Tag: goodhardgood

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My plan sophomore year of high school was to attend community college for god-knows-what, then transfer to god-knows-where. After Ellen died I found it tricky to feel motivated because all of a sudden I understood that actually we’re all dying and going to die and what is the point.

My principal (the same woman who paid for my math tutoring to ensure I’d graduate) printed up applications to the top three art schools in the country and told me I was applying to all of them. She would help make it happen.

I must’ve cared slightly more than I let off because a Google search informed me that The School of the Art Institute of Chicago (SAIC) was hosting some sort of “bring your portfolio and maybe you’ll get accepted on the spot!?” day in Santa Monica. I had two-ish weeks to prepare.

The thing is: I was already prepared, because art was my life. When I wasn’t cutting or swimming at the beach I was painting and drawing. My mom broke a lot of peace in our home, but one thing she did right was make sure I had art supplies. It saved me, I suppose.

I don’t remember who drove me to the school that hosted the event, but I remember trying to wiggle away from it. I remember wanting to throw up and run. It was the first time anyone besides my high school art teacher would see my work. And our class had less than twenty people.

SAIC is a world-renowned program. WTF am I doing here?? I walked into the room and presented my leather portfolio to a group of three people, I think. There were three sitting there, but I only remember one man’s face, so maybe it was just one critique-er? He was bald and had dark, circle-shaped glasses, the frames most people in the art world wear.

Shit this guy’s for real. I want to barf very badly.

He loved the pointillism piece.

“You’re in!” He smiled.

I shit my pants.

And a few months after that, I was unpacking my belongings in a dorm room apartment overlooking the red Chicago Theater sign.

The program was rigorous. My nervous system had no clue how to handle that kind of demand, no tools to manage stress well, no wise people on which I could depend to help escort me through the Hard to get to the Good. It was the first time I was out of the chaos of my home and away from the dysfunction of my family of origin. So I worked hard to create my own chaos, internal and external.

By the first summer I was thinking about transferring to the local community college. I resented the art establishment’s constant need for me to produce. What if I don’t feel inspired? You just want me to make art? Constantly? And then you want to critique that art? I believe I am too fragile for this. I would like to leave.

So convenient that I got cancer that summer and couldn’t go back. To this day I have no clue how long that tumor in my neck was there before I considered telling a doctor about it…

I’m getting to the point of all this, which is: I’m in a very similar spot right now. The accelerator program I’m in has deadlines and critiques and they want me to make my art when they want me to make my art, not necessarily when my art wants to be made.

I want to barf every week, just before signing into the Google chat with one of my editors. But every week, she likes it. She likes my dark humor and the way I talk about the outdoors.

When I wasn’t cutting or outside, I was making art.

I don’t cut anymore, just the occasional bag of chips; I am outdoors constantly. Pen and ink take up less of my time these days. Instead I use a keyboard to take what I see and make it (sort-of) 3-D.

I’ve been quiet here, most of the material and energy I’m diverting into GoodHardGood, due spring ’26. But this morning my editor suggested include y’all on the journey of this next creative endeavor.

Writing a book is much harder than I thought it would be, and sometimes I feel like barfing or running away. Then I pause and remember: I am prepared for this, art is my life. Thank you for being here. I’m very excited and very afraid and very ready and very human. I know you are, too.

Love, CM

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The Problem with Positive Thinking

It’s an exciting time to be alive. I feel so grateful for the research over the last two decades that supports what healers already know: 

Your mindset matters.

Your biology believes you.

You may have seen a recent Huberman guest, Dr. Ellen Langer, detail the health benefits of “positive thinking.” She cites stunning findings and I was smiling through most of it. Yes, this is it! Our minds and bodies are the one! And moreover, our bodies will submit to our minds in most cases if we can just stay curious and courageous enough. Dr. Bruce Lipton is a pioneer in field of cellular biology as it relates to epigenetics. He writes,

“You are personally responsible for everything in your life, once you become aware that you are personally responsible for everything in your life.”

Ouch.

In my work I highlight the need to rigorously examine the stories we believe to be true. When we have a thought or an experience in our brains, it stimulates the production of various transmitters and proteins—your emotions become real, 3-D molecules that now exist in the world, in your body.

I diagram the pathway these molecules take via the HPA-axis all the way through the body until they reach our DNA. Then some incredible stuff happens that results in your genome being modified by that narrative. I call this a Cellular Story. Cortisol is the main player here, and is released whenever our nervous systems require mobilization. It’s most prevalent in the body when you wake up in the morning. “Rise and shine! Get going!” cortisol yells from your adrenals (the “A” in HPA-axis, wink).

