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telling your truth

I figured two things that make us most happy. Alive. Joyous.

Intimacy and giving of our gifts.

Another thing I figured – there is no one truth.

There is only truth in the moment.

Life – flowing, changing… One truth comes after another.

Telling your truth in the moment helps with both – intimacy and giving of your gifts.

No more conversations about the weather and how your family is doing. You will talk about meaning and shame and love and things that stir your soul. And you’ll feel close. Intimate. Alive. 

Telling your truth gets your mind out of the way. It creates space for ideas to surface. It unblocks whatever is blocked. It lets life flow through you and as a result you want to create, to express who you are, to contribute in your unique way.

How do you start? 

To tell your truth in the moment to others, you first have to tell it to yourself.

I hate my job. I feel disappointed with my relationships. I feel anxious because I hoped I would have figured things out by now. I feel overwhelmed with demands that come with taking care of my children. I feel sad and I don’t know the reason.

You allow yourself to feel what you feel. That’s the first step in telling your truth in the moment.

You create awareness. You stop stuffing the pain.

And then you can’t help but take responsibility and come up with a plan to change what’s not working.

Then you tell others your truth and create meaningful intimate relationships.

And then you start giving a part of yourself to the world. You take your gift and create something beautiful with it. Because that’s your truth.

Somehow magically telling your truth in the moment takes you home.

Try it. Start right now.

I feel…

What do you feel?

what drug do you use to numb the pain

Some use drugs to numb the pain, others use sex

Some use drugs to live, others use sex to deepen their relationship with Divine

The same thing – different people, different reasons

To celebrate life or to numb the pain of existence

Some drink to live, others drink to run away from reality

One of my clients said she eats hundred apples a week

I think she exaggerated even though I didn’t clarify

My question was Why?

It doesn’t have to be a drug to be used as a drug

Some drugs are obvious – alcohol, tobacco, cocaine

Others – not so much – shopping, TV, social media, gossiping

Yet, some are apples – innocent and healthy and recommended by doctors

But only you know your why

Is it to escape the pain or to let life flow through you?

What I noticed is when I allowed myself to feel all my feelings many drugs started falling away by themselves

I started eating simple foods and sugar is a rare craving

I stopped abusing Facebook and don’t feel the need to go to the mall

I am far from being fully drug-free and I might never get there

But at least I had a taste of freedom

Ask why. Always ask why

setting your conscious intention, truth poem, this I want a message to the universe

I want to live in a white cottage with big windows and a green backyard where tall strong oaks have been singing songs to the wind for decades

I want to grow flowers and herbs in my garden and make it a safe haven for birds and butterflies

I want to write poems every day sitting in my special nook by the cozy window looking out at the trees and asking them for wisdom

I want cold winter outside and fire in the fireplace and woolen blankets and hot tea with milk and honey

I want to eat simple foods that my mind understands made fresh from scratch every day – vegetables, eggs, meats, maybe an apple pie for dessert

I want to make art with my kids, all of us piled up on the floor in our living room with rolls of paper and bright paints scattered around

I want to make love to my husband on a big mattress that sits directly on the wooden floor covered with linen sheets and blankets in our bedroom that has soft lighting, candles and nothing extra

I want to invite like-minded souls over and talk about our dreams and desires feeling deep gratitude for being understood and held up to my divine potential

I want my husband to write music and sit in his office with a notebook trying to solve an unsolvable math problem

I want my kids’ smiles and loud laughter as they run in and out with their friends they spend hours climbing trees, exploring the woods, fighting and learning the value of true friendships

I want bunk beds and playroom with lots of books and crayons and wooden toys that speak peace, inspiration and harmony

I want fire in my soul and glow in my eyes and soft soft softness in my heart

I want to walk to small cafes with my laptop where I would write and watch people – young lovers, elderly couples, students studying for yet another test who I’d want to tell those tests mean nothing, but I would stop myself and laugh at my own ignorance

I want a challenge of another goal to light me up not weigh me down

I want to explore the world and meet people who are so different and stand in awe when I discover how similar we really all are

I want to cry from sadness, scream in rage and hug my little family all day every day with all the fierce love I have for them

I want to be a channel to Life that wants to live through me not ever suppressing any expression of who I am and what I feel

I want to inspire people from all over the world to live their truth and then go for a walk in a park kicking fall leaves on the ground as I marvel at the unreal beauty of nature that I have a privilege to touch

I want flow. I want inspiration. I want challenge. I want daring. And joy.

