Talking With The Dead

After I nearly slashed a shower curtain to shreds, the dreams began. Vivid and effusive, they delivered a profound healing of forgiveness. 

For months after my grandmother Carmen’s death, I battled my guilty conscious. She had asked for me during her last days and I resisted until the very end. There, amidst the family gathered, I stood near her bed, with my two year old cousin in my arms, and witnessed her draw her last breath. As I watched her energy leave her body, I sensed her essence fill the room. 

The dreams held hours of conversation with Carmen. They filled many nights, over several months. We communicated through emotions and a language not perceived by word of mouth, but through sensing. I would cry, deep tears of anguish and apologize incessantly.

In our final conversation, seated upon the small love seat in the living room of our house, I professed my guilt and sorrow one last time and she professed her forgiveness and I felt it. 


Months later….

One afternoon, as I laid down for a nap, I heard my grandmother whistling down the hall. I heard her rustling about and she eventually made her way to my room. I saw her soft, brown wavy head of hair and that she was wearing her favorite sweater. I felt the gentle pressure of her hands upon the comforter as she tucked me. Her hand ran down my left arm and near my hand, sending a warmth into my entire body. The sense was so deep, it washed through me. It felt divine and I knew it for what it was: pure love and peace.


In my late-20’s….

While journaling I received the words, “He see’s red”, as though someone had whispered into my ear. It didn’t compliment my train of thought nor did the penmanship match my own. I recognized the hand writing; it was my grandmother Carmen’s. I got the sense to call my friend Steve, a fire fighter. Carmen had a fondness for Steve, as he and I had grown up together.

I called Steve.

Me: Dude, this is going to sound crazy but…. (I explained the story).

Steve: (Laughter) Oh man! (More laughter)

Me: (Cringing on the other end of the phone line)

Steve: I happen to be home today because I’m officially on medical leave. Last night, our team was called to put out a kitchen fire. I was in the kitchen when there was an explosion and I was thrown back against a wall. Just before I blacked out, I saw red.”


Journaling became a practice of allowing messages from Carmen to come through. Each message was beautiful, profound and filled with a sense of peace. I didn’t know what to do with this gift or what to call it. I wasn’t a traditional psychic as I was not able to see or predict the future.

Eventually, I shared my ability with my mother and a few family members. My mother eventually shared it with one of her brothers Pete, whom had a psychic ability of his own and believed

After my Uncle Pete lost his wife Marion to breast cancer, he came to me and asked that I channel a message from Marion. No information was provided. Knowing he was in deep grief and said, “Sure thing, Tio Pete.”

I said a little prayer and wrote down what ever came through. Once the message seemed complete, I translated the portions where the language was a challenge to comprehend, typed it up and emailed it to my uncle. It went on like that for a few years: he’d ask for a message, I’d channel, type it up and send it. My uncle offered no feedback; I had no clue if anything I channeled was accurate.

About a year later, Uncle Pete said, “You know, Tania, your messages have really helped me. They’re right on. There were times when your messages contained things that only Marion and I knew. My questions were usually answered.”

He had questions?!

Too Pete helped groom my ability to channel. What had seemed like a blind tap-in was truly a connection of trust. Trusting spirit and myself. Not knowing what my uncle’s questions were allowed me to receive messages without being filtered by looking for an answer.

Over time, the way messages come through has evolved. I receive images, colors, banners of words, and can now see and sense energy in people too. I tap into the Spirit Realm to connect with Departed Loved Ones, one’s Higher Consciousness, Spirit Guides and other energy beings (including pets). Think of it like raising an antenna to reach a particular frequency. My extrasensory ability is called Clairaudient: I hear the messages.

I ask that clients do not share any questions with me before a session. This allows for what comes through to be pure and untainted without any expectations or guidelines. There is no hocus-pocus, no need for my clients to stand on their heads or meditate during the time of the channeling. Messages are filled with love, compassion and wisdom. 


I still connect with my grandmother. She visits from time to time in dreams and through aromas. Her’s is the scent of baby powder and roses. I also connect with my mother on a regular basis, Kelly my friend, and any spirit someone requests me to.

About two years ago, a medium looked at me and said, “Your grandmother gifted you this ability.” What both my grandmother and mother have said to me is that it’s taken generations for all of us to get to the Is-ness of this ability. With careful design and faithful agreements, through various lifetimes, was all intended to have me step out and share this gift now, rather than hide away with it. I believe, as they do, that this gift is intended to help people, just as it has helped me.

