Welcome Home Skin

I was told tattoos are abrasive, they are a definer of someone who is not valued in polite society, they are something that makes you stand out but not for the better. 

I told them that tattoos are a beautiful commitment, they are forever art applied to a forever changing canvas, they are the expression of creative tendencies dashed across my skin like a billboard for others to see. 

I was told that tattoos would prevent me from getting employed, that I would have to hide my skin from those it would potentially offend, that they are something that should be kept secret under clothing. 

I told them the I see no point in a tattoo unless I can see it regularly, that I spent good money on this art and I want to enjoy it, that where my clothing hits should not determine where my art begins. 

I was told that there is no reversing this, this ink is permanent, this decision will stick with you forever. 

And I am thankful for it, that was my intention and I am happy to hear I am getting what I paid for. 

I was told that tattoos are the branding of an outcast, they are a form of genocide when numbers are marked on a forearm, they have a dirty history that involves prostitutes and criminals. 

I recognize this but also see their development, I see them as evidence of a past life that was lived, they are a bold proclamation of what one identifies with, they are a simple judge of character applied to the outer layers of a skin casing, they are not what makes a person, but they can add to the illumination of their essence. 

I was told that tattoos will make me different in a way that is not commonly desired, they will brand me forever with the decisions I made when I was young and impulsive, they will forever remind me of my mistakes. 

I told them that I will listen to their opinions and ask them to politely shove their projections up their ass, and that they should be open to enjoying it, because they are wound too tight with their ideas of who society includes, that there is more ink hidden under clothing than most will admit, I am just bold enough to place it where I can see it, so that I don’t forget that it is a piece of me and something I am proud of. 

I was told that my artist could fuck it up, I could have a mistake on my skin forever, I could have to pay to have it removed one day, I will at one point regret what I have done. 

I told them that when I commit to something I do it fully, I don’t allow space for me to second guess my decisions because I know I am better than that, I know this is what I wanted, I thought about it, sketched it out, collaborated with another artist, and allowed a vision to be produced. Now I am committed, to forever love the skin that I am displaying, to forever embrace the decisions I am making, to forever realize that more change will always come, but this decision I made in my thirties will remind me of these moments forever. I will remember the times I felt so lost when staring into the night sky, searching the stars for answers that I couldn’t know existed yet, desperately looking for the person I am meant to become, straining my neck to see where I might be going from this place of rock bottom. The stars on my skin are prettier than the memories and the emotional struggle attached to them. I was so lost when I used to sit on the roof with headphones on, chain-smoking. I have come a long way from where I once was when I was gasping for a moment of solitude with the universe. They will also remind me of the times when I found comfort in the vast galaxies above my head, when I had a best friend laying beside me in the middle of the street or railroad tracks, risking our lives for a clear glimpse of what it feels like to be alive. Or the times when I was traveling and the stars connected me to the home and family I was missing, when I lived in other locations and found comfort in seeing the same canvas cast above my head. My skin will now remind me of that time in the Grampians, when we hiked in the dark for the most epic sky gazing I have ever experienced, and all of those intoxicated nights in Flagstaff that always ended on the field where the stars showed brightest, and the time when my sister and i first bonded and laid on the roof of Big Martha on the top of a hill taking in the stars of our small town and the emotions that we were afraid to express still. I don’t know the names of the constellations, and those details don’t seem as important as the experiences that I had when observing them, the names of things that don’t exist in my world don’t seem to matter so much when you finally feel grounded to the earth with an awe of a perspective. This skin will remind me of the strength it took to get to where I am now, of the power it took to remain grounded in what I need, the past versions of me that were brave enough to continue developing. They remind me when I was too timid to admit that I want to be covered in tattoos, I want my skin to be naked and painted, I want to celebrate this body that I am in with accents and artistic development. I now have the weight of the galaxy upon my shoulders, but I have never felt lighter than with this presence. I feel more connected with my skin than I ever did, now it is an expression of who I truly am, of a piece of me I will never forget, a true expression of where I was once at and currently am, a blending of history and the present. Welcome home to the body I am in. 

