Think You Don’t Deserve Love? A love letter to you

Think You Don’t Deserve Love? A love letter to you

Dear Beautiful Being,

I know you think you have to do good in order to be loved.

I know you think people only want to be around you for what they can get from you, or what you can do for them.

I know you believe that in order for you to “make up” for your “inadequacies”, you have to do more, give more, acquire more, and expect less.

I know you believe that you have to pay a price for love, for consideration, for kindness.

But I want you to know that none of that is true.

You are worthy of love. Exactly as you are. Stripped bare, without doing anything, giving anything, sacrificing anything, or being anything more than who you are, you are worthy of love.

You are worthy of love.

Because you are a reader and a writer.

You are worthy of love.

Because you suck at math and can’t tell time.

You are worthy of love.

Because you make the best scrambled eggs but absolutely suck at baking.

You are worthy of love.

Because your voice is a little bit too loud, your legs a little bit too short, and your smile lights up a room.

You are worthy of love.

For everything that you can do and everything that you can’t do.

For all that you are and all that you are not.

You are worthy of love because you are you.

And you are love.

Opening to Love

Opening to Love

Lately I’ve been feeling pulled into the energy of love.

Not the warm and fuzzy “we are all one” kind of love, but the romantic kind. The scary kind. The kind that I believed up until VERY recently I was never meant to have.

Love is something I generally do not spend a lot of time thinking about. Because like I said, up until only a couple of months ago I was convinced it was not in the cards for me. I don’t meditate about it, I don’t pray for it. I don’t daydream about it or wish for it. My attitude has been – it’s not going to happen, but if it does, it will have to happen on its own.

Then a few months ago a friend told me that I was looking for “on the couch” love. The kind of love that is present. Where your partner is in the trenches with you. Flopping down on the couch next to you when you FINALLY get the kids to sleep. Sitting next to you on the couch when you get the best news ever and the worst news ever. Falling asleep on the couch with you as you try to binge watch all of House of Cards in one night because you forgot you were old.

You want someone who will be right there with you through everything. You’ve never had that, but that’s what you’re looking for now. she said.

I said – I’m not looking for anything at all.

Oh yes you are, she said. You’re just doing it wrong.

She said my approach to finding love is the equivalent of sitting in a coffee shop, ordering nothing, and looking around getting frustrated because everyone else is getting coffee and WHERE IS MINE?

Are you asking? She asked me. Are you specifying? Or are you sitting there asking for “just coffee” when what you really want is a grande venti extra hot no whip half sweet macchiato?

You gotta articulate, she said. Write it down, meditate on it, and manifest it.

We left it at that and I moved on with my life. Then all of a sudden, one day last week something shifted.

I’m generally not super in tune with my chakras but I felt my heart chakra crack right open. All of a sudden there was this…expanse in me that I just know is meant to be filled with love. It’s not a feeling of lack, so much as a feeling of a resevoir of love to give.

I’ve been trying to ignore it. I’m not ready, I tell myself. I need to focus.  I have important things that need my attention and starting to fart around with love will only distract me. When things settle down maybe I’ll start to make a list of what I’m looking for but for now. I don’t want anything to get in the way of what I’m trying to accomplish.

But then, quiet as a church mouse, a voice inside me whispered – but what if love helped you do what you’re trying to do. What if love wasn’t an anchor weighing you down but the wings that help you soar?

And so dammit all to hell I’m making the list. I’ve started jotting down the qualities that my ideal partner has, just in case I do decide that the time is right to manifest him. But I’m not happy about it.

Who feels me on this? Ever had a war between what your head is telling you and what your inner light is telling you, even though you know your inner light is always right? Who else is out there manifesting a perfect partner? Share your list and I’ll share mine!

 

 

Let’s be Better Together

Let’s be Better Together

So you guys may have noticed that I’m kinda inconsistent.

I wake up every morning with the very best of intentions and then things just…go left.

It’s a huge problem when you’re trying to build a coaching practice or create a love movement. People need to be able to depend on me, right? Right. So while procrastination is never a very useful thing, it’s absolutely not the move for me right now. And yet…if I told you the number of ridiculous, unimportant things I did between the time that I typed the first sentence of this post and when I typed the last one, you would want to spank me. And not in the good way.

Anyway. I’m always looking for tools and methods to help me, and the other day I was chatting with some of my B-School buddies when someone mentioned Gretchen Rubin’s book Better Together. So I instantly went on Amazon to get it and discovered something even better: The Better Together Daily Journal!

See the thing with me and books is I will read it. I will nod my head vigorously and write copious notes. But will I actually do it? Not so much. I just forget!

But with a journal it’s a bit easier. I have a space to write it down and check boxes for each habit, each day. Who doesn’t love check boxes?

I’m challenging myself to conquer this bad habit and adopt some new ones once and for all and I think it would be a super fun thing for us to do together a mob! (well maybe not super fun, but we’ll bond, and that’s pretty good too).

