In the midst of this raw emotional cacophony, I’m learning lots. And relearning lessons I’d already learned and had then forgotten. One thing I’m currently reminding myself is this:

Emotions need space to exist. They need all kinds of space. They need physical space — separation from other people to allow for jumping for joy, or heaving tears, or bracing in fear. Space in an acupuncturist’s office, or in therapy, or on the phone with a trusted coach. They need space in the schedule — buffer time for grieving or celebration or processing them for however long they take.

Like a little kid throwing a tantrum or giggling with glee, emotions need attention. Sometimes lots of it. It helps when we allow ourselves a second, or a minute, or an hour, to just soak in a wave of celebration. That moment might become an opportunity for bonding, either with ourselves, or with our community.

It’s easy to think that the better way to live is to suck it up and soldier on through tough emotions. It’s simple to tell ourselves not to express our excitement, because it’s uncool and we shouldn’t really care about the funny things that make us happy. But this way of living, in the end, hurts.

When we don’t give emotions the space they need, we suffer. They bubble up, hot and perhaps unwelcome and maybe inappropriate for the situation. They grow heavy and suck us down into depression. They struggle to be expressed in various forms of addiction and self-harm — unintended violence toward ourselves or others.

Giving space to emotions isn’t easy. I find it a bit embarrassing to show people how excited I get to go to the library and pick up a book I’ve been waiting for. It’s really scary to admit to people that, as an introvert, I’m nervous for the big parties that others can’t wait for. It’s difficult to admit to, much less express, having ten different emotions at once instead of the one-dimensional feelings we’re “supposed to” have in certain situations, like funerals or graduations.

Emotions are complex. They’re jagged and raw and buoyant and deep and bloody and fizzy. And they need space to do their thing. It’s not easy. But it’s real.

. . .

Because I’ve been so busy making space, I haven’t done as good a job as I wanted to at letting you all know that my coaching prices are going up on May 31st. I let Self-Love Letter subscribers know last month, and that was pretty much it. Anyway, coaching prices will go up on May 31st. You can schedule with the current prices until that day, and you can schedule as far in advance as you’d like. (A note to current clients and grads: your prices are staying the same; not to worry.)

What if they said they didn’t care which restaurant you went to for dinner, and you chose based on what you wanted, instead of what you thought they secretly wanted?

What if, when somebody said they didn’t need help carrying their bundle, you didn’t help them? Would it make things harder for them, or easier? What about for you?

If you took someone at their word, would they feel heard, and respected for a moment?

Would they feel vulnerable, or scared?

Would they have the opportunity to directly ask for what they need?

Would it be a gesture of respect, telling them that you know they have the power to express their needs?

Would it mean that you were inconsiderate, or self-absorbed?

What if you did an experiment, and tested the waters of believing that they mean what they say? What might happen?

From the moment work ended the day before our departure, I was my Vacation Self. Which is to say, the most delightful version of myself I’ve ever met. The self who wakes up at 3:30 am without complaint because, you know, vacation is worth it. The self who stays peppy even after stripping down to bare feet and underthings at airport security. The self who nimbly remembers to leap up to fetch her partner tropical beverages, simply for the joy of being kind. The self who doesn’t give a hoot that the other people at the pool are kinda loud, and a wee bit annoying.

My Vacation Self seems to stick around a bit after the vacation concludes, luckily. She’s awesome and kind and, actually, pretty outgoing. She has the energy to go out more than once in a weekend. She feels excited to get out and exercise, and not just because she knows it will make her feel good afterward. She’s able to handle more stimulus than usual, quickly forgetting loud subway noises and cranky shopkeepers.

I’m so glad I got to go on vacation, and even more glad that I got to spend some time with Vacation Me.

But I almost missed out on this vacation entirely. I’m great at forgetting that rest and vacation are necessary parts of self-care. I’m great at delaying gratification and pushing through, to my own detriment. I’m hugely talented at convincing myself that fun in the sun is less important than saving my pennies.

