One of my longest setbacks had to do with my starting to write again. After my mother passed away, all creative sources in me welled up and died along with her. I did the same routine day in and day out (hating it all the while), but that’s all I could do because I felt so lost. In time, I became used to this, hating my life but to comfortable in it to stop it. I figured I would wake up one day and my life would be in alignment and things would be okay all I had to do was sit there and wait.
So, I did. I gained weight, became more angry and miserable in my day to day living. I decided that I need to take my life back but how? How do I reclaim something that has evaded me for so long, what if I couldn't, what if I was too old (I'm 25)?
Yea, right. Excuses, excuses...I really should make that my middle name.
That's when I decided to take my life back and soon, I could feel my creativity energy soaring back. I could write again not at the valor that I used too but I’m working on it. Dancing felt seamless, my body connecting more to the movement and the music and less self conscious, everything seemed new and fresh again. I realized then how not having creativity in my life changed me, I was stunting my growth and slowly draining all the color from my life. When I forgave myself and allowed myself to be happy, I felt free and open to all my blocks and they finally began to crumble and I could breathe again.
Which is when I entered my catch 22.
With the walls coming down, though came all the pent up emotions surrounding my mother’s death. Stuff that I didn’t even know existed; my mind was cluttered with thoughts of her, of guilt and anger. I felt them so strongly and at first it was disarming because I thought I handled so much of this.
Yesterday, I was triggered at work. My bosses' wife is battling cancer and she is being taken off a brand of chemotherapy because she isn't responding the way they all hoped. She is also a second mother to me. So, she came downstairs to work on something and I asked her how she was doing and she turned to me and started to cry. "I'm just sick of tired of being sick and tired," she said.
She reminded me so much of my mother then. I could feel it all rushing back, that helpless feeling. Of wanting to help but knowing that I can't, not the way that I want too. So I end up crying because all these feelings well up inside me and I can't bottle them up, anymore.
Yet, initially, I wanted to stuff all those feelings back down and go back to what was comfortable and familiar but I knew better. Hiding from it won't help matters any.
I have to handle this now or else I’ll keep drowning from the inside out. I have to learn to sit in my pain long enough to handle it and not be ashamed of my vulnerability. That being vulnerable isn't a sign of weakness but the opposite. That, just being is really okay, being present in this feeling and not feeling that I have to hide it anymore.
That I can find comfort in being still.
In being myself, finally.
And that I feel strong enough to share it all with you.