My Independence Day

It was nearly ten years ago that I stood frozen in the kitchen of my college apartment, clutching my boyfriends hand and choking on the words that I had locked deep, deep inside.

“Here let's go to your room,” he said. I felt resistance as he guided me towards the room, towards the truth.

This was finally it.

As we sat on the bed, my chest heaved and my body convulsed, choked by emotional pain that I had locked inside for nearly twenty years. The dam I had built could no longer withstand the force.

Eventually the words passed through my constricted throat, quivering out one by one. They were the words that I repeated over and over to myself since I was a very young child. The words that would make me hit myself in hopes that they would stop as I tried to fall asleep. The words that made me cut, poke, and pull out hairs compulsively. The words that symbolized the horror that enveloped the radiant light of my true being.

"My...father...molested...me."

Four simple words.  20 years of pain.

me, nineteen years old

i love you little molly!

What followed was a time warp of verbal vomit, spewing my guts until dawn about the chronic abuse. My loving boyfriend sat with me through every second of it, holding a safe and compassionate space. It was one of the most surreal, challenging, and cathartic experiences of my life. As the sun rose while I went to the bathroom, I marveled over how I finally did it. My body was still experiencing tremors from the initial earthquake, but I knew that this kind of internal tectonic shifting was just the beginning of my healing journey. There was no turning back.

That day was April 4, 2002. I like to call it my Independence Day.

I was blessed to have such an emotionally safe and supportive boyfriend. He was the first person I ever told my story to. He was my first love, my first boyfriend....first everything. He confessed that he knew what was going on with me before I even expressed those words directly. To this day, my heart is filled with gratitude for the time we shared.

me and T, my college boyfriend of four years

From that day on, I began to seek support for my healing. The counseling center at my college offered individual and group therapy for incest survivors. Group work especially had a profoundly positive effect for me as it gave me the space to integrate the “crazy shit in my head” in a safe envirnoment with other women my age that had experienced similar things. For the first time in my life, I started to feel “normal” and empowered!

This type of work was also valuable at the time because it helped me develop the confidence and language around my experience so that when I told my friends, it wasn’t as much of an earthquake for me. The first person that I told after my boyfriend was a dear friend and college roommate. She couldn’t believe it and would have “never guessed it in a million years”. She cried and embraced me while we sat on my bed while telling me how amazing and gifted I was. Our friendship florished in the short time we lived together (I love you so much for that C!).

The initial stages of my journey were not so easy even though I had support. Sometimes I felt like a diseased and unlovable monster or just plain crazy. Even though it was really tough, I always knew deep down in my gut that this was the path that I was meant to travel on and that one day I would be a resource and supportive voice to other people. I needed to navigate the cellular memory of my trauma, the engrained negative neural pathways, and automatic nervous system responses in order to free myself. There was no way but through. Each step was towards the light of embracing my inner warrior.

What followed in the years to come was an integration of my authentic self.

each day i feel a creative pulse flowing through me.  i am so blessed to have a beautiful family that i have chosen, a supportive community, and fabulous friends.  i am living my dream every single day.  i am in touch with and honor my inner light, my true self.

Love,
Molly

Start Where You Are.

A myriad of thoughts and emotions have percolated to the surface (vulnerability, self doubt, feeling awesome, exhausted, inspired) since I've published my video blog about transforming the pain from childhood trauma into opportunity and inspiration (if you missed it, you can watch it here: http://vimeo.com/37566328). For many years, it has been challenging to decide how to begin in the sharing of my story. "Starting" has always stopped me.

With trust in oneself, the first step is to start where you are.

The response has been so positive in the initiation of this process. I've opened the doors and my heart to something that feels so true.

"A friend sent me a link to your blog. I have recently begun to honestly delve into abuse that I experienced when I was a teenager. I wanted to thank you for your bravery in sharing your experience and hope. Your video brought tears to my eyes and made me feel that I was not insane even though I feel so crazy right now. Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! Your efforts in sharing your story in hopes to help others has been a success! Keep going girl!"

