When you try to avoid the real pain living in your heart, mind and body, you begin to die. And you keep dying until you speak the truth, even if it is only in a whisper and only to yourself.
Writing publicly like this is a vulnerability practice.
These days I want my writing and sex to gut me and leave me with nothing.
I’m ok. And I’m really not ok. I’m exploring the ruination of my life.
I miss my friends who were killed 6 years ago tomorrow. I miss their music. I miss the circus.
I mourn my loss of autonomy, and self. I miss eating sugar.
In the same way that I can’t be an activist for justice if I am unwilling to look at my own implicit biases, I can’t move forward in my own healing if I don’t acknowledge (and feel) old hurt.
The avoidance of pain courts a slow death.
I’m here to be courageous for you. Not so you don’t have to, but so that you can also call your brave soul to waken. I share with the hopes that maybe there is some part of yourself that is in need of truth telling, listening, or tenderness.
Today, I am fortified by the questions.
I’m grateful for friends who remind me that transformation never feels good as it is happening.
I’m grateful for my neighbors who show up at the park at the last minute.
I’m grateful for my husband, who is smart and funny as hell.
It’s only with the support of these things I can keep moving through the in between places with heart.
What lifts you up?