Tag: growth

Breaking Open.

Writing about 2018 and going into 2019.

There are some years that break your heart.

Then there are years that break your heart open.

This year broke my heart open.

Sometimes you love someone who doesn’t love you back. Sometimes you never receive the apology you think you deserve. Sometimes you wake up and life chews you up and spits you out before you even get to start your breakfast taco.

Sometimes a person you trusted, disappoints you or burns the bridge of trust. Sometimes you don’t get picked. Sometimes the thank you never comes. Sometimes you get overlooked. Sometimes pain you thought you got over or you buried bubbles to the surface. These things you buried, they took root and grew – into things you maybe weren’t exactly ready for. And you face them.

You don’t get to know.

You don’t get to know the whys or the whens. So, you make your way through the only way you know how, graceful some-days and like a train-wreck on the other days. You live your way through it. You grow your way through it.

So, I stand away.

Better than I was before, I think.

Despite all of the things I thought unimaginable and hard to get through.

I don’t know the whos or the whats or the hows or whens or whys of 2019. But it’s coming anyway. We’re never really ready for it, are we? As much as we plan and wish and hope and dream and fantasize – life never turns out how you think it will.

–S.

50 Shades of Me.

I’m not wearing pants. I have lacy panties on sporting holes on both sides because I’m anything but careful. Always getting dressed in a rush or running late.

My hair is greasy and lays in a fallen bun on the side of my head, not even the top, and my face needs to be washed.

I’m wearing a crop top yellow Wu-Tang shirt that is flecked with oil from the pesto pasta I ate earlier and no bra.

I am anything but flawless.

Which is why I have been avoiding writing a list of things I love about myself all week. I just figured that I wouldn’t have much to say, but I’m doing it as a practice of self-love.

I assume I’ll have ten nice things to say. I can manage ten.

I imagine myself opening the Word document and staring at the flashing cursor as I struggle to think of likeable qualities, I can’t even touch any loveable ones. I imagine feeling embarrassed as ten and twenty and thirty minutes pass and I’ll blank by five likeable qualities.

But I surprise myself. The loveable qualities pour out of me, until I’m up to fifty. I keep thinking, okay, that’s probably it. But then there’s another, and another, and I don’t even touch the likeable ones.

Because I’m focused on the loveable.

Focused on the love.

Focused on the self.

Focused on me.

–S.