Half a century of feelings.
The immensity of which can pivot a life direction within a split second.
I have lived a thousand lifetimes in this bisected one. More lore than some.
My heart knows the depth of agony and the exquisite relief of safety, though that, so far, short lived.
My soul chose to welcome every emotion at warp speed, each life moment becoming the greatest teacher and the most arduous of lessons.
And yet there are the flickerings of mastery in my peripherals. I find myself able to take that breath of reflection before reaction, calming the inner panic with compassion rather than desperate hope.
Meeting the dangers of coercion and abuse has finally taught me caution and steady retorts rather than my previous fire and fear. I like myself more when I can reflect with strength and calm, the value of my earlier passions weighing up against the connections they win or lose. They have not left me, but temper themselves against the knowledge that their presence can inflame.
Loving my children has forced more self reflection than any workshop or therapy room. To show up for them means brutal honesty to myself and a constant revaluation of my paths of communication and connection. I certainly fall short but the dusting off and starting over becomes more familiar and less wearisome.
Staying present with what is, whilst the walls of Jericho tumble around, not because there is no other choice but because now I understand and trust the breakdown to breakthrough. Collapse must exist before restoration.
And I have finally grappled through to comprehending the ability to recognise the avenues of self worth, versus its opposite, when they are lined up in front of me. For so long, self love was confused with being good and pleasing and easy until I broke into anger and resentment and found myself, bruised and confused, back on square one.
Now I recognise the terror that comes with each of these crossroads, and instead of appeasing it with fawning and over explaining, I remind it of my goal. That choosing my worth may feel achingly hard but it is the only avenue to healthy relationships, proud children and that ultimate aspiration of safety within.
My terror is not intuition. It is not a message of avoidance. It is the challenge to face and walk through. To rewire, reprogramme, realign, so that all of that lore is not a wasted pain but an alchemy to bliss.
Mastery is still decades, another half a lifetime away, but its creeping edges feel comforting and brave. I’m not sure life could throw me another missile that I would not rise to survive but I surely don’t need to ask for that theory to be tested. Suffice to know that the muscles of my emotional landscape are strengthening alongside that of my body, honouring the health of all of me as I walk through the valley of the shadow of darkness into the green pastures ahead.
Is this not the spiritual dream of our existences? To master the forms of compassion, grace and wisdom? If I can achieve just a portion of this, every single struggle becomes worthwhile.
