آرام جانم

Reading back on some of my posts, and I am overwhelmed with the fact that I have made great strides and am making great strides. I have overcome so much. I found a home within myself. I learned to love myself. I learned to care for myself. I learned softness. I am still learning but wow I have come such a long way 🥰☀️♥️🥰☀️♥️🥰☀️♥️🥰☀️♥️

Jan 15, 2024: ILY

I do find my thoughts go back to you at times - deep down I hope you did not deceive me and I do believe that to be true most of the time..when I don’t let my thoughts spiral. But, thinking of it that way and remembering the kind of person I made you out to be...makes me wonder if you ever feel guilt or sadness. That makes me sad. I just can’t bring myself to hate you and I don’t want you to be feeling in any negative way. If anything, I hope my last text to you brought you closure (it didn’t for me). But if not, then here I am right now sending you a billion thoughts letting you know I’m okay and it’s okay. It’s okay. I hope you’re doing that soul work you told me about. I hope you’re good.

The path ahead remained clear for some time and I continued to walk forward with increasing confidence. My chin, at first apprehensive and hugging my chest, now floating freely with each step. My steps become wider and my thoughts are greedy. My feet advance, one after another, until they are stopped by construction ahead. “TAKE A STEP BACK.” The sudden change of pace and aggressive command cause me to stumble backwards. More than one step. My feet scramble to catch themselves before falling onto the ground. Here, I lie. Waiting. Waiting for…? There is no one here. This is the waiting room for me to show up for myself. At first, I laid in an awkward position from the pain. Did I step all the way back into the womb? Gradually, the pain softens and I release the tension from my body. One limb after another relaxes. A starfish laying on the rocky road. Eventually even the ground beneath me softens and suddenly I am under the sea. The rough waves are muted by softer waves. I have not moved, but I have made strides in my mind. Am I ready? As I gather myself in a standing position, my body reminds me that it is stiff. It is tired. But it feels ready. I’m ready! I find myself on a mountaintop. The wind rushes through my bones and I feel light as air. My first step forward feels ambitious. Without strategy, I leap toward another mountaintop, only to fall into the gap between. Again, I collapse onto the ground. This time, feeling more pain. I deceived myself. But that air in my bones was not deceiving. It was a reminder of life. I am ready to continue, despite the pain. I am ready to continue, but I must pace myself. I am ready to continue, safely. I have been here before. I gather my limbs and collect my bones to stand again. Mountains still surround me, but I am no longer on the highest one. I see the nearest mountaintop and smile at it. I want to be there, but I am not ready. And that is okay. Here, on this mountaintop of mine, I will find my peace. Only then will I be ready to be there. I sit down, criss-crossed. My spine is tall, connecting with the sky. Eyes closed, feeling inward. I am healing. I feel a comforting rumble beneath me between my breaths. Soon, I open my eyes and notice that I have moved closer to that mountaintop. Now, there is no need to jump. I stand up again, and gently take a step over. I am here. I look around to see many mountaintops, each a moment of time for when I am ready. It will be easy to get to those places if I honor the process. I will appreciate each moment and recognize when my body is ready for the next. And if I fall, well, falling is something I have done before. The process will be familiar and I will make it. 

let me be gentle

gentle. gentle decisions. gentle patience. gentle anger. gentle thoughts. i want to be gentle. i carry with me sandpaper to file down the rough edges that grow endlessly around me. let the gentle be. let the gentle come

should i come with a warning sign: stay away, emotional wreckage stored here