Child. Rebel. Saint. Liar. Crazy. Kind. I’ve been a lot of things over the course of my life. Each part makes up the sum of who I am today. Though I strive for self-acceptance because I feel like that’s a huge chunk of self love, I don’t always like who I’ve become. It just seems like I’ve gotten so far away from who I was.
Most days are sunny and bright and so obviously full of love and beautiful moments and divine synchronicities, but this isn’t about most days… There are days I have to try hard just to like myself and there are many moments that I don’t quite succeed. I keep wanting to be who I was when I was free and unfettered. I want to be who I was before I had to put together a shattered heart. I used to be fun. I used to be wide open. I used to be love embodied. But now I have these not-so-hidden scars and lingering ghosts and a suitcase full of detritus. I know intellectually that it’s that clinging that inhibits me from finding who I am now. It kind of seems like I’m a whole new person. But my heart wishes that silver linings were still crystal clear and the rose colored spectacles often call my name from the back of a drawer where I keep my forgotten things. I’m far from bitter, but not quite clean of life’s messy stains. On those struggling days it feels like a war between my anxious mind and optimistic heart; as if the idealism won’t quite be swept away, but obtrusive dank reality has moved right in and set up its shit everywhere.
I’m a true Leo through and through – definitely a maker. “They” tell me I need to share, to create, to be heard in order to be happy. But I don’t write the way I used to. Even the uplifting pieces all seem to have the gray pallor of a subtle sadness. And I don’t dance the way I used to. There’s no time. No time for fun. No time for freedom. Even surrounded by love and laughs I feel a not-so-distant yearning in every step and every move feels contrived and calculated. No creation = no exhale. Breathing is the root of thriving. Someone pretty smart said something like that once… clearly the lesson didn’t stick. That’s the trouble with epiphanies, sometimes they just don’t have the staying power of scars. In a perfect world all wisdom would be painlessly won through epiphanies, but we aren’t perfection and we as people have aligned world wisdom with painful lessons.
So what’s the fix? It’s much easier said than done to accept where you are in any given moment and to always treat yourself with compassion. I know that’s where the magic happens. I know doing isn’t the same as making. I know that transformation is a necessary and beautiful thing. But here I am, just trying to remember to breathe. Trying to learn how to move these old limbs in new, meaningful ways. Trying to learn how to arrange these old words in the new ways that stir my soul.
I’m not really one for resolutions, but if I had to make one it would be to stop doing an imitation of the girl I was and to fully discover and embrace the woman I am now.