Sacred Spaces

When I began this journey almost ten years ago, I wrote a blog that was beginning to gain a following but, there was trouble from the beginning. First, I didn’t understand how it all worked. Second, most of my followers were friends and acquaintances with just a few exceptions. And third, I was going through an acrimonious divorce, desperate to throw up all that toxicity somewhere. I still cringe when I think of how needy I was and how riveting it must’ve been for those who were eager to see my dirty laundry play out on social media – definitely a popcorn, munch, munch emoji. It wasn’t so great for my family relationships, in fact, it was devastating. I slowly backed away (crawled is more like it) with my tail tucked between my legs.

Over time, I’ve seen just how awful some of these social spaces can be and yet, I also see how I need them now in order to create what I’m trying to create here.

My need for a sacred space started long ago and became the touchstone for why I place so much weightiness on spaces.

I used to craft. Sewing, quilting, stamping, scrapbooking, rag rugs, and yes, even Mop dolls. With four children, you can imagine, “space” was in short supply. I couldn’t just leave my crafts around and I needed a space. I crafted for years, and for years I kept getting moved around as my space always seemed to be required for other purposes. It wasn’t until I began writing in earnest that I realized how much I resented those heave-hos as well as my desperate need for a quiet sanctuary.

Nine years ago, I moved to Arizona while going through my divorce – a self-imposed exile from the last vestiges of my former life as a wife and mother, lasting six years. During this time, I began creating my first, real, sacred space calling it: Tam’s Barbie Playhouse. This name, before “She-Shed became popular. Every stick of furniture, lamp, table, decorative pillow and rug, was explicitly and carefully chosen – placed with deliberate intention, right down to the dishes, silverware and bathroom towels. I wrote, I painted, I did schoolwork and positively bloomed. My Barbie house fed my soul, calmed my fears and filled me with a serenity I’d never known. For the first time in my life, to borrow a line from Virginia Woolfe I had, “A Room of My [Her] Own.”

After graduating from college the exile over, I moved back to my hometown. My condo was on the market but refused to sell and so with tight finances, I began living like a vagabond with no real home to call my own – moving in with friends temporarily and everything I own in a storage pod – it was pure torture for someone like me, who desperately needs to retreat to express myself creatively.

Finally, after three years, four jobs and six moves, I purchased a modest home in April. I began renovating it with the only intention being, I wanted my home to feel peaceful and balanced. My highest priority was to create a sacred space where I could meditate, write, create, and bloom once again.

While everything comes full circle, this time around I don’t feel like vomiting my injurious vitriol all over social media but rather, to share what I’ve learned along the way. It is my hope that the pieces of my story will touch the tender, vulnerable places of those who are hurting, lonely and struggling like I was (and sometimes still am), with the encouragement to find the sacred spaces that will bring about a peaceful contentedness – one that challenges you to dig deeper and uncover the passions that will nourish and support your soul. 

As I write this now, in my own sacred space, I need your help in this next leg of my journey. First, I invite you to follow me by joining here, commenting and to please, follow and comment on Instagram and Facebook as I share my (S)hero’s journey and embark on this new one. Second, please share with your friends, invite them to engage. Thank you for your support!

-Tamara