I've been quiet this week because I've had nothing concrete to say.
I do that.
I have a massive spurt of writing and giving birth to ideas then I withdraw as if I need to stop and collect data again. It's not so much that I don't have anything to say during the withdraw phase, it's just that I lack the right vocabulary to say it with it seems.
I've had better weeks and I say this because I have hit some really low points. I've had moments of extreme sadness and of feeling utterly lost and fearful. I'm starting to learn that this is not me, it's something I carry with me. What I can't tolerate is my inability to figure out where it comes from. I suspect that I know I just won't let myself see it yet.
End of last year I junked every single post on this blog and started fresh again. I won't do that this year but it is time to change direction a bit. I've been lacking real structure in life and what I write (just look at all the labels I've used for my posts!) but it feels now as if I'm heading somewhere. I'm not sure where that is yet but things are changing in me and while I'm unsure of the details it's feeling rather profound.
I stood in a kitchen a few moments ago and I remembered a feeling I had when I was perhaps five.
I had been sitting in the backyard carving a piece of wood with a knife (those were the days when kids were allowed to use proper tools...) and my mother had told me several times that unless I cut away from me I would end up cutting myself. I stubbornly continued doing it "my way".
I did cut myself. I cut one of my fingers. When it happened I didn't cry and I wasn't afraid. I went to the bathroom where the band aids were kept and put one on my cut after wiping it clean and washing it. I went back out into the backyard and began carving the piece of wood again this time cutting away from me.
My mother noticed a while later. I knew she did because she stopped obviously noting that I had changed the way I used the knife and of course she also noticed the band aid. She never said anything to me though and I remember feeling glad that she didn't especially since I was already fully aware that it was my own fault that I had been cut.
When I stood there in the kitchen moments ago I found myself revisiting how I felt when I was five and how utterly unafraid I felt back then. I felt like I was truly in charge of what was happening to me and I knew that it was mostly about how I chose to react to things that determined how I felt. I felt protected and it wasn't only my parents that made me feel that way, there was something bigger that I was aware of too, as if I was aware that what was happening to me, my life, was just a temporary experience and nothing to worry about.
That's the me I am, that's the me I want to be again. When I felt that feeling again I found myself grinning from ear to ear.
When we talk about feeling empowered I think that's what were talking about, the knowing that you're not a victim of circumstances and that you have the power to change if nothing else just how you feel about something.
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