I am not one to let coffee go to waste

For how long
have I been living on autopilot?
Living the same cycles
over and over again
without critical analysis
of my intentions, purposes,
beliefs,
values?

Was it a method of survival,
sticking close to what I knew
and could trust,
when so much beyond
felt out of control,
despairing?

Was it an avoidance of vulnerability,
of coming face to face
with my deeper self
and acknowledging the change I wanted,
dreamed of,
but did not dare manifest?

Now, with space,
the questions and reflections pour into me
like a hot cup of coffee
filling the mug,
reaching the brim
and overflowing.

I can avoid them no longer
as a pool of coffee collects around the cup
and I am not one
to let coffee go to waste.

Do I remember how to do this?

Months away from the creative page.
The desire to make things
or express myself with words
evaporated and melted away
like the unseasonably warm weather of these winter months
kept the snow away
and prevented it from returning to stay.

I cannot find the words to convey the depths of pain and grief and depression and anxiety and ambivalence and change and interspersed joy that have filtered through and between the days of recent months.

I could not imagine what such words would look like, sounds like, spell like, write like or hear like, so it seemed worthless to spend any amount of time before a blank page, hoping for the imagining to come to me.

The thought of spending time before a blank page cascaded waves of fear, discomfort and vulnerability through every tissue of my body, maintaining distance between us.

I have felt vulnerability before, even embraced walking alongside it. But this felt different. It was vulnerability in a new form, a more terrifying form, and I chose to stay away for what I believed to be my own self-protection.

Last weekend, in the midst of an anxiety attack, I tried to color in a coloring book with pencil crayons, reasoning that the act of coloring would distract and calm my mind. Instead, my anxiety amplified. Fears of choosing the right picture (not too complex but not too simple), fears of choosing the right colors, fears of coloring too faintly, too intensely or beyond the lines, fears of choosing colors to live next to each other that do not complement. Questioning why I am limited to the colors chosen to be within this collection of pencils. Questioning why I need to adhere to rules and lines and systems laid out by an entity separate from myself. After ten minutes, I abandoned the effort.

I want to stand before a giant white canvas and throw globs of paint upon it, then wave a brush to spread them all around under the guide of exploration and curiosity. I want to get my hands messy. I don’t want to abide by arbitrary rules that tell me what’s right and what’s wrong with my exploration of self. I want to translate myself into colors and textures and images that words cannot always adequately capture within themselves. I am evolving. I am expanding.

I must believe
I am strong enough
to rise up against any tribulation
threatening to pull me down
and keep me there.

I have to trust
that I have the means within me
to face each new situation
in the moment.
It’s somewhere deep inside of me
waiting to rise when the time is right;
the knowing of what to do.
All I need to do is trust.

Trust that evolution
is a celebration
and a journey with no finish line.

I must trust that I remember how to do this,
and will remember how to do this
when I need to.

Acknowledgement is the first step

My mind feels full.

Full of characters:
their personalities,
their thoughts,
and dialogue exchanged with others.

Full of phrases
simple and complex
to live in stories
or essays
or poems.

Full of scenes
replaying in memoried fragments
requesting reimagination
and depersonalization.

To empty my mind
on to the page
requires a vulnerability
that, right now,
feels insurmountable.
Fear of pain, of exposure,
of inadequately capturing
my imagination
with words.

Acknowledgement is the first step.

Noticing

Noticing
my wanting
to cross items off my to-do list.

Noticing
my yearning
to announce a project as complete.

Noticing
my fear
of diving into waters of vulnerability
when I feel fragile.

Noticing
my tendency
to want to do the easy things
rather than the hard and messy things.

Noticing
my hesitancy
with meeting new facets of me
and letting the old ones go.

Noticing
the discrepancies between
what I claim to desire
and the actions I take.

Noticing.

mental health lifeboats

When you share an intention with someone else, usually, that carries with it an added layer of accountability. Now, not only have you given a voice to the thoughts traveling around inside your head, but the voice has landed upon the ears of other people. It’s not just you anymore.

But what do you do, when you want to change your mind?

You’re no longer the only person that knows. Other people know. What will they think of you, knowing that while you seemed so sure, so prepared just a little while ago, now you’ve retreated back to the timid and apprehensive version of yourself that believes they can handle the journey up this mountain on their own?

They might make you out to be a fraud. They might believe you are too scared to face whatever you think you need to face. They might think less of you, they might consider themselves to be superior to you. They may call you weak, or arrogant, or in over your head.

Or, they might just understand what you’re going through.

Only the people who have traveled a similar path can understand the terror, the uncertainty, the vulnerability, the bravery that comes with sharing your needs with someone other than yourself. It requires a new kind of strength.

Admitting that you need to talk to someone, admitting that you have reached a new point where you feel more fear than excitement for your future, admitting that you don’t know where to go on your own, admitting that you need help – these don’t make you any less than. In fact, they make you more than. Feeling uncertainty about your decision after you’ve ‘taken your stance’ is normal.

Use your knowing of others’ awareness of your current experience not as a rope tying you to an anchor, but as a rope connecting you to a lifeboat; available to you when you need some additional support.

You will be OK. You have a fleet of lifeboats ready and waiting to carry you to safety.

fragments of a whole

A few months ago, I saw a quote on Instagram that read:
If you only share fragments of yourself with the world, you will never feel whole.

It only takes me one hand to count the number of times in my life where I have felt completely, undeniably, whole. Like I had nothing in me to hide and I chose to stand there, in the wholeness of myself, unapologetically.

Those moments are like shooting stars in the sky that often escape our sight until the tail end of their trajectory disappears over the horizon. A look to the sky, muttering to ourselves, “I could have sworn I just saw a flash of light.”

Yes, a flash of light.

And yet, there are people who seem to live in the light. It doesn’t flash for them. Instead, it acts like a spotlight, a source of light that lies within them, and emanates the light through and out from them. Only rarely does it dim.

The hours of time I spent in psychology courses, and therapy sessions, and conversation with others, tells me that we each have our own, inner spotlight. It’s in there, somewhere. It’s not a matter of some people being born with it, the lucky ones, and others not. It’s in there, somewhere. First, it’s about finding it. Then, it’s about building and growing and empowering the vulnerability to power on the light, and keep it burning.

But how?

How does one share all these fragments of themselves to reach a state of wholeness? Does it require verbal declarations to an audience? Does it require a press release to disseminate amongst society? Can these fragments be shared through mannerisms and appearances and preferential activities? After the act of sharing has been done, how can one be assured the message has been received?

Maybe privacy isn’t the gold standard that we should be striving for: to keep some, or most, things about ourselves private, only privy to those in our immediate circle. To maintain privacy can invoke feelings of shame, or regret, or unworthiness if one believes that the world would be better off if people could see only the mask they have deemed appropriate, and safe, to be seen by the greater world.

But, you see, the more that people know about you, the more they can understand, empathize, support, and love.

Perhaps it’s best if people know about the medical treatment you’re receiving, the loss and grief and heartbreak you’re struggling to navigate through, the joy and celebration you feel for the positive news you’ve just received, the thing you think that only you have ever felt when in reality, there are many, many people in the world who understand how you’re feeling. Perhaps it’s best if people know your dreams, your goals, the passions that make you come alive, or the deepest, darkest secrets you have buried deep within your heart because you believe they will only cast shame upon you if they were given words, and space, to breathe.

To bring all parts of us out into the open, out into the world, allows the dark and the light to be seen, to be celebrated, to be wrapped in wholeness. To understand that in the depths of the human experience, we have more in common with one another than we have different. That by finding the courage to bring forward all the fragments of yourself out into the world beyond your body and mind, you may inspire someone else to do the same. What a beautiful ripple to create in the waters of humanity.

I continue to gather the flashes of light, the tail ends of shooting stars and the warmth I remember feeling in my body as I stood tall and strong and true. I gather these fragments, these beams of light, to stand in wholeness.

Will you?

holding back, holding out

Hovering over the page
filled with worry
of wasting my time
of producing nothing of value
finally, after all this time, realizing
that I don’t have to offer
what I believed.

I can no longer be afraid
of making shitty art.
Art is art.

Holding back, holding out,
for the perfect words to come
has led to weeks of nothingness.

Making the less-than-desirable, the difficult,
the imperfect,
moves me forward.