Remember Who You Are
Looking back to move forward
Crystal Marie, Deeper is a free newsletter/blog. If you’d like to support this publication and have access to excerpts from my new book as I write it, along with some other cool perks, please consider upgrading to a paid subscriber.
You can also share excerpts of today’s post on social media, forward it to someone who might benefit, like it, or leave a comment to show your support. It all helps.
Thank you for reading.
The month of December is in full swing with the usual hustle and bustle of the holiday season. Here on the home front, I’m in the midst of my end of the year wrap up and preparation for the coming year’s schedule. Each day is stacked with things that need my attention and overwhelm has threatened to set in. The overlay that has kept me focused through it all came to me in a dream the first morning of the month; “REMEMBER WHO YOU ARE!”
I’d been anticipating December 1st as if it were my own personal Christmas morning after submitting my book proposal in a publishing contest the month prior. Making that submission deadline had me dreaming all manner of dreams.
Not the fantastical elevated fantasies of fame and fortune, but grounded in the understanding of what I knew to be true from previous experience. A book advance isn’t huge for new authors, but the cushion of it might provide a month of uninterrupted ability for focused writing. I’m confident I could get the majority of it done if I could set aside that kind of time.
The more I thought about it as I began planning my schedule for the coming year, the more real it became. The more real it became, the more I anticipated that email announcement from the publisher, promised on December 1st. So much so, that my nervous system was ramped up the night before, and it refused to wind down until long after the time I should have been asleep. My inner child was on high alert, eagerly anticipating, dreaming, imagining the thrill of it all.
My adult self had done it’s due diligence, having completed the requirements for contestants and I was feeling pretty satisfied in the accomplishment of the writing required for the submission alone. Knowing that I had done my best and that my best was good enough regardless of the outcome of this particular contest was there right alongside my hope.
No surprise, some of my old internalized critic messages tried to make an appearance, especially in that last 24 hours of waiting. Sneaking in with thoughts that could be mistaken for common wisdom; “don’t get your hopes up so you won’t be too disappointed!” The critic voice tried to dampen my enthusiasm by reminding me there were likely dozens of other worthy applicants and that a few errors I’d made in my rush to the deadline might disqualify me.
Yet, in this place, where I’ve come so far in my journey to reconnect to my authentic voice, I allowed myself to feel all the joy of imagining it—the win, sharing the news with family and friends, posting it, yes all that, and also the pleasure of seeing this goal come to fruition in such an exciting way.
Those internalized critic voices we carry into the studio, and really into any risky adventure we try to take, are almost always born from good intentions. They came from the voice of someone trying to protect us at some point in life, even if the way they were doing it was grounded in their own fear. “Don’t get your hopes up” is a shield of protection from feeling the sting of disappointment, commonly passed from one generation to the next.
Catching it for what it is, I made a determined effort to not heed its warning. How would not getting my hopes up serve me if I didn’t win?
Sleep was elusive the eve before the big day and I woke later than usual feeling heavy with disappointment, convinced by a vivid dream that I’d already received the email and hadn’t won. I laid down and pulled the covers back over my head, feeling all the feels for the loss, until it slowly occurred to me that I’d been dreaming as I recalled hearing a loud audible voice in that dream saying “REMEMBER WHO YOU ARE!”
There was in that moment, the deepest knowing that I really hadn’t won. But it did not stop me from hoping I was wrong and spending the rest of the day in a hyped up state of nervous anxiety waiting for the real email to come. Official word arrived in my inbox mid-afternoon and nope, I didn’t win the contest. The critic voice was quick to rush in with the “told you so” whispers that said I could have avoided this sting behind my eyes and the let down feeling, if I’d only listened and not got my hopes up.
My morning dream calling me to remember who I am was soon reinforced, when I came across on old post by an artist I admire sharing how much of an impact taking my workshop made on their own art practice. It stopped me in my tracks. Seeing my name cited as one who influenced their own process, changing the trajectory of their career, was balm to my disappointment.
The limiting belief of the critic’s voice warning me about getting my hopes up was grounded in disappointing experiences from my past. It only wanted to protect me, but it was doing it from a place of fear. When I chose to let myself feel the joy of imagining what it would be like to win, I wasn’t setting myself up nor being frivolous. I was honoring the hard work I’d put in. I was staying connected to my own core authentic self, that place where our intuitive voice dwells, celebrating and dreaming new dreams.
And I was rewiring my brain, quite literally, from the old well worn pattern of thinking.
Research shows that it takes approximately 400 repetitions to create new synapsis in the brain, 400 attempts to interrupt the old way of thinking can be pretty daunting. But the same research goes on to explain that when those attempts are grounded in play, it only takes 10-20 repetitions.
Listening for the critic messages in the midst of our art making and then trusting the intuitive voice anyway, is not just about getting over the blocks keeping us from creating our best work, it is the playful practice of reprogramming those old messages.
“Remember who I am” wasn’t a directive to appease myself with old accomplishments in the face of a loss. It was to look back over the course of my career as an artist, to see all the ways I have changed, healed, grown and connected to my own voice, and helped others do the same. It was a reinforcement of a new story I’m telling myself, that joy felt in hopeful anticipation is my right as an artist.
One repetition down, nine more to go.
I want to take a minute to thank each and every one of you for the support and encouragement you’ve given over the past year. Not winning the publishing contest in no way changes my original goal to get this book written, it was simply an unexpected opportunity to win a contract with a publisher that hadn’t been on my radar. Taking the time to write all the materials for the submission process was beneficial in helping me to sit down and outline the book, bringing clarity to the flow and content.
I’m being somewhat vague about the publisher and the winner of the contest, because I don’t know if they’ve been asked to wait to announce their book yet. I’m keeping an eye on their social media platform and once the winner shares their news, I’ll tell you. I’m excited to read their book and I think you will be too.
Meanwhile, I’m gearing up for a new season with the clarity I’ve gained. After taking a long hiatus from the series, I’ve scheduled the next State of the Studio Conversation in my Facebook group, Crystal Marie: Canary Rising. These events begin with a conversation to share thoughts and current news, includes a brief tour of my studio to show the true state of a working artist’s space, and ends with an art making exercise.
You are all invited. Details can be found on the event page here: