There’s what happened… and then there’s who you ARE…
It’s hard to separate the two. What happened. The circumstance. The object. The swirling of life around you. And the past events that shaped who you are. Versus YOU - who you are, what you VALUE, yourSELF, your CORE, your POWER.
Life pushes fast fast faster against you and everything has a sense of constriction. Constraint. Pressure. Before long we’re going through motions that we never meant to go through. Living from a paradigm we did not choose.
I find nothing more terrifying than when I notice that I’ve confused what’s happening or what happened with myself - my values - and my power. I coast along complaining about how hard it all is until life and God grant me a reality check that slaps me in the face and wakes me up from the daily slumber of pity.
The deeper truth is that nothing that is happening outside of me, and even nothing that happened to me IS me. I am not my job or...
I always rise
There’s a secret to recovery from anything really - failure, trauma, a breakup, addiction - anything.
And it’s a small little diamond in the rough of all souls that are strong enough to overcome the difficulties/pressures/tragedies of life ( which is really just overcoming our OWN shadows and self-concept and “bullshit” which of course is the result of the conditioning and layering of traumas and inherited imprints and nervous system patterns that have been handed down from the ages through the global family tree. And of course inherent in life itself is tragedy... the existential woes of the struggles we crash up against)
But back to the secret...and that is - the belief that you will always rise.
Because how are you going to get through the detox (literally or metaphorically) of your old identity? How will you have the stamina to move that life of yours forward? To recode your brain, to expand your window of tolerance and your capacity to...
I choose to honour myself
Today I did some serious journaling - reflecting. I’ve felt blocked in some areas of my mind and heart and I knew the answer was to go within.
So within I went.
I recognized some areas that I was abandoning myself still. Quitting on myself ever so subtly.
I got honest. I cried. I wrote.
I wrote about how quitting on myself when I was so close to the result was a way for me to re-enact my mothers’ abandonment and neglect.
Her broken promises.
Like a reflection in the rear-view of being 10 again and waiting for two hours for my mom to pick me up outside the school, alone.
I remember the way the trees looked - like a dream. The emptiness I felt. I remember her finally showing up … no call to the school to let them know she’d be late - no idea when she’d show up… finally she’d come and I’d ask why… reaching again - for some acknowledgement… and she’d make some flippant, dismissive comment...