Nothing to see here.

I think because I can see the glimmers now, it’s been easier for me to share the ugly stuff here. I can see where I’ve really done the work. Even though there is always work to be done. I have never been good at putting my feelings on the shelf, stuffing them down, not dealing. I think I’ve also learned that I’m kind of a lot of person. I refuse to shrink ever again. I’m not comfortable being small, it doesn’t spark joy. I have really big dreams and enjoy the baby steps to get there. Life is for living. My parents were integral for instilling confidence and a “you can do anything you set your mind to” spirit. I don’t know another way. It’s why I’ve always been the best employee and promoted first, despite having no concept of time. Whoops. I moved to Hawaii when I was 21 with very little plans on that one. I’m the family member that spearheads holiday get togethers. I’m always sitting on a board of directors helping keep things in forward motion. I just taught myself how to make freaking sour dough bread. I needed a little challenge. Shout out to everyone making sourdough bread, it feels like a sisterhood 🙂 I may also have to give some credit to ADHD. Hah!

I’ve got notebooks full of pages of dark. While I was sitting thick in it. I think those are just as important to share, as are the instances of progress. That’s kind of the theme here, isn’t it? You can sit in the dark and also pull yourself into the dawn. As many times as it takes but each time, adding a tool to your kit. Once in a while, things still get heavy and I put feelings in a container so that I can do whatever productive thing I need to do. I feel the container getting full and then I know, it’s time to pour it out. We do not pretend it’s not there or put it in a bigger container. We take the lid off and give ourselves grace. Sit with it and then sort through it. Everyone’s containers look different. Everything in my head runs like a movie. When I picture the container of feelings, mine is in a translucent rectangular box with a lid that clicks shut. It sits next to other containers, mostly empty but some just a quarter of the way full. You know the cup of water you use, when you’re cleaning off your brush as you paint? That’s what is in my container. Greyish brownish water. I can feel when the water rises, so I’ll look to the container and see it’s ready. In the room full of containers there is a wall. A pegboard spans the wall. Tools hang there until I need to grab one. Tools like, crying, breathwork, tapping, taking a nap, going to get a Diet DP, journal prompts, naming what I feel and where I feel it in my body, smelling something I like, snuggling the pups, looking for a glimmer, sitting in the sun, repeating an affirmation, the tools are never ending. I’m always adding to them. They aren’t one size fits all.

Again, I had another post queued up ready to publish and then I picked up a journal and opened to a page that really paints a picture of where my head was. It’s weird to read it in the present tense that I wrote it in. I still identify as her, but I’m not sitting in the trenches like she was.

And here is where we tie the sunshine and the darkness together.

It’s so strange how the road curves even though it looked straight a mile back. You find yourself tightening your seatbelt. Bracing. Bracing for the pull on your body. Or bracing for full impact. I know I’m not the only one to be here. I pray I won’t ever be again. Watching the metaphorical bruises show up, darken, and then start to fade. I’ve sat in the dark enough times to fill my lifetime. I hope. Maybe I’m just too good at sitting in it and there will be more. Life will continue to hand out hardships to humans. For the remainder of humanity. The numbness will rush through my body again I’m sure. I won’t recognize where I am. Who I am. The dark is thick and all consuming.

This feels so cliche, but it’s truth. I’ve lived through all my days. I’ll make it through this one too.

Love you, say it back.