A Trail of Disappearing Words

What an immensely hard truth it is to learn that the main force working against us, is often, ultimately, us. Many times, there really is no outside factor or force, but solely ourselves holding us back from whatever it is we aspire to. 

Just moments ago, a piece of writing I wrote, albeit, many, many pages of time, effort, sentiment, heart and passion all but disappeared due to a software error. It caught me off guard to say the least and as I sat looking at the document missing those imperative pages, I felt numb. Maybe I should have felt more, but all I felt was numb. Absent were the tears I expected to fall, the sadness and melancholy. In some ways, it felt like they WERE there, but concealed deep down, hidden away by the shame I felt. Shame for me somehow causing the error or mishap, or that maybe I wasn’t paying attention enough, distracted by a physical ailment.

So I sit still, contemplating those lost words, still scattered somewhere in my mind, wondering if I’ll ever recall them, or if I even should. It was a story, semi-autobiographical and semi-fiction and a piece I was somewhat proud of. It was a piece I invested large chunks of time in, ignoring other tasks and purely focusing on it, truly believing in its sentiment. It became a routine in a way, where each day I would carve out time to work on it, re-reading it over and over again, editing bit by bit until I felt it represented all I hoped it would.

For a writer, lost words and documents are devastating. It’s like losing those critical pieces of a puzzle, a puzzle that is an enigma, or that final piece to a structure that somehow disappears into thin air. At the same time, I contemplate what this snafu is trying to teach me. Maybe not all is lost, or maybe it is. Maybe those words I wrote were words for then and not so much for now. In some ways, it feels like mourning, because of all I attached to those words, almost feeling like I was living the fictitious parts myself, becoming the lead character, Margaux instead of me, Melissa. Sitting here, part of me mourns the story others may never hear of Margaux and Sawyer, or maybe one day they will. It was the first fiction piece I wrote that I didn’t step away from, despite wanting to give up many times. It was my first attempt at a manuscript and though a vast majority of it is gone, somehow sent into oblivion, I have to believe that maybe better words are ahead.

In my life, I tend to look for a lot of “signs,” maybe it’s the reader in me, always looking and hoping to believe that a beautiful story is ahead and about to unfold. A part of me deeply wishes for those words to return, but another part of me believes they were of another time. The way I see it, I have several choices; give up the story entirely and close the chapter or rewrite it in a different way, because who says the original one was really the best one, anyhow?

Maybe it’s true that no one will ever read the original story of Margaux and Sawyer, but maybe it’s enough to know I didn’t give up on writing it, that I didn’t step away from letting those thoughts make their way onto the screen. For a writer, our best tool is our mind and so one day, maybe not today, the story of Margaux and Sawyer will begin again and finish strong, but until that day, I’ll do my best to be at peace with what I still have, grateful for those beginning thoughts and for the bravery I employed to even begin writing it at all.

Everything We Never Knew.. But Wanted To

Sometimes the worst part is not knowing, but conversely, at the same time, sometimes the worst part IS knowing. A lot of the time, if not always, I wonder what is the better solution and outcome; knowing and being devastated, or not knowing and being devastated, anyway. Maybe it’s not about whether we actually know or not, but rather it is about knowing that no matter the outcome, we are strong enough to overcome it, to heal, to pivot and adjust our sails and realize we are bigger than the reason.

It goes without saying that it is challenging, maybe sometimes it feels impossible to own the truth, to have the hard conversations, to say no, to disconnect, to walk away, to end something, or leave behind something or someone. Much of the time it is before we really feel ready and sometimes, that feeling of readiness never actually surfaces, but instead, it switches to acceptance and realizing that every ending is also a beginning. That every door closed leads to another that is open, even slightly.

When we leave behind something, or someone, we realize that maybe we are also gaining something. Maybe we are gaining insight into ourselves or a situation. Maybe we are adding tools to our figurative “toolkit” of healing and growing. Maybe we are allowing ourselves the chance to really discover what exactly it is that we want and what our place is in this world. Maybe what we thought we were really losing is not actually a loss, but rather a gain. Sometimes what we actually lose is the illusion of what we thought we had. An illusion we created inside of our own minds because we wanted it so badly.

It’s the illusion I’m often guilty of creating; an illusion of a relationship, a friendship, a connection I thought was there, but actually wasn’t and one where when I stopped communicating, the illusion of that connection swiftly faded into oblivion and it was as though it was never there at all, and truthfully, it wasn’t.