It’s also released when threat is detected—think sympathetic responses: fight, flight, freeze, fawn. When a nervous system feels fear it begins a cascade of responses to try and restore homeostasis, A for effort. Only, cortisol is inflammatory. And inflammation is at the root of preventable disease.

I had a student years ago who was experiencing some significant discomfort during a trade in the lymphatics class I teach. Their student therapist waved me over and we began working through some PTSD symptoms that the “client” was noticing. 

This kind of somatic emotional release (SER) is common in my classrooms. Lymphatics are autonomically innervated, which means they detect and receive the “fight, flight, freeze, fawn” signaling first, along with vasculature, smooth muscle, etc. I always teach that massage therapists are really trained to see and reflect with little flashlights and mirrors on our fingertips. We are there to mirror back to a system what it’s trying to communicate via pain, discomfort, swelling, etc. Then, we illuminate with questions and care.

Autonomically focused bodyworkers aren’t rubbing muscles, we are trained to listen to the quiet, intrinsic structures of a body. This type of approach leads to deep, lasting, healing because we’re inviting structures to remember. Instead of forcing the tissues to behave how the client or therapist wants or expects them to behave we’re asking, can these cells communicate what they need to create an optimal environment for optimal health? Can this system choose something truer?

Something truer…

And here’s the problem with positivity: A nervous system doesn’t actually respond to positivity, it responds to truth, to honesty. Ruthless positivity bypasses the genuine, lived experience of a person. Challenging a nervous system is essential to growth, and it must be done with nuance, care, empathy, and skill. Therapists must help our clients accept that more than one thing is true at once. I call that Goodhardgood. This can feel hard, and be good/okay/_____ at the same time.

I can be a tired, snappy, distracted mom and a good mom at the same time.

I can feel broken and be whole, at the same time.

If you had tried to tell me “just thinking really positive thoughts!” while I was hobbling around with a cane after my bone marrow transplant, I would’ve taken another five oxy. When someone is stuck in sympathetic they lose the ability to think creatively. When a parent feels stuck in a home that smells like diapers and lost dreams, it’s nearly impossible to think anything other than, “Woof. Get me out.”

What if instead of positive thinking, we aimed for truer thinking? What if we could relieve some of the burden by thinking one, truer thought? I say truer instead of true, because that stressed parent is still going to feel stressed. And that cancer patient is still going to feel pain. For now.

We must widen the window of tolerance, we must challenge the limiting belief. And in order to do that, we must honor what is while creating some hope and space for what will, or could, be.

Yes, I hurt and feel broken. And I believe there could be a day when I don’t. 

I feel trapped, I need a break. I can ask for the support I need. They won’t be toddlers (or was that teenagers?) forever. Two true things at the same time.

It takes practice and time, but the better we become at honoring the fullness of the experience (the good and the hard), the better we become at re-writing the story, cortisol levels drop and homeostasis ensues—happier cells, clearer interstitium and tissues, reduced inflammation, symptoms abated.

Back to the student.

After class she wanted to chat about some of the language I had used to help her move through the discomfort in her triggered state. Using physical symptoms to address emotional blocks isn’t new (see: SERs), but she hadn’t heard anyone filter it through the lens of internal narrative.

I walked her through the CELL Story diagram, the model that was gifted to me by the gods one day after an epigenetics-heavy psyche class. I showed her how every time she felt that specific pain, it produced that specific thought and emotion (in her case it was “Die” because as a teen her dad expressed disappointment at her failed suicide attempt). Or vice versa, every time she felt the grief of her broken family it would cause that specific pain. The body and mind are one, I explained.

We sat with the story. “Die” was reeking havoc on her cells, autoimmune disorders and chronic pain made her life feel unmanageable. She saw how her cells were re-living the trauma of the event and how her DNA had been altered by the cocktail of 3-D emotions that were flooding her system.

“Do you want to write something new? Something truer?” I asked.

I didn’t tell her about the incredible research that correlates positive thinking to better health. I didn’t tell her about my own miraculous healing journey and how I had to painstakingly examine everything I believed about my history, abilities, etc. I didn’t dismiss her experience, because my lack of attunement in that moment would’ve been registered as a threat, “Claire’s got an agenda, Claire’s not actually on my team. She’s just like the rest of them.”

I asked her if there was space in her psyche for anything truer. Is there a more honest experience in there waiting to be noticed?

