what I don’t want to say

dawn

This is may be a meta blog post, or like a blog post about blog posts. Ars blog post?

There’s so much I don’t want to share right now, and maybe that’s also why I haven’t wanted to write here. I just go deep all the time, and finally, I’m tired. I just want to sit on the beach of life right now.

Or, I could be tweeting too much. I’ve gone on a lot of rights lately. But still, there’s something about coming here and spilling my guts that I feel like I don’t have to do as much anymore.

I still want to share my spiritual journey, though. Finding the right sweet spot for disclosure and privacy can be tough for a memoirist.

There’s one blog post just waiting to be written, and it’s about my mother. I got major clarity about our relationship last week, like decades worth in one sitting. But the truth was devastating–even though it was something I already knew. Maybe I will write this after this post.

Last week, I basically dragged my broken heart through my writing schedule and made it somehow. It was terrible, physically unbearable; but by Friday, the pain broke and I was fine again. But then again, I’m not fine.

I’ve had to take a real pause and a hard look at all of my relationships and see how my relationship, or lack thereof, with my mother has filtered through everything. It’s been enlightening but also slightly horrifying. Slightly only because deep down, I knew all this.

My tightening up here is probably a sign of improving health. Maybe I had to parade my pain and guts and essence to be seen, heard, accepted–isn’t that what babies do, pretty much? Look at me, I’m in pain. I need a hug. I need a bottle. I need to be burped. I need my diaper change. There’s a lot that I want to share, but it’s is just for me–or at least for close friends.

And that’s what having proper boundaries should feel like, like that I do have something special in me, about me, that I don’t have to share with anyone; that I don’t have to be a certain way for acceptance; that I don’t need external validation for my thoughts or experiences.

Right now, there’s so much I would like to share here, but as I started to learn in college, if you don’t have healthy boundaries, people will trample all over you and think that you welcomed them in to do it.

Even though in the previous post, it was a bit of a lament and slow acceptance to my situation, I’m slowly, ever so slowly, seeing its purpose. I keep trying to remind myself, or convince myself, there’s no way I would have been able to get the messages about my mother if everything was going well.

I try to imagine myself, busy in a relationship, busy with friends, busy going out, busy busy busy, and trying to schedule time to meditate or seek spiritual guidance of some sort.

Do people really do that when they are happy? If you’re in the light, do you seek even more light?

Still, when all that busyness returns, and it will, the gratitude I will feel…I will look like a cloying, obsequious fool–and I won’t care. I won’t be the crying baby, forever longing to be held and soothed. I won’t have anything to prove about my own worth.

I won’t have to spill my guts so much to show that I’m a human being.

At the bottom of these 10 of Swords which impale me through and through, I can see a newer dawn start to creep above the horizon…

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