I’m feeling greatly disconnected as I write this. But at the same time, completely engaged with where I am meant to be.
The disconnect is coming from needing to walk away again, from things that are no longer serving me. Things that are toxic. Things that do not feed into my path and nourish my soul.
All the while though, I’m more and more engaged with that which holds, lifts, emboldens and nourishes me.
The dichotomy of emotions is both wildly uncomfortable and deeply affirming.
Change is HARD.
We can all agree that this is a massive understatement.
This year, and reaching back into the last quarter of last year, there was a deep pull towards change. I knew it was coming. Through my bones and soul. The unknown is a place that holds both wonder and terror. And I have been suspended in this space for a while now.
Gently doing the work of allowing the constant ebb and flow if life happen, without my need to force my hand at any turn.
INSANELY HARD for someone who finds deep comfort in control.
Thing is, we can fight it. The flow of life. And most of us do, for many years of our lives. And it’s a fruitless pursuit. One that bizarrely, we are revered for on this planet. The harder we push against our natural instincts to slow, listen and BE, the “better “a person we are.
Our bank balances show signs of our innate “suffering” at the hands of our egos that drive us to cut all chords to our souls, in order to keep the need for WANTING strong. We are successful when we earn large amounts of money.
It’s as simple as that. No more or less. Just EXACTLY that shallow.
We are martyrs.
The sweet death of the “busy” people. The people who are “so sorry, I just haven’t had a second” (to give a shit about what’s important in life) … because I was too BUSY existing for everyone but myself. My ego needed me to ignore my intuition YELLING at me to go outside and feel the LIFE around me.
And so I stayed at work until 11 pm every night for nineteen years and missed my kids growing up entirely.
I did it for them. I did it all for them. I missed every birthday, every piece of macaroni art and school play. Every new development, first loves, and heartbreaks, sporting event, and achievement.
BUT, I paid for him to have the BIGGEST cake at his third birthday party (even though he cried in his room for most of it because I wasn’t there) and I spent HOURS trawling shops looking for the most expensive pendant to give her to ease her heartbreak (when all she needed was to be wrapped in my arms while she sobbed it out), and I commissioned and INCREDIBLE art piece for his first apartment, (when what he loves most is that his Nan still has his macaroni art, 30 years later, and proudly showed it to his wife last week). And I paid for the most expensive sports gear for her, because that was how she would make the team…(but she didn’t, because heart broke when she looked up in the stands and saw everyone else’s parents, cheering them on, and she missed the gun…)
Because our egos are assholes people.
And most often, we allow ourselves to live blinkered from its power, and never put it in its place. (Which is in the corner, with a gag on)
This is where I am left floating. This space, where I can see the martyrs.
I can feel them.
I WAS them.
And I know that right here, right now, there is little or nothing I can do to ease this willing blinkering for them. It needs to come from them.
But it’s killing me.
I’m empathic. I deeply dislike labels though, so I’ll say it this way.
I viscerally feel the hurt and emotions others feel. Literally. I feel it in my body. My mind, and through my soul.
If you are not this way inclined, you are going to want to dismiss this gift as a sense of madness. This is not a mental health issue. It’s a gift of extreme compassion. Gifted to those with the strength to hold our brother’s and sister’s pain for them.
So, in short, I’m a “feeler”. And since a child, I have been claircognizant. So a “seer” and “listener” too.
As I’ve grown older, I have found more constructive ways of sharing these gifts. At first, they caused me immense pain and confusion.
Trouble. Shame. chaos.
Again, this is not a mental health issue. This is was my ability to feel deeply for others, and the gift of being strongly connected to my own intuition, and thus spirit that landed me with a list of labels that would scare a psychiatric nurse.
It is so deeply ingrained in us that what is right is to make money, provide tangible gifts and a bricks and mortar life, for those we love, that much else is seen as a failing. An oddity. A madness.
I’ve hidden from my madness for so long. wrapped tightly in the shame of difference. The agony of feeling. Authentically.
Change is here now.
And as I peel back the last layers of inauthenticity I am acutely aware of the pain of releasing it all. I cannot unhear the words that have crushed me. Unsee the looks of disdain and disappointment. Unfeel the lack of encouragement, care, and genuine love.
I cannot. Because they are now a part of the fabric of the woman I am building. The are the fuel for the fire that rages within. They are the true bricks and mortar of the life I am building, far above the anger, hurt, shame and lack.
The Tower of my life is falling. To be rebuilt.
It began crumbling five years ago and as each massive chunk has fallen, I adjust and course direct around the rubble in my path.
The last few floors remain, and they are both burning and tumbling away now at a rate of knots that is leaving me disorientated and frankly, overwhelmed.
I’m standing in the ashes of what I knew to be real. What I knew to be right. And what I knew to be everything I could never be. And as I blow gently on those ashes, and raise the again to an inferno, I am able to forge the metal of the being I am into the tool I am to become, to do the work I must, to live my purpose.
For the first time, I am tuning fully into my sense(s) and for the first time, my life makes sense, in the most deliciously nonsensicle way.
What a time to be alive.
Raw, open, willing and soft.
I am more than my fear
So mote it be.