“I am okay.” She responded, tears streaming. And she was. In that moment, her system was able to hold two things. Part of her, still stuck in an old, deep, and organizational story, believed she had to die. And now another part was given permission to believe she was okay.

She put her hand on her diaphragm, the site that was spasmed and tight. “I am okay,” she reminded herself. 

“Now every time you feel that spasm, and every time you start to feel the pull of that old story, speak the new, truer thing.” I remind her.

She nods.

“I am okay” is one of the purest truths I can think of. In our house we say, “We’re all gonna make it.” Because we are actually all going to make it, it’s just going to feel really human along the way.

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Gray: On Good, Hard, and Getting Your Soul Blended by God.

The week before my younger sister died her body turned a very specific shade of green-gray. My fourteen-year-old daughter is the same age as Ellen was and I just have no idea how anyone watches a child die.

We watched her die in her bedroom on May 24th, 2004. She got to die in her teenage-girl bedroom. The room felt gray. Our home was built around an atrium, a square house with a fertile square garden in the middle. Ellen’s room hugged up against the inside of the square, and when the window was open palm fronds would flop in to say hello.

I don’t remember if the window was open that day. I remember it felt gray though, marine layer laid on thick. I remember the scream I let out after checking her eyes just after the death rattle left her. “She’s gone!”

There are a few people in my life right now who are falling apart.

They’re looking a little gray, no green—they haven’t begun rotting from within. They decided to remove the lenses through which they saw themselves and the world and they’ve been struggling to make sense of the scene before them.

They’re so tired, because rewiring, rewriting, and reprograming our consciousness take a lot of energy.

They feel lost. As our stories shift, so does our DNA—so do we. In the mirror, our changing reflections begin to scare us at worst and confuse us at best. Who the fuck am I and why do I look gray?

They feel afraid. And who wouldn’t? 

Still, they’ve continued on. I’m very proud of them.

I think gray is what happens when you’ve allowed Good and Hard to finally fuse. For a time, on our journeys inward, as the chromosomes learn their new, tangled dance, as we become a truer expression of our selves, we look and feel like we’re dying. 

It’s like God takes our hands and leads us to the holiest of blenders in a kitchen with a killer sunset view. Soul Blender is the brand name stamped on the front just above the knob.

God smiles, a little teary. 

“It’s time.”

“For me to get blended up?” You question.

Except, by the time you’ve been invited to the Soul Blender Event, your faith and psyche and self have proven sturdy enough to handle such a loud and blade-y affair. You remember RSVPing “yes” to the kitchen party invite months (or was it years?) ago. You remember wondering…

Is this it? Is this what I’m here for? I don’t hate it, it’s 8/10. But…

Maybe you realized it then, or maybe you didn’t, but it was a prayer—a focused hope on something more, something different, something truer.

The details don’t matter, but the mess—your mess— inside the cup is blended to oblivion, and for a moment, it grays. All your good and hard bits mashed together, all the good and hard bits of the world you carry with you mashed together. Everything is mashed together and now you can’t tell what’s good or hard, all you see is gray.

All you feel is tired.

Lost.

Afraid.

Everything I knew, everything I thought I knew, everything I was or thought I was supposed to be is gone.

Grayness settles.

But God, like the considerate asshole God is, is still smiling. A soft, knowing, playful smile.

This doesn’t upset you anymore, you’ve come to trust this Love more than makes sense. So you’re gray there next to God in some sort of teaching kitchen they use in some divine realm. God takes your hand, then takes you, “Let’s go watch the sunset.”

Your favorite chairs are on the porch waiting for you both, the constant whirl of the blades ever-present in the background. “How long will that take?” You motion back toward the kitchen through the open sliding door.

God smiles. “It’s gonna be okay.”

You believe this. You can feel your DNA pivot toward this truth the way a sunflower tunes toward the sun.

I’m gonna be okay. I am, in fact, okay. I am very afraid, very tired, and feel slightly less lost than I did an hour ago.

You smile, God’s fingers still wrapped around and in between your own.

Turquoise and orange light dances and tangles in the sky around you. Soft, knowing, playful pinks anchor the scene to the horizon.

The blades and the noise stop but you can’t recall when exactly or how many minutes have passed. 

“Let’s go take a look.” 

Back in the test kitchen your gray, messy mush alchemized into the most magical substance you’ve ever seen. Your soul, now integrated and upgraded, is the truest, clearest, most beautiful thing you can remember seeing.

The details don’t matter but you wake up and don’t dread the day as deeply. You’re thinking newer, more creative thoughts. You have the energy to manage a little better. Though the person looking back at you in the mirror is totally you, the eyes sparkle with more knowing, power, and play.

