freedom. But he had seen the error of this ways. Mother intervened, and parental pressure won out again.

At 20, I was pregnant. Having a child would fix our marriage – I was sure of it.

At 21, I was fantasizing his sudden death so I could be free of him and grow into the strong, independent woman I was meant to be.

Not long after, I found myself single parenting our 15-month-old twin daughters. No, he didn’t die. But I grew some courage and stood up for myself. He was finally willing to let go for good.

It wasn’t easy, but we all made it through the emotional and financial struggles…as much as one can when living moment by moment.

Today my daughters are grown with babies of their own. I am happily single, in a home I own, doing the things I could only dream of way back then. There were many detours along the way, but I got here.

Dreams do come true.

Celebrating Life’s Simple Pleasures: Things I Love

Lately I’ve been posting a lot about my personal growth coming out of trauma. I thought it was time for a change of pace. Today’s post is quite simply a list of things I love.

Cool mornings in Summer

Puppy Snuggles

Strong Coffee

A warm chocolate chip cookie

A garden full of flowers

My beautiful daughters

Hours alone in my art studio

A good WhoDunit

Movie popcorn

Truffle fries

A good wine shared with friends

Summer trips with my daughters and grandchildren

Bunco

Halloween

Staring at the stars

Toes in my sand

The sounds of the ocean

A just-cleaned house

Laughing til I cry

A good sneeze

The smell of warm banana bread

Traveling Europe

Saturday morning free writing

A clean car

Buying art supplies

Exploring new painting techniques

Pepperoni pizza

A good burger

Butterflies

Sitting around a fire pit with friends

Thank you for reading. What things do you love?

Changing My Name: a Path to Healing

Shedding my name was a big step in letting go of my past. Every time I heard that name aimed at me, it was like fingernails on a chalkboard. It’s a fine name for someone else, just not me.

It was my first name that needed to go. The name I had been called in the house full of anger. The name I carried with me all through school, where I was afraid to make friends – didn’t know how to. It was the name I was called during my first marriage. The marriage that had been a desperate attempt to gain freedom, but in fact was even more constrictive.

I eventually fled the marriage, moved out of state, and changed my name. It seemed the perfect timing – no one knew me. I began using my middle name – a nod to my mostly un-present, but desperately missed father. I was in my early twenties, and single parenting 15-month-old twins. I needed something big to help me shift into my new life. This was it. Nothing official, I simply began sharing it as my preferred name. My health insurance was in the name I preferred. I traveled under the name I preferred. Nobody cared.

Fast forward about forty years. Travel policies had tightened and I was once again forced to acknowledge my first name. A trip to Portugal in 2022 became frustrating when I had to constantly correct the tour guides, after I had dutifully listed my middle name in the “Preferred Name” box on the forms.

That’s it, I thought. No more. So I made it official. I now am legally addressed by what had been my middle name, my first name now residing in the middle position and shortened to a single letter. No one’s going to call me that again…except…when I have the unfortunate need to communicate with my ex. But that doesn’t happen often.

I bought a piece of art off the courthouse wall the day I received the order. It hangs in my living room as a reminder of the gift I gave myself. The ink drawing of frogs perched on lily pads in a pond was created by a woman in a recovery program. I thought it fitting: the artist was working on her trauma, and her art was a symbol of me working on mine. I’m so thankful it was there on the courthouse wall that day. It’s a favorite piece in my collection.

Of course, changing my name didn’t erase my past. It didn’t make me magically stop thinking about it. But not hearing that name every day has given me space to heal. Distance. There was a level of resentment I felt when called by my given name.

I still have memories that make me sad at times. But it’s easier these days to recognize when I’m going down an unhealthy rabbit hole. I remind myself that I’m a different person than I was back then. I have better options now, because of the life I’ve created for myself. Sure, I still carry grief that bubbles up from time to time – don’t we all? And I occasionally go back to therapy for a tune-up. That’s how healing works. But I feel I’m “over the hump.” And the name change was a big part of making that happen.

The decision to change a name is a big one, and isn’t for everyone. In case you’re considering it, you should know: The courthouse step is surprisingly easy. The name changing on every official document in your life is the hard part. I’m still working on it.

What big thing have you done for yourself that caused a shift in your life? Did it do the trick? Was it everything you hoped for?

Rediscovering Joy Through Art: My Healing Journey

I have recently restarted my painting practice, and what a life-changer! I sat in anxiety and fear for years – art studio gathering dust – paintings in storage.

