Today has floated by like a dream – the kind where you can’t get quite find your footing, and you are left feeling distant, disconnected, and drained. Earlier, I was sitting on the GO bus, crossed legged, books resting on my lap. Out the window, the world passed by in a blur – the rich soil and greenery of the farmers’ fields, old dilapidated barns, small roads snaking off the highway into the trees, the clouds dusted across the light blue expanse. My day has felt this sense of blurring, the haze of dipping in and out of consciousness – like the low sun dipping in and out of the treeline and my view.
My life is in a state of transition. I have been shaken up, split open. I find myself standing (crouching?) in a space of unknowing.
How do you define ‘space’?
I think of the space of another’s body (their hands tracing you, their weight next to you, their very presence), the space of the home you spent years building (the nest, the details, the way you shared it, the way it reflected you), the space you occupied playing certain roles (partner, lover, supporter, caregiver), the space within yourself that housed your feelings (comfort, love, stability, softness, playfulness, excitement, joy)…What happens when they all drop away? Where is ‘home’ now? (As of September, I have absolutely no idea!)
Two weeks ago, it seemed more clear (note: this does not equal easy)- but coming back into town has really triggered me. Two days ago, sitting on the grass at the farm, light and possibility filled the spaces beneath my skin – now, the spaces are clogged and bogged down with a heavy sense of fear.
Where does fear grab you? How does it sit in your body?
Fear lives in the tightness of my chest and the spaces around my heart. Fear makes me forget to breathe. Fear pulls me underwater and takes hostage my lungs. It breeds and multiplies between my ribs and travels through my muscles, radiating up past my clavicles, up through my neck. Fear clouds my vision, and dulls my dreams. Fear tells me that I’m not good enough, fear echoes those sharp words of my past that make me feel small and invisible, fear tells me that I need to suck it up and settle for whatever reality I have because it’s the best I will get. Fear taunts me, ‘who are you to make a change or make a difference?’ and other bullshit (but completely believable at the time) stories.
I am not my fear. And neither are you!
The process of grief is interesting. The intermingling of both sadness/fear and the excitement of new possibilities. Your mind oscillating between what you’ve lost and what’s yet to come. There is no right or wrong way to feel. It is okay.
In her book, Wild Mind, Natalie Goldman writes that “we have to break ourselves open” to become great writers. “A writer must be willing to sit at the bottom of the pit, commit herself to stay there, and let all the wild animals approach, even call them on, then face them, write them down, and not run away“. We must be willing to face and to write our fears, our vulnerabilities, and our darkness. It’s okay, We are safe.
What has been an experience of transition and uncertainty for you?
So much love,