About the Ocean and Anguish

Aug 12, 2022 | Women's Voice & Power, Women's Wisdom

I’ve spent a lot of time at the beach lately. As soon as we arrive, my 9-year-old niece Grace, runs to the water, her dad not far behind. And there she stays — for hours — letting the waves carry her or crash into her; she doesn’t care which. All she wants is to be as “in them” as much as she possibly can.

Me? Not so much. I’m more of a shore girl. I position my reclining chair just so — making sure I directly face the sun. I rummage through the huge bag I’ve brought with me for a towel, sunglasses, my Diet Coke, and maybe (sometimes) the sunscreen. It’s hot and I’m restless. I get out my phone, but the glare of the sun is too bright to read the screen. I dig for the book I brought, but then decide that the white pages are going to hurt my eyes. So I watch Grace — out there in the water — while I try and sit still in the sand. 

I wonder about this: the chosen “safety” of the shore, the restlessness that sometimes overwhelms, the seeming-inability to just be, to let the waves carry me or crash into me, to let myself feel all of it. (I’m not talking about the water or the beach anymore; rather, about emotions.)

This business of “being” with our emotions — whether they carry us, crash into us, or both — is hard. 

Life is hard! And right now? When everything feels out of control, when bad stuff happens to good people, when wars persist, when Supreme Court rulings are overturned, when school shootings occur yet again, when the NRA meets anyway, when the most paid-attention to news is about a celebrity…it is WAY easier to think about all of these things than to feel them. 

Our emotions are overwhelming. Too much, even. We don’t know what to do with all that we feel, so not feeling seems a better and maybe even safer/saner alternative. It’s like picking the beach chair over the waves. Slightly more stable. A bit easier to control. A known entity.

Still, those waves, the power of the ocean, being small in something so very big, letting go…It pulls at me sometimes. Like the tide.

When I first began working with a therapist, it wasn’t long before he asked, “When do you grieve, Ronna? How do you rage?” (Notice: not “if,” but when and how!)

“I don’t.” 

“But so much of what you’re telling me deserves those emotions, don’t you think?” 

“I don’t know how to do that. And I’m afraid that if I start, I’ll never stop. The people in my world cannot handle me falling apart. I would be way too much.”

Over time (and with extreme patience), he began to suggest ways to let go of those set-in-stone beliefs, let go of my tight grip on NOT letting myself feel. It felt incredibly dangerous, tenuous, like a tidal wave about to crest, certain havoc. But I trusted him and tried. It was hard. It was scary. And shockingly, the world did not come screeching to a halt, nor did anyone drown (both of which I was certain would occur).

These days, things are incredibly dangerous, tenuous, like a tidal wave about to crest — barreling down on us. How are we to take it all in? What are we to do? What can we do, really? It all feels so hopeless. And we feel so helpless. 

In Atlas of the Heart, Brené Brown describes this as anguish. (It’s a long quote, but well worth reading.)

“Anguish is an almost unbearable and traumatic swirl of shock, incredulity, grief, and powerlessness…The element of powerlessness is what makes anguish traumatic. We are unable to change, reverse, or negotiate what has happened. And even in those situations where we can temporarily reroute anguish with to-do lists and tasks, it finds its way back to us. 

“…we can convince ourselves that we’re okay and keep ourselves upright by hanging our crumpling anguish on rigidity and perfectionism and silence, like a wet towel hanging on a rod. We can become closed off, never open to vulnerability and its gifts, and barely existing because anything at any moment could threaten that fragile, rigid scaffolding that’s holding up our crumpling selves and keeping us standing.” 

As I read her words for the umpteenth time, I think that maybe, sometimes, it’s OK to let the scaffolding fall, to step into the waves and let them carry us and crash into us. It’s OK, even critical and healing and transformative, especially during these times, to let ourselves grieve and rage, to feel everything.

May it be so. 

