This one goes out to all my night owls, and the “not-a-morning-person”, person, as well the morning people! Check out our latest video below on our very authentic morning routine.
Latest video blog: Morning Routine, by Tiffany with SpotOnSpirit
“I have learned over the years that the nicest thing I can do is to just say to myself, “Good Morning Darling, I love you; we’re going to have a really great day today.” – Louise Hay
The goddess of affirmations, Louise Hay would often attribute her outlook on life to the way she began her day. I remember her saying once, she would give herself a good two hours to herself in the morning while sipping on home-made bone broth before she would introduce people into her world. As an an empathic introvert, I really liked the permission to start doing this for myself. She would spend time reading uplifting material to get her mindset right, and eat a good breakfast. She would say her affirmations when she first woke, such as “thank you bed”, and “thank you god for another day.” This woman cured her own cancer with her positive affirmations! So daunting as it is to live up to Louise Hay’s positive outlook, I was relieved to hear her say she used to wake up saying “Ah, shit, not another day.” Then, her day would be, well…shit. Many people would come from all around to ask her about their complex issues, and she would often simply respond with, hmmm “What did you have for breakfast?” The way we start our day is often the way our day flows.
You see, when we’re kids we often jump out of bed excited to begin each day…then somewhere down the line we succumb to the life pressures, and as a result lie their frozen under the covers hitting snooze (myself, guilty of this) or we’ve conditioned ourselves to rise early, hustle, and get that worm at the expense of our balance, health and spiritual connection. Do you remember a time you woke up without a to do list, excited to greet the day? Without a sense of frazzle under the surface of your arms and a racing heart to be on time or get stuff done or measure up to your own or other’s expectations? I do.
I missed my brother, who lived with my mom. Sometimes I’d lay awake and rub my heart, because my mom would say she and my brother were in my heart. I would wake up tired from a very young age. Sometimes I wonder if it goes back as far as past lives.
I was around 6 years old and would start first grade soon. I woke up in my old creaky wooden bed that belonged to my grandmother and traced the outline of the carvings on the frame with my fingers. I would feel a little sad and dreadful, but would push through. The inspiring thought was, my sisters would be downstairs, or I could go play in my backyard. Then I would jump out onto the creaky dark wood floors of our old 1920’s house on Gaston Avenue in Dallas, Texas. To this day, in meditations, that house is one of my happy places. I would make my bed and line up all of my stuffed animals.
One of the most exciting decisions would be opening my closet to see a pair of white, black or red converse sneakers to choose from. Or, if I was lucky it would be raining and I could wear my rain boots with lining that had cherries on them. I grew up with my older sister who raised me. She and my other sister, slightly younger than her, were one in the same. Smart, beautiful, and who I have to credit for my unapologetic soul-preneur spirit. They were fashionistas and grew up so fast and beautiful they put a whole new meaning on seize the day. They refused to be victims of their past and charged forward with a passion for living in stylish flair. Each morning they would run errands. If I woke up early enough I could catch my oldest sister before she left and go with her. I would fling myself around the banister and face my next fun decision, to take the stairs down to the foyer, or the back staircase down to the kitchen. I usually would choose the back staircase where I could flip up on the landing and do a headstand until all the blood rushed to my head, and then flip back over. I was very confident in my handstand skills and also very proud to show them off to my family. If my sister was in the kitchen, this usually meant I made it in time, and she would say, “Go get dressed!” then we would be off to the bank where they gave us candy, boutique shopping where I would smell soaps and test peach smelling hand lotions, and talk to the store ladies, then head to the dry cleaners where I would wait in the car listening to Madonna, and lastly and most definitely the reason I would be racing to join, eating lunch somewhere in Dallas at North Park Mall, like La Madeline, a French bakery where they gave the most delicious creamy tomato soup with cold bread and butter to dip it in, or chocolate croissants. Or, we would go to Highland Park Cafeteria where we would wait in line (me mainly eyeing the jello) and I would look at all the presidents on the wall. We would usually be the first people there because my sister ate lunch so early. Then one day, my sister and I were in the car on a rainy early morning, listening to peaceful classical music and we stopped at the doughnut shop. She seamed to steer the wheel and turn the car in sync to the calming music. I felt so content and happy. After satisfyingly completing my breakfast, she drove past our home and in a different direction. I wondered where we were going when she told me I was going to my new school. For the first time in my young life, an unsettled feeling of dread for the day sunk like a rock in my stomach. I arrived at my first day of first grade at Lipscomb Elementary. I was the first student in the classroom. My teacher, Mrs. Bell, was sitting at her desk quietly with sandy blonde hair in a bun writing and concentrating. She instructed me to take off my boots and take a seat. She did not look up. I studied her, wondering if she saw me, or if she was nice. I remember staring at my rain boots with the cherry linings from my desk thinking, I can’t wear them now. There was a sad feeling in my heart, and it didn’t quiet go away every morning after that. This coupled with some traumatic childhood memories that for privacy’s sake, I will not mention, but that I’m sure many could relate to.
If you are ever wanting a sarcastic coffee meme, I am your girl. If you want someone to call at night who is still up, I’m also your girl. So I get it, if you are not a morning person…and honestly, I get it if you are too. I used to be a morning lover, and somewhere inside me, I still love mornings, I love mornings so much that what I really don’t like is not the morning itself, but the morning being taken from me.
This is why it’s vital for me to start the day with a positive mentality and free time and energy, but most of all self-love and compassion and a heart full of forgiveness for myself and others. It’s through loving ourselves, that we grow. It’s through taking a compassionate nonjudgmental inventory and getting help when we need it that we heal. There are days that hit me harder than others, but I have the tools to get myself back on track. That’s why I am inspired and intuitively led to share them with you. If I can come around to the idea of liking…even so far as loving my morning, I want to pass that on. I am gentle with myself and am recovering my sense of appreciation for mornings because, it is my life, and my morning, and I can choose love over fear every second of every day.
Brightest Blessings of beautiful mornings to come!