Lots happened this week – less about the stuff I did (even though I did start the INFJ Facebook Group which is awesome!) but more about what I learned.

(I’m also having compassion for myself, for the fact that the lighting on this video is terrible. Sorry/lol.)

Yes, as I wrote in my last blog post, I have many unfinshededs that need to be closed before I have the space for next.

But that wasn’t the reason I flipped out and had to give myself a time out in my bathroom yesterday afternoon so I wouldn’t scream at my kid for doing nothing wrong besides being a little kid.

As an INFJ, I like certainty.

I need things to be known, to be decided.

Even to the point where I don’t care what the decision is – which apartment I’m living in or where we’re going to eat or what’s the price of the new program – as long as the choice is behind us and we can move forward.

(Yes, the adventurous, scared-of-being-bored person in me is turned on by being surprised and off balance. And that’s kind of inconsistent with what I just said. Sigh. I’m such a confusing person to be.)

Right now I have So Many Undecideds.

What format will I use for the 18 Days to Live Your Truth sales page, will I bring my kid to WDS in Portland, will I go back to school and will it be for a Masters or PhD and when would that be, do I ever want to live w/ a man again, what’s the long term big picture for LYT/EPW, what car loan should I get, should I rent a 2BD or a 3BD apartment, which rental management company should I hire, should I get the Civic LX or EX, should I switch to a new bank, should I switch website layouts, how should I design my new header & graphics, what after school programs should G do in the fall, where should I workout after I move. Etc. Etc.

But when I was worrying about it this morning I didn’t have an actual list.

All those undecideds were just amorphous whorls in my head, pinging me in the shower, pinching me on the bus and keeping me from relaxing or being gracious or writing as myself.

So I did the only thing possible when plagued by whorling.

I wrote it down.

Made a list of everything undecided.

And made a decision about each one.

Deciding the thing right now, or deciding what info I need so I could decide, or picking a date to make the decision (for things that are not a high priority or can only happen after something else is finished/started).

::deep breath, relaxing in my coffee house chair::

Ah. Decided.

I feel so much better.

–

Do you have tons of stuff pending in your life? Major decisions you’ve been putting off or you have not finalized yet? What do you need to make the decision? What’s stopping you?

I’d love to hear from you below!

But things have changed.

Or … I’ve learned more about myself, what I need, what works for me & Gracie, and what doesn’t work for us …

So we’re leaving San Francisco. And here’s why.

So what do you think about where you live and how it affects you?

Are you a good energetic match for your location? Do you have more energy in the big city, a small city, the suburbs, the country? What do you do if you’re suffering a mis-match?

I’d love to hear your thoughts & feedback below!

Haven’t left since I went and saw Harry Potter at the 9:45 am showing on Thanksgiving Day.

Not even to check my mail. Not to Peet’s for coffee. Not to run to the corner store for more Diet Dr. Pepper.

I’ve been playing marathon sessions of Civilization V. Re-reading Mercedes Lackey paperbacks about magic and gryphons and horses that talk in your head. Taking my morning shower after noon, wearing glasses all day, sitting on the sofa, petting the cat.

Hermiting up.

Completely content. Peaceful. Relaxed. Balanced.

Feeling strangely not-insane.

Feeling normalized.

For the first time in … I can’t remember. Years.

Before the Moment. Before I decided to live my truth. Before I changed everything in my business. Before I started speaking my truth. Before I separated from my (now) ex-husband. Before my daughter was burned. Before I moved to San Francisco. Before I went without child care. Before my daughter was sick for months with no diagnosis. Before my daughter was operated for a brain tumor. Before she started her new school.

Before.

These last 18 months have been epically stressful for me.

Any of those things – restarting a business, divorce, child hospitalized, moving, brain tumor – would be enough to cause major drain of energy, a depleting of resources. But all of them at once? Major clusterfark.

What I expect of myself, the unreasonable standards I hold myself to, I would not force out of my enemy, much less someone I love.

So I’m incorporating new standards.

Gentle, loving standards.

Less demands. Fewer self-judgements. Releasing of guilt.

More space. Lots of alone time. The indulgement in lovely nothings.

On a journey to a different way of arranging my life, inventing something that works for the INFJ / HSP / feminine energy / nerdy / living my truth girl that I am.

God, I feel better already.

—

I’d love to hear from you!

How much alone time do you need? What completely useless nothings do you do that chill you out, normalize you, fill your energy back up? Do you give yourself what you need, or judge yourself for not doing something productive?

Someone who is comfortable in front of an audience. A group. A camera.