About Bridgerton & Romance Novels

Jul 1, 2022 | Women's Voice & Power, Women's Wisdom

A couple years back I devoured every novel in Julia Quinn’s Bridgerton series within a matter of weeks — far before I had any inkling a Netflix version was on the way. (You can only imagine how I responded when that news arrived!)

I’ll admit that I felt a flutter of shame (maybe “embarrassment” is a better word) for pouring through those books in record time, for enjoying them as much as I did, for getting sucked into a romantic trope that is (or at least was), in my opinion, completely unrealistic, nothing more than fantasy, and only enticing because of the steamy sex.

Harsh, I know.

(That inner dialogue and critique did not keep me from reading more — or from binging on both seasons.)

What is it about these stories that draws us in?

I have a few ideas…

So do others:

As early as 2013, an article in The Atlantic endeavored to show “how romance novels came to embrace feminism.” A few years later, the author of an article on the genre in the online women’s magazine Bustle characterized romance novels as some of the perhaps “most rebellious books you can read right now.” Romance novels, she affirmed, are “practically the only books in which women get exactly what they want, all of the time, and aren’t asked to feel bad about it.” (source.)

‘Might be worth reading that last sentence one more time…

Where do you get exactly what you want, all of the time, without being made to feel badly about it?

Where do you know this to be true for yourself? An even better question: DO you know this to be true for yourself?

Go ahead, think about it for a bit. I’ll wait for you. Where do you get exactly what you want, all of the time, without being made to feel badly about it?
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This is foreign territory for most of us. And it uncovers a truth that we all-too-often dismiss.

We live our lives, in large part, without getting what we want, most of the time, and when we do, we are made to feel badly about it and/or we impose that shame ourselves.

Ouch!

So, what are we to do? Well, maybe read more Romance novels.

They let us imagine our own story, our own life in a much different way from “normal.” All obstacles are conquered. All misunderstanding healed. All betrayal (by self and others) disallowed. We are powerful, chosen, and the one who does the choosing! They allow us to feel into what we deserve and what we will NOT tolerate. They help us identify and name our desires. Yes, for love, but so much more (strength, wit, discernment, agency, courage, passion, voice…) And all of this without a hint of shame.

The story of a woman in a Romance novel invites us to look far more deeply at our own story; to admit and allow, even if only within those pages, that we want what she has. That we want, period.

For the skeptics in the crowd:

Believe me, I know. The tendency is strong to bucket every bit of this into “fantasy,” an escape from reality, a silly diversion. I mean…come on! It’s just a book! It’s a trope that is intentionally designed to make us feel this way. There’s a happy ending, for goodness sake! Come down from the clouds.

And…it always feels far safer to stay in skepticism, even contempt, than to hope. (Believe me, I know.) It’s what I wrote about a couple weeks back, yes? Me not practicing what I preach, resisting desire for fear of disappointment. I get it.

There’s some logic I’m following that I think (and hope) might just change your mind. It’s definitely changed mine.

We must take in as many stories of women as we possibly can — especially those who get what they want, all of the time, without being made to feel badly about it. They invite us to imagine — and then create — a story of our own, a world, in which we are our own protagonists, unashamed, strong, and full of desire — passionate, awake, alive.

We must take in as many stories of women as we possibly can — especially those who knew great harm, misunderstanding and malignment, silencing and shame. They compel us to imagine — and then create — a story of our own, a world, in which their losses are NOT ours, in which we lean on and learn from their wisdom and strength, and through which we are reminded that we are not alone; that we stand on the shoulders of an entire matrilineal line on which we can depend.

Entering into the stories of women don’t whisk us away from reality, they usher us into it — with fierce defiance, fiery passion, and an endless determination to get what we want.

And what is that? What do we want, ultimately?

We want a world in which every woman’s lived story is not imagined; it’s real, felt, experienced, and expressed. Strong and sovereign. Never made to feel badly about anything; instead, honored, acknowledged, and esteemed; heard, seen, and valued.

May it be so.