Ahmen my sister. I know you can do it. I am sending you nurturing and healing energy as you take these first few steps into investing in the best part of your life...the authentic warrior YOU. While the fire and obstacles along the way may bring up overwhelming pain, just imagine the soft whispers of the past and present warriors who believe in your strength. It will get better. 

For the beautiful people who are just starting on the healing path or already travelling it, I encourage you to evoke imagery of your precious younger self. Draw this innocent creature, find a photo, or conjure this angel up during a meditation...breathing in love and light into the places that feel vulnerable and hurt. Breathe in the pain - imagine it - what does it look like? Spiky coals? Black goo? Now imagine transforming that muck into a white light and breathe it out. Do this again, only this time imagine a handful of people experiencing the same feeling. Breathe it out in light. Now, imagine 100 other people experiencing this. Breathe it out in light. 1,000. 1,000,000. 100,000,000.

This practice is called Tonglin meditation, a practice that I have learned from the teachings of Buddhist monk Pema Chodron. Through studying her work, I've gained a rich supply of tools and a language around mindfulness.

Start where you are.

Tonight I say hello to the moon and the clear skies. With an abundance of love, friends, and endless curiosity, I envision the expansion of these connections and a growing solidarity of being a supportive voice in this journey.

Transcending Survival Part One: No Friends, Not Allowed.

I wasn't allowed to have friends growing up...

...and that isn't an exageration.

As a result of my father's thought-disordered approach to tyrannical parenting (growing up he showed me the papers that declared him legally "paranoid schizophrenic"), I was absolutely not allowed have friends, go on field trips, school dances, or participate in extracurricular acitivites (like holiday programs). We lived in a small logging town of 300 people where either you were on welfare, worked for the lumber industry, or obtained monetary security through an illegal lifestyle involving a certain cash crop (please insert humorous tone).

We fell into the welfare category. With four little mouths to feed, it was normal to have a fairly empty fridge by the end of each month.

Not being able to have the freedom to make friends was a symptom of my father's pathology, a projection of his fear that he would be discovered to be who he really was. My father was a pedophile and an emotionally and physically abusive alcoholic. By restricting what I needed to develop socially, he created the illusion of control over his environment in order to protect himself.

My mother participated in this dynamic by being passive, unprotective, and emotionally abusive. Her weakness eventually resulted in the abandonment of her children when I was 16. She left for a lover in Mexico she met over the internet and obtained the funds by stealing her children's welfare money over the course of a year that should have went to food and clothing. My younger brothers were only 14, 12, and 5.

No friends. Still not allowed.

Several quiet escapes through my window were made during my teenage years. The loneliness that pained my heart guided me alongside the highway where gigantic logging trucks frequented. The grassy shoulder alongside this dangerous route was the only feeling of freedom I could attain.

Often I walked a mile or so to our elementary school and wandered around the playgrounds. The vacancy of children seemed like such a perfect metaphor for the reality of my social development. Yet, somehow this ghost-town gave me a sense of hope and tranquility.

I was an extremely sad and lonely little girl, but no matter how many years of chronic abuse that I endured, I still knew that despite the torture I would come out the other side. Originating from deep within, a sixth sense guided me. There were several opportunities to go down the slippery slope of drugs, alcohol, and other bad decisions, but never did I become completely detached from my interior compass.

The strong relationship that I had with myself fortified the absence of love and friendship. The art, music, and dance numbers (special thank you to Madonna and MTV's "The Grind") that I created in solitude in my little room brought me to the heart of the pulsating beat of creativity that runs through all of life and continues to fuel my sense of curiosity and wonder on a daily basis.

Making friends came easily in college, however I realized early on where my issues with intimacy and trust inhibited me from getting close. There were periods in my adult life that were highly social and others where I completely retracted, partially due to the painful echoes of the past. By working through the hellacious times with friends and lovers that I trusted, I was able to develop a stronger sense of self-trust and therefore a greater sense of trust in the world around me. It wasn't easy, but it's definitely possible.

