Thursday, October 18, 2012

I Lava Closing the Book

This weekend I'm celebrating an anniversary of sorts.

Maybe a birthday?  I dunno, how cheesy is it to say I came back to life.

But to the friends and family who saw me barely make it through the year leading up to last October they might not think it's an overstatement.  I was hollow, hulled out.  I started this blog because I needed somewhere to save the good things so that I could recall them when things were dark. 

I don't actually remember how that all felt.  I know it was there, I have tangible proof of emotional distress, but I can't for the life of me recall what a burden so heavy that it caused me to stoop when I stood was like. 

Last October 20th I sent an e-mail that ended a very bad friendship/relationship/thing for good.  I started using EFT to move past the emotional damage and really worked intensively on rebuilding my self esteem.  It's been a long year since last October.  Sometimes situations feel weird that wouldn't have caused a problem before, I'm regaining feeling and have all of these phantom limbs. 

I've learned how to dream again.  Every corner has another idea or project hiding behind it waiting for me, giggling because it knows I'll be all over it as soon as it jumps out at me.  Last year I thought I had plateaued.  I honestly believed that I had already reached my peak and I would never do anything above what I had already done.  Today I can see clearly that you only reach your peak when you stop climbing.  I wanted to try comedy or join a band and this year I've done both in one move.  I've tried zine writing and video editing and swing dance.  I've become a much better mom.  I've taken the quotation marks out of the word "art." 

I'm still very much a work in progress.  Self worth, body image and all that jazz has been pretty hit and miss but I'm working on my inner monologue and trying to stop negative thoughts before they manifest in negative action.  When I think about what I should do I don't dwell on how I haven't accomplished it yet but instead work on a plan to make it happen.  It's not perfect and my plans usually end up in a dead end of dark chocolate peanut butter cups but any action is preferable to ruminating in the fetal position. 

I am in good hands, though.  The same friends and family members who guided me through before are still my loudest cheerleaders.  I also have been absolutely blessed with a partner who sees my potential more clearly than I do but also understands that I am still recovering from a whole-body heartache.  I'm grateful that we found each other at a time when I was ready to accept such an enveloping and encompassing love because he has really become my quiet harbor and I know I'm safe, no matter what vestigial emotional responses come up unexpectedly.   I'm thankful for all of the foundational work I did all year- hard and trying as it was, to bring me to a place where I could have such a supportive and positive love as his without running and running fast. 

Progress has been made even though sometimes I still passively let things slip by.  I am seeing opportunities and going for them- in just over a week I'll be starting a new job with an organization that will feed into my passion I feel for my hometown in a major way.  This is a dream job and last year I never would have thought I should even bother throwing a resume their way.

So with all of this positive change I am glad to close this chapter of my blogging life.  In the near future I'll be announcing my new blog and casting my net of LAVA even wider.  Thanks for taking this journey with me and I'll see you in my new blog home!

1 comment:

  1. Some obscure feelings very poetically expressed. I hope you do write again, and it surprises me to see no comments on this post. This is the first time I've read your blog, and maybe even the last. But I sympathize with your life of ups and downs and believe it will only make us better people if we let it. Although, someone like you has surely stumbled upon that principle before. Keep on truckin'.

    Jon Quist