Dear Wonderful Reader,
The seasons have changed since last we spoke. No longer is my house boiling hot with my sarong tied around me, clinging to my body with rivulets of sweat running down. And yes, real clothes (outfits if you will) were forsaken long ago as my ability to leave my house dwindled to a tiny flame and was eventually snuffed out. More about that later. Now a cool sunny fall awaits us with promises of caramel apple cider and squash roasting in our ovens.
So many times I have wanted to write. To hit that delightful publish button sending my words out into the Universe. The words swirl about sometimes taking form and meaning, other times they flit about teasing and tempting me.
August 9, 2015.
The day that will live in infamy. Sigh…
A slight exaggeration on my part. Isn’t that such a lovely word? Infamy. Rolls of the tongue quite nicely.
August 9th is otherwise known as the last day I hit publish.
So many twists and turns in my story. Where do I even begin? With what words do I bring you up to speed?
For now we will stick with the simple version. I have been walking a rocky road. Treachery. Trauma. Old Wounds. New Wounds. Fatigue. Healing. All mark the path I continue to walk.
What I have learned thus far is this, it is my path and my path alone to walk. Yes, there are those who love and support me along the way. Try as they might, they can never fully understand. I see the pain and confusion in their eyes. The independent side of me often feels a burden, a task they are given to handle. Words of love and encouragement flow towards me, wrapping themselves around my soul like a warm heavy blanket on a cold winter’s night. Feeling their love and knowing that I am not truly alone, yet caught in this in between space of loneliness, I find the strength to grieve. To grieve for the life I thought was within grasp, only to discover, it slipping away despite how hard I fought.
Me, myself, and I are the only ones who can truly walk in my shoes. Who can feel what I feel. It is at times lonely. There are days where I find myself lost in my own head, struggling to free myself once again. The words of a very wise and strong woman echo in my head, “Embrace your intuitive self.”
That, Dear Wonderful Reader, is what I intend to do. I grow tired of being shushed by others. My intuitive self says, “To hell with them. This is your truth. Your story to tell. Tell it, however, you damn well please.”
I was once a girl who did this. Somehow I grew into a woman who stopped listening to her intuitive self. Whether it was because I was scared, influenced or controlled to stay silent, whatever the reason, along the way I forgot. I failed to embrace my intuitive self. That is my mistake to own and own it I shall. By taking the smallest steps, my intuitive self is beginning to shine forth. A strength I forgot about now grows within me. Like the woman in, Awakening, the power I denied myself for so long is beginning to crackle and roar, burning brighter each day.
There are tons of things I want to write and blog about it. Life and my brain have other ideas at the moment. I hope to share many stories in the time to come. First I must learn to heal and embrace my intuitive self.
I have not forgotten about you. Whether you read every post or not, I cherish all of you who have hopped aboard this crazy wild ride that is anything but perfect. This blog was born so I could heal after my divorce. To place all the confused conflicting thoughts in a space other than my head. The purpose of healing still exists, although for a slightly different reason. Every time I am able to conjure clear thoughts, weaving them into a written tapestry, my soul sings with purpose. Writing is my art. What I create with words comes from deep within. Crafted by the magical link between mind and soul.
For now I will share this part of my story.
Food stamps. Medicaid. Never in my life did I think I would pray to qualify. Seriously, I should be homeless right now. Without the support of loving, kind, compassionate people in my life that is exactly where I would be. This is my truth.
I share my thoughts and struggles because we all have them. It is what makes us human. My hope is that by sharing them, others will not feel so alone. Although, we may not share the same struggle, hope is found in knowing someone beside you is struggling as well, and willing to talk about it. This is my why.
Strength and Love,
P.S. Thank you for helping me write my story.