So we shift. Maybe we cry, maybe we write pages and pages in a journal, maybe we type our thoughts into a blog like I am at this very moment. Maybe we call our loved ones or trusted friends and cry and vent and ask “why” over and over. Maybe we sit perplexed for days, questioning who we are and wondering, “what if?” There are so many unknowns and maybe that is the worst part, but in a way is also a blessing. We don’t know, so we can create our own ending and also our new beginning and maybe, one day, we meet the person, the job, the friend, the life, we don’t have to heal from, because experiencing it is the light and compass we always knew we needed.

Maybe that day is not today, not for me, maybe not for you who is reading this, but I hold out the hope that someday, hopefully sooner than later, it will be.

Pages of a Love Story

In many ways, their love story ended even before it began, but alas, it would always be her favorite. Surrounded by a sea of books was where they first met, when time was only figurative and the hours seemed to slip by. So many love stories, each of them unique and beautiful in their own right, housed inside spines of books, only handfuls she’d ever read and yet, she knew her favorite one would be theirs. Minute by minute, they sat, the time ticking, but all they felt was each others’ presence.

She always wondered what love was; was it a feeling, an action, something inborn? Sometimes, she felt it might be impossible to describe, but only something that could be felt or experienced. She imagined that it would never need to be rushed and whenever it would arrive, it would be right on time. So many beautiful things and instances in life never need to be rushed; the sunrise after long days of rain or snow. Maybe love was a little bit like the coming of Spring after the harshest of winters, when the freshly laundered air circulated amid dandelions swaying in the cool breeze. Maybe love was like the tallest of sunflowers blooming in abundance in the heat of Summer, when the sweet taste of ice cream kisses our lips and we walk barefoot on the hot pavement without a care in the world.

Maybe love was never meant to be explained, merely felt, but all she knew was that their moments together were like pages of her favorite novel, eager to turn every page, but still wanting to savor every last word. She’d let those books linger, only indulging in them in the latest of evenings, when there was only the quiet hum of the heat or air conditioning and little was asked of her. It was her forbidden fruit in a sense, but as the pages turned, just like every moment they spent together, she was satiated and at peace.

There was always an ending; that she knew, but as she aged, she came to see endings as merely alternate beginnings. Every ending comes with a new beginning and she believed it to be true, but just for today, she’d savor the present, relishing in the sweetness she now knew was love and an arrival couldn’t have been more pristine.

Wellness in a Wrist

The hardest goodbye I ever had to say came unexpectedly, as they so often do. It was a goodbye I didn’t know would be permanent and a “see you later,” barely crossed my mind. Still a teenager and trapped in thinking deeply in the future, as opposed to the present, I feared every breath and step I took, not knowing where it would lead me. My own shadow and appearance became my enemy and biggest fear, as the hands I tried to hold were no longer there. In many ways, it all seemed to disappear in an instant, but I later realized, it was all fading over time.

Sometimes, when I think back, I can still feel their arms wrapped around my body, draped in my mother’s zip-up hoodie, concealing my frail and fragile body, black capri pants hanging loosely from my hips and the black slide sandals scraping across the carpet. Standing there, burying my head into their embraces, my sunken eyes produced tears as they dripped down my cheeks, stinging them raw and leaving them deep shades of crimson.

Back then, I didn’t know; I didn’t know how fortunate, blessed and afforded with opportunity, I was. Back then, I didn’t realize that the chances I was given would not last, that my biggest fears really were and still are, myself. The steps we take to heal are rarely linear; they can and do ebb and flow, with some days better and easier than others. Some days are hard to bear and digest, leaving us despondent and afraid it will always be this way. The other days, something clicks and it becomes easier and we see ourselves and situations with greater clarity, or at least an understanding and feelings of empathy. We learn that our bravery and courage can be worn like a badge of honor and that our scars are not signs of admonishment or defeat, but rather the opposite. Our scars become the compass to our strength, to inspire and help others do the same as we have; overcome and battle our demons, focusing on our strengths instead of weakness.

We learn that it is okay to feel pain, to let ourselves sit in the melancholy, but also accept it is okay to feel happiness, to desire more than our inner turmoil holding us hostage. We learn that those who love us will not “fix us” but rather stand by us with support and encouragement as we fix ourselves. We learn the symbolism in our struggles and journeys and appreciate those we’ve met along the way, whose care, love and words serve as valuable tools to our continued healing.