I hope that by sharing parts of my story (there is so much to unpack even in this little blog!) that I can inspire other people to discover their inner strength. No matter how much oppression, abuse, or misfortune that may come our way, there is a place inside each and every one of us that cannot be scratched. I like to call this our "jewel".

To be continued....

Together.

Whewf. All that commotion today about Intellectual Property rights and Pinterest's user agreement has left me feeling more confused. If you want to know more about what I'm talking about, take a look at this article:http://technorati.com/social-media/article/pinterest-users-need-to-read-the/

I pulled my account down until things cool down. I have a number of articles that I need to read up on in an attempt to fully understand what's going on. Between that and keeping current with e-pub technology, I feel like I am living in the matrix.

Publishing world is going great! I feel like I'm resonating on a super high frequency everyday. With two new books in the works, a new publishing client, work through major publishers, and an awesome business partnership, I really don't know what else I could ask for. "One Inch at a Time" continues to rank in the top ten for children's books in the iBookstore and recently won the QED Seal of Approval from Digital Book World.

My daily sketch practice now involves "A Sketch of the Day" and a "Buddha Doodle". In order for me to get what I need done everyday, I can't really think about it.

In fact, the busier I get doing what I love, the less time I have to self-doubt. It's like being on the dance floor letting loose to your favorite song...all day long. Well, maybe it doesn't feel that way for other people, but it does for me.

(so sorry for not returning your calls, or replying to that facebook message, or texting back right away...)

On a different note, I'm turning 30 in a few months. I'm totally in love with my life. I'm not scared of that big ol' 3-0. I'm stepping into this next arbitrary chapter with an arsenal of awesome tools, friends, a beautiful community, an amazing boyfriend, and a whole lot of inspiration. I'm gonna dance all the way to it and through it.

The band that I am in love with right now is called Hosannas. YOU HAVE TO BUY THEIR NEW ALBUM, TOGETHER. I've know these guys for quite a few years (7?) and have seen them transform from awesomeness to supreme awesomeness. And guess what....Danny from Menomena is their new drummer.

Believe me, it's Transcendental (notice the capital T, that means really good).

http://itunes.apple.com/us/album/together/id473888769

xo
molly

How to Make Money Doing Art...or Anything Else That You LOVE: Lesson 1 - Support is Everywhere

I've had a number of requests to start a blog or podcast about how to make money doing art. Initially I the avoided the subject because it seemed daunting...there really isn't ONE answer.

Personally, I identify less with what our society thinks of as an "artist". I am a storyteller.  I choose illustration and children's fiction as my primary medium and it has evolved to become my business.  

I am grateful to share the tools that have helped nurture the garden of prosperity and thus have given me the space and time to explore my creative desires.  But I ask of you just one thing:

Please let go.

Of everything - YES - I mean everything that society has told you about right brains verse left brains. About not being able to be good at numbers.  That artists must starve and suffer to be good.  That our economy totally sucks and that it's really hard to get anything off the ground.

What you believe in your mind is transmitted into a behavior.  That behavior becomes an engrained belief and then becomes an action.  If you really think that you can't do something, then that becomes a reality. If you believe in yourself that you CAN, the tools and support to get you there will clearly be revealed.

Lesson #1: Support is everywhere.

Learn to ask for what you need. Relationships are soooooooo important.  I couldn't have started out without the support of my friends and community. My first book was funded by a small group of people that I had developed good relationships with.  I put together a business plan (I winged it!), projected my expenses, created a video blog to pitch my idea, and then emailed a group of friends that I knew believed in me with the attached plan and link to the video.

In two days I raised $2,500. 

That capital gave me the kickstart to get my first 50 books printed for a major trade show.  I sold out the first day.

Looking back, 50 books is really not that much...but a majority of those 50 people that purchased those books?  Well, they are returning customers. Some of them post about my work on Facebook.  It all comes back.

And continues to grow.