About Being an Outlaw

Jun 24, 2022 | Hope & Encouragement, Women's Voice & Power, Women's Wisdom

Yes, about being an outlaw…but also archetypes and exhaustion and self-care and then some.

The dictionary defines an archetype as a recurrent motif in literature, art, or mythology; a typical example of a person or thing. You’ve heard of the maiden, the mother, and the crone. There’s the lover, the hero, the magician, the sage, and more. Then there’s the outlaw.

Here’s some description:

  • The Outlaw yearns for liberation from oppression. They’re risk-takers, progressive, and exude bravery in all circumstances.
  • They have a penchant for revolution to help change the world — and if anarchy is involved, so be it — to make the world a better place. They are rule-breakers, despise being regulated, and oppose conformity.
  • They denounce the normalized, what’s accepted, and status quo for something better. To do this, disruption is their tool. They run counter to the crowds. (The Brand Leader)

You can relate, yes? These things describe you — at least in part. Me too.

Here’s another definition that I find even more powerful:

“A woman who begins to take charge of her own life drawing not from patriarchal notions of individualistic success but from a desire to escape these norms is committing an act of social deviance and rebellion. She is the outlaw…” ~ Danielle Dulsky, The Holy Wild: A Heathen Bible for the Untamed Woman.

There’s much in me that aspires to this archetype, that wants to be the outlaw. I’m all about liberation and risk-taking, revolution and rule-breaking. It feels required, quite frankly. But to only be this, leaves me feeling tired, sometimes discouraged, and often overwhelmed by just how much remains to be “disrupted” in order to make the world a better place.

I want to be the outlaw AND I am more. I am the maiden, the mother, and the crone. I am the lover, the hero, the magician, the sage, and more. All of these at the same time. As the poet Walt Whitman said, “I am large. I contain multitudes.”

So, I wonder how to hold fast to the passion, intention, (and critical necessity) of the outlaw while holding on to all of myself — all at the same time.

And then I wonder, “What if I just let the sky fall? The falling sky is what Chicken Little was deathly afraid of — certain the world was coming to an end when, in truth, a single acorn had fallen out of a maple tree and landed on their head.

I am not comparing Chicken Little’s tiny acorn to the sky that we hold up.

I am NOT saying that our concerns are over-reactive or hysterical; they are real and significant; they matter. I am NOT saying that we shouldn’t worry about all that might happen were we to let go of the “fight,” even for a little while; vigilance and perseverance is needed — now more than ever. I am NOT saying that we should just kick up our heels (with or without “outlaw” boots) and forget about it all; ignore the issues, bury our head in the sand, live and let live.

I AM saying that sometimes, especially when our arms are tired and we’re worn out from fighting, that there are other aspects of who we are that deserve our time, attention, nurture, and care.

I AM saying that it is radical — and rebellious and rule-breaking — to be kind to yourself, to nurture yourself, to think of yourself first (!!!); to go within and pay attention to your emotions, to listen to your heart, to follow it; to stop holding up the sky at the expense of all else, at the expense of all of you.

I am saying that perhaps this IS the most outlaw-like choice of all.

To do any of this IS “a woman who begins to take charge of her own life, drawing not from patriarchal notions…but from a desire to escape these norms…She is the outlaw.”

Here’s what’s true: We can advocate for social justice and let the sky fall — both at the same time, at least for a time. We can think brilliantly and feel deeply. We can be (and are) more than enough and never too much. We can be honest and loving. We can tell the truth and be compassionate. We can be the maiden, the mother, the crone and the lover, the hero, the magician, the sage, and more. We can be the outlaw and nurture ourselves in the most generous and extravagant of ways. In fact, we must.

More and more, I am coming to believe that it is just as radical and revolutionary to be kind to ourselves, listen deep within, trust our wisdom, and yes, let the sky fall, as it is to decry patriarchal notions and norms and commit acts of social deviance and rebellion. Even more rule-breaking and defiant than either of these is believing and knowing that we have the capacity to do both at the very same time, to “contain multitudes.”