I Did This To Me Premenantly

Remember when I was timid? When there was no way that I would get this much ink across my skin? Remember when I was jealous, of the artwork that scrolled across other people’s chests? Now I have one to match. It’s like I went out and picked a permanent outfit. One that might disturb people with my appearance. I got glances yesterday that I was not anticipating. Now people are given a reason to stare at me and my chest. Now they have something to comment on, and I have something that emboldens me to respond with sass. I always wanted to be covered in tattoos since I was young, but I never admitted it. I just love the pretty artwork that is scrolled across bodies. I love being a canvas that someone got to experiment on. My skin is not permanent, my body has already taught me that. There is no preserving what I was born with, it will always be changing with the years lived. I have not ruined this canvas, I have only added to it in a way that makes me smile, when I allow myself to. The shock of the ink across my body is still something to get used to. There may be one day when I no longer love what I did, but it will remind me of the place that I was once in, of past versions of me, of things I pushed through to be this version of me. This tattoo makes me happy and I am doing it for me. I initiated this idea, I sketched it out, I communicated what I wanted, and I trusted someone else to accomplish it. This collaboration is beautiful and exactly what I was seeking in this moment. Remember that if I feel any regret. It will probably come along quietly, but I will be ready. I know that it is a shock to the system, and I fully committed to the most extreme of piece that I could dream of wanting, and when I dove into the pain I realized what I asked for. But that pain felt like a rite of passage that allowed me into the club that I always wanted to join but thought others wouldn’t accept me in. But this was not an effort to prove that. I proved that I fit with the tattoos a long time ago, I was just building up the courage to admit it. I am counter-culture and proud of the way my brain thinks. I am not displaying my brain power proudly. I am anti-tradition and like to think of myself as more open-minded. I am now proudly not labeled conservative. I can no longer hide behind the mask of what others project onto me. Now I project down the street with my individuality, my unique artwork, the only piece of this galaxy that was created like this in this world. It reminds me of the time when I was so lost that I would stare at the sky for hours, not searching, just existing. Star gazing was one of the acts I chose for me. I choose to do it consistently. I can remember stars from places around the world that I stopped to take in. It reminds me of the time when I was searching for myself, and the times when I found me. It evokes a sense of peace, a sense of me, a sense of being alive with the present when the needles hit my skin. I needed headphones off to stay in the moment, I didn’t want to feel disconnected from the rite of passage. I still own my body, the ink doesn’t own it. Now I have the freckles that I always wanted. I was obsessed with my natural tattoos as a kid, Now I have permanently accentuated them. They are now a part of the galaxy flow across my skin. I am branded with art and as an artist. I can say that I drew what is now on my skin and I am proud of the idea that formed. I love the way that the idea developed with the collaboration of another artist. I love that she encouraged me to hit the drawing board again for the next phase of our artwork. I found the artist that I was meant to work with. I did this. I chose this. I own this. I am a badass bitch. This ink doesn’t change anything about me, but it declares the thoughts and creativity that I have spinning in my brain constantly. I love what I have done to me. I am obsessed with looking in the mirror. I am obsessed with being me. I am the same person, just more authentically so. I feel like I can stop hiding. I gave people something to stare at proudly. Now they won’t be surprised when I speak. But this wasn’t for them, this was for me. This is what I wanted. I can be proud and own that. I can shine and be the center of attention. I can be authentically myself in this skin. 

YOU GOT THIS

FUCK. 

But also I’m grateful. 

FUCK. 

But also this situation isn’t that bad. 

FUCK. 

But also I am still getting a paycheck. 

FUCK TODAY. 

But it is already better than this time yesterday. 

I fucking lost my job. 

Then I was offered one back again with the same company and same pay. 

Then I was offered severance. 

Then I screamed FUCK when my video was off on the Zoom call. 

Then I started shaking, involuntarily, convulsing with emotions that were trying to get the better of me and my body. 

They succeeded. I vomited at 3, 4, and 6 AM. 

But I showered to change the temperature of my body after every one. 

I woke up sweaty on top of my bed versus in it. 

But I woke up. I made it through the night. 

Today I have more control to choose how I react. I have the space to do what I have to. This is a practice in choosing.

I can choose to be gentle with myself. 

Or I can choose to raise hell in my gut. 

I can choose to shut down. 

Or I can choose to take it a moment at a time.

I can feel into this. 

Or I can resort to old coping habits. 

I can choose to see this as a positive opportunity. 

Or I can choose to hate everything that’s happening. 

I can refuse to eat. 

Or I can tend to my body. 

I can utilize movement. 

Or I can provide my body rest. 

I can go on a long walk with my dog. 

I can allow myself more time to grieve what is gone. 

I am already reacting better than when this happened in the past. 

But I am still frustrated that this instability keeps happening. I can’t seem to stop it. But I think that’s the deal with life. 

I felt this change coming, I knew a long time ago that it will be needed. I just resisted listening to my own intuition for the sake of seeming comfortable. But maybe I was underachieving in the guise of doing better than before. 

I have been underestimated before, and I think I started to believe in that. That I always have to prove myself and work my way up at a new job. I thought I had to grind to get anywhere, to hustle to show that I am worthy, to work twice as hard to be something. 

I am already a force to be reckoned with. I am already capable and intelligent. I am better than I think I am. And I’ve got this. I’ve got a plan. This will all work out better in the end. This moment in life is serving a purpose that I may have outgrown at this point. I need to listen to myself again. I need to take control of the resources and skills I have. I need to look for new opportunities. 

This news was just unanticipated, it brought my body to it knees in panic, and that reaction is valid. This is triggering and nerve-wracking and a whole but of other words that people use mildly to describe the overwhelming emotions that are happening. I took the information in, I am processing. I cannot expect to do that on a deadline, and thankfully I don’t have to, because I still have money coming in to pay my rent. This isn’t as bad as it may seem, but it is jolting. It could be seen as motivating, it could be seen as new opportunity. The universe has a different plan for me. I have to embrace the change like I remind myself every day. This is healthy. These reactions are improving. I can do this once again and be thankful for the message. 

I now know what it is like to work on a team, to receive positive feedback, and to function in a large company. I learned that I thrive working remotely, and I like being able to travel when I please. I know that I am good at paying attention to details and conveying them in writing. I provide great feedback and notes that are valuable. I know that I am capable. I worked myself to be a top performer in less than two years. I can do this again, but maybe in field that resonates more. Or a job that pays more. I know I deserve better. And this was a step in that direction. Or a shove, depending on how I want to see it today. Yesterday FUCKING SUCKED. But today can be better. Or how I react is more within my control. I can draw boundaries now that I know the situation. I can do what I need to take care of myself. I can soak in the good weather. I can reach out to others for support. I can be confident that I have this. I just need to take the next step. I have a meeting this afternoon, and I have stats that can be gathered. I have worth to prove, or to show off to others and them to naturally value. I have good references once again. I can move on with my head held high. There is no timeline, but it is time. 

Thank you, friend, for the growth you’ve shown already. Thank you for pulling together the energy to be brave once again. Thank you for listening to your body and not ignoring the signals that you need to tend to. Thank you for being you. This isn’t your first rodeo in the business world, and it won’t be your last. But this is a chance. This is a window opening. This is a sign from a hummingbird that I should be listening to. I can go further than I think. I can do more than I give myself credit for. I am better off than I was before. I have grown so much and am poised to grow even more. I can feel it in my bones that this is a good reminder, this is a gentle push, this is the motivation I needed to look for something better and believe that I deserve it. 

Am I Listening?

I feel caught between two worlds, bipolars, black and white, the good and the fight. There is evil in all of us, and some sense of good, but that is not the pull that I am speaking of. There are two worlds where I exist. One to please others and one for myself. I never considered the split, or the fact that I had an option in influencing it, I thought this world once existed to serve others, not me, and that I was built to make other happy. I would see them on vacation, smiling and laughing as their days went by steadily, while I was trapped behind a six foot desk with doors that I had to lock behind me. I had no sense of what it was to be living. I arrived and simply made it through each day. But now I am listening to what I have to say, what my stomach is screaming, what my limbs are whispering, what my body is craving. I can see the difference between me and them, when I stop and my serve begins. I can say that I am not up for it, or I would rather do something else. I can admit that I am anxious and I need a moment to breathe and allow my mind to rest. I can pause when I need it, I can arrive early or late, I can be my own person and not wait for my life to begin when others have needs I am addressing. I can take value from actions other than care giving, there is a life that breathes for me. But the split is less obvious than I thought it was. I am confused about where I stand anymore. Am I a people pleaser and giver? Do I resonate the values of a Christian? Or do I bask in the glory of Satanism? Do I find stripping more empowering than speaking? What is my body trying to say for me? Where do I keep my wishes? And how can I listen to them when others are grabbing my attention? I stop to listen. I pause to breathe in. Listening is that simple. I noticed that lately I can smell better. I can take in sensory items with pleasure. I can pause to hear what my body needs. There is a window between living and listening, it just has to be cracked slightly at least. The whispers will enter my bedroom, they will tell me I am safe to feel something. I can pause and take in my internal surroundings, since I am always so focused on the external influences. I can do this. It’s little changes when a good friend visits, it’s taking control of what I need in any moment, It’s a lesson I am stilling learning. I am still trying to find the balance between the internal and external worlds, now that I have discovered that both exist. It seems to simple and yet it took me thirty years to realize it. 

I Have Plenty

I’m afraid of losing everything, but I constantly don’t feel that I have enough. What would I be willing to give up in order to make more in my life happen? What space needs opening? I own three computers and have one on loan. I have a home that I can pay for. I have a list of objects that fill my home and I have a TV that steals all of my attention. I have streaming services to entertain me at all hours. I have weed to smoke at any hour. I have eclectic design and resourceful tactics to make what I want happen. I have been able to take breaks and go on vacation. I worked to get a new job to pay for everything, including the food for my Golden Retriever. I have a figurative tree of plenty. I have the necessities, but I am always wanting more than what I have at any given moment.

What if I approached the concept with creativity and re saw what I have in front of me? 

I am living wealthy. I use the heat. I treat myself at bakeries. I buy weed every week. I drink coffee. I have forms of entertainment. I have crafting supplies and imagination. I have the resilience to live with what I have. I always felt broke, but maybe that is what my mother was telling me. Maybe we were rich. We had a home over our head and generational wealth to back it. We have white skin that gained us privilege. I have always had some source of income since I was a teenager. I have had enough to get by and then some. I have traveled the world and gone to many concerts. I have made it to every family holiday and trips to California. I have been able to move away from my home town, and away from my mother, allowing space for us to grow closer. I have always provided for my family when they needed, and they have always returned the favor. I feel like I am struggling, but maybe it is my imagination. I have never had to make compromises in the way I choose to live. I have put it all on credit. I have savings that I remind myself I can dip into. I am backed by the security that I will never end up homeless because family will be there to take me in. I have not known true desperation. I have friends. I have family. I have a dog who loves me deeply. I have to remind myself of these things. The TV will tell me that I do not have enough, that I have to earn more so I can buy the home I always wanted. I have to have the income to make my dreams happen, when the reality is that I am living a dream that I thought would not be possible. I live on my own now and I took classes that have improved my mental health. I am on a journey of self improvement because I don’t feel like I have to fight to survive anymore. I am thankful when I pause and consider what I have done to get here. I am humble when I look back and see how far I’ve come. I can admire the work I put into making my garden grow with patience and persistence. I am better than this depressed, woe-is-me, type of energy I am carrying. I am not the victim, remember that when you are sinking. You chose this life for yourself and you are proud of it. You are good at being resourceful. You are clever. You are creative and artistic. You are beautiful and have the ability to use your body. Your cough just reminds you that you are alive and fighting still. Sure you made some mistakes. Sure you took some wrong turns. But they have made you who you are. I am thankful for how far I come and that I see that I have many more years to travel. I am making the space to listen to myself more often, to check in what I need in any given moment. I am learning to listen to the whispers of what my future holds. I am hopeful. I can be positive without being toxic. I can discover what I am most proud of. I am working on it all still. This will never be finished. There is no solution. This is not a puzzle that will be completed. But you can sit back and admire the beauty of it. 

