Tag: fear

for you. for me.

On By blshLeave a comment

There are still so many ways in which I need to be more gentle and honest with myself. As much as I want to be better, to do better, to feel better, I still seek out things I know will hurt me. I’m guilty of buying into the lie that it’s easier confirm my own pain and trauma than to challenge it. This, of course, is an illusion. There is nothing easy about living in a loop of what’s damaged you and broken your trust, your spirit. But there is also nothing easy about breaking out of that loop. 

When we do confront our pain, the most common and intrusive thought is: what if we we’re not strong enough to fight it? But if we let fear paralyze us and we don’t get to the root of it, pain just grows deeper, winding vines around your veins and twisting knots into your stomach. When a wound roots inside of you it radiates out, finding its way into every little thing you do. It becomes a constant hum in the background. You almost forget it’s there—almost. I forgot it, until you ran your fingertips across my skin. Instead of feeling you, wonderful, glowing, magical you, I felt the hands of everyone who has carved out a piece of me and left.

Then again, what if we are strong enough? Let’s say we succeed in facing what digs at us. We embrace it, accept it and release it. We make room for the good things. We even get some of the good things. What if we do all of that only to relapse back into a behavior, a pattern, a place where all of the hurt comes hurdling back at us? The truth is, it might. This is always a possibility because healing isn’t linear. Going backwards isn’t a sign of failure. It’s temporary, and sometimes weirdly enough, it’s necessary.

Pain of all kinds has been on our minds lately. The pain of trauma, violation, violence, betrayal, powerlessness is all exacerbated by isolation. That is why I’m writing this post tonight. It isn’t long. It isn’t special. It’s not super enlightening. It’s definitely not my most poetic work. I just need you to know right now—especially now—that you are not alone, that I love you. I am willing to face your pain with you, and while I face mine, I hope you are with me. I need you with me. I want you with me. These are words you need to hear right now. These are words I need to hear right now. 

I love you, I love you, I love you.

And I am sorry that so many things are broken. But I believe in you and I believe in me.

And of all these broken things, you and I are not one of them. ❤️

this is how it starts.

On By blsh1 Comment

I believe the first step to healing is an oxymoron. The first step is to realize, then accept, that you are not broken. But if you’re not broken, why would you need to heal?

We all carry pain within us, and we all, as unfortunate as it is, dole out this pain to others. I hate to admit this is normal. But would any of you say you disagree with the previous statement? So, good news! You are not broken at all. You are simply living and as a result, you are a product of a wold that thrives off of your fears and anxieties.

But it also thrives off of your love. So what would happen if we decided to confront those fears and anxieties and learn to only feed the world through our love, our positivity, our hope, our gratitude? Easier said than done, I know. That’s why I am here today, advocating small steps. This is how it starts.

I am doing it right now.

Despite having been a writer since the age of five (I authored my first book in kindergarten titled, “Cookies! Cookies! Cookies!” with illustrations drawn by my lovely mother.), and earning a bachelors degree in the subject, I barely write at all. And if I do, it’s certainly not for the world to see. In fact, for those of you who know me personally, I’m willing to bet the word “writer” isn’t even one of top 10 descriptors that comes to mind when asked to characterize me. Why?

Because I am a writer, and I am afraid.

To write is to let you in–to let you all in. To write is to put myself out there in the most rawest, real way I know how to. If I have ever loved you in any way then know I have probably written you a letter, that I probably never sent. To write opens me up to your judgment, your criticism, your entertainment.

But it also connects me to you, to your feedback, to your questions, to your encouragement. And most importantly, writing connects me to my healing, which has been a huge subject in my life for the past four months specifically.

I’ve been ruled by what others thought of me my entire life. While much of that has been combatted through self-love and increased self-esteem, it’s still a fight. I’m still very much ruled by this obsession to be well-liked. To the point where when I was being treated cruelly or unfairly, I stayed quiet. Anger and conflict were things I could not see as being productive or healing. But through anger, I’ve learned more about myself than ever, and very seldom does anger have anything to do with the person we’re actually directing it at. It’s a collection, a mosaic of emotions stemming from so many experiences in life that have left us wounded and wandering, wondering who’s going to bandage us up, and feeling hurt and betrayed when we find out that a person cannot (no one can) do this healing for us. With refusal to heal comes refusal to release. Refusal to release keeps us all in the same destructive patterns, feeding our anxiety, fear and pain.

I am writing today to tell you to release it.

I release the fear that I allowed to follow me whenever I claimed to be a writer. I release the anxiety that accompanies my thoughts concerning what others think of me. I release the resistance I’ve carried my whole life towards feeling anger. Anger is one step closer to forgiving; if not them then at least, but also at most, yourself.

I cannot tell you for sure what this blog will be about. Some subjects will likely be travel, poetry, tarot, astrology, and love. I am an expert in none but passionate about all.

It will not always be pretty, but it will be here if you’d like to read it. All I know is I have to write it.