Love Heals

What do you think of when you think of the healing process? Does some beautiful  light-filled vision enter your mind? ...or, does a long, painful, and sometimes scary process emerge?

Sure, healing is a beautiful process; however, it can also be incredibly difficult. Sometimes things look worse before they get better. Sometimes they hurt more intensely than when the wound was initially inflicted. Sometimes you feel weaker before you get stronger. 

Sometimes healing looks like you're completely falling apart when in actuality, you're putting the pieces together in a whole new way.

How many of us have been building defense mechanisms for years to avoid getting hurt? We carefully laid bricks of friendly looking detachment and avoidance or abrasive anger and indifference so no one could ever get near, but at some point, we find those bricks are starting to cave in on us. 

What once kept us safe is now what's beginning to crush and suffocate what we were protecting-- ourselves. 

There comes a point when we have to make a decision; continue trying to build walls that are preventing the very things we want most to get in because we keep clinging to the fact that they used to keep us safe, or gather every bit of courage we have and start disassembling years of defenses knowing that that's the only way we can even begin to heal those years of heartache and be open to the incredible joy life has to offer.

The last few months have been continually new revelations of just how much I've been holding back and pushing away, because due to the unexpected arrival of an incredibly kind and patient someone, I've had to face that I never fully bought into my belief that love heals. Until now.

I didn't realize that I was still nursing so many of my old wounds because instead of letting them heal, I tried to pretend they didn't exist. Denial was easy when I wasn't allowing anyone close enough to challenge me.

For the most part, it has been a happy process, but, there are some days when my fears get the best of me and I want to bolt back into my old comfortable crumbling walls. I have moments of complete and utter panic because, "what if I foolishly step outside of my walls and get hurt in the same stupid ways all over again? What if my half-stitched scars get torn open?"

Necessary and amazing as it is, there are times when it's uncomfortable, awkward, difficult and sometimes flat out embarrassing. It would be easier to keep avoiding it all, but then, what kind of profoundly life-changing depth and meaning would I miss out on because I was too afraid to be vulnerable enough to heal?

Day by day, fear by fear, he's helping me to learn how to trust and step out of the walls that were keeping me from experiencing a sacred part of life that I hoped existed, but didn't really believe in, or at least, didn't believe would exist for me.

Thankfully, love heals whether I always believe it or not.

Blood and Water (part 2)

How do you know when to hold on or let go? 

 For the last 10 years, I've been pursing communication with my biological family in hopes of meeting them one day. Sporadic emails over time seemed to be leading up to that point until a few months ago when I received the translation of my father's most recent email that may change the course of everything... 

I tried to write about it all just days after, but found I had to walk away from it all for a while. I had no answers, and still don't; however, one thing I've learned through this process is that the possibility exists that perhaps all of that searching was just to find that I no longer needed to be searching. 

I have people that love me, want me in their lives, and will make every effort to be in contact with me regardless of how busy they are. Why should I continue chasing after a "family" that would easily fall away as soon as I cease to make any effort? 

Sure, people have their arguments that I need to find my roots, and I agree to a point; however, not everyone's story is the same. Perhaps, just perhaps, it's ok if my roots were transplanted and I'm happy with where I'm grounding now.

Many of us have the driving need to have closure to every situation, but life doesn't always give us the closed ending for which we hope. Sometimes we have to learn to be ok with an outcome that ends with an ellipses instead of a period.

In this case, for now, I'm letting it go. I have the opportunity to build a family here with people I love and who love me in return. After a decade of chasing what's left me continually feeling confused, drained and empty, I'd rather pour myself into what will contribute to making my life happy and full.

Maybe one day I'll resume pursing my bloodline, or maybe I'll find that what I have here is enough in and of itself. 

"The old saying goes that we all have two families—the one we’re born with, and the one we find along the way. For some of us, the family we’ve found is everything, and enough."

(From the article: My Modern Family)

Very Inspiring Blogger Award

I woke up today to the unexpectedly pleasant surprise of having received the "Very Inspiring Blogger Award" from When In New Places. Quite serendipitous to have an expat living in Korea teaching English randomly connect with me, no? 

The rules of accepting the Very Inspiring Blogger Award are:

1. Display the Award Certificate on your website.
2. Announce your win with a post and link to whoever presented you with the award.
3. Present 15 awards to deserving bloggers.
4. Drop them a comment to tip them off after you have linked them in the post.
5. Post 7 interesting things about yourself.

And now to pass on the honor:

1. Amber Kane

2. Hecktic Travels

3. Hey Amber Rae

4. Revolution Gratitude

5. You Are It

6. The Creatives

7. Wood Stove House

8. Tickling My Fancy

9. Fleur De Moi

10. 

11.

12.

13.

14.

15.