And to always keep moving forward.

I want to accept what is and courageously go toward what my soul craves to be

I want my life to be like that white cottage in my dreams – stripped to essential, holding simple luxury and lots of meaning

overcoming shame, what would people think, worrying about people's opinion and not pursuing your purpose, conscious living

I so wanted to tell the truth. My truth.

The truest truth I could find at the core of my being. The truest truth I had enough awareness to turn into words. I wanted it so bad.

But… What would the world think of me? I thought.

Oh, who am I kidding! No, I was not worried about the world, because I was quite convinced (still am) that the world wanted me to tell the truth.

In fact, it’s been screaming for quite a while:

Stop the fuck doing what you are doing with your life and tell the truth. Your truth.

Scream it until your throat hurts and your fingers are bruised from typing.

Stop censoring, hiding, suppressing, making it pretty. Just stop. You don’t have time for that.

Focus on what’s important and what’s important is to tell the truth.

Let it fly and find the ones who need it.

But sadly I didn’t care about the world. I didn’t care about my soul crying at night hoping that I would hear it.

I didn’t hear.

I closed my ears. I closed them shut with both hands and pillows and loud thoughts about my kids and our plans for the weekend.

I didn’t hear.

I didn’t care about my soul. Or those who needed me to tell my truth – so that they would wake up and tell theirs.

I didn’t care.

What did I care about? – you ask.

I cared about my neighbor. I know, confusing.

Let me explain.

The neighbor I meet at the playground.  No, she is not a friend. I know nothing about her but her name and her kids’ names.

I usually have my sling on with my baby in it. I watch my toddler go down the slides. I watch my 7 y.o. as he is wrestling with his friend.

I talk to my kids in that voice that naturally comes out somehow even though I don’t think it is my voice. I sound cheerful and confident and like a mother who knows what she is doing.

I am certain my neighbor thinks I am weird.

But not THAT weird to tell the kind of truth I wanted to tell.

And that’s what I cared about.

I thought – What would she think about my truth?

She would read it and then remember me wearing my sling with a baby, talking to my kids in a cheerful voice, acting weird.

And she would think – What the heck, I didn’t expect this from her! Sure, she is kind of weird, but this – THIS I didn’t expect!

The thought that my neighbor would know the details of my relationships, my deep desires, my hopes and dreams, my pains, the way I like to be fucked, and the way I withhold love and fear intimacy (because that’s the kind of truth my soul wanted me to tell and sometimes the truth calls for details) – that thought scared the shit out of me.

The shame would cover me like a big blanket and I would scroll through my Facebook feed like a maniac looking at other people’s kids and what they eat for dinner – all to distract myself from my truth.

People who needed my truth, who would be inspired and moved and changed and maybe dared to tell theirs – I didn’t care about them.

You, my weird, like-minded souls who I’d love to connect with, the sad truth is – I didn’t care about you.

The sad truth is I mostly cared about those who didn’t give a shit about who I am and what I have to say.

I was so scared of what they would think of me. And so I kept quiet.

But then I decided.

It HAD to end.

I decided to start small.

I decided to tell my truth – all of it –  where I felt safe first.

At home. Behind my walls and to those I trusted. I told my husband -This is how I feel and this is why.

I did it every day.

Some days it was easy. Some days it was hard.

I started small. I took it one step at a time.

And then slowly I dared to write my truth here.

