Where are you, my heart? I’ve had this emerging conversation within myself that goes something like this. “Follow your gut.” _ “No, You can’t trust that and are going to sabotage the good things that are emerging in your life and end up down some hole alone again wanting to end it.”
I think this is something to be aware of for sure. I don’t think that life is this careless thing that doesn’t have consequences. (I recently lost a lot of money, in relation to Joel’s financial sitch, because I trusted someone who I believed would not lie to me and now have restrictions on what I can do for awhile because of that decision.) queue Key and Peele’s consequences video.
I’m learning from that decision. I’ve learned about wisdom and discretion and compassion and self compassion and the way I want to be in the world. So yes it was a serious mistake and it cost me a lot of things. Not only in resources but also in the experiences that I would like to have. Like I’m going to have to put off certain trips I was going to take till I recover from this loss. (That months long van experience down the coasts of central and south america is going to be farther out now because of it.) But I’m learning about generosity and how little money matters in the greater scheme of what I care about. I’ve never been freer than when I’m generous with what I have and focused on getting to know people as people and not as objects fixed in their stations of how much money their parents had or didn’t have or whatever other criteria i tend to judge people by. I think there’s a shelter that comes from having people who understand what it’s like to grow up poor. I treasure us poor kids for sure.
In the past i’ve banded together against the other kids who grew up with resources (in my heart). What’s more interesting to me now is lowering my guard and saying I’m glad you had that. I wish everyone had that. It’s hard to not have what you need and to go to bed hungry and have food insecurity. Those are difficult things to interact with. I think about the fact that we kind of just come into life kicking and screaming and then who knows, you know? Who knows what unprocessed trauma our parents are carrying around and then putting into the malleable clay of the developing minds, hearts, and bodies of their children. Who knows? Go gentle on me. Go gentle on yourself. Go gentle on your friends. Something practical I’ve noticed that I’ve been practicing in the last while is reserving judgment. Leaning closer, instead of running away, and asking better questions.
I think about the really painful truth that the people who are the hardest to love, usually need it the most. I don’t mean this in like a “this is your (the reader’s) responsibility to love assholes.” You have to find your own way to the greater expanse of a life well lived. (I believe in you, it’s a journey worth taking in my opinion). For me though I think it’s interesting to humble myself and lean in, specifically when it hurts and I need more clarification, but I just want to fucking rip. I have a lot of potential for rage. I think my presence can come across as the metaphor of when a fire burns down and the coals are just radiating heat and even if you are like 3 feet away you’re like shit I gotta move back. Those coals are super useful. They are great for cooking things, boiling water, warming someone who needs to be supported by heat in a cold world. They can also be very destructive.
I think one of the most surprising things lately is being seen for having this power and people not shying away, but actually challenging me to resource that power better. It’s happened twice in the past couple weeks where I’ve been specifically approached and affirmed and challenged to go deeper into that journey of finding out how to expand the range of that gift. It’s so cool. I’m like this is the most interesting work I could be doing in myself right now. It is so cool to be somewhere where this is happening. Where are you my dear, lovely, heart? Hiding beneath the falling down walls and the structures that no longer serve you. I’ll find you. I’ll carefully dismantle this prison of trauma bonds that have kept you safe and locked you in and I will build you a new home. A lovely home. A home where your light is set on a hill and gives light to all around you. It just wouldn’t make sense to hide you anymore. You’re so beautiful. It’s time to build a new structure to name home.
structures of home 