I am a channeler and healer. 

When Grandma Comes To Visit

During the Fall of 1994, the beginning of my freshman year in collage, one afternoon while studying home alone, I heard footsteps upstairs. I listened. The sound of the foot fall upon the ceiling and pattern of the steps was distinct. There was someone one upstairs. My mind raced. How did they get in? Was the sliding door to the balcony of the master bedroom unlocked? The footsteps left the master bedroom and began to make their way down the hall, to the stairs. My heart leapt to my throat. I quietly got up and went for the first thing that came to mind; a kitchen knife. I slipped it out of the wooden block and waited. The steps began to descend the stairs. Shit. Should I make a break for it out the back door? The steps descended, one by one…into silence. I stood frozen to the ground. I continued to listen but heard absolutely nothing but the sound of my own heavy breath. 

I looked out of the kitchen to the stairs; no one was there waiting. I grew braver and walked into the living room to get a better view of the stairs. Affirmation granted; no one was there. Did they sneak back up stairs? I walked to the bottom of the stairs and listened. Nothing. Now confused, I was unsure of what to do. Was I crazy? Hadn’t I just heard someone walking around upstairs?

Pride took over. I needed to make sure I wasn’t crazy. Slowly, I ascended the stairs to the hallway. Nothing. First thing I did was lay down on my stomach because, there in the hallway at the top of the stairs, one could have the vantage point to any of the three bedrooms. I looked, able to see under each bed; no one.

The next quickest hide away would have been the bathroom. A-ha! I thought, they’re hiding in the shower. I leapt up and slashed the knife through the plastic shower curtain…twice. Nothing.

What the….??

I did a careful search through each bedroom, each closet, under each bed. I even scanned the the carpet in each room looking for a shoe print. Still nothing.

I went back down stairs and put the kitchen knife back into its block. I half chuckled at myself and marveled at the perspiration that had gathered upon my brow. What was going on?

Then it clicked. The pattern of the steps had been in the master bedroom, where my grandmother had also slept. When she’d make the bed, she’d go from side to side, pulling up the covers, back and forth until the bed was made. Then she’d walk from the master bedroom down the hallway, to the stairs….

My grandmother had been dead for over a year. 

The Ladybug Punch

Day 1: On a lovely Saturday morning, while teaching yoga outdoors at The Goodland Hotel in Goleta, a bodacious lady bug made its way onto my right big toe. Super sweet.

Two days later…

Day 2: While holding a personal yoga practice in the backyard, I felt a sharp “thwack” on my left arm. I looked around and saw that what had ricocheted off my arm and onto my yoga mat was a lady bug. I watched as the dazed lady bug flared its wings, as if to reset itself and then flew off. “I thought, ok Universe, I’m listening.”

I believe in omens. I believe they are signs from the Universe whose purpose is to guide us. Especially, when they happen twice. No need to get punched in the face for a third clue. Much like deciphering the meaning of a dream, the presence of an animal (be it a bug) can contain clues and deep meanings.

As a spirit animal, the lady bug heralds a time of luck in which one’s wishes begin to be fulfilled. Higher goals and new heights are possible. Worries began to dissipate and new happiness comes about. All wishes will come true.

Lady bugs can also mean for one to be aware not to try too hard or rush forward in order to make dreams come true; allow things to flow at their own pace. Live by your own truth, protect it and know its yours to honor. 

According to Louis Haye, toes represent the minor details of the future. Arms represent the capacity and ability to hold the experience of life.

Let’s not ignore the significance of the number 2. The number two can mean: double weakness or double strength, division, soul receptivity and the subconscious mind. 

Put this all together: Do not dwell on the little details. Know that everything will sort itself out, in its due time. Do not be afraid to embrace your truth - to honor and protect it - by allowing yourself to experience life as it is, to the fullest. Release the worries and thus allow wishes to be fulfilled, to herald in a new, greater happiness and abundance. Double the power due to the number 2.

Well, shoot, the timing of the message was right on the money.

Up until the lady bug punch, I had been obsessing on the “not enough”. Busted! Tsk tsk. As a spiritualist, I know better than to do this. For the Law of Attraction states that what you focus on, you manifest. I had been consumed with creating and developing my business, so much so that my brain started to obsess on what I didn’t have, foolishly thinking this would support the focus of what I would have. That’s not how it works! You can’t create a full cup with a half empty cup. However, you can create a full cup with a half filled cup. See the difference? 