Listen To Your Gut

I was paralyzed by a vision candle. It’s like a vision board but glued into a Jesus candle. I have been making them for a few years and now the pressure is on to make something different, something better. I looked at my cut outs of pictures and words and wonder what I was hoarding them for. I was so protective of my life captions. I wanted the perfect words to create magic on my annual candle. I want the images to manifest realities and to not have to do anything about helping it. I want the candle to do the work because I am still resistant. I still practice self hate and do not believe in myself. But that routine is getting old once again. I wonder why there is so much self-hate in my repertoire to begin with. Where did I learn it? Was it my upbringing or television? Was it the trauma that I’ve hidden? Or is everyone born with this? Why does my critic always speak louder than my fan does? And how can I change the tone of my internal default? What is it that has me stuck in this pattern? I am reading more about trauma, and it seems to me that there might be evidence of it spanning generations in my family. I have been learning that this trauma is stored in the body. It creates its own reality. It is the source of my anxiety and the force behind my cyclical vomiting. It is what was breaking down my body slowly, while I ignored the effects of burying my emotions. It is now what I have to address to achieve healing. I am learning that there are ways to find release outside of intoxication, and that movement can be a powerful medicine. I am learning how powerful the mind can be, but there are ways to control it gently. I am playing the game “What is Trauma? And what is neurodivergency?” Questioning the connections I made previously to get me to where I am today. Thanking them for existing but asking them to step aside for new synapse connections to be made. I am ready to move on from where I am today. This routine of self hate no longer fits me. I am learning that I have better ways to spend my brain energy. I swing from depression to resilience, and everything in between. But I have this. I have been doing this dance for years and making it. This is the next natural step in my development. But I am scared to leave what I know behind. I am afraid of what coping mechanisms might rise up. I am wondering how I will take up space in my life when I no longer have to hate all of my actions. What will I do when I no longer search for other’s reflections of me? How will I know if I am on the right track? What will happen if I no longer attack myself? Will things still get done? Will I continue to develop? Or will I lay stagnant in the phrase of development that I am currently in? I guess it is my choice and I guess that is what terrifies me. I am in control of my thinking once I realize what is happening. Now that I know I can no longer go back. I can no longer ignore the facts. I have to move on from this state. I know that there are tools for support. I know that I should see a therapist. I know that my body is a temple that I am thankful is still standing. But I am still testing my limits. I am still not as forgiving as I could be with myself. I am still turning to the the critic before I list my accomplishments. But I am now aware of this. And that is the first step. I have come so far from where I once was, and I still have so far to go, but I am proud of what I have done so far. I am a badass seeking out generational wounds to heal with my own development. I am a magnet for potential, and proof of my own success. But I constantly feel like I have to start over again. I am always at the beginning of something new. Nothing is ever the same. Today I am different than I was yesterday. I feel silly having to say this to myself, but my voice is the only one that matters. 

Getting Back To An Old Habit

You have twenty minutes to figure your shit out. Then the timer goes off and the creativity time is done. You have limited time and limited resources. But still you continue forward. While the critic is screaming that I am writing nothing. While the only evidence of progress is letters on a screen. But today I am drawing a blank on what I am feeling. It’s supposed to be a new beginning. This first of the year should signify a new me. I am in the same routine though. Nothing happened overnight. Maybe that’s why there’s phrasing for that. But I want to live in a fairy tale world. I want to know what comes next with spoiler alerts that take away the edge. I want to know what is around the corner because I need a reason to carry on further. I want something to look forward to. I want something to look bold. And I want to curl up on my couch afterwards. I want the magic to happen in the mornings, during the prescribed timing, words of elegance to spill out on command across this computer. But I am typing slower than normal. I hear the critic biting at each word. I am typing backwards, removing thoughts as they come out obscured. A typo to distract me, a red line to grab my attention away from creativity. A neighbor speaking, the outdoors not being the sanctity I need. I just had to google that spelling. The words in my mind and the ones emerging are not aligned. There is a dichotomy fighting in my head. I want to stop it and sink in to the negative state in which I exist naturally, but I am trying to turn over a new leaf, whatever that means. Why is the leaf turning? Is it turning figuratively or physically? Why would a leaf flip over when it processes sunlight with cells on one side of it? Why would we disrupt nature’s design for the sake of progress? What does a calendar even mean? And why for years have I consistently spelled it calander and reflexively go back to fix it? I know when I am going to fuck up but I don’t try to prevent. I see my patterns and know there will be consequences, but I keep sticking with old habits because they seem safe. Except the unexpected is not something that gives me peace or a sense of bravery. It’s just another phrase that is ringing in my head. These phrases sneak up and stick in my brain. Silly phrases will come in to ruin a day. New year, new me. What does that even mean? I resolve to stop listening to others over me. I want to pause and think before I regurgitate someone else’s beliefs. I want to define and be me. I want the answers to everything so that nothing is unexpected. I am tired of surprises and lessons. Or maybe I am just learning the wrong ones. I have always played the role of observer, and never digestive. I seem to feed on the ideas of others, but I have to give myself credit. I am doing better than I say I am. I have made more progress than I will admit. I believe that this work if worth it. I am tired of thinking of myself as crazy in a bad way, and I want to embrace my wild with tender acceptance. I want to re meet the child I once was. I want to tell them that it will all be alright, we will be just fine. I want to remind myself to hold on to what I think makes me special, because what others project on me will cease to matter. I want to say that time will heal wounds if I allow it, and if I seek out the help that is needed. I don’t have to do this on my own, but I do have to listen to me first. I am learning what I want still, but I am learning how to observe my differences with patience. I never gave myself credit. I want to pause and say thank you for getting this far. We can stop if you want to, but I know you can continue. 