Who can connect with people, talk to anyone, convey a message. Even occasionally create a little scared space for transformation to occur.

Until Sunday morning.

When I realized that all my lofty considerations were just hiding a deeper level of bullshit.

It was 10:15 AM on Sunday morning, and I stood in front of the group and announced, “I want to talk about how I’m freaking out.”

It was one of those “share your ah’a moments from last night” things at a training seminar, and after about 7 other people had gone, it was my turn at the microphone.

I’m usually one of those people, who sits in the front row, who shares over and over, who everyone knows by the end of the weekend.

But not this weekend.

I had been hiding.

Behind the tall girl, stuck in the middle, in the back rows, not raising my hand, thinking about leaving, hiding in the bathroom, eating room service for dinner, thinking that perhaps this was a bit too much for me, listing the thousand reasons I didn’t have time and it was not a good idea and maybe I should wait until next year.

As I stood there in front of the group, I decided to fuck it all and tell the whole truth.

The whole truth I didn’t even know yet, until it started blabbering out of my mouth.

I was afraid.

I had got really comfortable hiding in front of the camera.

The idea of sharing my truth with people face to face, with projecting my energy out to everyone, completely freaked me out.

Then Alison (the seminar leader) interrupted me. And said it.

“Look at them.”

“Don’t look at me. Don’t look over their heads. Look. At. Them.”

I couldn’t.

I couldn’t look at anyone in the face and keep speaking my truth.

I broke down and cried, right there, in front of audience, listening that little “awh” noise welling up from them, making me feel comforted and mortified at the same time.

WTF EPW?!!

I’m a speaker! I’ve spoken in front of groups of hundreds of people! Why was I unable to stay composed before an intimate group of 100 people who were all rooting for me to succeed?

Because …

There Is No Group.

The group, the tribe, the crowd, the audience … doesn’t exist.

That’s just a construction, a way to dehumanize, a way to oversimplify, a way to categorize, a way to create an artifice of safety for those of us up on the stage.

The group doesn’t scare me.

Individuals scare me. People scare me.

While yes, I’m totally able to speak my truth, be myself, share all kinds of information and stories, while in front of a camera or written on a blog or up on a stage …

I share nothing.

I risk nothing. I reveal nothing.

The energy of me stops at the edge of my skin.

At the front of the stage. At the keys on the laptop. At the lens of my camera.

The apparent courage and fearlessness and strength … is a shell.

Because the strength comes from hiding. Protecting. Shielding.

Not from allowing myself to be vulnerable in front of people whom I do not yet trust.

Not from taking a leap of faith, letting the unknowns see my soul, opening myself up to rejection and criticism and damage from people unprescreened, unverified, unresearched.

And a part of me is completely convinced that I will spontaneously die from it.

Just drop dead from energetic overwhelm. While still holding the microphone.

So that’s one of the boundaries I’m working on right now.

Making the leap from hiding in front of the camera, to exposing my soul face to face, sharing and extending my energy over the interwebz, the soundsystem, the coffee table.

And let’s all hope I don’t spontaneously combust.

–

I’d love to hear from you!

What are you afraid of? Speaking in front of a group, writing your truth, the camera, speaking with people one-on-one? What boundary are you pushing right now?

What is it that other people have that makes them so normal and balanced and even, while I’m losing my mind on a regular basis.

So I googled confidence.

The first definition that came up was:

“freedom from doubt” ~ WordNet

If freedom from doubt is required for confidence, then any confidence I appear to manifest is just a shell.

I always am doubting.

Wondering. Worrying. What If’ing.

Engaged in a futile expenditure of energy, wasting precious sleepless hours, whorlybraining myself to the point of exhaustion.

Because I refuse to let go of my artifice of imagined control over the future.

What do the other mothers at the children’s museum think of me when my daughter does that, what did he think about that last text I sent him confessing my latest insanity, will she like him or he like her or they get along or will we all have fun.

Will it rain at 4:15 pm next Tuesday or are buses are running late because they ran into a random parade on Market Street or will there be a long line at the bathroom at the open house next Saturday.

How many blog comments will I get in the next post, how many people will buy the next program, how many email responses will I get from the next blast, how many testimonials will come in from the next solicitation.

Will the check go through. Will I make enough to pay the bills.

Will it work.

Because I value myself based upon what I do and not upon who I am.

Upon how many hours I was able to work last week, how many blog post I wrote, did I finish the copy for the next program, did I send out that email announcing the dates, did I remember to call that guy about the interview.

Did I work out as hard as I could have yesterday. Did I pay the bills on time. Did I drink the right amount of water. Was I successful in sleeping last night. Did I remember to tidy up yesterday afternoon. Did I cross off everything on the to do list.

