it’s been an interesting week. lots of waiting. waiting for baby (not here). waiting for deliveries(not even shipped). waiting for news ( i don’t really want to hear) and phone calls ( that are really hard to hear when your phone is on do not distrub :(. ) lol.
of course, this is really nothing to complain about but i realize how d**n impatient i am these days. i want things to happen faster than an instant and with very little inconvenience to me. this tends make one (aka me) act like an a**h**e for lack of a better word and that is my struggle…maybe it is a human struggle. it could hormones or it could just be that i am a jerk.
i dunno. i realize that on the internet (and maybein real life) it’s fairly easy to pretend you have it all together. i am not on who thrives on revealing her deepest secrets and fears to strangers…but let’s be real. i am not perfect. this time has been hard. loss and uncertainty peeling my ears and hearts wide open. so, i am recovering and recovering feels like and endless job. i am impatient with myself and my limits. this is not something that needs to be fixed or pity…it’s just life.
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“Time wrecks you and heals you.
My life was broken,
But my heart isn’t.”
i feel like all i do is complain on here but i am not complaining. we have been programed to kill off any sign of discomfort in yourself and others rather than allow. so it feels like i am sad little song but i don’t actually feel sad. i don’t know how to write fluffy human interest stories about myself and life. i want to be that person because i imagine it easier and less gut-wrenching but that is not the writing i need to offer to myself and the world these days, if ever.
my writing is the one place that i have always allowed my heart to show up raggedly and broken. the one place where i am not overly sanitized and free. the one place that i have not tried to continually patch myself up but let myself become.
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“perhaps the secret of living well is not in having all the answers but in pursuing unanswerable questions in good company.”
for me, writing is not therapy but it is therapeutic. i am well aware that when i turn a corner i might not write on this blog for ages or erase it all together but for now it stands…my little gathering place for the real and the wondrous.
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“if you are not enough for yourself. you will never be enough for anyone else.”
i hope that you have that place, too. a place in the privacy of your home, mind or some sanctuary where you can drop your defense and armor. a space where the balm of being reminds you of your sweetness and possibility…even if it feels like a long shot…you are held…you are still part of something beautiful…you are beauty and mess…we all are…it’s OK.