A Constantly New Me

My neuropathways are diverging. I can feel them aching for some other kind of connection, for the kind that makes meaningful things happen. They want to reach across synapses grasping at something that will give them stimulation and purpose. I no longer want to be numbed to a neutral state of existence, the drinking and drugs are no longer working. My mind is expanding, as if the momentum of years of learning has finally built up and is spilling over the groundwork that I once had laid me on the ground of days. I am reminded that I am safe in this struggle now, but the years before haunt my emotional control. I’m learning things that make sense, but have been waiting for years to be truly witnessed. I am aching for connection, but the kind that goes past physical satisfaction, I want my mind to meet its match. I want the connections I am striving for reflected in another, and the awe I have for them to spill over. I want to be filled with admiration and desire, to fan the flames of a true lover. I want someone to meet my hopeless romantic, and treasure the loyalty that comes along with it, loving the stories I tell myself to make our love more dramatic. I want something that was written in story and I will settle for nothing less, because my brain pathways were sculpted by fairytales reworked by Disney, I believe a the happy ending. I believe that there is someone who is genuinely meant for me, and I am dream about them being the solution to my insecurities. I want them to come blazing in and save me from everything. I want to be a child like in my dependence, I want to cared for obsessively, I want someone to light up when I walk into a room. I want the kind of love that is shared with my Golden Retriever, blindly dedicated to being there eternally, no matter what may happen, no matter what they may think of me, they will be there out of pure loyalty. I want the kind of life that doesn’t seem to change, to have the security of being a member of the herd of living, to know that I am secure in my actions because others have done them all before me. I want to follow a rule book to living, so that I know that I am doing it correctly, that there is nothing missing, and I am living the best life that was prescribed to me. I am tired of the searching, I want answers laid out in front of me, to be grasped easily and applied to my brain like a face mask made for healing internally. I want the power of love to seep into my bones, to fill the spaces in my I am unfamiliar with, to seek out the traits that I could only wish I emulated. I want someone to tell me I am worthy of being loved, and persist on doing it in spite of my portrayed indifference, the defense mechanism that has kept me safe throughout my version of living. I have to thank those neuropathways for allowing me to live. They made connections that helped with my survival, teaching me how to take tragedy more lightly, how to survive when I was at a loss for passion. There were years when they perfected how to suppress emotions, to allow me to continue living the life that was expected. I graduated and made it through college with honors, I found three jobs that I worked to cover the bills with my mother, I helped my little sister get through high school, and covered the rent for my older brother when we lived together. I have been fired, under employed, overworked, and promoted, all in the time span that it took to bring awareness to my true problems. I succeeded without taking a pause to recognize it, to evaluate if this is the direction I want to be headed in. I just kept pushing on to prove that I can survive all of this. But this year was easier, the obstacles seemed less, and I learned to make space. But that space if being filled with old habits I am ready to shake, filled with old emotions I am ready to release, filled with anxiety that I cannot seem to beat. I made the space and forgot to fill it, and now my brain is aching for more connections. I am reading more and writing less, taking in more information without processing it, I am no longer dancing, and yoga is a fight to convince my mind to meet, I feel resistance to living, but no longer dream of ending it. I am making progress. I am not perfect. I will never reach a place of completion because there is no finish. I am adequate. I am brave enough. I know how to do this. I just have to remember the ways that were lost in past generations. I have to remember the connection to this earth. the moments that make life worth living. I have to teach myself to feel pleasure, and what my body is feeling in a given moment. I have to listen more to myself than those around me. Now is the time to embrace me authentically. I have made the choice to be different, now I just have to prove it to myself. I am miles farther than I thought I was, and I have to thank the past me for that. Thank you for surviving until this moment. Thank you for your vigilance and protection. Thank you for alerting me to potential danger. Thank you for knowing when I would be ready to feel again. Thank you for taking it easy on me back then, when I didn’t realize I had an eating disorder or internalized trauma. Thank you for accepting that I was binge drinker and chronic partier. Thank you for surrounding me with people still and making me lighter. Thank you for continuing to seek out opportunities to grow even more. Thank you for never giving up. Thank you for getting me to where I am today. Thank you for being brave enough to face our monsters, and strong enough to survive them with me. I am only me because of who you were years ago. You never gave up, you never shied away from the truth. You taught yourself new skills. I believe in you and thank you. I can’t wait to see where this current version of me will go. And I look forward to meeting the future me who will be thanking this version of me for writing these words. 