It’s when we acknowledge, allow, even celebrate all of this — all of who we are — that we become the most outlaw-esque of all.

From one outlaw (and maiden/mother/crone/lover/hero/magician/sage and more) to another, may it be so.

*****

I’d be honored if you’d SUBSCRIBE to my Monday Letters. Long-form. My thoughts. My heart on your behalf, to be sure. ronnadetrick.com/monday-letters

Not practicing what I preach

Jun 17, 2022 | Women's Voice & Power, Women's Wisdom, Writing

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about my desire. No. That’s not quite true. I’ve been thinking a lot lately about my lack of desire — my resistance to it. Not across the board — but in particular areas of my life.

This awareness has come as a surprise to me, quite frankly.

Desire is hardly a new thought or topic in my world. I’ve learned to follow its impetus and wisdom more times than not (after many decades of just the opposite). And I’ve certainly written and talked about it a ton — redeeming Eve’s story in ways that reveal her as inspiration and model of desire — in the best and most perfect of ways. Our blueprint, our forebear, our legacy! She calls us, beckons us, invites us to desire; she reminds us that our desire is good, that we are!

All this said, you can see why this is a conundrum for me, this chasm between what I practice and what I preach!

A dear friend came to visit me. We sat in my living room and talked of many things — among which was our respective books. She told me about just recently turning her completed manuscript over to a designer who will now create the book itself in preparation for self-publishing. (It’s going to be magnificent.) I spoke of my own manuscript, my timeline, how I am (mostly) pushing past my resistance. And we bantered back and forth — sometimes lightly, other times with much more angst — over the whole world of marketing, publicity, and promotion that yet remains. And all with no guarantee of “success.”

In the midst of all this, I said, “What if I just don’t care? What if I just write the book because it deserves to be written, because I want it written, and then let it go? What if don’t worry myself with the outcomes, the numbers, the success (or not)? What if it’s really about the creation of it — not what happens once it’s finished?”

To which she replied, “I suppose that’s one option, Ronna. Or you could actually acknowledge that you do desire so much more. If you’re being completely honest, you want your book to be wildly successful. You want your work honored, your voice heard — not just by some, but by many. Maybe you could let yourself have that: all of your desire — whether it happens, or not.”

Record scratch.

That was weeks ago. I have been sitting with her words ever since.

Actually let myself want? Really acknowledge my desire? Open myself up to that kind of dreaming — even though it feels completely unrealistic and outside the realm of possibility?

If I don’t desire — at least not in amazing and vast and extravagant ways — if I tamp it down, then I spare myself that pain. Sort of. Not really.

To let myself desire — honest, raw, and unedited — means that I allow disappointment instead of trying to avoid it.

*sigh*

Every bit of my resistance (and yours), every emotion that rises to the surface for me (and for you), invites me/us that much deeper and further in — to our stories, to our soul, and yes, to our honest, raw, and unedited desire. Which, of course, is good…and amazing and vast and extravagant. Really.

When Eve bit into the apple, she gave us the world as we know the world — beautiful, flawed, dangerous, full of being… All we know of heaven we know from Eve, who gave us earth, a serviceable blueprint: Without Eve there would be no utopias, no imaginable reason to find and to create transcendence, to ascend toward the light. Eve’s legacy to us is the imperative to desire. ~ Barbara Grizutti Harrison, Out of the Garden: Women Writers on the Bible

The imperative to desire.

May it be so, yes? For you and me both!

All the wisdom you’ll ever need…

May 27, 2022 | Sacred Stories, Women's Voice & Power, Women's Wisdom

I recently (re)watched The Matrix. It’s one of my favorites, to be sure. Even so, I’d forgotten about the Oracle.

She’s an aging woman in an apron who bakes cookies while she smokes cigarettes, tssk-tssk’s at various things, makes jokes, and surreptitiously, almost nonchalantly supplants her wisdom into Neo’s mind.

This wisdom of hers — its transference — hardly seemed spectacular, but that made it no less true. It was what eventually enabled Neo to step into his role in profound and world-saving ways.

