Learning to Breathe and Finding Me…..

I am not sure if anyone ever forgets the first time their heart was broken. That deep, searing pain that comes from being shattered into a million different pieces. There is an ache that comes from being broken and a strength that comes from learning to move forward. I don’t know if we can ever be the same after being splintered and wrecked but maybe, we don’t want to be the same. Maybe we want to be more.

A few weeks ago, I fell apart. It was pretty spectacular. I had been holding in so much for so long and working so hard to control “my story” that I finally just broke.

No one should break on their own. Breaking hurts. I am so grateful that I didn’t break on my own. I was in a safe circle of friends when I opened my vault of pain. They held my hand and listened to my hurt while looking into my eyes and never looked away. My pain was not ugly and while I was afraid of being seen as less, I actually became a little bit more.

Over that week-end, I stopped holding my breath and started to breathe. I realized that I had been holding on so tight that I wasn’t making room for what was trying to grow. My “people” heard my hurt. They stitched my wound with kindness and acceptance and then bandaged with love.

The definition of a warrior is a brave or experienced soldier or fighter. A warrior doesn’t flee when things get tough. My village is made up of warriors; a group of people who stay to the end, who live in the circle of trust and don’t let go. I felt I was slipping away but they held on and now I can rise and nurture what is trying to grow.

Growing is putting me out of my comfort zone. There are weeds. Pulling out the stuff that doesn’t bear fruit is not fun and is often hard. My idea of “hard things” used to be taking on physical challenges like the Tough Mudder or running a half marathon. These were all challenging but they weren’t hard. Life is hard. Like really hard.

In the rising of the new me, I am struggling simple things that are causing me stress. I am not finding it easy to give myself permission to sleep in or read a book in the middle of the day. I also feel I need to clean the bathroom. Why? No one is going to die if the bathroom isn’t sparkling for one more day. It’s just that I feel that I “should” ALWAYS be busy. it’s hard to fight that conditioning but I’m trying. I am trying to do hard things. I even wore my bikini in public. That was hard. Then there are other hard things that are in the “super hard” category. These are things like asking for help, admitting that I might need a job, giving up boxed wine or telling my husband that I want to feel closer. These things require breaking my armor and standing strong while feeling immensely vulnerable.

For my adult life, I have been on a bit of autopilot. I carried a check list and went from Point A to Point B. I stayed the course and rode the waves while trying to stay dry and not having to swim. It has been fun but raising a family and having a career have kept me distracted from my dreams. Now it’s all different and I am starting to listen to the whisper that grown to a roar. I think, just maybe, there is a whole lot more.

So. In my new journey of life, I have jumped in the ocean and am playing in the waves. I am taking up hobbies and looking for things that interest me. In my old life, I rarely read for pleasure, there was always a purpose. In reflection, I was strident and likely rather rigid. Since I am now swimming, I am learning to float and look up. When did the stars start to twinkle so bright?

I am starting to trust the magic of living and trying new things. My 14 year old is teaching me to mountain bike. It’s a slow process. So far, I have gotten on the bike. I can make it to the top of the trail but I ride the brakes all the way down. No one is asking me to star in a mountain bike film as of yet. Fast and flowy is relative but I am having fun!

I also thought I would try my hand at a DUI. At least that is what I called it until my daughter looked at me weirdly. Right. I meant DYI. Crafting is confusing. My goal was to repaint a bench. I like how happy the people on Pinterest are. They bubble with joy when describing how they lovingly restore their furniture. They seem to adore spending hours and hours on their projects. I don’t think that I will join their club. I have learned that I don’t have that kind of commitment. I wanted to but after the first 15 minutes, it felt more like work than a happy hobby. I waved the pressure washer over my chair, pulled out the sander and figured a coat of paint would cover up all the flaws. I wear makeup, I know how it works.

At the end of the project, there were no cute daisies or rainbows. I painted the chair blue. End of story. I think my career at crafting is complete. Wayne thinks blue kindling is very modern. I don’t think that was a compliment.

And this was my week. I don’t know what’s in store for next week but I’m keen! My garden is growing and my weeds are being pulled. Things are starting to fall together, namely me. In losing things, I am starting to discover the gifts that I was given. I feel an immense shift inside of me that gives me a taste of what it is to be free.

To everyone and anyone who is holding their breath, it’s ok to let go and start to breathe.

With love to you all,

Shelley