You’re the most beautiful thing you can remember seeing. 

I made it. At least until the next invite.

Gray is the gift of a goodhardgood life on repeat. My sister’s death is still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever witnessed. Once we stop trying to separate things with “should” statements and expectations, we’re left with what actually is. Once we step out of the story we’re left with the truth.

I am good, I am safe, I am loved.

Good and Hard are two sides of the same coin. The coin is valuable, gold and heavy. 

We’re all gonna make it, we already are. (I can’t fuck it up, neither can they.)

After she died I drove to my favorite public park and walked the mile or so to the bench at the top, overlooking a long trail toward the Pacific. It was early evening, around 5 pm, and the sun struggled to make any sort of impact in the presence of the fuzzy grayness.

For a moment a burst of orange escapes, and a bird flies straight into the gap created by the shifting breeze.

If it feels like you’re dying it’s because you are. If it feels like you’re living, it’s because you are! If it feels confusing and you’re tired but smiling, and sometimes you look grayer or puffier or more powerful than you remembered, it’s because you’re a Professional Human. 

I still see life in your eyes!

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You’re a Professional Human If…

-You hate pretending.

–You want to know that everything is going to be okay. You want peace and joy inscribed onto your heart, you just haven’t found the right kind of tools to keep them there. 

-Your life feels 8/10, but you have a hunch there’s more waiting to be explored.

-You know there’s something else meant for you, it’s just too hard to get there alone.

-You care deeply about becoming more whole, knowing that the world is a better place with the truest, clearest version of you operating in it.

-Nature and beauty heal you.

-You love your life in general, and you still feel the desire to check out of it sometimes.

-You love your community and your people deeply, and you crave quiet isolation, too.

-You believe in the benefit and necessity of emotional and physical sobriety. You practice and incorporate seasonal use of certain chemicals (THC, Psilocybin, etc.) to engage life differently. You use them holistically because they help you feel closer to God and Self. You understand that mindless use of these chemicals is harmful in the end.

–You feel better when you’re creating something. You know your heart, mind, and hands get restless when you aren’t engaging in meaningful, creative work.

-(You may also cry and/or swear more frequently than others.)

-Your body keeps a very accurate score.

-You are curious and try to stay open to the mystery, while collecting data constantly—a spiritual scientist. You test the limits constantly, create experiments for the soul, integrate the data quickly.

-You are okay in the outskirts. The wilderness has become home, your campfire keeps you warm.

–You are not afraid of hard work if it gets you to the places you need to be. You are devoted to Love, Justice, Peace, etc.

-You love to be felt, seen, known. And you love to feel, see, and know.

Professional – noun – One who professes, declares.
Human – noun – Of the earth, mud.


You’ve made peace with your your origin story. You know that you are a small and significant part of this grand experiment, this goodhardgood existence. You’re done trying to figure it out, you’re ready to embrace the mystery, you’re curious about your place in all of it. You know you’re dying–we all are–and so it’s time.

Time to take the next loving steps, exploring the wilderness and edges of your soul.
Time to get really courageous and really curious about the beliefs and fears that paint your reality.
Time to reflect on your relationships.
Time to engage your body, your cells, and their stories.
Time to dance, to play, to weep, to nourish, to rage, and to pause. On repeat.

There’s no way to make the world “right.” No politcal party, ideology, or prayer will un-muddy these waters. But you can make you right. No, not right as in “correct.” Think: true. Clear.

Foundational wisdoms have helped humanity since the beginning, wisdoms gifted and hard-earned. We get to bring these to the table.

Look, here’s what I found. Here’s what I discovered out there in that hellscape. It really helped me. If you want to take a look I’m happy to share it with you. Did your journey reveal anything? May I see? Can you tell me what God told you?

On my journey so far, I’ve discovered a few of these foundational wisdoms. Some were gruesome to unearth, I still have the scars. Others just appeared, or were placed on the side of the road–such gifts. I would like to spend the rest of my life professing them, for they prove my humanity. They prove that I’ve lived, really lived.

I enjoy inspiring and empowering others to live, too. So, that’s what I’ll do. I’m Claire, I’m a professional human.

I declare that I am mud and miracle, walking around on sidewalks.
I declare that I am tired and I don’t know what I’m doing most of the time.
I declare that my choices and my life are my own. I will use the data I collect from those choices to fuel my growth instead of feed my shame.
I declare that I am grateful, awestruck, and in love with nearly everything and everyone.