Where do I even begin? My last blog failed, because, well… I failed it, to be honest. I’ve looked back at it a few times to study it, to see who that girl was that wrote it … and I see the stretching to try to fit into something I didn’t quite belong in. I see the shifting to not get in anyone’s way. I see a desire for authenticity, but yet no fucking balls to step into it.
So where did I leave off? My last post was October of 2015. I was married. I had just graduated as a Nutritional Therapy Practitioner. I worked as a waitress part time and was building a business I had come to know as “Designed to Thrive”. I was living in a lovely home on a river, with my wife, our two beautiful dogs and one bunny. Looking back at that last post now, I thought I had it made.
But I was lying.
The thing is, in that cozy life of mine, I was miserable. WE were miserable; holding one another hostage for our own selfish needs. Holding onto what we thought we could salvage out of fear of what life on the other side would look like…
But- somewhere between October 2015 and today, we mustered up enough courage to be brave. Brave enough to say, “I can’t do this anymore.” And so began a journey of unknowns that have landed me here, sitting up in my childhood bedroom, in between shifts at my now full time job at a restaurant, and needing a nutritional therapist of my own to sort out the laundry list of health issues that have accumulated in the 8 months since I drove my car away from that house on the river.
If I am being truthful, this time around, I am going to write things in these pages that make people uncomfortable. Mostly…things that make ME uncomfortable. Things that I was afraid to say before, or things that I am afraid to say now…but things that need to be said. The truth is often inconvenient… but it is always there. And the more we cram it down and cover it up, the larger it grows. It is meant to be heard and meant to be spoken, and when we shove it back down our throats it still seeps out of us in silent ways; in the form of illness, anxiety, or depression. If the people around me had looked closely enough, they would have seen the truth in the bags under my eyes and the rashes on my skin. They would have understood it when my body hurt so badly for no reason that I couldn’t walk, or when my head ached day after day. They would have heard it in my cancelled plans, and as I ordered my 4th glass of tequila.
But I could not speak the truth back then. And when it finally came pouring out of my mouth and onto the kitchen floor, life as I knew it was over, and I had to begin again.
I am not the same woman I was in all of those posts. I have been broken down to almost nothing at moments and dug myself into holes I didn’t think I could get out of. I have been out of control at times and unable to get out of bed in others. I have let deadlines pass by, and applications for LLC’s sit on my desk, and goals slip away from me. I have spent hundreds, if not thousands of dollars on objects of my addictions to numb the discomfort I felt of shedding old skin.
But somewhere, in that almost nothing that was left, there was still that small voice that kept telling me “Keep going. You are not done yet.” And so, I’ve kept writing. I’ve kept reading. I’ve kept evolving, and growing and shedding old skin, and walking through fear and doing the things I have least wanted to do.
And I have ended up here.
Which leads me to this blog: The first step in my new beginning; to share my story as honestly, authentically and genuinely as I am capable of, however messy and unfinished it may be. To share the stories I have written over the past year, and the ones I will continue to pen as life unfolds and I learn to meet it with acceptance and grace…( I mean- that’s bound to happen SOMEDAY , right?)
Thank you for those of you thus far who have encouraged me to keep writing, to keep sharing my craft, to keep believing in myself and my dreams, even when I didn’t want to. This next phase of my journey is for us ❤