Unfortunately, I'm apparently kinda lame, and I only have 9. Please feel free to suggest other awesome blogs that I should check out sometime. ^_^

Seven Interesting Things About Myself:

1. I was imported from Seoul, Korea.

2. Once upon a time I used to (try to) spin fire.

3. I'm a giant nerd at heart. (Lord of the Rings, anyone?)

4. Internationally, I've traveled to Ireland, Italy, Belize and Kenya.

5. I'm not satisfied with #4 and have a pretty wicked case of wanderlust.

6. In my past lives I've been a barista, bartender, server, fitness counselor, logistics management specialist, yoga teacher and an intern counselor.

7. In spite of #6, I still have no idea what I want to be when I grow up.

New Post on Tiny Buddha!

Check out my latest post on tiny buddha:  Find Peace Today: Stop Worrying About What You Might Lose

That Month Long Gap

It's been awhile since my last post, huh? 

It certainly hasn't been for the lack of thoughts and ideas. I just haven't known how to verbalize any of them. Some of them have been too heavy for me to carry, so I let them go for now... 

During lunch with a friend several weeks ago, we discussed our concern for having not been doing the things we love- for her photography and me writing. 

"What's up with that?? I feel as though I'm losing some of myself, " she mused. 

I agreed and wondered why I hadn't been able to spit a single word out in weeks in spite of having so much to say. 

After a few moments of considering our dilemma, I wondered if maybe times that feel "dry" or "blocked" are actually a necessary part of our creative process. Perhaps sometimes we need to step back from whatever our craft is, regardless of how much we love it, to give ourselves time to rest, process, and allow new inspiration to find its way into our lives without us feeling as though we need to control how it enters and in what way. 

Maybe what appears to be lacking is actually finding new depth through a necessary hiatus from directly working and allowing ourselves to just do what seems right for the time even when it seems to be the opposite of what we think we should be doing.

That said, hopefully after a month of silence, some of the words that have been pent up will find a coherent way to assemble themselves into expression.

Tiny Triumphs on Tiny Buddha

(Picture source)

April 6, 2013- I woke up to an influx of emails, Facebook friend requests, followers on Twitter, and hits on my blog. Confused, in my half-awake haze, I sift through them trying to figure out if maybe I had been spammed.

Then it hit me. "My submission to tiny buddha must have gone live!"

I check the site, and sure enough, there it was; my first piece published on a site that is not owned by a friend.

Throughout the course of the day I was able to interact with people from all over the world who had read my post. I never would have expected such a massive positive response. I was honored and humbled to read stories of similar loss, of travel and adventure, of starting over again, of newfound passions and joys...

Did that just happen?

Did I really finally put a piece of my writing out there for the world to see?

Did I really just connect with people from all over the world because of the blog post (Finding What We're Missing: Our Lives Are Already Complete) I submitted?

It may seem like no big deal to many, but for a girl who has been too afraid to put something she loves so much out into the open, it was huge. 

Yesterday a friend said to me, "You hold yourself back from putting your writing out there, even though you've wanted to do it for half your life and've been told that it's good, but on the other hand you'll leave your life and job here and head out into the unknown..."

It took me the next 15 hours or so to process that, and this afternoon I finally admitted to myself (and him) that yep, I've definitely been spending a lot of time and energy avoiding that one thing my heart has been telling me to do for years.

The funny thing about fear is that it sounds exceptionally rational. In my head, "I want to be a writer" sounded horrifically similar to saying, "I wanna be a rockstar." That in conjunction with my underlying insecurities ranging from, "I have nothing worth saying" to "Of course my friends and family say I write well- they're supposed to say that. Maybe they just don't really know what good writing looks like..." joined together to keep me silent.

So, I set out to do everything but write.

It has taken me years of floundering, miserable jobs, hopeless looking nights, traveling to other countries, and moving across the U.S. to finally set the stage to have the realization that in spite of saying I wasn't running away from myself, I really was.

What? Shit. Really? Yep.

Now what?

I keep going in spite of all the old lingering fears and the new ones creeping in. I keep putting myself out there and believe that what I have to offer just might help someone else. I believe that I deserve to do what I love.

When I say I was running from myself, I am by no means saying that all of the steps leading up to this moment were superfluous. On the contrary, each and every step was entirely necessary to reach this point. And oddly, I wasn't running from my problems- I was running from my talents.

What the hell was I supposed to do if I put them out there and they didn't fail, but succeeded? It's easier to rationalize a failure than a success. When you succeed, you have to own your strength, your beauty, your brilliance, and your responsibility to humbly offer what you have to give. 

And for someone who has struggled with feeling the need to be worth the space she inhabits, it's much easier to be a failure and recede into the comfort of anonymity than to own up and face my own light.

This milestone was confirmation that there is a path that I must follow. My sister and I discussed that perhaps instead of thinking about life in terms of goals and how we want it to look, we should shift our focus onto how we want it to feel. I had a vague idea of how I wanted to feel day to day, but no idea what would draw that into my life... until now.