Did I play with the kid enough, pet the cat enough, listen to my ex-husband enough, reply to the blog comments enough, follow up with the clients enough, vacuum the floors enough, reply fast enough, thank the guy who gave his seat up to me on the bus enough.

I’m not sure I’ll ever be free from doubt.

So hoping for a second opinion on my insanity, I checked the next definition.

“The key element to self-confidence is, therefore, an acceptance of the myriad consequences of a particular situation, be they good or bad. When one does not dwell on negative consequences one can be more ‘self-confident’ because one is worrying far less about failure or (more accurately) the disapproval of others following potential failure. One is then more likely to focus on the actual situation which means that enjoyment and success in that situation is also more probable. If there is any ‘self-belief’ component it is simply a belief in one’s ability to tolerate whatever outcome may arise; a certainty that one will cope irrespective of what happens.” ~ Wikipedia

An acceptance of the myriad of consequences.

A certainty that one will cope irrespective of what happens.

In other words, that I do whatever I do, that I am who I am, that I take the actions that I take … and that is all I can do. Whatever happens, whatever is the result, whatever is the consequence …

I can handle it. I will handle it.

Strange thing is, when I am reasonable and really think logically about it, I know I could handle anything.

That I won’t live in a cardboard box or lie in a ditch somewhere weeping and beating my chest and screaming “why me” to the stars.

Of course I’d figure it out.

I mean, I’ve already handled some pretty crazy shit, right?

So what’s actually missing is me being reasonable. (lmao & glwt, I know.)

The disengagement of the whorlybrain, the breaking of the pattern, the ripping of myself out of the feedback loop back into my power, my competence, the woman I really am.

So that’s one of the projects I’m currently working on.

Finding tools, creating habits, learning how to extricate my mind from that temporary insanity and regularly return to the truth of myself.

(And yes, I’ll be sharing w/ you what I find. What works. Coming asap, mehopes!)

–

Do you have whorlybrain, feedback loops of anxieties and worries?

What do you do to break yourself out of the pattern & return to yourself?

For those of you who are not into personality tests or typing, INFJ is one of the 16 Myers-Briggs personality types (you can taken an online test here to find your type).

Now I don’t believe that Myers-Briggs gives all the answers (nor hand analysis or finding your words or any of the interesting explorations into which we can define ourselves), but whenever I am freaking out & I share it with another INFJ, unlike most people, they understand.

I’m not going to go into the full explanation of personality types, especially since I’ve known my type for 20 years and I’m still learning and don’t consider myself the expert of all things psychological.

But I’ll give you the short version of what it means to be an INFJ, at least for what I’m talking about here.

INFJ stands for Introvert (as opposed to Extrovert), Intuitive (as opposed to Sensing), Feeling (as opposed to Thinking) and Judging (as opposed to Perceiving).

INFJs are known as the Confident, the Protector, the Mystic, the Counselor.

“INFJs are gentle, caring, complex and highly intuitive individuals. Artistic and creative, they live in a world of hidden meanings and possibilities. Only one percent of the population has an INFJ Personality Type, making it the most rare of all the types.” (source: INFJ personality page)

We are regularly mistaken as extroverts.

Probably because we are so interested in people and concerned with the state of the world, we seek connection and interaction with others, unlike many other introverted types. We love learning about people, we love figuring them out.

That’s one of the reasons I became an entrepreneur, a writer, a coach. Because mathematics, chemistry, law, finance … all of those were pretty easy to get after a while. But people, their complexities are never ending. I will be able to spend my entire life trying to figure people out, and will never be done, never be board.

Another INFJ trait – we listen.

I can’t tell you how many times people I barely know have chosen to share their secrets with me. Speak truths they have never spoken. I don’t know what it is that I do, but there is something about me that invites confidences.

But regardless of how outgoing we seem, we are true introverts.

While we love people, we are sensitive.

You freak us out when we are exposed to you in mass quantities. We need alone time to find ourselves, to reenergize, to fill ourselves back up so we can give to you from our overflowing.

Yes, I hide in the bathroom at networking events. Yes, I’ve taken off early from parties without saying goodbye to anyone. Yes, I must have time alone every day. Yes, I’ve even spent entire weekends away from the company of other humans … well, except for a bit of texting and social media.

And it’s not because I don’t love you.

It’s because I can feel your energy, I can see into your souls.

It’s because I care about your problems, where you are not in resonance with your truth. It’s because I can’t fix everything and feel that I may have failed you in some way.

