On the eve of my wedding anniversary with my pending ex-husband, my thoughts and emotions are scattered all over the map.
I considered writing about healing: it continues.
I considered writing about coping: I am.
I considered writing about rebirth: in progress.
Without question, all of the above applies.
Yet there is one subject in particular taking up a hefty share of real estate in my thoughts the past couple of days. To that end, I would like to address this little nugget:
Before going any further with this, I must first own up to the fact that I’ve been subjecting myself to many a self-help book in recent months. Oh, you’ve been there too? Good. I’m not the only bleeding heart on the block then. But seriously, I think it is simply a side effect of being human. When something inside feels broken, it seems natural to try to fix it. I’ve been going to counseling, reading the books, journaling, expressing on the blog, getting back into yoga and meditation, saying affirmations, and even creating a dream board. All good things. Healing things. Helpful things. Positive things. There is no doubt in my mind that these methods of self-care are effective personal growth techniques.
But you know what? It doesn’t always feel authentic.
Sometimes I feel like I’m literally living the cliche of “fake it, ’til I make it”. Other times, I feel like saying “fuck it, let’s get real”.
Sometimes when I’m feeling especially angry or frustrated, having a book tell me that I should look in the mirror and say “I love and accept you just the way you are”, makes me want to smash the mirror and burn the book.
On days where I’ve been feeling so incredibly sad that I don’t want to get out of bed or speak to another living soul, reading that I should “connect with my tribe” makes me want to dig a hole and crawl in.
In moments that I’ve been feeling particularly fragile and betrayed, to be told “let go and forgive” feels like being asked to hang myself for the transgressions of another.
This is sometimes referred to as the shadow side. The darkness. Where the nasty bits live. These are the parts of ourselves that we don’t like to talk about. We often fight hard to escape the nasties, and with excellent reason. Those feelings are heavy to move through and difficult to witness in ourselves. While I’m certainly not advocating that we dwell in those places should we choose to admit that is where we are, I think it is important to acknowledge that those emotions, while unpleasant, are a normal part of the human experience at some point or another.
So today, on the eve of my wedding anniversary, I am fully open to the authenticity of my emotions. I am confessing the fact that I have a post sitting in my drafts entitled “Friday, The 13th” with some text I’ll just chalk up to “processing” a difficult milestone. My better judgment is dictating that those words will remain in draft. But I can’t resist posting the image I chose to accompany it.
Friday the 13th? I’m feeling a little bitchy about it. Authentically bitchy.