Writing makes the hours feel like minutes. It combines everything I love into one package that I can share with others, and in turn, it returns to me with a profound sense of accomplishment, value, and peace. And what's more, it is beginning to bridge a gap by drawing in like-minded people who amaze me with their own incredible stories.

This is the first time in my life I've thought, "This is it. This is what I want to feel like every day." I want to be connecting with other people and making the world seem just a little less lonely for all of us. I want to be a hub for sharing inspiration, motivation, and encouragement.

Who knew such a seemingly insignificant act would draw in the energy needed for me to finally work through yet another one of my long-lived fears.

Here's to pursing our true love and passion (even if/when it takes us years to face it), and to each and every one of you who inspires me to keep going.

Cheers.

A Place in This World

(Picture from the article: Korean Adoptees, Part 3: Dating Inside and Out)

It hasn't been until the last year or so that I've begun to dig deeper into the part of my identity that I so boldly wear on my face, but ignore otherwise. I'm nearly considered an adult now. It's time to put on my big girl pants and confront myself. 

At the beginning of the month, I received the translation of the latest letter my biological father had written to me. I had all but forgotten about it until tonight. 

Well, that's sort of a lie. I didn't quite forget, but after a cursory review of it, I didn't read any further in depth. I read it the way I'd read a story about a stranger's life, and then promptly dropped it in case it would start to sink in that it was, in fact, not about a stranger. 

A couple of weeks later, I had a conversation with one of the staff members here about what I've been struggling with in terms of reconciling my 'too Asian to be white and too white to be Asian' issue as well as a bit about my apprehensions in visiting Korea to meet my family. She put me in touch with another Korean girl in LA who was a fellow at the school a few years ago. 

Nervously I composed my first email thinking, "What the fuck am I doing? Am I just going to pour out my life story to this poor unsuspecting stranger? What am I even trying to accomplish??" Thankfully, she was perfectly accepting and was, mercifully, better at directing the conversation than I was. 

After the exchange of several emails and a phone call, she sent me a list of resources for Korean adoptees. In this list contained a 4-part essay addressing several issues faced by Korean adoptees in the U.S. (If you have a moment, check them out. They're good for a different perspective. And for those of you who are close to me, they're another way to understand me. What's Your Name?, When Adoption Became Visible, Dating Inside and Out, and Return to the Motherland)

Shit. That's me. 

I read each part, and then read them again. "Holy shit," I thought to myself. "These are my thoughts and feelings written out by someone else." 

As I was reading the third essay, I came across the quote, "As much as I know my birth mother gave me a better life by putting me up for adoption, and as much as I'm grateful for my adoptive parents for doing so much for me… Do you ever feel like no matter how much someone will love you, there may be a day where they'll just leave?"

All.the.fucking.time. 

Looking back over the last 29 years, there's never been any question by me, or those who love me that I have a deeply embedded fear of being abandoned stemming from the adoption. A few people have brazenly suggested that, because I was adopted as a baby, it doesn't really affect me. 

Sure, right. I wasn't 11 years old. That unquestionably comes with its own set of obstacles. That said, who thinks about the ramifications of being inside a mother who is profoundly depressed and anxious for 9 months? About being born and instead of being surrounded by excitement, joy, and love- being met with disappointment, sorrow, and regret? About the first 3-4 months in an orphanage where no one knows if anyone responded to me when I cried?

The people who were supposed to love me forever rejected me the moment they saw me.

It's something I've been working on, and though I've come a long way, I know I still have a long way to go. Thankfully, I am blessed to have a few who love me deeply and have spent years by my side gently coaxing and convincing me that I'm stuck with them.

Love changes everything. It might be slowly, but it brings light where there was none.

After processing what I read, I remembered the letter from my father. After nearly a month, I finally went back to actually read it. 

"...And when I gave you over to Holt Child welfare agency I requested that your name be sent to America with you. However the employee changed the name I gave you "HyoJin" to an American name against my request. About the circumstances regarding your adoption... I was the eleventh generation of a "Kwon" and being the first born and without a son, my great grandmother threatened that if you were a daughter that she would force me to take a concubine so that it is why we eventually chose to send you off to be adopted, not because we had no money to perform an abortion. That isn't correct. I sincerely hope there is no misunderstanding about this."

(The files the agency sent with me said the reason for relinquishment was that my parents couldn't afford to have me abort. It also said I was the third girl. I was actually the fifth and final attempt to have a boy.)

The weight of the Korean culture forced my family to send me off into a world where I would spend many years struggling to find a place to belong. 

Day by day, moment by moment, I am finding my way into what I want for myself and my life. I'm learning what's important to me, and in a weird way, such a brutal form of rejection has been a blessing. It has allowed me to pull close what I know I want in my life in spite of the fear. I have a family who, in spite of our many years of distance and heartache, have been growing closer as times goes by, and a few precious friends who are not scared of my past or the parts that are still vulnerable and healing.

I haven't found that place that feels like home yet. Maybe I never will. Maybe this journey is home, and once I realize it, all my years of searching will find a place to rest.