So I’m launching our first-ever Love Mob Challenge! I’ll post the details later this week, so keep your eyes on the blog for full challenge details coming on Thursday! You can also subscribe to the Love Mob newsletter and be notified when the challenge launches, or follow me on
Instagram so you don’t miss out.

In the meantime, check out the video below for a sneak peek at the journal

Let’s get ready to be better!
(you have to say it in the “let’s get ready to rumble” voice or else it’s not funny)

xo Maxie

Maxie’s Story

Maxie’s Story

I am a big sister.

Yes, big in the sense of being older than my sister, but also big in the sense of size, of wrongness, of not fitting.
Growing up I was the bigger sister so everything was my responsibility or my fault.

Being the bigger sister meant doing extra work because my delicate little sister couldn’t possibly have been expected to do it.

Is it any wonder then that I ended up a disordered eater? Probably not. Probably – even though in my head my way of eating was designed to keep me from getting sick – what I was really doing was trying to make myself small. I think somewhere in my child’s brain I made the connection that to be worthy – of care, of consideration, of people doing things for me – I needed to be small. To be frail, young, delicate. I needed to be something other than I was.

That feeling of otherness, of wrongness, of being too big for the space I was allotted has followed me my whole life.

I’ve always been the misfit – whether it was being the only Black girl in an all-white class, or the friend everyone forgot to invite to the party, the only one at the table not eating, the only one at the club not drinking – I just always felt that I didn’t belong. That I’d always have to morph myself in some way to fit in. Play small, play rough, play funny – be anyone other than who I was if I wanted to be accepted.

Of course, when you spend your whole life contorting yourself to fit into any given situation you wind up having no idea who you really are. What do you like when you like whatever your friends like? What do you believe when you’re playing for a crowd? I didn’t know. And I didn’t fucking care. Anything that was authentically me was going to be wrong, because I just did not know how to get it right with people.

That’s the story I was told for years. By the people around me, yes. But most often and most emphatically by myself.

And what happened when I spent my life trying to morph into my surroundings? I drifted. From job to job, friends to clubs to relationships that hurt. And I’d tell that tiny little voice in the back of my head saying “wait. I don’t believe this. I don’t want this. This hurts!” to shut the fuck up because nothing that ever came out of me has been right like, ever. And so I drifted on.

I figured out the touchpoints that would make me popular with people. If I was the helper, the giver, the clown. If was the one with the nice clothes and the nice cars and if I was sexually liberated and had a cool job with my own employees and an office and words like “Senior” and “Director” and “VP” in my title, I would be worth loving. And so I started shooting for that stuff. And every time I hit another rung on the ladder to acceptance I kept waiting. Expecting that this would be the thing that would make my outside match my inside. That this would be the thing that made me feel satisfied, feel that joy of getting what I wanted.

Except that feeling never came.

Because I’d forgotten that what I’d been chasing all my life had nothing to do with who I was and what I wanted. I was chasing acceptance. I didn’t know that it comes from within.

And then it all came crashing down. I got fired for the second time in a year – from a job that I hated so much that it made me physically ill, but I didn’t care because it hit all my checkboxes for success and acceptability and all of a sudden it was gone and I was a failure and a fuck up and I had to start the shit all over again.

Except this time, that little voice inside me said – Enough. That voice that had been throwing everything it could get its hands on at me from illness to heartbreak to disappointment for years to get me to pay attention. That voice that was getting quieter after years of not being listened to gathered itself up and with every last breath of energy it had said

“Max! I’m in here! Let me out! It’s me – your true self – did you forget that I was here? Don’t make me do any more of this dumb shit. IT’S NOT WORKING!”

And it was so loud and jarring and it wouldn’t shut the fuck up and leave me in peace to look for another cool job and so I had no choice but to start listening. And finally – finally – at 40 years old, I woke the fuck up.

It wasn’t easy though. That little spark of myself that I finally remembered was still there inside me, still fiery and brilliant but it was buried way behind a brick wall.

And every brick of that wall was a choice I had made in the name of acceptance, a need I had denied myself because I didn’t think I was worthy.

Every brick was a wound, a false belief, a story I was told, someone else’s bullshit opinion of me that I took on as fact because who was I to say they were wrong? Every time in my life I had tamped myself down to fit in had turned into the bricks that had trapped the light of who I really was way deep down inside me.

So I began. The slow, painful, scary, confronting, confusing, triggering work of taking down that brick wall. And with each thought I examined and discarded, each limiting belief I released, each long-held opinion I questioned, the bricks came down and the light got a tiny bit brighter and my true voice got a tiny bit louder.

The first bricks were kind of easy. It wasn’t that hard to break through opinions that I already kinda knew were bullshit. But as I kept digging, getting down to the bricks that had been there since my childhood, that were built on the stories my family and the people closest to me had told, they got tougher to break down.