I still have so much unfolding to do.

It’s still scary. And shame is still here.

What if my neighbor reads my letter to my husband?

But it’s becoming easier and easier every day.

I am determined.

To keep going.

Because this is the only way to truly live my one wild and beautiful. Life.

And when you, my dear neighbor, meet me at the playground, I’ll smile and hope that you didn’t read any of this or if you did, maybe it stirred something in your soul that needed some stirring and maybe we are much more alike than I thought we could be and maybe at the very least you won’t openly laugh at the crazy difference between what I look like at that playground, with my sling, my crazy kids, my cheerful voice, and the words I type here.

Because both of those are me.

Just me, trying hard to be myself.


pain in the throat - the meaning, psychosomatic pain the throat, conscious living

It was about 11 pm in the evening when I felt my throat tighten.

It was painful to swallow. Cold? Strep throat?

The kids were under the weather though none of them complained at their throats. I had no other symptoms besides maybe being tired. But after a weekend with three kids in the house being tired is normal.

My first response – I need to get some rest, I need to give myself a break, I need to take care of myself better. Those were true. But my throat was so painful.

And I knew there was a reason. The reason.

So I stopped and asked myself – What is your truth right now? Why does your throat hurt?

Knowing some about psychosomatic medicine, I remembered that pain in the throat usually represents unexpressed anger.

I thought about a conflict I just had with my mom who is staying with us. I am very deliberate about resolving conflicts these days as I know that unresolved conflicts lead to all kinds of yaki stuff like stifled energy flow, illnesses, lack of motivation etc.

So I started thinking about all the different things I didn’t get to express during the conflict. I didn’t want to bother my mom anymore as we talked about everything we should have talked.

Maybe I should write a letter and burn it, I thought.

Or go scream in the car to get that anger and frustration out?

My mind kept spiraling trying to find a solution while my throat was getting more painful than ever before.

And then I stopped myself. I was not listening to my truth. I was just letting my logical mind rationalize and offer solutions that were within its reach.

Sometimes the logical mind is right but this time I needed my intuition to speak – the part of me that knows everything. The part of me that knows my truest truth.

And right there and then a sudden thought, like a flash came and went, leaving me wondering if I heard it right.

It’s not the anger that you didn’t express enough of, it’s the Love.

Everything became clear. I knew what I needed to do.

I knew what my small act of truth was going to be.

I went into my oldest son’s room and whispered into his ear - I love you so much, thank for coming into my life.

I went to my little girl and whispered the same into her ear.

I went to my baby boy who was sleeping in our bed – I love you so much, my baby, thank you for coming into my life.

That was easy. Expressing my love for my babies has always been easy.

Now was the turn for my  husband. He was in the bathroom, brushing his teeth. It was dark. I came up to him and in a dramatic voice said – I love you. I know I don’t say it enough. I am so grateful I have you. He was, of course, touched. And knowing me, I told him about my throat earlier in the evening, he knew why I was doing it.

Now was the hardest part – I went out of the bathroom and toward my mom’s room. She was sleeping and I know she doesn’t like to be awaken in the middle of the night.

Also even though we love each other fiercely, we don’t say it often. I had difficult relationship with my mom since I was a child. And now she triggers a lot of my old patterns and wounds.

Going into her room in the middle of the night was hard. I felt very vulnerable. I first tried to silently send her my loving thoughts. Then I thought about delaying it until the morning.

But I knew I had to go in. Right there and then.

That was my truth at that moment.

So I did. She woke up when I came in. I laid next to her, hugged her and said that I loved her. An overwhelming feeling of peace washed over me. Everything was right in the universe once again. I felt safe. I felt in harmony with the world.

We talked for few minutes, we cried some, I wished her good night and went out of her room. The world was back to normal.

And my throat?

It stopped hurting right away. Literally RIGHT AWAY.

Similar things happened to me before, but it still catches me by surprise each and every time.