One morning, while walking the dog, I observed my train of thought and got tired of hearing my brain repeat itself - the same stuff, same worries, same not-enough basket list and said “enough!” (ironically) I began to practice the art of appreciation for all the little things around me in that moment; the simple act of noticing little beauties around me and thanking them.

Thank you little wild purple flower for existing.

Thank you Mr. Black Beetle for trekking across the path.

Thank you wild flowers for being in abundance.

Thank you tall golden grass for shining in the morning light.

Thank you sun for shining your morning light onto us.

Thank you soft breeze for caressing my skin.

I began to feel a deep sense of connection, filled with love and peace; a wonderful intertwinement (yup that’s the word I’m using and sticking to it!) with the world. We are all universally connected and only exist separately in our minds, because of the way we choose to see one another and ourselves. I had begun to see the “not enough” because of what I had chosen to focus on. Based on my thoughts, my beliefs had begun to shape how I viewed my world and more importantly how I viewed myself in the world. Not enough. This was ultimately the message I had said to myself repeatedly for days, weeks, months.

The practice of gratitude was inspired by the words of a local Chumash Elder and Firekeeper, Art Cisneros, whom was a panelist during the community discussion on Religionism (as part of the educational series on prejudice put on by Unity Interfaith Pride Alliance that I co-founded).

Art talked about a native american indian ritual wherein you practice gratitude for all that surrounds you in your world. Art said it could be as simple as the obvious: thank you strawberry for being in my cereal bowl, thank you leaf for being a part of this flower…

Thank you, lady bugs for interrupting my train of thought and reawakening my heart’s awareness to all that I am and all that is. I hold Art Cisneros with much gratitude for sharing his wisdom and beliefs.

To learn more about Art Cisneros’ affiliations you can visit these two websites:

www.thesacredearthfound.org

www.tribaltrustfoundation.org

Constellations

Two stars in my constellation shifted recently, their brightness now radiating from a different place in the world. My heart feels this shift, like a gravitational pull. The Knowingness of how we are all connected has kept me grounded in the Truth that they did not leave me, but are simply living their lives to the fullest. I know missing these starts is a part life. Great people do great things. They heed to the calling and allow themselves to navigate a new path when needed, whether the calling is near or far. I am surrounded by a great many superstars, honored to know these sensational spiritual warriors.

One said star is dear friend Nancy Brandon whom recently moved back to Michigan. Nancy (Nandini as I call her) and I (Shanti as she calls me) met during a yoga teacher training. Nancy has Parkinson’s, but it wasn’t Parkinson’s that caught my attention, it was her cooking. She has produced some of the best dishes I have ever tasted. EV-ER. I bond with women over food, like strangers commiserate over booze. Over the course of our training we became close and I watched Nandini overcome her daily challenges related to Parkinson’s. Nancy always did so with grace and even a dash of humor. I’m not inspired by Nancy because she has Parkinson’s, I’m inspired by the fact that despite Parkinson’s she manages to stay spirit-centered. She can be in pain, exhausted to the lowest of low and stay profoundly spiritual. I learn from her.

Nancy has opted to have a Deep Brain Stimulation procedure done as a means to control the effects of Parkinson’s. She’s bone-weary and I understand. Many of us support her decision, despite the possibility that she could die from a brain infection or hemorrhage. It’s the Yes to the bigger part of life that matters.

To learn more about Nancy Brandon’s journey for a Deep Brain Stimulation surgery, you can visit her Go Fund Me Campaign: https://www.gofundme.com/u7vxshz8

The second luminescent being is Sophia. When we met, the road signs were clear that our paths were meant to cross. We have certainly shared some interesting lessons but now appreciate the mastery we brought to one another, together. She’s a spiritualist who thinks outside of the box which enables me to breath a sigh of relief because she get’s it. Sophia is honoring her calling to move to Italy.

Constellations evolve. Every now and then the sun will cast its rays upon a new sister or brother. Some celestials shine bright and stoic like the North Star and enable me to find my way home when I’ve wondered out of orbit. Others, like astroids, blaze through and create a dazzling show not soon forgotten. Some, return to being heavenly bodies.


Setting: Summer 2002, No-Ho Studios, North Hollywood, CA.

Back stage before a Shakespeare recital.