But. As my light got brighter it began to guide me. It led me to o a group of strangers who were demoing their own walls. Who listened to my story and shared theirs and quickly became friends who understood me better than anyone ever had in my life. And the thing that was really crazy was that they loved me. Really loved me in this astounding way. Because they weren’t seeing all my stuff – my nice clothes and my shoe game on fleek, and my adorable twins, and my impressive resume. They saw me – bedraggled, sweaty and struggling, breaking down a 40-year-old wall brick by brick with my bare soul. And they loved me. And even though they had their own demolition to do, they even rolled up their sleeves and helped me break down some bricks; loving me and cheering me on as more and more of who I really am started to emerge.

This really kinda fucked me up because it wasn’t how it’s supposed to be. This wasn’t the life I had learned, the story I was told. People who loved me even when I wasn’t pretending? People who saw me stripped of my style and grooming and thought I was beautiful? People who knew all the mistakes I had made and still thought I was powerful? It didn’t seem right. But my inner me lapped it up and it became fuel for my own self-love. It gave that inner me who was starting to emerge from the rubble a voice that was loud enough to say “This. This is it. This is right. Go toward this.”

And I listened.

I learned more tools – yoga and prayer and meditation and music. I found teachers, articles, videos, that helped me break down those last few bricks. And then one day I felt this great tremendous crash! from deep inside me and I knew it was the sound of the last brick coming down and there was no longer a teeny tiny spark of the real me hidden behind a wall – there was only one me. A beautiful integrated loving and lovable seeker who is generous and compassionate and curious and who is a marvel of a human being ready to finally step into the life I’ve been waiting to live for forty fucking years.

I created the love mob because the experience I had with a group of strangers going through the same thing together and supporting each other saved my life.

I truly don’t know what would have happened had I not been led to this group of beautiful beings who were there when I needed my new sensibilities to be validated. Who propped me up when I struggled and said yes, I understand. I know this is confusing. But it’s true. You are loveable. You are worth the struggle. Your feelings and your opinions matter and you deserve everything you want in life. And who also allowed me to be there for them. Who let me see that the love and care and generosity that had always been in my heart was welcomed, was needed. Who lifted my heart by allowing me to lift theirs. I believe that if I had never found this tribe to walk that road with I would have given up. And I want every single person who is facing down the daunting task of tearing down their own brick wall to have a squad to help them just as I did.

xoMax

Gone B-Schoolin’

Gone B-Schoolin’

Soooo guys in case you missed my Instagram post, I signed up for B-School this year! I’m super excited because I’ve been wanting to do it for a long time and finally decided to take a leap now so that this site can serve you all in the best possible way.

But it does mean that posting will be even more sporadic than it has been while I soak up mad knowledge. So in the meantime, please sign up for our newsletter so you know when we’re ready to go here.

My Big Fat Phobia

My Big Fat Phobia

So the one big truth of my life is this: I am deathly, pathologically, insanely afraid of throwing up. Like to the point where I’m not sure I’m going to be able to get through writing this post because it’s giving me anxiety. Like to the point I never go anywhere – not even the bathroom – without Gravol on my person. Like to the point that when I broke my leg I refused to take pain killers because they could not guarantee that the would not make me throw up.

I don’t know if I have the words to convey how fucking debilitating such a fear is. Like the photo above says, if anyone anywhere around me has a stomach bug it sends me into a panic. Yesterday my daughter barfed four times. I didn’t eat for the rest of the day. I can’t really eat in restaurants. I can’t eat without washing my hands. I won’t eat something that has fallen on my own kitchen counter – even if it’s clean. I don’t like to ride in cars, basically can’t handle riding in a car on the highway. I will do almost anything to avoid flying. The list goes on and on.

Add a fear of throwing up to poor body image, IBS,  and a controlling mother and you end up with – you guessed it – disordered eating. Right now I have a list of maybe 20 foods that I’m reasonably sure will not make me throw up (or otherwise make me feel unwell). Think about that – only 20 foods. And that’s progress! 15 years ago I ate nothing but toast and Diet Pepsi. For over a year.

It’s kind of a hard thing to explain to people because no one likes throwing up. If I say – I’m deathly afraid of throwing up, the person I’m speaking to will say -oh yeah, me too. I hate throwing up. But it’s one thing to dislike it, it’s quite another thing to fear it so much that the entire framework of your life was built around avoid situations that might provoke it.

I never wanted to have kids for many reasons; not the least of which being morning sickness. And while I managed to make it through my pregnancy without the unthinkable happening, kids throw up a lot. And I have to try to mother them while trying everything not to touch them. It’s not easy.

Why am I telling you this? I don’t really know. I am getting about sick and tired of it, and starting to investigate ways of overcoming emetophobia. I’m finding a disheartening amount of articles advising me to look at pictures of v*** (see I can’t even type the word anymore, it’s freaking me out), watch videos of people v***ing, working your way up to watching other people fake v*** and then fake v****ing yourself.

No. fucking. way. That’s what I have to say about that.

Pray for me people. It’s a little hard to be spiritually evolved and then refuse to eat matcha and drink kombucha because you’re afraid of v****. Kinda damages my street cred, you know?

Who else has  a phobia? Do I have any emetophobia buddies out there? Drop me a comment or tell me a secret if you’re shy.

xo. max