I had been dealing with some depression…disconnectedness. It crept in slowly…as it can…and had gone on for so long, I forgot what it was like to be joyful. I accepted it as my new normal. But I missed my old self. Eventually, through some divine interventions, I was able to break through the fog. It took several intentional changes in my lifestyle and weaning off a neurologic prescription to get there, but eventually, I began to feel better again.

Then one day I started moving forward. First, I reorganized my studio, making friends with the space again. Next, I began playing. Just dabbling. Soon after, an Art Healing Workshop appeared on my social feed, and I signed up for that. A full week of self-reflection through art gave me the boost I needed. I signed up for the monthly membership, where I get to have regular working sessions with others across the country.

Last weekend, I did my first live art show in probably ten years, and it felt wonderful! I was excited to get some of my new work out into the world and dip my toes into the live show experience. I came away, elated! People commented on the deep textures and bright colors I use in my floral paintings. They enjoyed their whimsical feel. I loved hearing what people had to say. I felt validated!

I am sure this is where I’m meant to be, at this moment. I believe I wasn’t ready until now. Now, I can fully appreciate my gift without self-judgment. It’s such a freeing experience to have given in to the thing that brings me so much joy!

A key part of this story is that I’ve forgiven myself for keeping my joy at bay for so long. I had things I needed to go through in order to get here…in order to appreciate the magic of this part of me.

Are you embracing the things that bring you joy today?

Have you ever had a breakthrough that suddenly brought you back into your joy?

For information about Leah Guzman’s Art Therapy program: LeahGuzmanStudio.com

To see more of my art: MelEricksonFineArt.com

Letting Go: A Path to Physical and Emotional Healing

I recently had an epiphany. Let me explain. A few months ago, I was diagnosed with a chronic condition that affects my digestion in extreme ways. Since then, I’ve tried all manner of supplements and laxatives, as well as a low fiber diet to try to get to a place of comfort.

Then, on a Thursday evening a few weeks ago, I was chatting with my friend, Mary, and she asked about my health. I shared with her that I had been feeling defeated earlier in the day, because all the adjustments I’d made had had little impact. My Gastrointestinal doctor’s advice was simply: “MiraLAX, and two kiwi a day.” In my moment of defeat, I said out loud to myself, What else can I do? I don’t know what to do. I started to tear up. But then my mind cataloged all the daily routines I’d been doing for months, and I realized I had been skipping my daily affirmations.

You see, I’ve long been a believer in the mind/body connection. I also believe we attract into our lives circumstances and things that align with the vibrations (energy) we send out into the world. For years, I’ve followed the likes of Louise Hay, Abraham-Hicks, and Mike Dooley. I fully believe Dooley’s catch phrase, “Thoughts become things.”

I’ve already achieved so much for myself through positive thoughts and intentionality, but sometimes I get busy and overwhelmed. I forget my power. Metaphysics has many more uses than just manifesting good parking spots. But I’m human. I need the Universe to give me a swift kick in the butt now and then.

As an example, a few months ago, I used positive affirmations to help me remediate the chronic fibromyalgia flare-up I’d been experiencing for over a year. I had gotten a couple nudges from the Universe that led me to search for my copy of Louise Hay and Mona Lisa Schulz’s book, ALL IS WELL. I looked up several of my symptoms in the reference at the back and learned which negative thoughts I was likely carrying around with me that might contribute to my symptoms. I wrote down the recommended positive affirmations and got busy.

No, I didn’t say the affirmations a couple times and suddenly I was healed. It doesn’t work that way. But the repetition of affirmations daily can help silence the negative messages that run wild in our brains. Think of it as meditating or praying. In this situation, the affirmations improved my mindset, and I was able to think through possible causes for my discomfort. Through a series of unexpected events, I was led to hire a company to remediate mold found in my home. I also began acupuncture therapy. I believe those two things got me over the hump and onto recovery.

Now, back to Thursday evening. As I rambled on to my friend, complaining over my lack of progress, I paused, and said, “But I am feeling a little better now. I haven’t been doing my affirmations every day. I haven’t done any in a while. So I got my book out and looked up a bunch of conditions related to stomach, colon, and digestion.” I paused again, the wheels turning, then said, “You know what?”

“What?”

“Every one of the affirmations for these conditions had to do with letting go of the past!”