I, a modern day Kate from “Taming of The Shrew,” wore a serious and sassy black ensemble while Kelly, my complimentary opposite wore flow-y white. The tall ex-model huskily said, “Hello, Luva-Luva.” I stopped in my tracks and blew her a kiss, “Hello back, Luva-Luva.” The exchange resulted in jaws dropping open, one guy drooled, another whispered “hell yessssss” and so it was Luva-Luva was born. From then on that was how Kelly and I referred to one another. The nick name became a term of affection: it meant hello and I love you all in one. 

Luva Luva and I both lived in North Hollywood (No-Ho) during the time we pursued acting and thereafter. We both believed No-Ho was where we actually grew up; it’s where we found our voices, learned to be who we were and to trust and love ourselves.

Both Kelly and I realized the acting world was not for us and drifted along our own orbits until they recrossed in 2005, when I signed up to join The Leukemia & Lymphoma Society (LLS) for the San Diego Rock n Roll Marathon. Kelly became my guardian angel throughout the entire process. On the day of the marathon, somewhere around mile 13 she ended up as my running buddy. Thank goodness because I don’t think I would have finished she had not stayed by my side. It was her third marathon, while it was my first, and she did it with the bottom of her feet torn up; littered with blisters. 

At one point, I almost fell asleep in a port-a-pottie. I talked about quitting a few times, but she always managed to find something to say that inspired me. At mile 26 - exhausted, sore and hungry - I growled as a lovely young lady who cheered “Only .2 miles to go!”

Tania: I want to punch her in the throat. 

Kelly: That’s not a good idea, Luva Luva. Just keep moving forward. We’re almost there.

Truth is; she knew I was capable and of course she was right.

Kelly embodied her eccentric qualities with a divine balance. She liked dive bars and farted in public but could walk like Grace Kelly and appreciated fine art. Luva-Luva was profoundly spiritual with the inner strength of a panther. We could laugh, be silly and hold deep conversations about our dreams and visions all in one evening. 

Kelly later developed Aura seizers as a result of two car accidents that inflicted trauma to her brain stem. In May 2013, she died in her sleep from a seizure, in her No-ho studio apartment, just three months before she was to be married.


That seems like the ultimate missing, doesn’t it? 

I miss Kelly (aka Luva Luva) quite often. She was the planet Venus in my constellation. When ever I pass through No-Ho, my heart feels that strong magnetic pull. Sometimes I cry. Sometimes I laugh. I know she’s with me for I can feel her. My ability to tap in has provided me great comfort and guidance when needed. Luva Luva did have a few messages for her dear sweet mother, of which I passed on, though I wonder if that only caused her mom more heart break. 

At some point in time a fears years before Kelly died, her and I exchanged apartment keys. I said it was so we could help each other if we got locked out, but I did it as if I could prevent something from happening to her. I couldn’t. 

I have connected with Nancy’s son Solomon so that in the event if something happens to Nancy, he’ll let me know. It won’t be preventative, that I know, but it makes me feel better. I could pester Sophia to make sure she posts her Italy adventures like crazy on FB so I can keep “track of her”, but I won’t because I can’t. I can’t control anything. I can just stand by and love. The love will always exist. That is something time nor distance can reduce.

I appreciate the friends that have watched me move forward in my own unique way, to dance with the moon at the rhythm of my heartbeat. For this is a process of life: we live, we love, we know, we learn and in order to move on, sometimes we have to let go.

Fred, Ethel & My Womb

In a perfect world, after being a pin cushion and downing my Chinese herbs my womb would be healed and I would announce to the world “I am restored! Praise the Goddesses!” but…..that’s not how healing works. While treating my fibroids holistically, I have to be authentic on every level. I have to be willing to look at everything within; all the stories, patterns, lists…all the un-pretty stuff. A deep, hard look with compassion in one hand and forgiveness in the other.

I need to understand why I caused this within myself. If I can retrace the imprints, I can learn from them and undo them.

The last few months has been profoundly healing. Like a fragile egg, two yoga teacher trainings cracked me wide open.

TRAINING 1: Therapeutic Yoga with Cheri Clampett and Arturo Peal. 

Therapeutic Yoga combines restorative yoga (supported postures), gentle yoga, breath-work, hands-on healing, and guided meditation techniques. The timing in my life could have not been more perfect. The training was tender, nurturing and showed me many ways in which I could be kinder and gentler to myself. In order for me to share this supportive practice, I needed to begin to live it.