Sometimes, on days and moments when I feel I’ve lost my way, I look down at my right wrist, adorned with a symbol of strength, healing and a constant reminder of my journey and strength. Still I rise; a quote said by the dear poet and writer, Maya Angelou, words I think of when I reflect on my life and self. She, like I, and millions of others each day, continue to rise, even when it would be easier to crumble.

This week, NEDA week, is a week where I choose to reflect on the many chances I’ve been blessed with and encourage others to pursue a life of freedom from the chains our minds often form and punish us with. We are more than a body, more than a face, more than the punitive thoughts that try so hard to trap us. We are individuals, humans, deserving of respect, love, care, and the chance to pursue what makes us feel alive.

Take the leap. Leap into something new, or maybe return to you, or discover you. Be YOU.

Bold as a Butterfly

Sometimes when I think about my age and what it represents; years of struggle, contemplation, some successes, life lessons and a little bit of everything else all mixed in, there is a recurrent theme. When I look back and reflect on my past and younger self, what I wish more than anything, was that I could have given myself kindness, patience, compassion and an understanding that remaining still, pausing to heal and challenge my current situation, was not stagnant nor an act of weakness, but rather the contrary.

Suffering, forcing myself to endure both physical and emotional pain is something I still think about and even feel on some days. Unlike my younger years, I notice it directly and am aware of it. With that awareness, I can choose to do what I will with it; pause and allow myself to heal and disconnect while I do, or continue pushing until I’m more or less forced to stop because there isn’t enough energy left to sustain my current situation.

It hurts sometimes to look back on those photos of me during particularly tumultuous times of my past, seeing the pain and hurt in my eyes behind the broken smile, the heavy makeup, bright clothes and heels. It’s haunting, seeing the correlation between the choices I made or didn’t make then and where I am today.

On some days, harder ones like today, I have to remind myself that I am not my past; I’m not the pain I feel or internalize from others; it isn’t my responsibility to fix others or be a hero, but it IS my responsibility to fix myself and be MY own hero. Maybe that means stepping back and sitting soundly, writing my thoughts as I am at this very moment. Maybe it means singing my heart out to songs that deeply resonate with me. Maybe it is seeing those photos of me from the past and leaving them there, showing compassion and understanding for what that young woman didn’t know then. Maybe it is acknowledging that my journey is mine alone and not for anyone else to pick apart, compare or chastise. Maybe my job is to be forthcoming and recognize that the past happened, the present is happening and even if I’m not in the place I envisioned, I can still control where my thoughts wander and design a future for myself that is mine alone.

“And even when the fierce winds blew, she still knew she could hold on. Even as the cold air sliced through her, she continued to stand, braving the storms both internally and externally. She was one, with or without the others, who shied away and left her behind.”

A Love By Definition

She wanted the kind of love that wasn’t conditional. The kind of love that didn’t come crawling back only after midnight, when the rest of the world was sleeping.

The kind of love that didn’t judge or criticize, but rather sought to understand all the ways love could be given and received. The kind of love who desired to learn others’ language of love and embodied it every day.

She wanted the kind of love who didn’t make her feel like the figurative doll on the shelf, collecting dust, torn and tattered, only touched when there was nothing and no one else available. She wanted the kind of love who didn’t make her feel like she was an option, but rather a definitive choice. 

She wanted the kind of love who wanted all of her and not solely her body; who loved her heart, mind and spirit. The kind of love who saw her as a gift, one to be continually unwrapped each and every day.

She wanted the kind of love who sought to know, to learn and live every moment beside her, cradling her hands through the good and bad. The kind of love she could carry with her, both literally and figuratively. The kind of love that sought to heal, not hurt. The kind of love that dried her tears and laced their hands through hers.

She wanted the kind of love that felt like home, no matter where she was, even in the coldest and brutal winters; even in the darkness of her mind and in the rainstorms at her weakest. 

It would be that love that would carry her through. The kind of love that didn’t seek to complete her, because she was already whole as she was, but rather enhanced everything she had and was and sought to make her even stronger. It was the love not only of touch, spirit and heart, but a love that felt like breathing; an innate and natural existence.

The kind of love she wondered if she’d ever find, or would find her.