Luckily, I have a partner who’s better at remembering Vacation Me, and insisting that we see her more often. So I went on vacation. I remembered that Vacation Me exists, and that she’s such a total doll.

Now, in vacation’s fuzzy afterglow, I’m wondering how I can spend more time with Vacation Me on a regular basis. I don’t want her to be somebody I only see once a year. I want her to be somebody I see regularly, so much so that, over time, her presence blends into my everyday reality. I want to prioritize her, so that maybe, someday, I can become her.

. . .

How and when do you meet up with the most delightful version of yourself? And how could you make contact with that self even more often?

. . .

Anjal was one of the first people I met when I moved across the country to attend NYU. She was in my freshman honors seminar, one of thirteen of us studying the life and work of W.E.B. Du Bois for a whole semester.

We became friends, because you can’t not become friends with Anjal. She’s constantly smiling, and always including everyone, and asking unexpected questions that let you know she accepts you already. Plus, she just happens to be an incredible tabla player, and a fabulous cook, and a choreographer, and ah, yes, a shockingly accomplished Bharatanatyam dancer.

I asked her to be my roommate junior year, and by some miracle, she accepted. I felt so lucky to get to room with her. So lucky. For the next two school years, we spent time living side by side, often on opposite sleep schedules, but sometimes both tapping late into the night on our computers. Anjal introduced me to food politics, and I baked her my favorite chocolate-dipped earl grey shortbread.

Then we graduated, and while the rest of us were polishing our resumes and coiffing ourselves for interviews, Anjal up and started a dance school.

What, you say? Started a dance school? Fresh out of college?

Yup. Because that’s how Anjal rolls. She’s not one to take the easy, or the expected, way about things.

She started her dance school, which she named (beautifully) Soham Dance Space. First, she used an at-home teaching space. She then rented teaching space in the city of Chicago, where she lives and works. And then, a couple of years ago, Soham became its very own brick and mortar entity, complete with warmly-colored walls and a special floor for dancing on.

Now, here we are in 2012, and while her peers are just beginning to discover that cubicle nation might not be all it was cracked up to be, Anjal Chande has been the founder, director, teacher, and Jill-of-all-trades of Soham Dance Space for five whole years.

. . .

The first few years of Anjal’s business, I didn’t really grasp the enormity of it. I don’t think anyone can really appreciate the enormous amount of work that goes into the creation of a business and the realization of a dream. I always thought it was incredible that Anjal was forging this path. I excitedly told other friends about how cool she was, and I purchased the first Soham t-shirts she created.

Then I started becoming a life coach/photographer, and I began to build my business, and I experienced this flood of realization at how crazy-hard it is. How the smallest website tweak can take four hours and more than a few tears. How taxes and incorporation and accounting, which basically no one but you even sees, make up a massive part of the business pie, consuming time and energy and funds and, again, maybe some tears.

It was then that I began to more fully appreciate the fact that Anjal is pursuing this dream. It’s not just that she’s growing a dance business, either. She has fabulously lofty ideals, and the day-to-day of her business is part of achieving them. Anjal’s big picture has to do with a thriving, smiling community; a world that views art and dance as integral to a functional social fabric; and performances that leave people with new thoughts and questions. Her vision is so much deeper than simply teaching people to dance.

That anyone’s business dream succeeds is, to me, a total miracle. It requires sustained effort, a commitment to seeing through the minutiae and the headaches and the sleepless nights and the seemingly insurmountable challenges, and maintaining a steadfast commitment to a vision that, quite possibly, no one but you will ever appreciate at its most pure level.

Which is why all I want for my birthday is to support Anjal’s dream. She currently has a fundraising campaign going to raise money for her Spring Fest, an upcoming performance that will usher in a whole new era for Soham Dance Space. The Spring Fest Fund isn’t just money for a performance to happen. It’s watering the seed of Anjal’s gorgeous dream, one she’s been tending for five years, and which she needs a strong community to continue to grow.