Day 1: Friday, March 10, 2017. During the opening meditation, we were asked to place our hands on an area of our body that needed healing. I placed my hands upon my lower abdomen. What did my body have to say? My colon said: no more chia seeds and less spinach. Interesting. My womb said: write more. There is healing through writing; writing through healing.

Day 4: Tuesday, March 14, 2017. Amid my morning meditation, I found myself cradled at the base of a big tree that was bathed in light while surrounded by a soft layer of mist. The tree’s essence was sacred. Beside the tree was a pond with a smooth, mirror-like surface and little fish swimming between its roots of tall grass. The pond was safe and soothing, the tree peaceful and serene, the entire setting calm and tranquil. This was my Sanctuary.

That same afternoon Cheri gifted us with a deep guided introspection. Guided straight to my womb, here’s what happened in my vision:

As if apart from myself, I sliced open my abdomen and saw two onyx stones, glistening from the moisture of my womb. These were my fibroids; Fred and Ethel. I gently cupped them into my hands, pulled them out and took them into the light. Little by little, their exteriors cracked open and fell away. Fred and Ethel were born anew. 

I then took them to the Sanctuary and allowed them to breathe and unfurl. I told Fred and Ethel how much they were loved and appreciated them for holding all they had for me. It was time to let go, time to be released and set free. Fred was the first to unfold, quite literally.

Fred became an enormous purple, Mexican blanket, the size of a meadow. A great portion of Fred covered me at the base of the tree and then expanded beyond, into the sunset. As I watched Fred lengthen a great sense of comfort came over me. 

Fred had been my distorted belief of self-compassion; where I had bundled all my effort of comforting other people before myself. From a very young age, I had been conditioned to put other’s needs before my own. I cried and thanked Fred for showing me a part of myself that had been warped and wrapped up.

Ethel emerged as a moth-like creature with white wings and razor-like edges. Her insect face was grey and morphed between kindness and anger. Ethel perched herself upon a lotus in the pond; safe, buoyant and a good distance from the edge. She didn’t speak for quite some time. 

TRAINING 2: Yin Yoga with Heather Tiddens

After becoming so receptive during the Therapeutic Training, the energy released during Yin Yoga blew me wide open. In Yin Yoga one holds the poses (asanas) for durations of 3-5 minutes. The idea is to be right on your edge, to stay mentally present throughout the experience, while your connective tissue releases and muscles stretch. As this is happening, you are opening and compressing meridians (energy channels) in the body, provoking a deep change and shift physically and emotionally.

Day 4: Sunday, April 9, 2017. The final day of training. Heather left the Heart, Lung and Intestine Meridians for last. Wisely done. These meridians when paired together can aid in resolving grief and hatred into courage and joy.

As we moved through the sequence, I began to feel a stir deep within. In a reclined spinal twist, I felt my right sacroiliac joint shift (as it had been doing for some time when I would wrap myself into a pretzel). My body whispered a few things; “this is not normal, this is uncomfortable and this hurts a bit. “Oh my god!” I thought. I had been so disconnected, so NOT paying attention to all the signs that I had completely ignored this development, despite the cracks and pops. I had been so focused on the skill and perfection of the poses, than on what was appropriate for my body. I had been ignorant to what my body had to say and needed for quite some time.

Knees to the chest, lying on my side, a longing began to swell. “Don’t push this away.” I took a deep breath and looked at it. It felt as though I had unzipped my womb and drew out an energy so RAW and intense. The intensity swelled and I saw it for what it was: the want to be a mother. Then, as if the awareness and longing leaped out of my body, it slammed right back into me like a kick in the stomach. Hard.

The practice ended and Heather moved us into a seated posture. All I wanted to do was face-plant into a puddle of tears on the hard wood floor. I also wanted to run out of the room. I did neither. Instead, I stayed and sat with it. The tears poured down my face and I found it difficult to breathe because my nose was plugged with sob-snot. Sometimes the road to inner peace is not pretty.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out.

Clarity surfaced. The blow to the stomach was all the emotion that had been locked within my fibroids and womb. It was anger, it was pain, it was sadness, it was confusion, it was everything. And. It. Hurt. It was in that moment, I realized just how completely disconnected I had been from any sense of pain or emotion associated with my lower torso. Like a shaken can of soda, the fizz hit the ceiling. It was time to birth the relationship between my body and suppressed emotions. 

When class stopped to break for lunch, I went across the street to the park and laid on the grass and just stared up at the sky for nearly an hour. I felt stunned, but awake.

