Truths About Healing

I find myself constantly belittling the sheer effort this process requires of me,

The consent urge to do more, to learn more,

To dive from one depth to another. Experiencing the offerings of reprieve along the way without considering the bone grinding, body shattering war I must drag myself through to get there.

Women often do that, I think, belittle the battle. We are told to be better, stronger, less emotional, but more caring. Told to feel guilty by putting ourselves before others. To feel shameful if we cannot carry the world’s burdens along side our own.

The word “no” is thick around my tongue. Clinging tightly while every neuron in my body pulses with hesitation. To say no is to drag my body 100 yards through thick black tar with guilt and shame and “shoulds” waiting in the shadows. Reaching for my ankles, sliding upwards around my throat. My will, alone, continues the dredge. It is rooted in the whispers from the Knowing. The line hooking deeply into my heart pulling me forward, limb by limb, boundary by boundary, until I reach the other side. Yet, when I finally arrive- Yes, there is relief, but not without the residual heaviness still clinging to my whole being.

I chose myself, yet I still drip in shame. I do not feel deserving of my own love. For how long have I told myself I am not enough. That trying my hardest is in vain. That the best I can do will still never be enough. 

That I am intrinsically wrong.

And what I thought was guilt, telling me of my own wrongdoing, my own shortcomings, telling me each time I listened to my soul that I had chosen the wrong path- was truly shame.

Shame taught externally and internalized as a core belief.

Shame as a value system.

Shame as my teacher saying I don’t deserve nourishment, that rest is for those who have earned it, that an apology should precede my presence, that I should succumb to the whole world around me, that I should be content with the scraps, instead of demanding the whole damn thing.

So, with each wall that I shatter. I still think, more. Better. Faster. I still think, you should be able to do this easily.

I feel the rush of the win and completely dismiss the shambles to which I have reduced myself. The remnants of myself after the repetitive thrusting of my raw skin upon sharp edges.

My heart hanging out- just as I prayed for- but without my promised protection.

My blood and the tar, oil and water, upon what’s left of my skin. 

My flesh begging for a reprieve, an acknowledgement, an awareness that God himself was held to lesser standards for the creation of mankind.

I ask for patience, for appreciation, for rest, for the Knowing that:

I am enough

I am doing my best

It is okay, where I am

I ask for peace that is good enough

Contentment, as I receive the world as is 

A different, ever changing lens