New Journey

Congratulations to me! I was accepted into Pacific College of Health and Science’s Acupuncture and Herbology program. This is a masters degree program with full accreditation to become an Acupuncturist. 

2022 a selfie taken from inside my art classroom.

So how did an art teacher, mwa, start to look into and eventually decide to do a major career pivot into acupuncture? Actually it’s not as big of a shift as you might think. 

Art, what is art and why is it important? Well for that we have to delve deep into the lives of the artists we have come to celebrate. Frida Kahlo is one of my favorite artists. My ex husband used to joke that if she was still alive he would seek her out and make her his girlfriend. And why not? Her artwork is gorgeous and she had the heart of a lion. Frida’s life was plagued with suffering: chronic pain, surgeries, major life adjustments that left her on a different career path. Frida wanted to become a doctor, and after a bus accident left her bed bound she turned inward and started to paint her experience. 

Art is healing, art is the path out of suffering. For Frida Kahlo she used art to express her feelings of pain, to get them out of her into the external world. She also painted portraits of those she loved and cared about the most, her family and loved ones. She painted the beauty of the world, the mindful moments caught in her mind and expressed onto the canvas for all to share. Art is a living expression of mediation, peace, and spiritual awakening. 

Intuitive Painting for the Subtle Body Yoga retreat developed and taught by Jodi Sibilia ‘Yoga by the Lake’ 2022

When I was teaching in the classroom I felt compelled to teach students that art was a friend that would never leave them, it would be there in the darkest of times, their own expressions able to heal, uplift, and bring them peace when the world felt too big and heavy. 

So many of the people I meet on a daily basis are struggling, emotionally, mentally, and physically. I can feel their pain, attuned to the energy they are presenting. I know that art is one of the greatest healers, a great relief providing balm that everyone can access at any time, and I want to do more to help those on their journey. 

Yoga is my method of practice to connect myself to my spiritual/ higher self. I practice with my students in the wellness center and nourish my personal practice. I study, learn, read, express, paint, photograph and try to embody the philosophies of yoga in each moment of my life. I wholeheartedly know that I will find through acupuncture, the philosophies and studies of Chinese medicine and using natural herbs to rebalance the body another piece of a wellness journey to aid myself and others with. 

Yoga by the Lake, outside classes by the lake 2022

In short this is a new and abundant chapter in my life. I am nervous, as all fledglings are before they fly from the nest and trust their own wings to support them. When we start to ask ourselves what we ‘know’ it is listening to the true self, the internal compass that points to our truth. I know that this time post COVID in this world that is in flux and trying to balance and heal, we will seek the knowledge of our ancestors, hold to ancient healing practices and connect to our source energy to guide us.  

I welcome the new journey and I am excited to share the winding path. 

Through Flames and Darkness

Thanksgiving and November in general has to be my most difficult time of year. The idea of family gatherings bring me nothing but a burning through my chest: a mix of hope and loss.

How green I was five years ago, my last name recently changed through marriage and struggling though my second semester of student teaching in a Pittsburgh inner city high school. Still fresh with the ideals that had been presented to me through my life- some sort of fantasy intertwined with hope and crushing disappointment. 

I wish I could even remember what I was trying to teach the students that day, or what topic my after school course was when I got the email, (yes… email) that my house had been lit on fire and was currently being extinguished.  I think the landlords even said ‘it’s all been taken care of.’ like it was a broken hinge on the door or someone mistakenly put my mail in the wrong slot. 

Lights from fire trucks were blazing as I pulled up. The company who had been hired to fix the roof had lit it on fire by mistake when using a blowtorch. I entered looking for Whittaker, ignoring all the men who tried to talk to me about logistics and insurance. 

He had been home alone, just a kitten at the time, and after searching and calling for him he finally appeared, shaking and scared. I pulled him to me and breathed him in, soothing his fears. 

That’s when the phone rang: 

“Your mom is dead.” 

A high-pitched ringing in the ear and breath stopped in my lungs. At least the voice was familiar on the other end of the phone, gentle cool, begrudgingly giving me this tidbit of information, my grandmother.  

Firefighters boots heavy on the floor behind me tracing patterns on the old wooden floorboards now covered in soot in water. The only words I could utter from my lips were “ okay”  before ending the phone call and standing in the war zone in my own home, so different from how I had left it that morning.  

Hands shaking, I dialed my new husband, I tell him that my mother has died, over 1000 miles away from my now ash soaked linen.

The cleanup crew sent in women, with mops and buckets, brooms, and towels. One of them stoped, noticing my tears. She ran to me giving her condolences on the fire, the loss of my possessions, the inconvenience of my displacement.

I allowed myself to confide in this woman, a stranger, that my mother has just died. Instinctively she reached out, pulling me to her chest, as I began to sob, my inhales catching her gentle perfume. She smoothed my hair and tells me she is sorry, comforting a little child in her arms.  

Women do this, we sooth, comfort, give of ourselves to complete strangers, to loved ones, to the little children whose tears are hot and sticky on their cheeks. It is race-less, creed-less, genderless, to whom we give this love.

As women we feel such deep emotions, beautiful things like love and hope, and we can feel pain in others as if it was our own. It is such a powerful thing to be able to comfort, to lean into a woman and ask for help, to be given that help so freely. How powerful, how absolutely gorgeous in our divine nature, our truth. 

From the literal ashes of my worst day on this earth I have rebuild myself, piece by piece. 

This is the truth you have been needing to hear- If pain can be acknowledged and given comfort as if it was a little child; if you allow your self-love to be a balm, you will heal.

It is guaranteed.

It’s not easy, to push up against these big feelings; to allow yourself to fall to your knees in agony, to cry unapologetically, to beg God or the universe to ease your suffering, to feel every bit of the experience, but it is truly necessary. It passes. It is but a storm on a black sand beach.  It is temporary. 

You must experience it, know that you are indeed strong and worthy, you will be there at the other end of the storm. You will hear your own breath in your lungs, your heart beat in your chest. You will still be alive at the end of it. It is not the end.

You are not alone, you never were alone. The worlds women are here to hold you while you sob, even if it’s just in our hearts- we all feel you through the flames and darkness.  

current work in progress- Acrylic on paper 12”x18”