I had taken in my family’s shadow belief of not being enough. It transferred to me as it does in families and I harbored it. I felt responsible for their grief, their sadness, for their “lack of.” I was the youngest on both sides of the family where each hierarchy meant that most were happy to tell you what you did wrong. Words of encouragement were not generous in our family, but criticism and the sense of importance to win approval was.

My mother often called me selfish for being joyful, playful and having all the things in life that she didn’t have because of her. (Nice, right?) My mother’s emotional highs and lows kept me on edge. It was impossible to ever fully comply with my mom’s idea of what an ideal child was, though I tried desperately to please her.

My dad was a perfectionist who was quite skilled at killing the joy in doing the things he loved because he was so hard on himself. To a degree, he still largely is that way. At times he seemed to have little room for patience or compassion, but distinct boundaries between black or white, pass or fail.

No matter how or when the approval scale tipped and waned, I tried my best to be what a narcissistic mother and emotional unavailable father thought I should be. I’m pretty sure I rarely got that right. I pushed myself so hard though, that by the middle of my freshman year in high school I was on the cusp of suicide.

Fred and Ethel stayed with me in vigil when I rested and restored in the Sanctuary.  They both said it was ok for me to stop and just be. They did encourage me to write as much as possible, to allow for stories to birth, for the creativity to express itself in order for us us heal. I promised them I would and will.

Ethel evolved from having a silk-moth-like body and face to a nymph. Her wings became large and luminous, with a velvety texture. One large spot, that looked like an eye developed at the apex of each wing. She learned to laugh and had a sing-song quality to her voice. I wondered if she’d fly away one day and if she did, would I be ok?

A few weeks ago, a black and white silk moth came upon my path like a kiss from the full moon. In my palm, it fluttered its wings, the subtle vibrations permeated my hand. We connected like old friends for indeed we were. The moth settled itself upon my right shoulder so I took her home and placed her upon a tree leaf in the back yard. I thanked the silk-moth for her presence and sent her love. The next morning, the silk moth was still upon the leaf. By mid-afternoon, she had departed, like I sensed she would. From that experience I knew Ethel had been set free and I got to be a part of it. And I was ok.

The knowing needs to be followed by accepting. Anything else will obscure it again. Accepting means you allow yourself to feel whatever it is you are feeling at the moment. It is part of the is-ness of the Now. You can’t argue with what is. Well, you can, but if you do, you suffer. Through allowing, you become what you are: vast, spacious. You be come whole.
— Eckhart Tolle, “A New Earth”. 

To learn more about Therapeutic Yoga, please visit: http://www.therapeuticyoga.com/

Ohhh U-terus!

I’ve developed a relationship with my uterus in an unexpected way. Prior to my late-20’s, I hardly paid attention to my uterus. Sure, I had an idea that my womb would one day cultivate life, but other than that there wasn’t much communication. Not until my OBGYN noticed that I had two small fibroids when I was 28 years old.

A sonogram revealed two very different fibroids. One was long, narrow and attached to my left ovary. I named that one Fred. The second, was spherical and attached to the back of my uterus. That one was named Ethel. 

Each year, I got a pelvic ultrasound. The technician would pile on the blue gel, roll the ultrasound thingy around on my belly and take pictures of my insides. Each year, based on the results of the ultrasound, my doctor would say, “They’re getting bigger. We’ll keep monitoring them.” I made what changes I could, with what little I knew at the time; it meant no red meat. 

In the beginning of 2014, my doctor sat me down, looked me straight in the eye, and said with a delicate tone, “Your fibroids have gotten even larger. At this point it would be risky to get pregnant; there is no guarantee you can have a successful, safe pregnancy. There’s a high chance you would hemorrhage and be at high risk of dying.” I looked down at my tummy and thought, “I’m broken. The very essence of being a woman; creating life, is not within me.”

The ironic part was that I was in love, had just moved in with my boyfriend and knew that he was the one I wanted to marry and have a family with. Barely grasping the fact that I could not carry life within, a week later my mother told the family she had stage 4 lung cancer and had only 6 months to live. I didn’t have time to grieve. I went straight into survival mode to help ensure my mom’s transition was everything she wanted it and needed it to be. My mother passed away in June 2014.

