The trees have shown beauty and strength, and are getting tired of their leaves. I’ve been wandering, looking, searching, discovering - who am I and what am I about? What do I stand for? Who will I become after my reinvention is complete? How will I keep her alive?
Gravity was the heaviest it had ever been, and my stomach was glued to the floor. There was no final conversation, no sad goodbye, no gave-it-our-best-shot chat, no mutual agreement to part and move on, no arrangements made, no inkling whatsoever.
He bought his innocence off my guilt. How do I effectively share my perspective without being judged? Can I hold credibility for speaking what was true for me, in the face of the bullshit version of his that he was early to release? Tough dilemma.
I did learn that the brain will default to what it already knows how to do, especially old negative patterns- none of which I'd like to continue repeating. Certainly not the response I had during that fight or flight moment when my fiancé coldly said "I'm done," after I didn't apologize to him.
When you're a mega-doer, there's so much focus on meeting deadlines, accomplishment and results. How could there be any room for self-compassion in a whirlwind way of living?
Because of the promises I made myself, myself, not you. That I would be the best version of myself, give every bit of energy and effort I had, like my toughest workout, an important gift, and a letter of gratitude. Give, so I could say that I didn’t have any more left. You can’t say that.
Certainly, you reminded them that I was the unstable one, the unhinged woman who should have been perfectly hinged after you coldly withdrew yourself in a blink. You were the victim, as you always have been, I’m simply another woman who wronged you..
Funny, I chose a profession that kept me from sharing my personal voice, being seen, or even noticed at all. I chose a field that for the most part, the external world chiefly recognizes the wins, and not the process behind them. The patterns in our lives run deep.
Words have power on a page, in a melody, accompanied by instruments. More powerful and sharper than when they come out of the mouth. They cut, burn, soothe and caress.
The new pieces will be in their place, and everyone will be distracted by their newness, their shininess. Why is it so difficult to let them go, they're dead anyway.
rachel2point0 
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