Changing the Story of Her

Some words are harder to say than others. I had a moment last night where I had so much sitting on my heart that I had to address it. It was too personal for social media, but it had to be said. I tried to figure out a way to say it clearly and intentionally so it never had to be said again, but the truth is that is not possible.

So here’s the truth: I am really bad at endings. I do not know how to allow people to leave my life without numbing every emotion I ever associated with them. That being said, I though of every man I have ever been involved with, relationship wise, and I gave them a word. Desire. Romance. Sex. Provision. And I see that “the word” is what the relationship revolved around. And all of the emotions I associate with those words are the ones I locked away when those relationships were over. I told myself I didn’t need them. I told myself I would look for something different next time. But what I realized….well wait. I have known for some time now that I was closed off to love and intimacy. I couldn’t figure out how to open, though. Now, however, I realize that in order to open it would mean opening myself to all the things I’ve locked away. Looking at it. Forgiving it. And accepting it as a part of me that I do, in fact, want and need.

Where has it all gone? I told J last night that I have made my body the Room of Requirement; “It is a room that a person can only enter when they have real need of it. Sometimes it is there, and sometimes it is not, but when it appears, it is always equipped for the seeker’s needs.” And it is as if I told my body, I need you to be bigger, stretch to fit the secrets of 2011, 2012, and 2013. Expand to hold my trusting heart, my self-compassion, and my judgment. That has been the hardest. Because as I’ve locked things away, I have lost touch with my body. It’s unrecognizable to me even with my eyes closed. I feel with my body. I hear with it and see with it. Can you imagine losing all of your senses? That is what it feels like for me right now. I am completely numb.

I know what I need to do. I need to look at it. At church yesterday, the Pastor said “do not despise the start.” This right now is not forever. But if I want it to change, I need to step out on faith trusting that I will be more than okay having done so. What I think I lost, and what may be all those other things in different outfits is the ability to trust myself. I feel that I have allowed myself to suffer unimaginable heartbreaks. I allowed violations that somehow could have been prevented. I caused myself distress by not listening. Ignoring my intuition.

I read a story about a psychic once and she said that everybody had psychic abilities, it’s just that most people don’t listen. But the more you listen, the more psychic you become. And perhaps there is something to that as well. It can be very exhausting to be such a sensory being that I often silently wish to be “normal,” when really I am anything but. Perhaps I need to come to accept that as well. The things that were and always will remain. And the things that are.

20131111-081610.jpgThis all started with a photo of a woman. A woman who looked so cool, free, sexy, confident, dynamic yet still at the same time. I saw her and I wanted to be her. Not physically, though she was very beautiful too. I wanted to feel the things I felt looking at her. I wanted to feel cool, free, sexy, confident, dynamic and at peace. At the same time. And what began as a simple longing was the pulling of a single thread which undid an entire sweater.

I can’t change the past. It happened. I cannot pretend, try as I might, that it did not happen. It did. I was an active participant in many things that would later cause me enormous amounts of pain and discomfort. Yet, I will live. I am living. I have survived it, and I cannot keep telling myself the pain story. I have to give myself another experience, one that I can be at peace with. One that will not cause me to eat until regret and then cry of shame. One that will not causes me to never pick up my phone, unless to check the time. One that will allow me to speak freely from a place of knowing resolution rather than cynical avoidance.

When I meet Me on the street I want to love what I see. I want her to laugh with her head thrown back, a little too loudly for most people’s tastes. I want her to speak her mind without rehearsing it in her mind a thousand times. I want her to sing. To dance. To love wildly and passionately without fear of destruction. I want her to wear her story proudly like her favorite jeans snug to her body complimenting her frame and not hiding any parts; it shall not be a fairy tale in any sense. She is not a princess, she is a woman, beautifully flawed and unbroken. She is Grace and Joy, she makes no excuses for who she is, and asks that I do the same. She looks at hurt as a testimony to her resilience. She looks at every ending as a new opportunity, and is excited by the possibilities. She is everything. And when I meet her, I will love her immediately.

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