A Runaway Heart

It’s been awhile, perhaps even over a year or just about, since I shared some of my very brief creative writing pieces and so, today is that day. The following passage came to me, as they usually do, when I had little, if any access to a pen, paper, or electronic device and so I started crafting it in my mind until I was able to access a medium to officially jot it down. Though it isn’t long, it is a beginning and so without further adieu, here it is:

A Runaway Heart

It was so loud, the sound of my feet hitting the pavement. My legs burned as I ran as fast as I could, my heavy breaths all that was audible. It was uncertain how far I could actually go, given my inexperience running, but alas, there I was, barely missing a beat as my feet raced through every block. When my body could no longer support my shallow breathing, I halted my running and paused to consider what my next move would be. There was darkness everywhere, the cool air sending a chill down my spine. At a distance, I could hear another’s footsteps, at first sounding louder and then gradually fading. Maybe it was him; maybe he’d changed his mind and for a moment, my mind considered what it could be like to once again see the green in his eyes, the translucent pool of emotion that seemed to drink me in each time my gaze would meet his. My thoughts were interrupted by the silence, the absence of sound except my own breathing sounding so loudly I couldn’t bear to be immobile a second longer. So I resumed my running, wondering if I would ever find reprieve from the tumultuous thoughts endlessly swirling in my mind. Each block I ran, I prayed to hear his voice once more, that deep, rich baritone that sounded like the sweetest melody each time he uttered my name. Though I knew in my heart and mind, there was no return, no resumption of our connection; he was gone and there was little I could do to remedy it.

So there I was, sweaty, fatigued and trapped in the confines of my twisted mind and heart, wondering if I’d see pieces of me in every step I took, as I mourned what used to be. Maybe I would be haunted by his ghost, the outline of his body always clinging to my memory. Maybe I would learn everyday how to let you go, how to surrender my hold upon you. Maybe one day, you’d disappear in my heart as you did my life. Maybe my only memory of you would be the sound of your footsteps walking away to claim another life.

Maybe.

Think it Forward

There are some days where I feel stuck, so stagnant and stale, wondering how the impending hours and moments will ever go by. There are some moments when I look at what I’ve accomplished or haven’t and wonder how to navigate ahead. There are other days when I wonder if what’s ahead really is better than what’s passed me by and then I notice something that convinces me it’s true.

A short while ago, I started to “curate” my social media feeds. Unfollowing things and people that failed to inspire me, or resonate, but instead left me feeling perplexed, unsettled and triggered. Instead, I started to follow and look for the motivators – the people, companies and brands who were real. It’s not to say there wasn’t anything negative posted, because to me, being genuine means embracing both the positive and negative. Being able to own and admit to misgivings, struggles and challenges only solidifies authenticity and a genuine feeling. Life and people aren’t always positive; there isn’t sunshine everyday, both figuratively and literally and I for one, can appreciate when someone tells their story, what they’ve weathered through or are still weathering through. Most days, reading these stories, passages and quotes are what personally carries me through.

So many of us nurse compelling stories inside of us and some may think others don’t want to hear it, but I’m here to say, they DO. They surely do, as I know I do, and if I do, I’m convinced there are others who feel similar. Someone else’s story could be the impetus to recovery, strength and perseverance. There are many times when I look back on parts of my life and recognize the progress I’ve made, even if not outwardly shown. How I respond to certain people, situations and myself, is enough for me to know there has been growth.

None of us knows or will ever really know what lies ahead, but how beautiful a thought to know what it could be. This passage below that I stumbled upon is the reminder I needed today, to convince me that even through all the struggles, sadness and disappointments, what lies ahead could be even better than what’s been left behind. The severed friendships and relationships, the former careers and dreams, maybe they were all leading us to something even better; something even more fulfilling and beautiful. Something that makes us realize the importance of rain and storms, both literally and figuratively.

Sometimes the way I think about life and how it changes or how our likes and dislikes change and evolve over time is similar to that of a beautiful, elaborately-decorated cake. There can be a cake that looks exquisite and pristine, every detail considered, with colors that pop and is hard to pull one’s eyes away from, but when the cake is sliced and served, it is tasteless. Lacking in flavor and texture, the cake is simply outwardly beautiful, but with a filling that is flavorless. How very disheartening and disappointing. Life is like this sometimes, a tasteless “cake.” When we finally get what and who we thought we wanted and it turns out to leave us feeling unsatisfied, alone, unfulfilled and wondering why we ever thought we wanted it in the first place.

Just because another person’s life or a choice, decision, product, item, opportunity LOOKS good on the outside, doesn’t mean that its core is equally as so or fulfilling at all. Curate a life and vision that is yours and yours alone. Take chances, make choices, pivot, shift, move forward or backwards, but whatever you choose to do, know that nothing in life is permanent, even the darkest of days.