This request isn’t just me asking for your help in fulfilling the dream of my friend. Yes, Anjal is absolutely one of the most miraculous humans on the Earth. And yes, that’s one reason I’m supporting her, and asking you to support her instead of sending me birthday cards and gifts as you lovely people have done in the past.

But this is about so much more than that. This is about supporting the beauty of dreams, and the power of an unstoppable, effervescent spirit. This is why I became a life coach: because there is little more transcendent on our fleeting Earth than the miraculous blossoming of a dream.

For my birthday, I’d like to ask you to watch this video about the incredible work Anjal’s doing. If you can, I’d like to ask you to donate any amount of money that’s appropriate for you (even if that’s a dollar). If you’re in Chicago, attend Spring Fest. And pass on supportive fairy dust by sharing this post on social media, to build community around this miraculous business that is Soham Dance Space.

Thanks, everybody. For being here supporting my dreams, for supporting those of Anjal, and for supporting your very own.

I was so delighted a couple months ago, when Simone Seol asked me to photograph her. I’d started following her through Havi, and was completely blown away by the incredible insights she shares on her blog. Then I took a NYC Shiva Nata class with her: SO MUCH FUN. And then we finally got together and took photographs. It was fantastic. Below is an interview with Simone, plus a show-and-tell of the results of our photo session. Enjoy!

. . .

K: Tell us about HipGnosis! It seems amazing (and magical).

S: HipGnosis is a shortcut to change. Instead of talking or thinking our way through stucknesses and problems, HipGnosis coaches the usually-hidden unconscious mind to recognize and bypass the usual blocks and come up with creative solutions. The result is fast ‘n furious — yet gentle! — change, as well as a deep and compassionate connection with yourself.

My funny spelling of ‘HipGnosis’ reflects my own approach to it, combining classical hypnosis (“your leg…. is feeling…. heavier….”) with unlikely energy techniques and self-care wisdom. My goal in every client session, as I often repeat, is to make myself obsolete as fast as possible; to give them self-hypnosis skills to take care of their own inner landscape for the rest of their lives. Empowerment and play!

K: I’m imagining that, since you’re such an effusive advocate of HipGnosis, it’s done some amazing things for you. What’s one of the craziest ways that HipGnosis has affected your life?

S: What comes to mind is the way in which I am no longer reacting to things.

Before, it was: “Oh no! X has happened. Wah! Wah! I am devastated. This means I suck. Let me go eat a pint of ice cream and a bag of potato chips to numb the pain!”

Now, it is: “Oh, no! X has happened. I didn’t see this coming! I am noticing that I am framing the facts of what happened in a certain way. I also notice that energetically, I feel out of alignment. I am noticing that I’m recycling lots of false narratives in my head. Let me drop down and see what else I can notice and what I need to give myself right now it come back into alignment…. Some deep breathing followed by self-hypnosis might help.”

As you can imagine, this ability to move through my pain instead of react to it changes everything. Not that I have it perfectly figured out and that I am a superwoman who never has crises — ha ha ha, not even close – but I have access to a toolbox that I can play with. And life is better with it.

K: What’s your very favorite way to practice self-care?

S: Cognitively: journaling. Asking smart questions. Questioning my own stories and noticing things that are hidden.

Energetically: Yoga nidra. Shiva Nata. EFT. And a host of other tapping techniques.

And honestly? Sometimes, nothing soothes the fatigued spirit like ice cream and trashy TV with girlfriends.

K: What (or who) is bringing you joy right now?

S: Spring! Sunlight! Songs! Serendipity!

(Tried hard to alliterate!)

And someone who told me yesterday to make room for the light and the dark.

. . .

Simone Seol is Head HipGnotist at the House of HipGnosis. She and her elephant pal, Ollie, can be found frolicking on Twitter, flailing in New York City, and (of course) bringing their hipGnotic magic straight to you via Skype.

Isn’t that just an absolute hoot?