That’s when it hit me! Right there, in Mary’s living room, I had my epiphany! I said:

“I need to let go of my memoir!”

“Really? Are you sure?”

“Yes. For over a year now I’ve been sharing my trauma stories with my writer friends every week on that Zoom call I told you about. I need to let that go!”

This was HUGE! I have identified with this project for so many years, feeling determined it was important work that the world needed. I had conned myself into believing my motivation for publishing was primarily to help others. If I could survive my trauma and come out thriving (was I though?), surely my audience would be inspired to keep going! And there was that Creative Writing Professor who told me I should pursue publication after I submitted my class project: a collection of my teenage journal entries and poetry, strung together with a little prose.

Suddenly, I saw things differently. I hadn’t been honest with myself. Sure, it might be possible that someone would buy my memoir, read it, and think, “Wow. If she could survive that, surely I can survive this.” But there are so many memoirs out there today telling similar stories. Do we really need another? Revisiting those stories repeatedly had been damaging to my psyche. It was time for me to let go of my past and put my energy into creating something new and positive for my future.

I cannot fully express the level of relief I felt once I made that connection! It was almost instantaneous! I felt lighter, happier…relieved! This was several weeks ago, and I am still riding the wave. I look forward to working on something new. Will letting go of my memoir really help my digestive system heal? Time will tell.

Today’s affirmation from ALL IS WELL:

“As I release the past, the new and fresh and vital enter. I allow life to flow through me.”

Does the think Universe (God, Allah, Spirit) sends you messages?

Do you “get” the message the first time around or do you need a few nudges? I’m curious to know!

Fitting In vs. Belonging: My Personal Journey

Lately I’ve been working on my memoir – still and forever, if I’m honest – and things have come up, as they do. One topic that’s been rattling around in my head is the idea of fitting in vs. belonging.

Throughout my childhood and as a young adult, I put substantial effort into fitting in. I would do, say, or even wear certain things, hoping for the acceptance I desired. I craved positive attention and was willing to hide parts of myself to get it. I didn’t know the difference between fitting in and belonging.

Brené Brown says, “True belonging doesn’t require us to change who we are. It requires us to BE who we are.”

My insecurities were born in my early family life. I learned to moderate myself at a very young age. I never felt I belonged in our household of five. I experienced trauma as a child stemming from my mother’s erratic behavior and the absence of my father. I was the youngest of three girls, raised by an emotionally toxic mother, whose behavior had estranged my father. I don’t excuse him for leaving us all to deal with Mother on our own, but I do see how living with my mother must have pushed him away.

With an age gap of six and nine years between my sisters and me – me being the youngest – it felt like I had three mothers. I was told what to do, when to do it, how to do it. I learned to keep my mouth shut and not try to express an opinion, lest I be chastised or ridiculed. I was emotionally squashed. I grew up afraid to open my mouth at home, at school, in any social situation. Even now, in my sixties, and after many years in and out of therapy, I still struggle.

As a young woman, I was thin and pretty. I had no problem attracting men. And there were a lot of them – some flings, some relationships. But none of those encounters led to true happiness. I was always modifying myself in hopes of gaining acceptance and love, but then would wake up one day and realize I’d latched onto someone who wasn’t intellectually stimulating or willing to grow or let me grow. I equated sex with love. But that’s a whole other story not for this post.

As an adult, I became an overachiever in my career, addicted to the attention I received for being smart, efficient, or professional. The positive feedback I received fooled me into believing I belonged. But I was only barely surviving, courtesy of a separate persona I developed that masked my true self. I would pull it on like an overcoat when I left the house and then come home at the end of the day, exhausted. I was an introvert, living an extroverted existence, five days a week. I had a constant need to prove myself worthy. Imposter syndrome, anyone?

Socially, I would try again and again to connect with people and take it personally when I realized they weren’t interested. It was discouraging to try so hard to be accepted only to be disappointed when I didn’t come away with the prize.  

Eventually, I took time to think about what may be going wrong for me. And I remembered some people who have tried to connect with me over the years when I wasn’t interested. So, was my experience Karma or just human nature? I’m going with human nature. And sometimes it’s just timing. We’re not aligned in what we’re looking for today, but maybe later, as we all learn about ourselves and life, we’ll cross paths again and both want to connect.

While painful, revisiting these disappointing memories has been good for me. It has helped me work through some feelings and connect some dots. Sometimes we need to accept that this thing we think we want is just not a good fit. I believe anything that leaves you feeling empty isn’t worth your time and energy.

