Tag: healing

Soul Talk.

Three years ago.

I’ve always liked to write, especially around my birthdays.

Usually whatever age I turned, I’d write a list of lessons with that number or a list of things I was grateful for.

This year, I didn’t write anything until now because my mind wasn’t in a healthy place.

However, the theme was different – it was 28 truths instead.

I had to really sit down and dig deep for this one. It was truths that I didn’t want to address, but had to in order to change my own narrative.

Some can be changed with simply working towards different, others are going to be more emotional in nature and require forgiveness, healing, and a changing of mindset.

But writing out my truths show me that I’m not done. I’m not stuck. I am capable of changing my life – one truth at a time.

Next, I wrote 28 things that I want to let go of and they all seemed to be false ideas that I’ve been carrying around – about myself and my capabilities.

I’ve always thought of the ocean as a vessel for pain and trauma and grief, but also healing and recharging.

It’s like the ocean holds for you what you need to let go of, so you can be free like the salt water is.

So, I folded up my 28 statements of letting go and dropped them in the salt water and the ocean swallowed them up for me.

Obviously, it’s not as easy as soggy wet printer paper.

But I have intention now.

I’m ready to do the soul work necessary to get to the next level and chapter of my life.

–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.

Just one ticket? Yes, just one.

So, I’m taking the time to date myself.

To court myself.

To become my own best friend.

Again.

To re-learn the song of my own heartbeat.

The hooks, the verses, the chorus, and even the background vocals.

Somewhere along the way – I forgot. I forgot that this was a forever job.

That the song of my heartbeat was and always had been the soundtrack of my summer.

Every season after that.

And of my life.

I’m humming it now and I don’t have to share my popcorn with anyone.

–S.

A Glass Castle.

Terrifying.

That’s the word that comes to mind when I think of telling someone my deepest insecurities. You’re basically giving someone the power to turn your heart into ground hamburger meat. Although terrifying, you feel such freedom having spoken those insecurities out loud – as if you have given them over to someone else to care of for a while.

You’re somehow lighter.

So, I tell you.

I tell you and I close my eyes really tight and no explosions go off around me. The world doesn’t collapse in on itself. Volcanoes don’t erupt. Streets don’t cave into sink holes.

Everything is still okay. You look at me the way you always have. Nothing seems to have changed.

I’ve lightened my load – unzipped the backpack on my back entitled ‘childhood traumas, bullshit I deem necessary to carry, and emotional baggage’ taken out a few items and handed them over to you.

Nothing seems to have changed, but really – everything has changed.

How could it not have changed?

Not only do you have the power to break my heart, but you have the power to break me.

But I trusted you with that power, A.

I really thought you would never use it. Never wield it against me.

But you do.

And if I could sum up in four words how it made me feel – I would say,

it

blew

me

away.

Into another universe. Completely obliterated me –

blew

me

the

fuck

away.

But if you wanted to know a more detailed explanation of how it devastated me –

I would tell you to imagine a glass castle.

A castle where everything is entirely made of glass.

Mirrors line the glass walls in every glass room.

The day you wielded my deepest insecurities against me like a sword,

all the glass and all the mirrors shattered at the same time.

I imagine you snapping your fingers once and the castle is in shards at my bloody feet.

–

It took me a long time to find the words to say how you hurt me, how you devastated me.

To this day, I still don’t understand why you picked up that sword.

Do you know that it is impossible to rebuild a glass castle from nothing but piles of glass shards?

You have no choice, but to build yourself back up, but stronger.

–

I don’t wish you great pain like the pain you have shown me. I simply wish you whatever the Universe feels you deserve in this life. Whether that is great pain or great joy – is none of my business.

–

You should at the very least prepare yourself for emotional sword-wielding monsters.

Because the Universe’s cousin – Karma, is a motherfucker.

–S.

Nothing Mattered.

I want you to know that the nights we spent with outfits too short for our own good, dried up alcohol on our bodies from random strangers stumbling around the bar, sweaty hair, and cigarette smelling clothes are nights that I will never forget.

On those nights – we owned the town.

Two girls holding hands walking barefoot with their heels in their hands starting up at the skyscrapers of the city.

The whole city was lit up with neon signs, the moon, and the stars.

Nothing mattered on those nights.

Not whose heart was broken.

Not what college paper was waiting to be written.

Not what family or friend drama was developing.

Not that there was a work shift coming in the morning.

–S.

You.

There’s only one you. I could never find you anywhere else in anyone else – because there is only one you.


————————-

That’s the magic. That’s the light.

————————-

They might laugh at my jokes like you do and like a lot of the songs you do and enjoy a tall, dark, and handsome man like you do, but they could NEVER do it like you.

Any of it.

Simply because there will never be another you.

That’s all there is to it and all there will ever be.

You.

You.

You.

–S.