Mm-hmm. Not so much, eh? I don’t think so either.

Mistakes stand out in our minds. We remember them  — well — and for good reason. If we didn’t learn from our mistakes, it would probably be difficult to, you know, stay alive.

And while it’s good for us to remember that time we almost got run over (so we don’t step into oncoming traffic again), it’s not so good for us to constantly ruminate over the time we said something to our boss that made us sound like we didn’t know what we were talking about.

That silly thing we said doesn’t actually matter, but we think it does. More than that, we often insist on making it mean something. We didn’t just say a silly thing; no. We said a silly thing, and our boss must think we’re incompetent, and we’re probably going to get fired any day now, and why did we open our mouth anyway, and we should just resolve to never speak again because nothing good ever comes from talking at work.

I’m kidding; of course. But I know what I’m talking about, because this is the sort of doomed, diving spiral my brain tries to take all the time. If you’re human, I’m guessing you can relate, even if your brain happens to be more gentle than mine, or more cruel. It’s just so easy to tumble down this path from tiny mistake to catastrophe.

Which is why it’s really useful to be absurdly intentional about noting the things you’ve done right — today, this week, or in the past century.

We don’t remember the fact that we successfully drank this morning’s coffee without spilling it on ourselves. We assume that we should just do that with ease, and we take it for granted. We don’t remember the fact that our magnificent spelling abilities flummoxed our third grade teacher. And we give ourselves no credit for the fact that we jog around the park a few times a week (miracle of miracles!) without breaking any bones.

So, yeah, maybe you faltered over your words in that meeting. But think of all the other things you did right, just in the past 24 hours!

You got out of bed. (Who cares whether it was when the alarm went off or after five snoozes. You got up!)

You showered successfully. (High five to you, extraordinarily clean-bodied human!)

You brushed and flossed. (Stop it! You’re blinding me with your pearly whites!)

You made yourself breakfast. (Do you know that there are millions of highly intelligent New Yorkers who don’t know how to do this? You are so far ahead of the curve!)

You got to work. (Without getting in an accident! Without injuring yourself or others! And with your hair looking mighty fine, I’ve gotta say.)

You managed to communicate compassionately with several people who seemed bent on infuriating you by email. (Equanimity is the name of your game!)

You put your kids to bed, and they were totally still alive. (Extra special buckets of bonus points for you, Person Who Not Only Kept Herself Alive All Day, but Also Some Tiny Humans!)

You read a page of a book. (Your genius is taking my breath away, dear reader!)

You ate some chocolate, and enjoyed it. (You’re basically Buddha, as you have cultivated the enormously complex skill of knowing what you want and giving it to yourself without guilt!)

You fell into bed. (The workings of your brain astonish me. Your marvelous brain, that knows when its body is tired and appeases it!)

Do you see what I’m saying? You perform hundreds, probably thousands, of complex, commendable tasks each day. You do so with aplomb. When you tally up all your many miraculous doings against those few miniscule wrongdoings, the wrongdoings finally (finally!) pale in comparison. As they should.

Because — my GOD! Look at all the times you did it right!

. . .

Comments: I’d love to know, my dears, a few of the things you’ve done right today. Or yesterday. Or in the last month.

. . .

KS: When did you start making these fantastic pieces of art? And why?

KN: Though I’ve made art since childhood, I started sketching in this form in 2008. At the time I was thick in midst of young-motherhood and had an intuition that my next life step would combine writing with art somehow. My early sketches were actually pep talks to my own self, as I felt a tremendous sense of calling but wasn’t sure exactly to *what*. I had a lot of fear of the unknown to work through and my drawings became comforting hands of support at my back.

(The next chapter of that story began in January of 2011, when I launched Trust Tending. This shifted my private sketch life into the public domain, where it’s become central to the way I communicate and try to contribute good to broader conversations.)

KS: Have you had any particularly memorable responses to your art? If so, would you be willing to share one?