And while we INFJs may know lots of people, we will only share our souls with a chosen few.

The thing is, I’m everything or nothing with the people I love.

With most of you that I love, I keep you at a distance to protect myself. This may be a physical distance, where I break off most connections to keep negativity at bay. Or, we may spend time together, have fun, do projects together, go on adventures … but that’s only a part of me.

On a rare occasion, after much research and consideration and an intuitive hit that the person has integrity and caring, I decide to let someone in. To trust them with my soul. But I don’t know how to let someone in a little bit. If I let them in, it’s all the way.

So to most of you, those in my outer circle, my followers, friends, clients, readers:

Even when am hiding at the networking event, when I can’t talk to you, when I don’t reply to your email or @ reply or comment or DM, that does not mean I don’t care about you. On the contrary, I do care. Perhaps too much. But I have to protect myself, reenergize myself, keep a certain part of myself safe behind a wall, to have anything left to give to you tomorrow.

We can have fun, go on adventures, tweetup. We can have amazing conversations, debate controversial issues, gossip about the latest mistakes by the big gurus. I can help you with your business, share resources, give advice. I’ll speak my truth in videos, write my truth on my blog and twitter, tell the whole story.

But there is a certain part of me you may never get access to. You may see it, read about it, resonate with it, but there’s only so much of me that I can give.

To my inner circle, my best friends, my confidants, to anyone I trust with my soul:

You’ve got my everything, an unlimited amount of listening and insight and help, of fun and laughter and adventure, of caring and creativity and courage.

I accept and love you as you are, I support you in your insanity, I believe in your vision, I stand by you equally in your greatest triumphs and when I think you are making colossal mistakes.

And I will be brutally honest. Tell you all of my insanities. Speak the whole story, even the parts where I am embarrassed and worried about what you will think of me and scared that you may be upset or hurt by what I have to say.

I’ll call you on your bullsh*t. Hold you accountable to what you say you are going to do. Hold up a mirror so you can see who who you truly are.

I’ll protect you from the world. Create a sanctuary, a safe place for you to be 100% yourself.

All I ask is the same in return.

Which is a freaking big deal, actually. I get that.

And if it ends up that you can’t do that, then I’m pulling back.

Not because I don’t love you. Not because you did anything objectively wrong. Not because there has been some grand betrayal.

But because I can only be everything or nothing.

If I let you in, it must be all the way. And the only way I have anything to give is if I keep myself from constantly falling apart.

So let’s get back to what I was thinking about at 3:30 am.

Well, I’m not going to tell that story yet, because it has not played out. And I don’t even know what the freaking story is yet. Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe it’s everything. I’m probably being an idiot.

Either way, it will make a great paragraph or page or chapter in the yet unwritten Live Your Truth book.

I wrote this post as therapy.

To understand where I’m drawing the line and how my truth fits into the equation and what it all means.

I feel better after writing this.

But I don’t have an answer.

To those of you who are also sensitive, and/or to those of you who are also INFJs, you know exactly what I mean. I’m not sure if we are blessed, or cursed, or called to be how we are, but you understand my particular brand of insanity, and I thank the powers that be and the social media gods for bringing us together.

#thatisall

–

If you are also an INFJ and/or a sensitive person, let me know. I get you.

–

Next Steps:

• Join us in the private Facebook group for us INFJs to learn, share, and connect with each other –> INFJs Are Awesome.
• Watch the free streaming video class called “How INFJs Think” where I debunked myths about Myers-Briggs and INFJs, explained why INFJs are sometimes seen as extroverts and were our blind spots are hurting us, and shared how to develop your preferences over your life, including turning blind spots into strengths –> How INFJs Think
• Leave a comment below or contact me directly with your thoughts, feedback, or questions.

I’m so happy we are all finding each other.

There are 24 entries in my “blog post ideas” text file. A few one-liners, a few with a couple bullet points, and two that are brain dumps of half-formed paragraphs and unconnected ideas.

I spend a fair amount of my life in the creation of content. Whether it’s an adventure, a tragedy, a haunting idiosyncrasy or a moment of enlightenment … always thinking, would this make an interesting video, an epic blog post? Is this a chapter in my next book?

But I’m still surprised, confused, upset, intimidated, when someone calls me a writer.

I’m comfortable being called an attorney – I mean, I have a degree and a license and passed a test and have the certificate that says I earned that one.

I’m obviously a mom – gave birth, raising the kid, spending tons of time and energy full of guilt that I’m not doing the right thing. I’ve totally earned that one.

