Meraki Healing Center, PLLC

“Now is not the time to go with the wind. Now is the time to dig your heels in, take it turn by turn.”

my therapist said that to me at the end of our session, and i started writing a post immediately after that while sitting in the sun, embracing a moment of stillness and gratitude, before heading home to the babydog. this was a month-ish ago i think, give or take, and i had been describing to her this state i was / have been in, one of entering a season that felt like a test (see last post for some context on the ‘season of pruning’). and she shared a story that involved the above quote, part of a metaphor that she was 100% accurate in saying was something i could probably benefit from hearing.

as i reflect on – fuck, a lot – on the eve of my birthday, i am at a bit of a loss for words. this last year has been the epitome of embracing the paradox. the weight of trying to write something meaningful, honest, real and concise is not conducive to actually writing such a thing. fortunately, there are parts of that post referenced above that feel like a good place to start:

I am in the thick of it right now. It’s hard to share from this place, so it doesn’t feel right to try and gleam any lessons. Nor do I want to signal a cry for help. So, being mindful of the many open wounds that are going to be a part of this season, and being mindful of my desire to not try to share from open wounds, I am not going to delve into any specifics. There are no takeaways or lessons to impart. 

There’s just…honesty. The blunt honest truth. And that’s that I’m in the thick of it, but I don’t even think I’m really aware of how thick it is or what it is because I can’t really take the birds eye view right now. I can tell you how I got here, and why I am here, and why it is very much okay that I am here – and that it’s actually really important for me to be here. And also to highlight that being in the thick of it does not mean that I am camping out here. I can’t take the birds eye view cuz I’m still trudging through. I’m still hacking a path, it’s all just thick branches and weeds and brush and all the things, all around. And it’s actually a beautiful place to be, just as much as it’s a terrifying place to be. There is no path. I am making it. Isn’t this true of everything in life, though, when we really get down to it. Even if someone else may have carved a path ahead of you, for you, that doesn’t mean it’s the right path for you. Only you can decide that. You can choose to go down that cut path, or you can choose to cut your own. Either way, there IS a choice, and it’s yours – only yours – to make.

damn. there are lots of things i want to edit, but i also like the gist of it, and it doesn’t feel honest to change it when i know my stream of consciousness will be very different in this place, right now, than it was when i wrote that. it’s true, what i wrote. still in the thick of it, whatever that means – does it ever change? and i feel a big wave of gratitude that i can feel the truth of the contradiction of it being both beautiful and terrifying.

my 29th year around the sun was beautiful. and brutal. and full of love. and also of heartbreak. deep joy, coupled with stomach-turning grief. stability and consistency, followed by an uprooting of any semblance of certainty in most aspects of my life. a road-trip across the country that was equal parts metaphorical and literal as i started to and simultaneously finally did make my way home (…to myself). self-discovery that led to the deepest embrace of the unknown. so. much. learning. how did the last five years only happen in 365 days? that’s how i feel. in both a good and bad way. see – this was the year of truly living in the paradox, even if i didn’t know it at the time.

i feel it now, too. a deep gratitude for this life, and also deep sorrow. content with so much, and also longing for other. so incredibly lucky and awestruck, and also aware of resentment’s stronghold. celebrating the delicacy and magic of new life, and also actively grieving the cruelty of the darkness left by its counterpart.

i saw a post the other day that said, “i know we are in the yearly recap phase on social media and everyone is announcing their biggest wins, but please don’t compare yourself and your progress to others. if your biggest achievement was just staying alive, then that’s the biggest win of all”. this. this is it, completely. there is so much that i am so goddamn grateful for this year, and wouldn’t change a thing about, and i look forward to reflecting and sharing more on all of it. but looking from a bird’s eye view is very different from living through it in the moment: it wasn’t all sunshine & roses. i felt things this year that i had learned to avoid feeling my entire life. i opened up about things that i had kept hidden & locked away, not only from others but also from myself, for the same amount of time. i was reminded of and faced things – still am – that lowkey rocked me to my core. and i am so fortunate to be in a place where i know that i will make it through all of that. aware of the risk of sounding melodramatic, i know that it will not kill me to face and feel the things that honestly feel like they might; the things that my brain still interprets as lethal threats, sending dissociative shockwaves through my body. this is what being in the thick of it means, right now – facing these things, slowly, steadily, and supported(ly…).

but unfortunately, i know that there are people out there who are getting stuck in their own versions of the thick of it. they’re succumbing to the lies that their brain is telling them is the truth, and they’re not making it through the weight of the darkness to see the beauty that’s inevitable on the other side. They’re getting pummeled by the brush, and they don’t have the same tools in their toolbelt that i’ve been fortunate enough to cultivate along the way. as i get ready to embark on my 30th spin around the sun, i am committed to making more accessible and widely known the tools that everyone deserves to have in their back pocket. i will continue to dedicate my time to interrupting the false narratives that wreak havoc on the lives of every one of us, including all those left in the wake when suicide robs us of our loved ones gone too soon. but i’m also acutely aware of the fact that my passion for this is no good to anyone if i’m not prioritizing the use of said tools, the ones i’ve spent so long cultivating, on myself, too. to revisit the words i wrote to myself in the spring, you gotta put your own damn oxygen mask on first. so i will continue to dedicate my time to the work that gives me purpose, and i will also continue to learn to pour into myself with the same grace and tenderness i pour into others.

a song by The East Pointers, called “Stronger Than You Know”, came on my queue when i started writing this, and i can think of no better way to end this post than with the timely lyrics from this song: “i know that feeling / of fear and doubt / you’re stuck inside / with no way out. / the sound when the power goes out / is so quiet and so loud / the wind’s blowing in some hard / it could knock your house down / big waves and murky waters / snow beaten sons and daughters / hold on a little longer / you’re stronger than you know“. so cheers to you, every single one of you. if you are reading this, i am so grateful for you. i am so glad you are here. i celebrate my day of birth in honor of being alive on this rotating ball, this damn crazy world, at the same time as you.

❤