KN: My most memorable responses have happened with the art I’ve created for Deep Listening Sessions. These are phone sessions with clients where my job is to listen deeply, and then to create a piece of art in response to what I’ve heard. Something mystical seems to happen as I sit to make those drawings – like I’m using my logic-mind as I process what I’ve heard, but like something from beyond that mode joins my image-making, too. Clients have reported feeling deeply seen and inspired by what gets created. I feel humbled and energized by the whole process.

KS: Do you ever have self-doubt when you share your writing or your art? If so, how do you deal with that?

KN: Absolutely! I’ve collected lots of tools to use with self-doubt, as that’s been a prominent emotion in my life (and is wonderful fuel for ALL the trust-tending work that I do). When it comes to my writing and art, I consciously try to do two things:

a) Stay humble about my capacity to know how something has been received. This means acknowledging that what might LOOK like a flop to me in hindsight, or according to benchmarks like purchases, post comments, social media mentions, etc, might have actually elicited wonderful shifts in someone (or many!). Even true-blue “flops” can contribute to the common good and further important conversations. I’m coming more and more to trust that everything belongs.

b) Take the long view. Being a beginner, making mistakes, looking foolish: these are all parts of a much longer story of growth and discovery. Mistaking the present for the final chapter, or the only chapter that matters, is always a set-up for me for getting my ego in knots. As much as I’m able, I try to (quite literally, in my body) soften into awareness of my story being long and ongoing. And beautiful. I haven’t ever seen a great movie or read a great book that wasn’t made so by the character’s WHOLE process of growth, including the victories AND the defeats.

. . .

Kristin Noelle is a writer, artist, and trust coach. She sees fear as the heart of every problem on our globe and the cultivation of trust as the antidote. Find her at Trust Tending, where illustrations shift writings from head to heart. She lives in Los Angeles with her husband, two kids, and 7 chickens.

Within that succinct question, I heard a nuanced inquiry:

Do you think it’s possible to actually like the imperfect self you see in the mirror, while living within a culture that consistently and systematically sends us messages that we are unacceptable as we are, and that we need X product to reach an unattainable standard of “beauty”?

Here’s my short answer: Yes!

Of course, my long answer is much longer.

I don’t believe that it’s natural to hate what you see in the mirror. In another culture, in another time, I don’t think despising our outsides (or our insides) would be the norm. Self-hate is time-consuming. It’s distracting. It’s soul-slaying.

Our minds are built to seek out what is wrong in a situation. To an extent, our survival depends upon this trait. However, when we mis-apply this tendency (as, perhaps, a majority of us do), seeking out what’s wrong with ourselves drives us mad. In a world where every twinge of discomfort is labelled wrong, nothing can even hope to feel right. We focus our critiques and paranoias on ourselves, kind of like someone under a curse who unwittingly stabs herself.

So who welded the knife, placed it in our hand, and forced us to pierce our own skin?

The ad industry.

The advertising industry is built upon the practice of convincing consumers that they need a product. As a result, ads often hinge on the assumption that we are unacceptable as we are. Because if we were content with what we had and how we looked and felt, if we didn’t see improvements to be made, our society would halt. Because capitalism depends on the exchange of goods, and these days, we’re bartering our self esteem.

It’s not all the ad industry’s fault. Some ads don’t depend on you hating yourself. We also live in a society where the ad industry’s claims are supported. It’s a regular practice in some not-so-distant cultures to greet someone by saying, “You look good! Have you lost weight?” I’ve also heard it’s pretty commonplace these days to call someone lazy, whether that someone is yourself or another human.

The dominant culture in the modern world assumes that we’re not okay the way we are. So of course we search for flaws to “improve upon” when we look in the mirror.

But there’s hope: We can cultivate the skill of seeking what’s right in a situation, or in ourselves. We can intentionally create our own supportive culture of family and friends where we see what’s already perfect instead of what needs tweaking. We can gaze upon our bodies with the soft eyes of adoration. We can give ourselves a break instead of pushing ever-harder. We can practice being kinder, and kinder, and kinder still.

