The more I reflect, the more I realize how much energy it’s taking to process the grief that’s these past three years has weighed on my body, my heart, and my spirit. And even though I push past every time, I’m still tired.
Is anyone else like me? Where navigating the World is overwhelming some days. Where I try my best, but still it’s hard not to compare my life to others. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to live life as if I was another?
Where you asks the questions that don’t matter, but still blossom into ruminating thoughts. Like, will they accept me? Or, Can someone love me, too? Maybe, will I ever really feel free to be myself, 100% myself, without worrying that I’m too weird or different for the eyes that witness me? Perhaps it’s the sicknesses that plague my body that dictate my fate after all?
Who can love me, too? I ask myself as I wake up in an anxious puddle of sweat dripping down my burdened shoulders.
Maybe, just maybe it’s possible. The love. The acceptance. The bliss of freedom to be myself without fear.
I ask the universe to allow me that freedom. Right now, I manifest that freedom. I am free from the drought of shame, grief, and guit. I am worthy of the love I seek because it seeks me too. I am ready to receive.
A collage depiction of what self-love looks like inside of me, traveling through my veins.
Going Back to Therapy
For the last month and a half or so I’ve been seeing a therapist for the first time since that one semester in my senior year of college. Although it’s difficult to manage all the emotions that come up as I talk through all of “my stuff”, I’m continuing to come in contact with the parts of me that were previously tucked deeply away. The more I talk and navigate my experiences, the more I’m able to identify the parts of me that need healing.
In these few weeks I learned three big things about my personality, habits, and tendencies:
1. I’m a highly sensitive person and a hopeless romantic.
2. I have issues with feeling good enough and loving myself in the same intensity that I love others.
3. I’m a recovering perfectionist and still struggle with “doing” too much to feel seen. I try to “stay busy” in order to distract myself from feelings unlovable, worthless, and enough. I crave outside stimuli to try to fill a void inside.
The Creative Cure
As I’m learning about what it means to be me, the good and the bad, I found that creativity and writing are my most helpful tools for feeling better.
Because I’m aware of my perfectionism, I’m trying to reverse and redirect the energies I put in “doing”, “pleasing” and “overexerting” back into myself. As I practice what feeds my passion, I’m beginning to realize what love means for me. The more I see what love is for me, the more I can pour back into myself the void of practicing and feeling self-love.
Passion and Learning Self-love
Passion is the manifestation of self-love — It’s love in doing. Passion is one of the only feelings (along with ambition, for example) that can not be given to someone else. To feel passion is to come in contact with something in yourself that feeds your needs and fuels your purpose.
When I create, write, and tell my story I feel passion. Doing what I feel passion for allows me to access peace and satisfaction perfectionism never can.
As I move closer to reclaiming my self-love, allowing it to travel to all parts of me (including my perspective of myself), I will use writing and creativity to help heal me of my self-love wound.
Some Advice
Find your passion. Find what helps you feel good and accomplished. Learn about yourself and learn what love means to you. Feel and access the energy of love. Once you’ve found the peace that comes with love, you can practice love for yourself and with others.
Self-care with unbreakable self-love is powerful and can help you build a healthier you.
I remember the time I was struck with insecurities about who I am.
How I couldn’t explain what I want to do, or who I want to be.
I remember being stuck…
Hesitating…
Putting myself down…
After I was done doing a bad job at explaining my interests, I then immediately thought, wow, that’s stupid. What you want is not a thing.
You won’t get anywhere with that. Who does that? You’ve done nothing for yourself to get the unimaginable dream you want to come true.
And as I began to crush my dreams next to tangible accomplishments of the ones around me, I began to shrink. Shrink so small that I couldn’t see myself anymore. I saw myself in the muck and oil of my current state. I began to grab my aching back and bruised arms, rub the pain from my wrist, and throw up blood from the anxiety and the depression.
Then I thought, a hope so big brings people bed ridden for dead back to life. A hope that opens closed eyes and ears. A hope of power that flows and pumps blood to my heart every time. The one time I feel a touch of happiness is when I create something.
While my suffering heart feels myself floating and dispersing into the sea of forgotten faces of capitalistic tendencies, I remember, my dreams is what brought me back to life after my soul left my body..and into an oblivion I went…drowning in fear and regret, I thought I was nothing, but my dreams made me feel something. While my body and soul unite again it’s because of my pencil and my pen.
I remember why my heart started to beat and the oxygen came back into my lungs.
I created something.
Thats what I do.
I write.
I dream.
I’m a motivator for life.
Living is my motto.
I remember I was struck with insecurities about who I am, then I thought one more time…I create to give back the life of those whos bodies have left their souls.
SparklyWarTanks 