We often wish for an Oracle, don’t we?

We’d like to be able to sit at the feet of wise and beautiful crones, soaking up their wisdom, asking them questions, getting their advice, reveling in their presence, and hearing exactly the words we need in order to be compelled into our future, our destiny, our life’s work in profound and world-saving ways.

Believe it or not, I have an Oracle.

Actually, I have lots of them. Countless women who surround and support; and who, when I’m willing to listen, tell me what I most need to hear.

So do you.

Let me introduce you to just one of them.

She lived in a time long, long ago, or maybe it was yesterday, or maybe it is yet to come.

84 years old at the time of this particular story, she had lived countless stories beforehand. Married only seven years until her beloved had died, she sought solace and refuge in the only place she could find: the temple. And every night and day since, she’d never left; endlessly worshipping, fasting, and praying.

People came and went. Sacred feasts. Sacrifices. Praises uttered. Alms given. Baby boys consecrated and circumcised. Some parents looked away while others looked for miracles. But all of them came seeking. She could see it in their faces. She could feel it in their souls. And she both knew and had what they sought. But rarely was she asked, so rarely did she tell.

Until one particular day.

She spotted the couple immediately — walking through the maze of activity and din of noise. And she saw Simeon, the old priest, talk with them as he held up their son for all to see. Their son. She saw him.

Time stood still. Silence enveloped. Everything stopped.

Words came from deep within her. She hadn’t anticipated them, hadn’t rehearsed them, hadn’t thought them through in advance. She didn’t need to. The deepest truths require none of this.

*****

Were you to ask her what she said that day, she would tell you it was only one thing, just a small thing, and just the right thing…

In The Matrix, after all the build-up and anticipation of what the Oracle would say to Neo, it came down to this:

“I wanna tell you a little secret. Being the One is just like being in love. No one needs to tell you you are in love. You just know it, through and through.”

The prophetess Anna said almost exactly the same thing.

What she saw and named in that child so long ago, was no different than what the Oracle named in Neo. That young boy held within all he would ever need. Full of the divine spark. A birthright of wisdom. Profoundly gifted. Whole and complete. The sacred in our midst. On the planet for a distinct purpose. And his only work, just like hers, would be to live what he already knew, through and through.

Anna whispers (and sometimes shouts) the same to you:

“You hold within all you will ever need. You are full of the divine spark. You have a birthright of wisdom. You are profoundly gifted. You are whole and complete. You are the sacred in our midst. You are on the planet for a distinct purpose. And your only work is to live what you already know, through and through.”

It’s not a secret: this deep, before-the-dawn-of-time, Oracle-like wisdom that this prophetess (or any wise woman) holds and offers. It is simply and profoundly this:

You already know, through and through.

That’s it.

Your wish for the wisdom of the (s)ages and the seeress, the accumulated brilliance of all women throughout time, and certainly Anna’s, is encapsulated in these few words. This one sentence. All that you will ever seek, everything you long to find, the only thing you will ever need.

You already know, through and through.

So sit at the feet of any and all women you can find. Soak up every word they have to offer. And realize that all of them, every one, whether mythic, legendary, archetypal, or even apron-wearing-cookie-baking-cigarette-smoking, will tell you the same thing:

You already know, through and through.

There is only one catch: you have to believe that it’s true.

May it be so.

*****

I write a long-form letter every week. Aptly named Monday Letters. I’d love for you to have it…from my heart to yours. SUBSCRIBE.

What Matters in a Broken World?

May 20, 2022 | Hope & Encouragement, Women's Voice & Power, Women's Wisdom

Name what’s true.

Go small anyway.

  • A job in which you are miserable.

Acknowledge default behavior.

Name what’s true again.

Go within and look closer.

  • The miserable job: I can pay attention to where I am compromising myself, complying, people-pleasing, and not telling my truth. And I can choose to do things differently.

Now, widen the lens.

Name what’s true. Again.

Do the math.