And when we can’t manage self-kindness, we can forgive ourselves, and tell ourselves we understand, because forging this gentler path can sometimes feel like trudging uphill through ten feet of snow in a blizzard.

The thing I most want to say today: Being nice to yourself is the most important thing you can do, especially in those moments when you catch yourself being mean to yourself. When all else fails, extend compassion. If you can’t find compassion for yourself, try to extend some compassion to the part of you that can’t extend compassion to yourself.

And if that doesn’t work, maybe just tell the media to go screw itself.

I’m curious to hear from all of you: do you think it’s possible to kick the media out of our brains? If so, how?

*That photo? I took it in Portland at Stumptown. It’s Nicole Lavelle‘s art. Isn’t it stupendous?

Their smell is completely recognizable: paper-ey with a good whiff of wax.

Their feel in the fingers, dependable. Wrapper sliding under digits, shavings of brightly-colored pigment determinedly sticking to your cuticles for the rest of the day.

Crayon issues: That frustrating point at which the stick has simply gotten too short and is no fun at all to draw with anymore, and the stump gets lost in the recesses of the cardboard box.

Also, the five times your dog ate a crayon or two, and walks got more . . . colorful . . . for a day.

The satisfaction of a paper-draped table and a mug of crayons waiting to entertain you at a restaurant, when otherwise you’d be distracted from conversation by your grumbling tummy.

The puzzlement of noting the various color names, and wondering what the heck that one means, and why the heck they chose to name it that.

How proud you feel when, after returning from a long crayon-hiatus (a crayatus?) your masterpiece proves that you have not lost your skill, but rather, your artistic prowess has matured with the years.

Crayons are good stuff. They make me joyful.

Tell me: What’s floating your boat today?

K: I get the sense that through your blog and your book, you’ve started a much-needed discussion of sex and sexuality in the online personal development world. What called you to start Sex, Love, Liberation?

E: Sex, Love, Liberation came from my own personal longing. I had this deep, insatiable desire to create a platform where I could document my sexual self-discovery journey. And then I realized that a lot of people need that outlet, too. Since then, I’ve taken it upon myself to learn everything I can about sexuality to aid in my own journey & the journeys of others.

K: I’m imagining that you’ve done a lot of learning about yourself through writing your blog. What’s one of the most interesting shifts you’ve experienced?

E: That matters of sexual dissatisfaction cannot be solved solely through the mind (logic, systems). It should be dealt with with movement, physical exploration, tangible release. Figuring this out healed my own perceived “dysfunction.”

K: Have you been afraid to write and talk about your own experiences with sex and sexuality? If so, how have you overcome the fear and done it anyway?

E: Every time I sit down to write something, I feel a small pang of fear. But I’ve found that continuing to write in the midst of that fear allows me to produce the most raw & revealing work. And I think that’s the key to speaking about such private matters. We don’t need anymore passionless diagnoses or complex techniques. We need humility, we need vulnerability, we need a sense of empathy. Those things are perpetually present in fear, & I do my best to embrace them.

K: What’s your very favorite way to practice self-care?

E: Touch, self-exploration, ecstatic release (i.e., masturbation). There’s nothing quite like being blissfully reminded of our capacity to experience pleasure. Self-love is self-care, & self-care can be in the form of orgasm (or being turned on).

K: What (or whom) is bringing you joy right now?

My husband & partner-in-lust. He gives me permission to be myself, wholly & unreservedly. He accepts me as I am & loves me unconditionally. He (& the companionship we share) gives me so much joy.

Ev`Yan Whitney is a liberation artist for women who are hungry for shameless sensual expression. With honeyed prose, she instigates brazen discussions about sexuality at her digital sanctuary, sexloveliberation.com, which serves as a safe haven for women who are craving connection to their inner desires. Join her tribe of sensualists by signing up to the Self-Love Letters. You can also follow her on Twitter: @ev_yan.