March 9, 2016
I lost me. Somewhere between falling madly in love with the bodybuilding, redneck of my dreams and becoming bunny-killing crazy on my bishop’s son. But not like my current bishop’s son because he’s like 8, y’all and that would be weird. But somewhere during this 8-year time period, I totally lost my shit. Sometimes actually behaving psychotic but mostly, I no longer could account for the ME that people thought they knew.
I have this really crazy ability to be immensely grateful for the hundreds of beautiful people and terrific opportunities in my life while simultaneously wanting to crawl into the nearest bush and have a horrifically, ugly cry because of my real and perceived losses. It’s a talent, people. But remember that part where I wanted to create this space? The safe spot after the ground drops out from under your feet but before you become master of mind and body with properly aligned chakras? So anyway, still here. Still in the middle. And that’s why I started journaling, so maybe I could recognize when I was no longer at rock bottom…not even rock bottom, like smashed face first under the rock, eye to eye with earwigs and potato bugs. My wiser and much older sister, told me that detailing the really raw times, would help me better recognize when I was no longer at the base of the mountain, but closer to the middle. But I also want to give permission for people like me, to have a place to exist when we’re not better yet.
Today, much like many other mornings, a good friend stops by my office to deliver a Skinny, NF, SF, Starbucks vanilla latte (I’m in RECOVERY not RECOVERED, people). This friend, who has brought so much more than caffeine into my life, makes a statement that sets me back. He observes that the ME he’s known for 9 years, is starting to peer out from behind the monumentally high wall every now and again. And I’m stupidly surprised that others have noticed what I already know; that the laid back, trusting, optimistic, and all around awesome ME, has laid dormant for entirely too long. She’s grown timid and nervous and unsure; nay not merely unsure, scared shitless.
Because if SHE, all sunshine and good vibes, attracted those crazy bastards, then she has no place in the reconstructing of future ME.
But let’s jump back a few scrambled sentences ago to the part where I acknowledge “hundreds of beautiful people”. That totally true statement means that I am actually attracting some totally dope people as well. And maybe it’s time that I acknowledge the truth and perfection in life’s process. I need to recognize that every perfectly, flawed experience is just that; perfect. It’s all part of becoming. Becoming the friends, mothers, spouses, etc that we are supposed to be. And acknowledging that I need each of these people in my life to shine light on my dark places; the ones that are dark because I want them to be hidden but also the ones that are dark because I didn’t know they were there. And that’s what this middle part is about. Acknowledging and embracing the suckiness; the perfectly placed suckiness.