I sat quietly under the stars the other night for the first time in a long time, reclining under the expanse of navy with my face turned skyward. I was surprised to realize, or re-realize, that the stars really do twinkle, winking and shimmering from the heavens. Airplanes etched dashed, blinking patterns across the ink, stars on the move.
It was after two glasses of bold Cabernet, which was plenty to offer me a substantial buzz, a splash short of drunk. They say a drunk man's words are a sober man's thoughts. I discovered that a significantly tipsy mom's thoughts are an exhausted mom's release. I was able to quiet the chronic din of judgment and fear, the voices of negativity and doubt and inferiority that tumble around in my skull and batter my tender soul. And from the steady quiet that rests below the tumultuous turbulence, arose a sturdy sense of peace and happiness, and a great swell of gratitude for the countless ways that my life is blessed. I made a mental note to drink more often.
On the twilight of my third decade in this body, I feel the need to acknowledge from where I came, and wipe the slate clean so that I can be receptive to the beauty that lies ahead. Here I'll leave the baggage and burden, so that my steps can be light and my mind clear.
The last handful of years have been a season of transformation and growth, fraught with the heavy pain and discomfort that accompany great expansion and evolution. I am certain that it's impossible for the heart and soul to stretch and mature without the gut wrenching pangs of growing pains.
It wasn't so long ago that crippling depression and anxiety wrung the light out of my life with their gnarled and disfigured hands. It was a grim morning when I snapped awake to the reality that I had wasted so much of my life determining the ways to make others happy and proud. Laboring to acquire respect and acceptance and love. I had never bothered to discover the ways to make myself happy and proud, neglected to earn my own respect and acceptance and love, without which I found myself empty. I yearned to go to sleep and never wake up, slumber was the only relief from the pain. Anger poisoned my perception. I felt robbed, cheated out of the happiness I felt I deserved.
And so slowly, painfully, I began teasing apart the values and feelings that were authentic and true from those that I adopted to gain the favor of others. Like a patient in rehab I slowly learned how to hear my soul again, I learned how to feel the subtleties of happiness and joy, and I honed my ability to recognize the things that stir my heart. I came to accept that happiness is a choice, and perception is subjective, and I started taking responsibility for my attitude and outlook. I was right in my belief that happiness is our birthright, I just finally realized that I had to reach out and seize it rather than expect that it fall into my angry depressed lap. And I'm nervous to declare that I feel like I'm nearing the end of this stretch of my journey, like a butterfly ready to bust out of the cocoon and stretch her wings. Anxious to take flight, and soar.
Sure, every now and again I can feel depression and anxiety crowding my space, and I fear that they bring luggage to unpack for an extended stay. I worry that I will relapse. But I'm finding that the more I practice positivity (and it is a practice), the more natural it becomes, the easier it is to find my way back to that place of quiet joy that is always just beneath the disturbance. I know that life is strung with an array of seasons, some uncomfortable, others peaceful. But now I feel equipped to navigate the uncertain terrain; with a clear compass and in tune with my soul I won't stray off my path. Authenticity is my mantra.
It was after two glasses of bold Cabernet, which was plenty to offer me a substantial buzz, a splash short of drunk. They say a drunk man's words are a sober man's thoughts. I discovered that a significantly tipsy mom's thoughts are an exhausted mom's release. I was able to quiet the chronic din of judgment and fear, the voices of negativity and doubt and inferiority that tumble around in my skull and batter my tender soul. And from the steady quiet that rests below the tumultuous turbulence, arose a sturdy sense of peace and happiness, and a great swell of gratitude for the countless ways that my life is blessed. I made a mental note to drink more often.
On the twilight of my third decade in this body, I feel the need to acknowledge from where I came, and wipe the slate clean so that I can be receptive to the beauty that lies ahead. Here I'll leave the baggage and burden, so that my steps can be light and my mind clear.
The last handful of years have been a season of transformation and growth, fraught with the heavy pain and discomfort that accompany great expansion and evolution. I am certain that it's impossible for the heart and soul to stretch and mature without the gut wrenching pangs of growing pains.
It wasn't so long ago that crippling depression and anxiety wrung the light out of my life with their gnarled and disfigured hands. It was a grim morning when I snapped awake to the reality that I had wasted so much of my life determining the ways to make others happy and proud. Laboring to acquire respect and acceptance and love. I had never bothered to discover the ways to make myself happy and proud, neglected to earn my own respect and acceptance and love, without which I found myself empty. I yearned to go to sleep and never wake up, slumber was the only relief from the pain. Anger poisoned my perception. I felt robbed, cheated out of the happiness I felt I deserved.
And so slowly, painfully, I began teasing apart the values and feelings that were authentic and true from those that I adopted to gain the favor of others. Like a patient in rehab I slowly learned how to hear my soul again, I learned how to feel the subtleties of happiness and joy, and I honed my ability to recognize the things that stir my heart. I came to accept that happiness is a choice, and perception is subjective, and I started taking responsibility for my attitude and outlook. I was right in my belief that happiness is our birthright, I just finally realized that I had to reach out and seize it rather than expect that it fall into my angry depressed lap. And I'm nervous to declare that I feel like I'm nearing the end of this stretch of my journey, like a butterfly ready to bust out of the cocoon and stretch her wings. Anxious to take flight, and soar.
Sure, every now and again I can feel depression and anxiety crowding my space, and I fear that they bring luggage to unpack for an extended stay. I worry that I will relapse. But I'm finding that the more I practice positivity (and it is a practice), the more natural it becomes, the easier it is to find my way back to that place of quiet joy that is always just beneath the disturbance. I know that life is strung with an array of seasons, some uncomfortable, others peaceful. But now I feel equipped to navigate the uncertain terrain; with a clear compass and in tune with my soul I won't stray off my path. Authenticity is my mantra.