Sigh...I have to tell you if I were a regular reader of this blog, I might wonder if I could handle reading it anymore. I am caught between a rock and a hard place. The strong intention I hold for this blog, an intention that crept up on me, surprised me with the sheer voracity with which I am dedicated to it, is being real. Telling you all what is REALLY going on. Sometimes I leave out the details, to protect the innocent, but the truth as I see it is here all the same, deep personal truth. So what do I do now? Now that I am caught up in this crazy storm. I posted yesterday about storming in my relationship with Michael, this is but one of the storms. Going back into therapy, storming with Michael, moving back into our house, my trip to California coming up, then home for 3 days and off to Washington to dance with Vinn, Michael, and my Soul Motion tribe.....as I type this and get to the end, I imagine myself in the room surrounded by so many loved ones, many of whom I will be meeting for the first time, I and see a light at the end of this tunnel....ahh...wow.....writing that sentence brought a physical relief, the tight heaviness in my chest let go, my lungs were able to fully expand for the first time in what seems like days. Writing is such a blessing.
This morning the idea that I lacked the tools to actually make it through this troubled time crawled through the fibres of my brain, repeated over and over, laying down deep ruts, ruts that could flip a wagon filled with all that is precious to me. I look down in this moment at the little ripped piece of paper taped to my keyboard, a new one which lives next to the old one about courage, they share a corner of tape. This new affirmation flaps precariously and could easily be torn off, seems like a metaphor to me:
“When you believe something you have made it true for you.”I believe everything is going to be ok, this is my truth. Right now though this belief lives in my head, my heart has pulled the covers up and is hiding. My passionate, sensitive heart which has an idea that it is being judged for being just that, passionate, is having a hard to committing to faith. Regardless of whether this level of passion, of energy behind my words and actions is healthy, it is where I am at right now. I have to love and trust this me, she is all I have in this moment. I have spent most of my life with a steady hand, able to navigate conversations and situations with grace and ease, without tears, this is my default setting. Right now though I stifle tears, which rebel by emerging in my voice, I am doing the best I can, and wishing me different only serves to create distance, again caught between a rock and a hard place. Wanting to allow what is truly alive to live its way out of my body, be dealt with, while at the same time not wanting to subject myself to judgement and the possibility of more pain. I have no more space for pain, I can not put more into this cup than it holds, it just flows out all over the floor, creating a sticky mess. I know you can’t support me all the time, in fact I don’t want you to, I don’t like being seen like this. I have done myself the disservice of choosing to believe I was the only support that was safe, this letting myself be seen in my pain thing is brand new, and right now from this murky space where my perspective is skewed by tears and pain, it seems as though it has been a disaster to share. Makes me want to run away, not in body, this body needs to stick around to pick up socks and do the laundry, the rest of me though wants to run, do this on my own, the very thing I am told time and time again I need to stop doing.
Rock...me...Hard place.
I will get through this, this I know for certain. I am strong as nails, pointed hard steel created from years of NOT allowing myself to be supported. I will find balance, I will find growth, I will always be loved, I will thrive, I will fulfill my dreams...all of them. This is the middle part. I wrote to a loved one recently that he can’t skip the middle part, perhaps I need to heed my own words of wisdom.
Words that came when in the midst of the storm, written with a shaking hand and a heavy scared heart.
When all things become pain.
Eating
Crying
Breathing
Loving
Seeing
Thinking, thinking, thinking, thinking, thinking,
always so much thinking.
Numb the thinking and the body takes over,
shaking at first, sweet relief.
Till the pain moves in, takes up more than it’s fair share.
Always pain, nowhere to hide.
Pain takes away pain,
like cures like.
A homeopathic act to bring relief
and bruises.
Bruises,
outward proof of pain.
Saggy skin where soft womyn flesh used to live,
a reminder of how empty this feels.
How big a space there is to be filled,
space occupied by recycled stale air,
used over and over,
by the thinking, thinking, thinking.
I have put off posting this entry, it is why I am days behind. I plan to bury it, post three other entries right on top, hoping it goes unnoticed. It is terribly edited, I can’t stand the constant rereading which is part of the editing process, the way I whittle the entries down, make them concise. So here it is in all its misery and unedited glory, buried and hidden, but posted and right here for the world to see. This mild deception is how I am dealing with the space between the rock, and that hard hard place of telling the truth.
“What is truth?“ is the question in
12 days journal #180