Depression Is A Sneaky Bitch

It’s time to write about depression. That habit that keeps sneaking up on me again and again. I thought I was free of my responsibility for the summer, that the sunshine and socializing would ride me through until winter, when depression is accepted, but this round of sadness came on without warning. I had just spent time with my brother, and visited my friends in Washington. The very same day that I saw a dear friend of mine, and she expressed how thankful she is to have me in her life with her actions, I still went home feeling depressed. There is no easy fix. My only tip off was that I was staring into space again. I had no motivation and everything seemed to happen based on muscle memory, and the training I have done to keep living. I kept loving, kept singing, kept petting my dog to reground me. But depression demands recognition. It wants to be seen and to have its torture witnessed. It wants to become a habit, the kind of thing that sticks to your personality as an identifier, it wants to drag you down until you no longer remember yourself. It all started with a list, and a lists for the lists’ lists. I was convinced that I could manage, keep it all under control, keep pushing on to make life happen. I was busy, I saw friends, it felt like I was never home this summer because I was out adventuring. I was out living, I was taking in new scenery, I was breathing life into my sedentary being. I went camping, went hiking, went driving, went riding, went moving, went doing, but that it all came to a stop. I did seek the pause. it hit me like a storm. It was time to process the newly known, the experiences that made me grow, seeing the corners that light now shows. But I was exhausted, and did not know how to stop. I did a puzzle all weekend to make the thoughts pause. I became obsessed with getting the right pieces into the right places, I forgot to look up. I forgot that life existed, and I was forced to return to the madness of appointments and budgets. I was forced to consider where I want my life to be headed. I was forced to see my financial mismanagement, the addiction, the bad habits, the things I could not shake even with excitement and support. I went too far. I thought that I was living my best life, but I was ignoring the facts. I had doom piles clustered around my house. I want to finish them all, make my task lists complete. I want to ignore all other grounding and become a high efficiency machine. I want to stop smoking, start breathing, become the epitome of healthy, so that I have nothing left to be angry at me for. I want to publish my writing, find my life partner, and continue dreaming. I have a vision of life lived in the trees, and days that consist of wild flower gathering. I see myself isolated but happy, meditating and gardening, hiking and taking in the scenery. But I don’t know how to get to these things, how to reach out from where I am and grasp what I am craving. It goes against all the things I told myself was successful, it enforces the desires that I used to make fun of others for. It terrifies me that I want to live a life that is so simple. I can’t seem to trust my intentions or the desire behind them. I want to be a success, but what I want does not fall within the realm of what is commonly accepted. I am living my best city life, but feeling broke about it. I am traveling but anxiety attacks happen every time I make an attempt. I am discovering so much about myself, but what I am learning I have prejudice against. I see myself as weak, as weird, as neurodivergent, when all I want is to be accepted and loved. I want someone to notice my brilliance and convince me of it. I want to know that I am valued but not see it for myself. I want to have a home that is purchased with income instead of intention. I want the simple answers to life that I am struggling to manifest. I want to move on from the state of the victim. I want to see that I am working, improving, to have metrics that track all that I am doing, so that there is proof that I am worthy. I want people to accept me before I accept myself. I want my past lessons to still be present even when I do not focus on them. I want to integrate the growth into my life without trying. I want to stay exactly where I am, while progressing. I want the contradiction. I don’t want to succeed too easily, because I learned that life is about fighting, that is what makes me feel alive, the struggle. But that is a lesson I want to unlearn. I want to accept the beauty, I want it to not feel cheesy to celebrate the little things. I can’t remember ever having a child-like innocence, but I want to create it. I want to learn more about the way that my brain works. I want to understand it and be thankful, instead of hating its patterns. This depression washed over me with intention, asking me to slow down and integrate my emotions. But I was surprised to find anger, jealousy, resentment, and hopeless wishing. I thought that my nature was changing, that I had moved on from the depression that once defined me. But it will always be a piece of my existence, there seems to be no magic solution to my preference for a tortured existence. But I am beginning to untie the knots. I am loosening the ball of emotion and intuition that once sat tight and unruly in my stomach. There are fewer panic attacks, and I have a name to address them with. There is less vomiting, and I know coping mechanisms for recovering from it. There is less suicidal fantasying, as much as I am shamed to admit that it still happens. I am doing better than I once was. I am working on it. I am trying. But it always feels like it is never enough to permanently remove depression from the cycle of my existence. I have to accept this. But I fucking hate it. 