These days, I’m in a more objective place, where I’m willing to show my uniqueness to people I meet and not have the expectation that they be drawn to that. I remind myself before going into a new social setting that I will either be accepted or not, but either way, I’ll be okay. I’m a good person. I know that to be true.

I’m comforted knowing I have a small circle of close friends, whom I treasure, and who treasure me. Every one of them picked me, in spite of myself. And I picked them. I don’t feel the need to hide any part of me when I’m with them. These are the types of friendships where time and distance make no difference. Getting together feels easy and light, no matter how long it’s been. And that, my friends, is my definition of belonging.

What is your definition of belonging? What discoveries have you made about yourself as you interact with others and connect (or not) with others?

One Day at a Time

I’m so tired of seeing “COVID” this and “COVID” that in my social feeds. I get it. Stay inside. Wear a mask when you absolutely have to go out. It’s depressing. And there are so many people out there trying to “help” (AKA get their 15 minutes in the spotlight). I’m really over it all. Don’t get me wrong. I feel horrible about what’s going on and I am so grateful for the people who are risking their lives every day to keep people (like me) safe. 

There actually is some good content coming out by some people who are finding creativity in their confinement. Some of it is sad; some heartwarming. I love that entertainers/musicians and those sorts are streaming free concerts/plays/other content to cheer us up in this stressful new life we’re in. But the volume of it is overwhelming.

It is a surreal time in this world we’re sharing. (Thank you, Captain Obvious!) These kinds of situations are supposed to happen in movie plots, not real life. What’s next, Universe? Zombies? Oi.

But this is real life. This is our real life now. And I’m trying to do my part by…not doing. I’m here, in my house, with my dogs. Thank goodness for streaming apps. But it’s still hard. After three solid weeks at home, I’ve found myself skipping over most of the COVID-themed content in my social feeds. Is it wrong that I am desensitized? I prefer to think of it as emotional self-preservation. The worst of it is reading about people who aren’t taking this seriously and are putting more lives in danger. Get real, people.

I’m not going to talk about politics: who did what / who should have done what. I’m focusing my energy on the here and now. This is where we are. Now what? It’s heartwarming to see how so many businesses and individuals are stepping up to help wherever they can. Sewing masks and retooling equipment to manufacture much-needed PPE for our medical professionals. I have faith that we will come out of this a stronger nation because of these pockets of love and generosity.

I understand this experience is different for each of us. We each must navigate through our own lense of truth and sensibility. We all have our tolerance levels and personal methods for coping with stress. Some of us need to shout about how we got here. Some of us need to desensitize with meditation, exercise, streaming, wine…whatever works.

I am an IT consultant, and my current situation is that I’m sitting at my computer all day every day while I wait “on the bench” for a new project. The client I was working for had to redirect their budget to support…you got it, COVID 19. So here I am.

Currently I’m working on some small internal projects and self-training through whatever means possible so that I may be more of a value-add on my next project assignment. In the meantime, though, it’s a bit stressful, and I’m having a hard time staying focused. Will I really get a new project or will I soon be added to the count of n million Americans filing for unemployment benefits?

I know how fortunate I am. I am still being paid my full salary. I am not having to put my life at risk delivering food to people (like me) just to keep a roof over my family’s head. I’m not on the front lines caring for infected patients who are not able to see their families in person…and I don’t have to worry that I may become infected and bring it home to my family. 

I’m actually in good shape, considering. That fact is at once comforting and disheartening. For me, there is guilt that comes with safety. But also gratefulness. Some days I’m up, others I’m down, and still others I swing wildly between the two states. 

I am also an artist, so I have that to keep me distracted. Except I’m not making art. And I’ve got a great space set up in my home for yoga and meditation. But I’m not doing that. For now I’m stuck in a funk. But I know I’ll come out okay in the end. Sometimes I need to sit in a funk for a bit. For whatever reason, that’s my process. But I’m getting up every day and showing up…for whatever happens. I try to get some fresh air every day, but even if the only thing I can do is put one foot in front of the other, I am moving forward…one day at a time.

Resources:

Online course at Coursera from Yale on the Science of Well-Being (10 week free course).

BetterHelp is the largest online counseling platform worldwide. 

Questions to my readers:

How are you coping in this crisis? What works best for you? Do you find that one thing works for you consistently or do you use multiple tools or activities to stay calm and productive?