Your body is connected to your truth. You just have to listen.

the judge. a truth poem

I was inspired to do this. At 12 am, tired and sleepy, we went upstairs to his music room. And I loved it so much. Definitely more to come.

My words, his music.

When I was a teenager, I spent hours in my room reading poems. It was my escape from harsh world and overwhelming feelings inside of me.

I am going to call them my truth poems.

I want to turn my inner truth into an art. I want to capture it and honor it.

Video editing is not one of my strength, obviously. We’ll figure it out, but for now, please turn your volume up to hear the music – it’s beautiful.

The Judge. (A Truth Poem.)

I had this sudden urge to just stand back in awe

and so I followed it curious where it would take me

I watched her doing what she usually does

And for the first time in a long time…maybe ever

I didn’t judge

I didn’t put good or bad label on anything

She was going about her day trying to stay present but it seemed like it was not working

She was breathing hard at times and at times it looked like she consciously tried to relax

But couldn’t

I looked and thought about rich and complex inner world that makes who she is

That I never in a million years could fully grasp or comprehend

I thought about a myriad of little and big events that brought her here

I thought about little and big ripples she sends into the world with every thought she thinks, every move she makes and every breath she takes

In awe, I was.

She is a miracle, I thought

It didn’t last long.

The judge came back and with vengeance

Quick to start doing what every respectable judge does – judging

This was good, this was bad.

There were more bad. Of course.

I felt sad for a moment because the break was too short

I felt sad for her, she is doing what she can after all

I wanted to yell at the judge – It’s not her fault, no one is perfect and give her a break

But then I realized I was also judging. I was judging the judge and then judging myself for doing it.

I can’t win this game, I thought

But then I looked in the mirror and I saw her.

We smiled at each other and hurried back to our day hoping that sometime soon we’ll make friends with the judge.

I am too much, Lana Kravtsova, Wild Woman,Awakening Woman, Awakening Women's Business, Awakening Relationships

I’ve been told that I am too much by many. Too sensitive, too over-reactive, too demanding, too emotional, too introverted, too stubborn, too dramatic, too selfish.

I want too much, I expect too much, I dream too much. I am never satisfied. I never have enough. I am not grateful for what I have.

I myself used to think I was too much. I used to apologize. I used to tone myself down. I used to be ashamed. Or maybe I still am.

But I am determined to stop. The shame, the toning down, the suppression. I am determined to stop putting a cap on my self-expression, my desires, my dreams.

I am determined to stop convincing myself that I have enough. Because I don’t and I never will. And that’s ok.

My insatiable hunger for more and better – stuff, love, depth, pleasure – is not something to be ashamed of. It’s something to celebrate. To embrace. To bring out to the light.

Because when I allow myself to want too much and to be too much, I also allow myself to give too much. Of myself. Of my gifts. Of my love. And that’s the damn purpose. Of life.

I can take it when others tell that I am too much. I can stand strong in my determination to be even more.

But I don’t ever want to hear it from you. Not you.

I am a woman. I am too much. Either accept and embrace it . Or stay away.

Stay away if you are blinded by my light. Stay in the darkness if you are scared of my desires. Stay small if you can’t handle my deep rage and my fierce love.

If you can’t accept me being too much, you will never be able to penetrate me deeply. I will not open up for you. And we both will be miserable.

So either learn to welcome my too muchness, creating a safe haven for it to come out and dance and give you all the love that is waiting to be awaken underneath it. Or go away and find another one. The one who is not too much. And good luck with that.

But I hope you’ll choose to stay.

No, you don’t have to be perfect. Choosing to be a man and leaving a little boy behind doesn’t mean that you have to be perfectly strong and unwavering. It’s ok to feel scared. To scream back. To cry. To not know how in the world you will ever be able to satisfy my wild desires.

I’ll tell you the secret.

I don’t need you to satisfy them. I just need you to try.

And to never again tell me that I am too much.