My hate mail

I get hate mail all the time. I’ve gotten it for years. It started at least a decade ago or more, when I created Hay House Radio, and people would send me, the Network Producer, hate mail about the particular shows I aired and how I should run them better or even kick certain hosts off the station. (Yes, Wayne Dyer got hate mail, Louise Hay got hate mail….it’s pretty universal). It taught me a lot about people.

So for no particular reason, I found myself trolling my old book reviews this morning, and getting a laugh out of the particularly hostile ones. Book reviews can be a form of hate mail.

Here’s a condensed excerpt of a book review I stumbled on that’s so bitter, I even forwarded to my mom (she gets a laugh).

Apart from coming across as abrasively full of herself ”¦ in fact it is apparent that Ms Summer has lived a very nice life and apparently has no concept of how bad life can get, how little control ordinary people may have over certain things. It seems to me that Ms Summer is the lucky owner of a newly minted soul, a first lifer (you get them), still reflecting the in glory of wholeness. How nice. Enjoy it while you can.

If I were you Summer, I would have a serious chat with my ‘guides’, your higher self or wherever you are getting your guidance from, because the info you are getting is flawed. Also, read a bit perhaps. Find out what’s out there before making sweeping statements about life, the universe and everything. A considerate person would hedge her bets, show some humility (none here!!!) and show some understanding for the common human experience, which is in fact not all colored roses bubbles and bliss.”

If I were this woman, I’d have thought, “No big deal. I don’t like this book. Move on.”

But this person got deeply triggered, and this is where things can actually get dangerous. She wants me to get triggered with her. She wants me to feel how she feels.

And if I’m not careful, this means that not only could I get really upset or sad, but even worse . . . I could begin to subconsciously hold this other person’s opinion of me inside myself.

If I believe her, and feel hurt by her, then I’m accepting her opinion inside me of who I actually am.

And if I did that, I’d be letting this stranger have power over me, from inside me. Then I’d start to fail to me be, and become a little more like her.

I’d have given her that power over me. Follow that? That’s the Big Daddy concept here.

It’s not about whether or not you’re hurt by words, it’s the slow build-up of doubt they can create. It’s someone else telling you how to think and feel, and if you believe them even the teeniest bit, then you start living a little less like yourself, and a little more like them.

Her words remind me of other emails and reviews I’ve received, most of which tell me how in some way or another I’m fatally flawed, selfish, insensitive, or ignorant and then prescribe how I should fix myself.

Which leads me to remember another email I got a few years back in response to a newsletter just like this one, which, I’ve started to realize, did in fact affect me.

Here’s how that one went down:

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The emperor wears no clothes

It’s cold – as in air-conditioning cold – in the hotel conference room. I’m gathered with a bunch of other women at a self-development conference, and we’ve been picking apart our lives (in between shivering or baking) all weekend.

Many of the women are coaches. In fact, I’d say 80% are, which is why this weekend has been so difficult for us.

You know the old saying: “The emperor has no clothes”? It refers to a fairy tale in which an emperor is hoodwinked into believing that two tailors have made him the most handsome outfit in the world. However, if you’re stupid or ignorant, he’s told, you can’t see the clothes. Of course, this is all bullshit and the tailors made nothing. The emperor walks naked down the street in a procession, yet all his townsfolk except one honest child are afraid to say what they really see.

Today we use this phrase to mean that we sometimes portray things about ourselves to others that are deeply untrue, because we’ve hoodwinked our own selves into believing them. It means we can be hypocrites, that we’re false under our own words.

I find that coaches often carry this energy in their own Flow. It’s embarrassing. Here we are, leading people into knowledge and guiding them toward their desires, while our own desires are unfulfilled and we fail to follow our own advice.

Think: the plumber whose own pipes are always broken. The accountant whose own accounts are a mess. You get the idea.

The question is: Does this mean we’re truly illegitimate? Hypocritical? Are we sipping our own Kool Aid? Are we wearing no clothes?

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Will I live five more years or fifty?

You know that feeling when you haven’t talked to someone in a long time, and each time you try . . . you think about how awful you’ve been that you haven’t talked to them in so long?

And so your fingers stick on the keyboard, and the phone remains untouched in your purse or pocket. You just don’t know what to say. How do you begin?

That’s how I feel now.

I left you all somewhere in the middle of December, after my last chemo, bald and floppy and utterly wiped out. And then ”¦ silence. Nine months of it. Holy cow. Where have I been? Where did my life go? Where has yours gone?

Here a brief catching up: I’m in remission from Stage 2 breast cancer. I had six months of chemo, two months of daily radiation, three months of lymphedema therapy, and three surgeries in just about one year. Add on heapings of the alternative therapies and healings (herbs, qi gong, acupuncture, Reiki, rebounding, juicing, shamanic journeying, and emotional cleansing) and you can see how busy I’ve been.

