I’ve recently started putting my emotions into words as they float wave-like through me. Not only in writing — but also in conversations.
And silly as it sounds, I feel brave and powerful. In the middle of showing my throat, bearing all my wounds, sharing my littleness — I heal. I heal and grow, and my wounds no longer feel so urgently bleeding. I feel like me and I like that feeling. I feel a new acceptance of others in relation to myself. And even if it took therapy, trauma bonds, losses, and a whole lot of looking myself hard in the mirror. I now accept my irrelevance and that I simultaneously can mean the world to someone.
And though it hurts more often now. You know, compared to when I shielded myself from everything that hurts. I feel like joy is my baseline feeling. And it makes me proud. Embarringsly, as I feel proud of myself. Proud of a fundamental right — to feel safe enough to be yourself.
And it’s not that strange that it’s hard to live. As we’re living in a world continuously reminding us of all the things we lack. This is why we need to continue to feed those reminders to ourselves as we slowly, slowly, move into an ebb and flow.