Sometime during the last 6 years I morphed into an entrepreneur. Not when I started my business … back then I was just an independent attorney/financial advisor … but over the last 6 years I embraced the crazy, risk-taking, addiction of the startup entrepreneur.

Back in November 2009 I became a blogger. After refusing to write a word for 6 months (well, except for a few thousand tweets), I came back from a live event and reported my truth. And burned some bridges. And dozens of people commented, emailed, @ replied, RT’d, DM’d me how my truth resonated with their truth. I was just the one who spoke the controversy they were thinking but not saying. And, as such, I became a blogger.

I’ll even let you call me a coach. That one took a while … because I’ve never taken a training program, or been certified, or had some entity or organization or person proclaim me an official coach. It wasn’t until I was paid specifically to coach clients, until I got those first emails “just one thing you said made me back the money for this entire coaching program” and “thank you so much for making everything clear” that I realized, I do it intuitively. There is something about who I am, what I bring with me when I walk into a room or get on the phone with a client, that brings caring and courage and clarity. I was born a coach.

The latest addition to my twitter bio is aspiring adventurer. This is the part of me that I forgot when I decided to grow up at age 25 and be who I was “supposed” to be, instead of what I thought was unrealistic and impossible. This is what my last 3 months have been about, remembering the crazy EPW, the one who wants to go past the warning signs and jump out of planes and live a life of ecstasy. Yes, at heart, I am an adventurer.

And then we come to that whole “writer” thing.

Augh.

I am sitting here in the cantina at Chevy’s, nursing a margarita to lubricate the writing of this post.

And I understand why so many writers become alcoholics.

Because unlike law, motherhood, blogging, coaching, adventuring …

Writing is an art.

It is fundamentally a creative, inspired endeavor.

There is no objectivity. There is no done. There is no decision.

There is no degree or test or certification or award that tells you when you are a writer.

It is something that just happens. Or something we are cursed. Or blessed. Or born to be.

Writing takes everything.

As an INFJ personality, my core, my truth is complicated and personal and protected. To reveal that on the page is incredibly intimate. And consuming. Like I’m possessed by an urge that’s both irresistible and abusive to my sanity.

And after the creation, I’m spent. Hungover. I need a nap or a drink or an intervention.

And then once the post goes live? Once I tweet it and post it to facebook and email it to my list?

Then comes the obsessive refreshing of the page to see if I have any comments. The checking my @ replies for retweets.

I usually have to turn off my internet (and I mean turn off the freaking router) and go to Starbucks or Target or watch a movie on iTunes to give people enough time to actually read the blog post and have a chance to comment, before I freak because no one has commented in the 30 seconds since the post went live.

When people say “I want to be a writer” I look at them, flabbergasted, as if they have said “I want to be a heroin addict” or something equally insane. I mean, who in the world would wish this on themselves? Who would wish this on anyone?

And then I look back on my life. A childhood of writing short stories and poetry and unfinished novels. The reading of thousands of books. Taking classes in creative writing where I felt that I failed because I got an A- instead of an A. Having everything I’ve ever submitted for publication to be accepted, in papers and magazines and newsletters and blogs and books, and yet never been paid for any of them.

I’ve been a writer my whole life.

But I never felt crowned a writer.

… 0f course, maybe all of this angst is total bullsh*t.

Maybe writing is not a terrible curse. Maybe it is not anything. Maybe this is just something that I am, something that I have to get over.

And maybe the process of getting over it is the painful part.

Once I get over it, accept it, embrace it … then it’s just something that’s a true fact. Part of me. Like having blond hair or speed reading or loving spicy food or understanding particle physics.

So that was my 2010 New Year’s Resolution. Not a goal, or a thing to quit.

My 2010 New Year’s Resolution was to get over the fact that I really am a writer.

And … isn’t it interesting how I phrased that?

“Get over the fact…” <– That’s not a decision. That’s a proposal to decide in the future. wtf.

So screw that resolution.

Let’s make a declaration right now.

I am a writer.

And that fact is not something that is terrible. That fact is not a curse.

It’s just a fact. A part of who I am. A thing that I do.

I’m not saying that I’m the most brilliant writer that ever lived, or that everyone is going to like how I write, or that I’m going to create powerful prose every day.

Writing is just one of the many ways in which I live my truth.

So the next time you see me lament on twitter about how hard it is to write, the next time you hear me whine about the last blog post … call me on that angst filled bullsh*t.

Writing is just one thing that I do.

#thatisall

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Are you struggling with being a writer? Are you refusing to embrace a part of who you are? Are you manufacturing angst in your life by refusing to accept part of your calling?

I’d love to hear your feedback, thoughts, comments below!