Later that same year, my dear friend Gwen* (name changed) got pregnant. It was a beautiful and shocking surprise because Gwen and I had formed the “non-baby” club. For several years, since her early 20’s, Gwen had been undergoing hormone therapy in an effort to control the growth of a benign tumor in her left shoulder. The years of treatment resulted in her body going into early menopause. We had shared stories about our heartbreak on not being able to have children. Tears over cocktails could have been the name of our club. Gwen, however, was able to get pregnant by ditching the meds and hormones and she let me know in a gentle, loving way because she recognized that I still needed to grieve.

Grieve I did. I realized that something in me felt like it had died. A piece of me that had never been born was never going to come to life. I cried, I ached deep within. From then on, my pelvic ultrasounds were excruciating reminders of what could not be. Where as most women get a pelvic ultrasound to view their growing baby, I would always see an empty womb. 

In May 2016, per the recent ultrasound, my doctor said, “the fibroids are larger and you have a field of new ones. You may want to seriously consider surgery to have the largest ones removed.” Ethel had grown to the size of a mandarin orange and Fred had doubled in length. All together, the collective size of the fibroids was equivalent to a second uterus. My entire torso is roughly 16 inches long. How all of the fibroids and the innards I was born with fit, is beyond me!

I decided against surgery and in June 2016, decided to treat my fibroids - Fred, Ethel and the Brady Bunch - holistically. I dedicated a steady 6 months of treatment by an acupuncturist. During my first visit to the acupuncturist, upon the read of my pulse and chi the doctor said, “Good thing you do yoga. Your chi is no good. It’s not moving.” Stagnant chi? Well that’s no bueño. My treatment began with acupuncture and foot cupping twice a month and Chinese herbs twice a day.

A list of foods not-to-eat began: no mangos or boiled eggs. Egg whites only. Don’t pair spinach with tofu. The Must-Eats were: Avocado, black berries, blueberries, eggplant, watermelon, papaya, tomato, and pineapple (only in summer). Fish once a week and three times a week during your monthly cycle. (That one did a number on my vegan brain.) ONLY organic. No sugar. The list continues to evolve.

The treatment is now down to acupuncture twice a month, still with Chinese herbs daily. My fibroids are softer, which means they are breaking down. I can feel the difference and am embracing a new perspective on myself and womanhood. It took a doctor cheering for my period to have me look at it differently.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Me: “My cycle was so heavy.”

Dr.: “Good! That’s what we want. The body is purging. Make sure to rest and are gentle with yourself.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Me: “It felt like my uterus was sliding out”.

Dr.: “Good! That’s the feeling of your uterus releasing what it needs to!”

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Then of course, came the adjustments of what I did each month when I was on my period.

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Dr.: “No more use of tampons”

Me: “Really?”

Dr.: “It’s not healthy for your vagina and uterus. Let it flow.”

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Me: “Can I use a Diva cup?”

Dr.: “No, no good.”

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Back to the good, old fashion sanitary napkins.

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Dr.: “Don’t take long showers when you have your period.”

Me: “Ew. Why?”

Dr.: “Every poor in your body is open because your body is releasing. Only short showers. And don’t wash your hair.”

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I’m still getting used to the idea of short showers and no hair washing when I’m in my moon cycle. Ever since I started menstruating in my teens, I hated it. It felt icky, it was potentially embarrassing, and of course it was inconvenient. The list goes on. Ladies, you know what I mean. My first acupuncturist helped me develop an appreciation for the entire process. 

Society has conditioned women to believe and behave as though we need to hide the fact when we have a moon cycle. There are so many derogatory comments out there to support this. Women have been taught to believe that our moon cycle is inconvenient and a hush-hush topic. What we need is to teach each other to be nurturing and gentle with ourselves. We need to relearn that we should celebrate this aspect of ourselves. It’s beautiful, it’s LIFE. 

You’re bleeding? Good for you. Have a nice cup of tea. 

Underwear looks like a crime scene? Beautiful! You’re rocking it, sister!

I have come to accept that all this is as it is meant to be. I believe that one of the fibroids’ purpose was an act of my higher self protecting myself from having children. I now not only accept that I can’t have children, I don’t WANT to. The fact that women can create life and give birth is amazing, but it is not something I want to do personally. My husband and I are not opposed to adopting and I believe that when the time is right, if it is meant to be, a child will walk into our world and we’ll know. (And I do literally mean “walk into our world”. A 5-year old would be great!)

My uterus and I have developed a good relationship. I check in with it quite often and listen to its needs more than ever before. Turns out my uterus is interested in giving me the life that I have. One that is beautiful, filled with love and abundance and has a great deal of creative expression.