For me, it can often feel like I have a lot of love inside and nowhere for it to go, but then I look around, especially today, MLK Day in the United States and I’m reminded of all of those who are in need of help, from babies, to children, to teens, to adults, to those who are wealthy or not, to the environment, and a plethora of others, and I’m convinced, there really IS a place for all of that love to go. So today, I hope you take whatever love you have inside of you and use it for good; whether it is to yourself, to others, or maybe both, use it wisely and remember, it is ALWAYS needed. There is ALWAYS a right time to do good and be good to yourself and others.

Unpaved Days Ahead

As a new year begins, so many of us set goals and resolutions, expectations and hopes for how the next 12 months will unfold. So many of us begin determined and focused on making these next 365 days a better one, one with greater productivity, success, introspection and happiness, but at the same time, some of these can be unrealistic or hold us hostage. Whether we succeed at achieving all we aspire to or not, struggle along the way, or end up remaining much the same as the preceding year, does not reveal much about who we are. It doesn’t account for what we’ve learned and taken with us along the way; it doesn’t represent what the scars we’ve accumulated taught us, or what we did to survive and persist. It doesn’t communicate our resilience and bravery or how much we’ve overcome to still be standing, even if we stumbled so many times along the way.

To me, what really matters as this new year gets more underway, is whether we are listening to what WE want; whether we are listening to that voice inside us that always knows the way and whether or not we are brave enough and willing to trust it. There is a quote that reads, “Your heart knows the way; trust it.” This is something I’ve come to believe more so than ever as I’ve gotten older. Many times though, I’ve declined to listen to it and instead pursue the erroneous beliefs in my mind, the ones that have been tainted and mishandled by people and my own toxic sides of me I allowed to overtake. With that being said, we only have to make room for the people and parts of us we actively invite and some, if not many, are not deserving of that invitation.

No goal, resolution, triumph or struggle colors and defines our being. We get to decide who we are and what we want each and every day. Pivot, change, move forward, step backwards and step forwards again, this is life; a fluid stream of success and struggle, but it’s the in-betweens that often matter most and illustrate what we’ve overcome and have persevered.

All of our futures are unpaved, no matter how clearly defined they may seem in our minds and they can be dismantled and reconstructed at any time. Another day, another chance.

A New Way to Walk

In just hours, here in the United States, we will step into a new year – 2024. In just hours, we will conclude a year filled with trials, tribulations, stress, uncertainty and fear, but also a year of education, wisdom, chances taken, opportunities, friendships beginning and ending, careers beginning and ending, health challenges and successes, and so much more I cannot even begin to recall or recount.

For me, it is a year of physical and emotional injuries, but also a means to prove and solidify my strength, perseverance and resilience. It is a year spent summoning much courage and bravery, a year for me to develop even greater empathy and understanding that all of us struggle at some point and some, everyday. This year, I learned the struggles with losing mobility, the struggles of helping a family member recover while simultaneously recovering and struggling myself. This year, I learned the importance of asking for help, even when it’s hard and makes me feel uncomfortable and undeserving; we are ALL deserving of help, care and understanding, this proves to be true, time and time again.

This year I learned to take time to appreciate the scenery and world around me, proven on Christmas Eve when my mom and I took time to take in the seasonal decor and explore the sights around New Hope, a town not far from where I live. This year, I learned that it is better to have tried, than to not. This year, I learned that we can begin again, we can take chances, we can put ourselves out there and pursue friendships, relationships, and whatever connections we aspire to have, no matter our age, our past and what we’ve been through.

Today, I walk towards the new year with a greater sense of wisdom, awareness and the realization of what I want and what I DON’T want. In hours, I’ll walk into the new year with the hopes and aspirations of being brave enough to leave behind the past, not dwelling on opportunities lost or not taken, not dwelling on when I said no and wanted to say yes, or conversely when I said yes and wanted to say no.

In hours, I’ll walk into the new year with the desire to accept myself and my past and realize I do not have to stay chained to the adolescent or young adult me. This year, I can step into and own my mid-thirties as a woman with chances and opportunities ahead of me and have the confidence to walk away from situations and people who only leave me chained to an unhealthy me.

No matter who you are or where you are in your life; struggling, happy, successful, lost, confused, hopeful, etc, it is my hope that you’ll walk out this year and into the new year with the awareness and knowledge that you CAN begin again, keep going, own your future and leave your past behind while still acknowledging it happened.

Happy Healthy New Year to all of you; thank you from the bottom of my heart for reading along in my journey and reading my thoughts, it is always greatly appreciated.