Hello Revisited

Do you ever tumbl something

you keep going back to?

Scrolling the archives, rediscover

that feeling when you first stumbled

on a moment of internet inspiration?

For me it’s always words.

Someone else’s words bring life,

sound to secrets I hold. Silent,

scared to use my own voice 

reveal emotional depth, a cave dive into abyss.

so I share the words.

This act keeps desire to be known alive.

Hello Missing Super Power

You know that four days of your life where important, expensive, necessary for life and future-type things crash simultaneously?

Yeah, that happened.

I’ve been drop-kicked before but I’m resilient. I’ve managed tough stuff, made hard choices, but this one hurt.

It hurt because I realize I lost one of my super powers.

This particular power was an ability to handle whatever was thrown at me with my internal strength.

That’s right, I was Iron-woman strong. I’ve tested this power repeatedly and it has never failed. I could do anything by my force, my will, alone, BRING IT!

But now my super power is freaking broken.

And the truth is my power is not so super.

The truth is I didn’t give myself permission to be angry or cry or fall apart. That’s the kind of strength I had; the strength to hold it all on my shoulders, lock it inside and push through. To be be there as a support for everyone else, but never expect that support in return.

Now I’ve found myself in a position where I’m forced to let go. It’s painful. I’m terrified, paralyzed by my own inability to cope. I apologize because I’m the strong one and the strong one doesn’t break down, but I’m broken.

This weekend, out of sheer exhausting and desperation, I called my mom and she told me something that stuck (if you knew my mom your jaw would be on the floor right now).

She said that I’ve always been deeply emotional. Over the years I’ve learned how to manage those feelings (almost too well) but they are essential to my creativity and personality. Her concern for me has always been that I would lose this gift through hurt, bitterness and fear.

She’s right, but what mom doesn’t realize is her fear is unwarranted, which means my own fear of being permanently broken is unwarranted.

No, I am not Iron-woman strong, but I do have choices. I can wake up every day and start fresh. I can find my strength not from some super power, but from the parts of me that are vulnerable, beautiful and honest. This is who I am, I just needed a gentle, drop-kick reminder from the universe.

Hello Thunderstorm

Guess what America (and Canada) I’m a mess.

One of my girlfriends tells me to stop saying I’m a mess and start accepting that I’m a woman. I’m just like every single other woman and I am not alone and special in my emotional roller coaster car. She’s right. I am a woman. I am passionate. I feel with every single ounce of water in my body.

I am also a conundrum.

I grew up in a world where it was not acceptable to show your emotions. I was raised to be pleasing, to say the right things, do the right things, and follow the road already laid out, no questions necessary. That life was not for me and I am so much better for leaving, but the journey out has been tough.

I’m trying to reclaim this spirit living inside me, that was always desperate to break out. I’m trying to find words to describe what the tough part is or what it means.

There was a terrific thunderstorm early this morning, waking me up at oh, 4am and keeping me tossing and turning until my alarm went off. At one point I went out on my balcony and watched the clouds light up, an act of acceptance, and I had a beautiful moment alone, quiet, complete.

When I went back inside, however, I wrestled with the covers, with my thoughts, with feelings I had no idea how to handle. When the alarm sounded I sat straight up in bed and yelled “FUCK” to the empty room. The fuck wasn’t for the shadowed walls and it wasn’t for my lack of sleep. It was for all the things I haven’t figured out.

What I have figured out is that I can’t push my feelings down,  I can’t hide them inside because I think no one would want to see them or accept them for what they are…accept me for what I am. It’s all a part of the push, pull of my past and my present self.

I think they call this vulnerability. The hard thing, the thing I’m working on every day.

It sucks.

I realize a moment of thunderstorm acceptance will not unravel my insides, but it helps a little. And yelling “fuck”, that helps too.