A Pause For Reflection

Yesterday I realized how far I’ve come and what progress looks like when I am not looking for it. It looks like a smile on my face just as often as there are tears that stream down my cheeks. It looks like a place of my own and enough to make it by. It looks like making new friends and giving them a chance to be introduced to old ones. It looks like less time spent in front of the toilet, but still allowing these anxiety attacks to be considered valid, instead of furthering punishing my body for overreacting. It looks like a new job that may pay me less, but has more valuable benefits that fit my lifestyle naturally. It looks like less competition, more embracing, less panic induced pacing, and more eating. It looks like stripping down to the core of my existence and building it back up again and again. It looks like this is never ending. 

I realized what change feels like when you are not pushing for it. It feels like falling in line with myself and doing things when they feel natural. It feels like trusting my gut and setting healthy boundaries. It feels like being able to breathe. It feels like giving myself space to exist completely, and to sit with my feelings. It feels like dancing when my bones get the instinct, singing when I want to open my voice, expanding my body and taking up space. It feels like a shadow of who I was is still watching, in awe of what I have accomplished. It feels like fortune, thankfulness, and acceptance all rolled into one moment. It feels like freedom to be myself. It feels authentic, like a well worn glove, slipping into the future versions of myself that I have always dreamed of.  It feels like less anger, less frustration, less conflict against my nature. It feels like complete acceptance, even when I don’t like what I see, I have to see it as it is. 

I realized what it takes to be myself. It takes meeting myself again and again. It takes accepting my present, thanking my past and knowing that the future will come. It takes accepting that I am neurodivergent, that my brain works differently than others but it doesn’t make it any less intelligent. It takes accepting what has happen in the past and knowing that agonizing over it will not change it. It takes being on my own to learn who I really am. It takes pushy my boundaries in healthy ways, and the anxiety, fear, and uncertainty that comes along with that experience. It takes leaning in instead of running and hiding again. It takes bravery and acceptance, patience and practice, and years for this all to be accomplished. It takes space from my to do lists, time in nature to reconnect with my roots, meditation to practice feeling grounded in this world. It takes not giving up once I’ve started. 

I realized that I have not celebrated me. I have not extended a pat on the back and I haven’t stopped to see what I have done. I have been living in a victim’s world, seeing these attacks on who I am instead of opportunities to grow. I have been surviving over thriving, but the progress still snuck up on me. I needed to take a pause from activity to see what I am doing. I am building a life that is fully of fortune and love, one that practices authenticity and vulnerability, one that sees the value in every opportunity and knows when it is time for make space to breathe. I have to make the space to see me. I have to stare myself in the mirror and say I am proud of you. I have to repeat I love you. I have to practice something that was once so unnatural to me, something that was once too touchy feely, once too much for me to approach, once overwhelming for where I was. But I have been putting in the work and it is beginning to show itself to me. I can see the strength in my body. I can see the grace in my movement. I can see the smile that comes to me more naturally. I can respect silence and know when I want to fill it. I can speak my truth when I am called to it. I can practice what I have been learning. I can celebrate the progress I am making, but still know that this journey will never be complete. I can continue writing, expressing, feeling. I can live authentically. I just have to trust in myself, trust in this journey, trust that I am listening. 

Today I realized what I have to do to continue. I saw my reflection, and asked it who we are calling in.