If your starting from scratch, get really specific about the project that you want to complete and itemize what they expenses are.  Don't get scared....remember - LET GO.  Think of it like baking a cake and needing to go the grocery store.  Basic materials.  Paper? Pens? Software? Graphic Tablet? Computer?

If you get caught up in the "But it's so hard to make it as an artist, how will I ever make it?", give that voice a hug and move on. 

So you have your basic materials listed that are needed to make it happen.  Now, how much time do you project that you will need to get this done?  Consider what you would pay yourself per hour to work on it and then multiply it by your hourly.  Factor that into your cost. 

I want you to add the "needed materials cost" + "how much you would pay yourself for your time cost" and write it down somewhere.  We will call this figure A.

Now, divide figure A by two.  This is figure B.

Add figure B to figure A.  This new number is figure C.

Now, write this following sentence down, "I will need about 'Fig. A - Fig. C" to get this project started".

If your feeling sassy and your brain isn't hurting at this point, I challenge you to project further down the road and consider things like fees for exhibiting at a specific convention (Wondercon? Alternative Press Expo?  A trade show that you just could see yourself rockin' it at?) and travel costs.  Whether or not this is the direction you go, the point is to visualize expansion.  That's another lesson.

The last part of this lesson is to start writing down the names of people that you feel you could approach asking for patronage.  DON'T HOLD BACK.  Professors that inspired you? Teachers from your past?  Coaches?  Advisors? Family? Friends?  If your mind gets caught up in shameful thoughts like, "What am I doing asking for money?" or "What kind of person am I? I should never have to do this", give those thoughts a hug and move on.

Really, love those thoughts unconditionally like a parent would love their tantrum throwing two year old.  It will pass.

I really hope this helps get the wheels turning for setting intentions and getting specific about your project's needs and costs.  If you get stuck, come back to it later.  Sometimes we need to let our creative problem solving mind simmer and brew something extra juicy...that's definitely worth waiting for :0) In the next lesson we will get more specific about using other creative solutions for fundraising such as Kickstarter.com and Indiegogo.com

Also, this is my first time writing a blog like this.  I'm basing it all off of personal experience and what has helped me.  If you have any suggestions or questions or something isn't clear, please leave me a comment!

And remember, Support is Everywhere.

Warmly,

Mollycules

What Your Mind Really Thinks About You

If my mind could have complete control over my life, I would be at the drawing table 24/7 drinking copious amounts of coffee churning out kids books day in and day out. To be totally honest, I have to treat that part of my mind as I would a child, "You are doing such a great job! I think it's time for your nap time (euphemism for a 'glass of wine')! You can get back to this after we go to soccer practice (another euphemism for a 'yoga')".

Last night around midnight thirty, after falling asleep to True Grit a meer ten minutes into the movie (I pretty much fall asleep to every movie, the only thing that works for me is 30 Rock), I clearly articulated these words to my boyfriend, "I'm paralyzed! I can't move! I can't work! I'm such a bad illustrator!"

While I have no vivid recollection of saying that, I do remember unzipping my sweater and hurling it across the room and feeling overly apologetic because we just had a housecleaner come for the first time a few days ago (seriously, I'm picking up grains of rice on the stove top. I even spilled a whole container of beans this morning on the floor and nearly wept).

Ahhh, the deep subconscious. I wonder what other things it's spewing in the middle of the night other than how I'm failing at life? Let's just pray that it might be something like, "You're really a winner! Forget about what we said about being a bad illustrator...smoked some weird stuff that night!" or "Your butt really does look good in those new hot pink yoga pants!" or "Here's a great idea for a children's book: You're subconscious is a fucking scary place (*evil chortle*)!"

It would just be nice to sign a waiver of some sort for us sleep talker types just in case the subconscious decides to start a conversation with our significant other (grinds teeth). Thankfully I have recovered from the sleep disorder, Eats Roommates Chocolate Cake in the Middle of the Night and Forgets (ERCCMNF).

This Morning.

Art is Everywhere.

Love is Everywhere!