Today has been a huge exercise in surrendering to what is, for me. The word “surrender” can be super-scary for some people because there can be connotations of weakness and loss of control — but contrary to those stigmas, I’m here to tell you today that surrender is a sign of enormous strength.

In order to be able to relax into whatever is (whether that’s being in the hospital or losing track of your phone), you must be rooted in something much stronger than any physical problem. This is called faith — not always of the religious/spiritual variety, but it’s a deep inner knowing that no matter what happens, you’ve got this.

Today, before I could write you, my computer had a little graphic freakout, and I had to check it in overnight at the Apple store.

Soooo much of my life and my work lives on that computer! Not to mention it’s primarily where I write. Knowing in my core that I’ve got this, I chose to instead write you this from my phone. (Thank goodness for all the technology that supports me!!)

It’s not how I preferred to post today, but at the end of the day, I’d rather deliver you a message rather than just give up hope. I know where my heart is and why I created this blog, so I release any guilt or any frustration I had over the mishap. I release my attachment to how I wanted writing today’s post to look and I’m doing what I can that’s aligned with my heart’s desire.

Your resourcefulness will win any war you have with your circumstances. Know that any problem you’ve got, it’s only the fight against what is that creates stress and fear in your experience.

Instead, try dropping the fight. Believe me, as a recovering rebel-without-a-cause, it can feel counterproductive, but you are so much greater than any of your problems. I believe in you.

Remember, you’ve been through a stroke and SURVIVED. Everyday issues ain’t got nothing on you. Now, I really have to go and eat!

Have a wonderful weekend.

All love,Pamela

PS. Two requests — if this speaks to you, please share it with someone you love who could use it/let me know in the comments. And lastly, please send some supporting healing vibes and prayers to our family. It may be a little spotty for a while given the fact that someone in my family is having some serious medical issues right now and I’m going to be exercising active surrender while that’s going on. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

I used to hate my last name because almost no one could read it properly, and the various misspellings were creative at best and horrendous at worst.

(For the record, it’s more or less pronounced “shay” — like shea butter.)

But in recent years I’ve really come to love it, because what is it they say? That it’s impossible to be angry and grateful at the same time? Turns out, it’s the perfect gift to have such a constant reminder.

We live in a scarcity culture, where nothing is ever enough.

I literally practice reminding myself, via writing, every single night of everything I’ve gotten to do that day (whether it’s getting dressed, having taken a walk around the neighborhood, or created something kickass) and what that achieved so that I don’t fall into a rabbit hole of scarcity. I also list out random things I appreciate about myself and as a practice, share appreciations with Anthony verbally before bed. Some days it feels like swimming upstream and most other days I feel freeeeeee.

The other day, someone close to me was feeling down on himself, like “the day was a wash.”

Though I totally understood where they were coming from (I’ve been there many times), that’s an insidious habit that’ll send you plummeting into the world of never enough. Something I ended up saying in response to them moved me to tears as I spoke.

I told them that every single day they got to open their eyes, take a breath, and start the day was a gift. That there were countless other people who tomorrow couldn’t do the same. And then I pointed out that every single day they get to move their body all day long in ways I still dream of, in ways I haven’t moved mine in 15 years. That that was a miracle, and that I wished they could see it.

I didn’t share this at all to disparage them, but to gently point out that this is something we all do sometimes. Being a human is hard.

Carrying on after a stroke is hard. Damn hard. And there’s no manual.

But if you are well enough to be reading these words right now, then you are blessed with so much more than you are seeing when you’re having one of those moments. Swap scaricity out for gratitude, and really let it into your heart.

Watch your life transform.

Did this resonate? Drop a comment and tell me why — or share with a friend who needs to hear it.

Love,

Pamela

You guys, I loved going live yesterday. I was a #hotdangmess — furreal, my surroundings looked like they’d exploded and the only presentable place I could find to record myself was in front of my white curtains, and then I was over 10 minutes late to the redo after I had to delete the abruptly ended broadcast I originally did — and since I had to do it twice, I got to watch a whole lot of me rambling to see what worked and what didn’t.

This was me leaning into my own yes: Inspiration had hit on my way home in the snowstorm to doing a livestream instead of writing a post, and though going live is always intimidating, I knew that challenging myself to do so would change things up in an interesting way and build up a muscle that I’d like to develop.

I’m extraverted by nature and loooved performing as a child and young adult. But because I began to hide from the world post-stroke, mainly because for a long time having had the stroke was a source of shame for me, I really stopped doing a lot of things I actually loved. It wasn’t necessarily conscious, of course, but I stopped dancing, theatre, sports. Stopped wearing things I wanted to wear so that I could feel safer walking around or safer being seen.

So doing a live broadcast is actually exciting for me. There’s no one making me do it, but it’s aligned with the way I enjoy expressing myself. That’s where my yes lay.

Hiding out is no fun. It feels . . . flat, uneventful. Like I’ve purchased a front-row seat to someone else’s show, someone else’s life. I don’t get to participate, be an active creator in what’s going on.

To be sure, hiding is a useful tool at times. Hiding out from the Inquisition in 1500s Spain when you’re secretly a Jew? Probably an actual lifesaver. But hiding who I really am from the world when there are people who need to hear some truth told to them in the way I deliver it? Who’s that in service to? My inner scaredy cat, and no one else.

Part of this yes naturally comes with a sense of danger, of thrill. There was no real voice of resistance, other than, “I don’t want to have to do this every single week. I know how you are.”

Ha. By the way, did I forget to mention that the voice of resistance (i.e., the ego) is very tricky, and VERY clever? Of course she is. She’s you, designed to protect you by holding you back — and if she weren’t a tricky trickster, you’d get the best of her every time.

Give thanks to her. Acknowledge her for trying to protect you, and then work with her to find a win/win.

So I’ll address the elephant in the room: Am I going to do FB Lives on the regular now that I’ve had this win? Now that I’ve done two in one day(!)?

I don’t know yet. I still need to have a chat with my Resistance, but I can’t say for sure. I’ll keep you posted.