Being sick and getting well can really take up your life.

Right now, it’s a gorgeous Sunday morning. My orange and pink roses are firing off blooms in front of my window, my family are all still asleep, and I feel like I’m just waking up.

I mean, really waking up.

Waking back into life.

I’ve leaned a hella lot about cancer this year. And I’ve learned even more about the way we think, feel, and anticipate (or brace for) life. My own personal life goals jumped tracks and landed in all new territory.

“Go with the Flow” has a much richer, deeper meaning.

The concept of manifesting is much more nuanced and interesting.

One thing I learned is that cancer, or any illness that can come back, plays with your head. Is it gone or isn’t it? Am I safe or am I still in danger? Will my body cooperate, or is it going to kill me?

I jokingly refer to this dynamic, and the uncertainty that’s always bubbling below the surface, as the 5-year and 50-year plan. (My husband hates it when I talk about this, because it’s ”¦ you know ”¦ talking about death.)

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As elusive as a unicorn

Lately I’ve been thinking that our search for balance is right up there with finding a unicorn prancing in our back yard.

We all yak about being in balance as the Holy Grail of personal growth, but most of us never get close to having it. Why is that?

As in: “I’d love for my life to be in balance. Because OMG I’m so stressed out!”

But somehow, finding that balance is as elusive as ever. No Holy Grail. No 4-leaf clover. No unicorns.

This year, I found balance. It was unexpected. And more surprising was what I didn’t have to lose to get it.

Here’s how the conversation about balance goes:

YOU: “I am SO overwhelmed. I just need more balance in my life!!’

ME: “Why don’t you just get your life in balance right now?”

“What, now? I can’t do it now. I have two papers due, my daughter’s school called because they found her with a vape pen if-you-can-believe-that, and if I don’t get some cash flow I’m going, I’m going to max out the credit card I need to pay for some medical bills!”

“OK, so it sounds like you can’t stop for balance or really bad things will happen, right?”

“Yeah that’s about it.”

“So when will you get some balance going?”

“As soon as I get through all this.”

“And when is that?”

“I don’t know.”

The problem is that balance becomes an ideal – something you can’t have until you’ve done all the hard work getting there.

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Ms. Goalypants

Hey there, Ms. Goaly-pants. Ease up.

If January (and all its goal-setting hoohaw) is sitting hard on your heart, then here is a reframe.

Relax. Breathe.

Most of us tend to overcomplicate everything because we’re driven by lack-thinking. And so we spend our days trying to be super on top of everything so nothing bad will happen. It’s frickin’ exhausting.

Now add those new January goals to the list. Arggh! Do you see why you don’t keep them?

The idea of living in a state of ease has become an ideal for most of us. Instead, it’s all: Goals! Work! Goals! Work!

Letting go and trusting Flow is apparently only what you get to do when you retire. (As in: hard work, frustration, and sacrifice now . . . ease later.)

Overcommitted exhaustion and continuously feeling behind or “not as good as”become the default energies that show up in every area of our life. And, instead of ending up successful, we end up burned out, cranky, unhealthy, and often with lower self-esteem than when we started.

Here’s the email that provoked this thought in me:

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My meltdown friends

The first email I read today is a friend’s “so-called” business newsletter. She usually hardly ever talks about business in it.

Instead, she’s typically describing her latest break up drama, or how her company is reinventing itself in perfect syncopation with her own internal reinvention, which happens dramatically around every six months. Her newsletter stays juicy.

I love it.

I’ve realized that the three newsletters I read most often are all from women who tell me about their kids, husbands, and lives more than anything else.

There’s the corporate woman with the farmer husband. And the Australian woman who keeps moving houses every year, always searching for the better place to be, dragging her husband and kiddos with her. And the entrepreneurial lawyer who’s a Burning Man devotee.

I realize that even though I’m reading their emails just to find the juicy scoop on what’s going on in their world, they somehow slip in their business messages too.

In fact it deepens their validity that I can watch them build and run hugely successful businesses exactly while all their head and heart drama unfolds.

It’s not a slow train wreck”¦it’s a slow train assembly, and they’re simply handling all the routine fallout from life as they continuously assemble their dreams.

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You’ve all blown my mind

You’ve blown my mind. Over 200 of you replied to my last blog, “No More Pretty,” or emailed me personally with love.

Wow, has this been a big a lesson for me.

First of all, I wrote that newsletter (about my new bald life) to give you permission to let go of any hidden need to come across to the world a certain way.

I wanted you to share in my liberation by finding one of your own hidden needs to release.