I’m actually looking forward to my next pelvic ultrasound to see what it will reveal. I will keep you posted. 

Why is it Bad to be Dark?

I am of mixed ethnicity. My mom was Mexican-Spanish-American, with a little dash of Native American Indian. My dad is Filipino-Chinese, with a dash of Irish. When it comes to the Ethnic box in filling out applications, I often scratch my head because I’m supposed to choose between Hispanic and Asian. When available, I will select “Other”. 

Often, soon after meeting someone for the first time, I am asked what my back ground is. I understand: my features do not make it easy to peg down exactly what I am. A gentleman from India recently asked if I was born in India or here in the United States. I smiled; the guesses run across the board. I find it flattering and interesting.

To confuse people further, my maiden name - Isaac (originally pronounced IZ-ah-awk) is Syrian Jewish. Yup. The ancestors on my dad’s side fled Syria from persecution and made their way to China. Many families migrated from China down to the Pacific Islands, the Philippines. Somewhere along the way, the pronunciation changed to eye-zak. The Spanish allowed my family to keep the name Isaac because it was biblical and quite frankly, easy to pronounce.

I actually love not looking like one particular race. I love the concept that we are all one and eventually will one day meld into a unique, multi-ethnic mix of people. While I appreciate looking unique and being born of parents from two different ethnic backgrounds, I have experienced discrimination. Discrimination from white people, yellow people, brown people…even my “own kind”.

When I was a teenager, my friend Melissa and I went to the mall. Melissa, was tall, had long sandy brown hair and bright, big blue eyes. She had a few clothing items on her arm. The retail assistant greeted her and offered to take her selection to a fitting room. She didn’t even look at me. I had an armful of clothing on my arm, but I was completely ignored. The thing was, I was the one with the credit card and Melissa was just going to try a few things for the fun of it. I remember being embarrassed, hurt and angry.

More than once, I have had to defend the fact that my dad, who looks like your typical gentleman from South East Asia, is in fact my dad. People have said, “He looks Asian. You don’t.” It seems difficult to conceive that my father procreated with, gasp, a latin lady. Many Filipino people only become interested once I tell them that I am half Filipino. The usual response is, “of course, you’re so pretty!” It’s hard not to let my jaw drop open.

It makes my heart sink when people address the differences in facial features between my sister and I. Some have said, “You’re the prettier one because your sister has a Filipino nose and she’s darker.” Seriously, people? My sister is stunning. She’s beautiful inside and out.

What IS with the thing about being darker? Sadly, both sides - the hispanic and Filipino - find it unappealing when I get “too dark”. The Filipino side has said “She’s so dark” and looked at me like something “happened to me”. The latin side has said, “Don’t get too dark. You don’t want to be a negrita.” I kid you not. Recently, after traveling and being in the sun a lot, an older (white) man whispered to me like it was shameful “You’ve gotten very dark”. These comments make my skin crawl. They make me angry and it takes a lot to not punch people in the throat.

Why is it bad to be dark?

Discrimination, of any kind, is wrong. Discrimination comes from ignorance. While it is sad that discrimination is still happening in 2017, I have hope. I believe there is potential for growth, to learn, to understand, to be compassionate. My experiences have helped me become more appreciative of differences, 

As a Chumash elder recently said, “The Universal religion should be Love”. A Tao monk said, “Kindness should be the Universal Law”. It is our responsibility to get educated, to learn the language of intelligence and kindness.

I am passionate about this. That's why I helped create an important committee at Unity of Santa Barbara; Unity Interfaith Pride Alliance. UIPA’s Mission is focused on compassion, social justice and the inclusion of ALL. We’re doing a six-part educational series about prejudice, titled “Us AND Them,” as it relates to racism, religionism, handicap, sexism, wealth/poor, and LGBTQ issues. Our intention for this series is to help raise awareness and compassion through community dialogue in a safe, loving environment. 

Our first discussion is next Friday, February 17th and the topic is racism.  I’m on the panel, representing mixed breeds like myself. For more information on our series, please visit:

Url: http://www.santabarbaraunity.org/interfaith-pride-alliance-us-and-them

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/unityinterfaithprideallianceofsantabarbara/

There’s a ventriloquist named Jeff Dunham who has a jalapeño on a stick named Jose’ Jalapeño. He coined the term Fili-peño. Create a new box on an application and call it “Fili-peño” and I will check it. It would not be entirely accurate, but it would be a bit closer to the truth and certainly a bit more open minded.