Sometimes the only way to capture how I feel is between the seal of an envelope
Pour my heart out and then place it in your hands
Unaware of what you’ll do and quite honestly it doesn’t matter
Al I know is that the burden is no longer mine
Hiding this heavy heart proves more difficult with each day
Laughter, in fact, does NOT cure all
I’m preparing for pain even though I’ve yet to be hurt
Like clockwork my mind works, nonstop all day
Under and overwhelmed
In and exhale
Don’t forget to breathe
Don’t leave
Please
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It is easy to jump from A to Z when everything in between makes no sense
Body aches from pain that settled into my bones weeks ago, I am past tense
On the fence between two feelings, seems there is in fact a thin line between love and hate
Forever turned into never, infinity right side up, I am nothing but your number eight
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And just in case you understood this, and even if you don’t
I looked into your eyes to try and change your mind but it looks like it won’t
I am running out of moves for this dance we do and I have no clue on what is next
Just in case I don’t finish first, just know I tried my best
Just know I gave my all
Just know I didn’t finish where I started
And no matter how you read these words
They are words from the broken hearted
I came across a post on Facebook a couple of days ago and I’ve been thinking about it ever since. It was posted by another writer and I remember reading it and immediately thinking, I wish more people would get this.
The post was a quote and it read, “I wasn’t born to convince you to believe me. I choose to show up in this space for me and for the ones who find comfort in my art. I talk about the dark parts of my childhood because those stories are worth telling. It’s my way of giving a voice to my inner child. It is okay with me if my art doesn’t resonate with you. I didn’t create it for you.”
I think the reason those words are still with me is because I didn’t always think that way. As much as I agreed with these words, it forced me to think about the time in my life where I felt the complete opposite.
Are my words good enough?
Am I good enough?
This was a constant thought. I would hesitate to write anything in fear that my words and experiences wouldn’t be good enough for those who would actually take time and read it. It was exhausting quite honestly. I would analyze experiences that I went through trying to word in it ways that would satisfy OTHER PEOPLE. Crazy right?
I would become obsessed about who was reading my work, or if anybody was reading it all. I focused more on what others thought of my work instead of my actual work.
It wasn’t just in my writing either. I sought approval and acceptance in just about every aspect of my life. I needed to be loved. Loved by anyone and in any way just as long as I wasn’t alone. My mother had died, and my father had chosen not to be a part of my life. Can you imagine for a second what it is like hearing adults as a young child who just lost her mother conversing back and forth on who would be able to take in two kids that are now motherless. It isn’t what I would describe as comforting, lets just say that.
I grew up desperate for attention but was always too sad and ashamed to ask for it. It was a war I fought internally and alone. So I started to write. I wrote poems, I wrote stories, hell I wrote diary entries hoping an adult would go through it and find my cries for help. And when I didn’t get the response I thought I would, it sent me even deeper in the hole I dug for myself. It was a type of hell I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.
If I’m being completely honest, it wasn’t until roughly two years ago that I truly saw how dependent I was on the approval and acceptance of others. I wanted to be loved so badly by others, I totally forgot about loving myself and knowing that loving myself can be enough. And I’m still a work in progress but it’s IN PROGRESS.
I’ve come a long way.
So when I saw that post it just made me think about how far I’ve come, and the roads I’ve traveled. Made me realize that I used to write to be right, and now I write because it’s simply what I love to do. I write for no one other than me. It’s how I express myself. It’s how I survive. To be able to write down and free the words and thoughts that have held me back for so long is a feeling I may never be able to describe but it is MY feeling.
I guess what I am trying to say simply put is that I used to force myself to color inside the lines because I thought it’s what everyone would like. I thought a perfect picture is what would make me worthy. And now? Well now, my focus isn’t staying inside the lines. I draw what I want and how I want. Some people love my artwork, and others don’t. And while it’s okay for people not to like my art, just keep in mind, I no longer draw for anyone but myself.
Isn’t it crazy what feelings can surface from things we see on social media?
The end of the day can be such a bittersweet feeling, can’t it? You can feel relieved that the day is over, you AND your children have survived, and the house is finally quiet.
However, even with victory coursing through your veins it is almost impossible not to think about all the things you got wrong. Well, at least for me it is. You’d think I’d take the little time I do have where I can actually hear my own thoughts and actually revel in what could only be described as a win. I should be able to fall asleep effortlessly and dream nothing but magnificent dreams…
And when that happens, I’ll be sure to write a blog describing how I’ve transformed into an all mighty and powerful being who shits cupcakes and rainbows.
At this very moment, both of my kids are asleep in bed, I have a Friends episode playing in the background because it is my favorite type of white noise (no pun intended). You’d think I’d have nothing else to do other than sigh the joyous sighs of relief that no one is asking me where the other purple polka dotted sock that grandma got as a gift last Christmas is. While I am pretty damn happy no one is asking me that question…anymore, my mind still seems to run a mile a minute and I seem incapable of being able to stop and enjoy the stillness that embraces me.
I am my own worst enemy, and critic. I can’t help it. At the end of the day when I go over all the things I forgot to do, or better yet the things I did but failed at doing, it is no one else’s face that is looking back at me in the mirror. Instead, it is only mine. My face looking at all my failures and they all look the same, they all look like me. In these moments there are no words I could utter quietly to myself that could lift the weight from off my shoulders. It seems giving myself advice is the equivalent to my son actually listening to me when I tell him to clean his room, it just does not happen.
So because desperate times text for desperate measure (I know most people say desperate times call for desperate measures, however I actively avoid telephone calls so I went for what works for me) I decided to pretend a loved one came to me with this problem. See with me, I severely lack in the self love department, but tend to kick ass in being able to lend advice to those I love. To see those I love be able to thrive in the awesomeness that is them, keeps me going on days when I have nothing else.
My hope is in doing this or approaching it from this perspective, is that I am able to create something beautiful. Words I will be able to look back on when I need to remind myself that the love I pour out onto others, first needs to be poured onto myself. With that being said, here goes nothing…
To you who I love,
Think not about what you didn’t do or how you didn’t do it as good as you could have. Don’t think about how all you had to give your son for lunch was a pb&j but instead focus on how he told you that you were the best mom ever for fixing his pb&j the very specific way he liked it. Don’t let it discourage and stress you out thinking about how your toddler fought with all she had to go to sleep but instead think about how she rubbed your cheek gently when she finally decided to wave the white flag in defeat and closed her big beautiful eyes. Don’t focus on the plants that didn’t grow today, but instead replay the memories you made planting seeds with the people you love. My love, focusing on how hard the rain falls from the sky will cause you to miss out on the opportunity to dance freely in the rain, so freely you don’t even notice the tears falling from your eyes releasing all that once held you down.
So today sucked. Well, I hate to be the one to tell you my dear but odds are that tomorrow will suck too and it is because it may suck just as bad as today that it is necessary to forgive yourself for whatever went wrong. Let your failures be your success story. Let your doubts be the reassurance that you care deeply. Stop giving yourself such crazy expectations attached with even crazier limitations. Your soul has to rest before the next race and even then prepare to be extremely proud of yourself even if all you walk away with is a third place ribbon. Let those ribbons be the stepping stones to your gold medal.
So you failed today, just promise yourself that tomorrow you will fail even better. Before you know it your heart will be heavy no more.
Love Always,
candice.
iHaveWrites 