So I asked you to post your personal liberation, or revelation, whatever that may be.

You know what you all told me instead? That I’m pretty no matter what. Holy heck that was sweet.

Even my hairdresser texted me that I rocked the fake Mohawk in my photo (and good god she sure hasn’t seen me for awhile!).

And it overwhelmed me. All of it.

Because of course it gave rise to another thought: I’m not a loner or a solo flyer anymore. I can drop that belief now.

So there I was thinking about this as I was zipping up the freeway to Long Beach for my next cancer treatment. My mother was driving and as usual we were getting lost and chatting about work, life, kids, and yeah, chemo.

The whole time, my phone was beeping and buzzing with your comments pouring in.

And I’m wondering: “All these people really care. Why?!”

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Stressed? My favorite way to drop it.

 

 

Once a month, I take a flex week. This is a week where I may work, or I may not. But I don’t schedule any of my normal work.

Instead, it’s my week to daydream, see my friends, go on a mid-week overnight trip with my family, or just chill out for a few days.

Pretty nice, huh?

I worked hard to create this life. Moreover, I Flowdreamed consistently and took committed, inspired action toward it.

But as with everything, I have to allow myself some regular downtime in between all my work and manifesting. I need to clear the space and detox.

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No more pretty

I’m standing in a juice bar stocking up on fresh juice for my 3-day cleanse. Not only am I wearing my baggy house clothes, but I’m bald. And I’m a woman. And I look pretty bad.

There are three other people in the tiny shop, all waiting on their juice orders. I suddenly realize that they are in the position I’ve been in so many times before: The “Oh gosh, that poor person. Look at them. They must have cancer. Or some horrible disease. No wait, don’t stare.”

I grin at them. They look awkwardly away.

I’m surprised at myself. For one thing, I’ve realized for the first time in my life that not worrying about being pretty is awesomely liberating. I realize I don’t give a rat’s ass how I look.

It’s a funny feeling having no way to hide. I could wear a wig, but I just don’t care enough. It’s hot, I’m tired, and chemo is kicking my butt.

Everything is fully exposed: forehead wrinkles, saggy neck, heck even the shape of my skull.

Here I’ve spent 30 years with my long blonde flowing hair and pretty makeup, fully invested in how I show myself to the world. Now I look 10 years older, bald, pale, and parched.

My ability to control how I look to others has largely been taken away from me. I can’t shape how people see me to the degree I used to.

The next day, I get a text from my mom about some new bald photos of me that have made it onto Facebook. She assures me I don’t look that bad in person and that I must really be getting a big test having to do with stripping away all my ego.

I whimper in response, “So you think I really look that bad?”

I hesitate. I could untag myself in Facebook. Or I could suck it up and get over myself. And that’s exactly what I decide to do. I leave the awful photos up.

By the way, this email is not about vanity, or feeling good about yourself. It’s about control and identity: Who we are and what we expect life to give us as a result of how we control how others see us. Identity is our deeper layer. Think vanity on the outside, and identity on the inside.

Vanity is fueled by lack-thinking.

Self-worth is fueled by feeling good about yourself.

And identity is fueled by many things, including your comfort with yourself at the deepest level, your ability to shift and flow with your changing identity, and by letting go of your need to control others’ perceptions of you.

I discover that I’m tired of trying to control everyone’s perceptions of me and my identity. I don’t need to look any certain way to do my work, so why did I ever think I had to?

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Uh…which one of us needs therapy in this relationship?

 

 

“Is it you, or is it me?”

“Am I letting you get away with too much? Am I enabling you? Or are you the one with the problem?”

“Why do you say ‘okay I’ll change’ and then a month (or less!) later, we’re just back to where we were before?”

“When should I just give up and walk away? How can I know that feeling with 100% certainty, instead of the constant confusion I now feel?”

These are questions I hear all the time.

The latest set came from one of my closest girlfriends, Jenny.

She’s sniffling on my patio couch, her bare feet tucked up under her, arms around her knees. She’s beautiful, super athletic, and a sucker for exciting guys who have the same strong personal growth trajectory that she has. The men she chooses also have a tendency to get very weird in relationships.

Three marriages later, you’d think she’d know by now how to spot the men who’ll eventually trample her. And for that matter, the close girlfriends she’s had who’ll also make her end up feeling in the wrong.

The latest is that she’s broken up with Jake.

I remember when Jake was so amazing. Then he started getting…odd.

It began with jealousy: Was she flirting with other guys? Was she having too much fun with her girlfriends on girls night? Had she ever slept with one of her oldest and best friends, who happens to be a guy?

Jake began rifling through her email and texts, and when he found her old Tinder profile, went full out on the offensive.

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