Where You'll Find Me

One of those little breadcrumbs crept up on me today. It has been churning around in my head so I know there is something here that I need to write about. Ultimately as I sit here typing, what resonates most is just the simple feeling of feeling like enough. I've turned the corner on the nuclear bomb that has imploded in my life in the past year and a half. I've crawled out of the depression and hopelessness. I'm done picking up pieces and trying to make them fit. The kaleidoscope I was living in is a memory. I'll carry the scars with me, but the bleeding has stopped and I'm no longer suffocating in the aftermath.

Where you'll find me now is swimming in the deep end of the universe. I'll be here celebrating who I am and my capacity to feel and love beyond anything I could have ever imagined.

The struggle and the loss didn't kill me. It uncovered the depth of my soul and the strength I have to survive it all.

I will no longer shrink to fit anyone else's needs.

I will have the courage to speak my truth.

I will hold space in my life for those who can see me, understand me and appreciate me for exactly who I am.

I will hold my heart for the one who can meet me here and stand with me against whatever comes.

I believe I've paid my dues now. I'm ready to rebuild a life to be more steady in and proud of. More than anything, I want Jack to see me happy and actually living a life. I want him to see that love wins.

That's where you'll find me... where love always wins.

Relearning God

I had a long day and ended up falling asleep early. So, of course, here I am late at night wide awake. I turned the tv on to a true crime story. I was watching a mother speak about the loss of her daughter and marinating in the horror of that. Then she repeated a phrase I've heard so many times in my life... "an eye for an eye."

My guttural response was, "that's not from my God."

Not only did I feel it important to understand the truth that was resonating within me, I also became very aware and proud that I was instinctively using my own discernment rather than being cemented in the stories that I've been told my whole life.

I grew up going to a little country church every Sunday. I heard stories about God and Jesus. Looking back, the stories that perpetuated fear and control are the ones that echoed the loudest. To no one's fault, that's what has been handed down, quite methodically through organized religion.

My miscarriages, becoming Jack's mother, and now surviving the immense trauma of the past few years have given me the gift of discernment. What I understand now is that people can get lost in human interpretations of God rather than the actual experience of Him.

Jesus attempted to redirect the spiritual conversation... to teach us not to repay evil with evil... to move away from revenge and toward mercy and restraint.

I didn't need to read that in a book.

I feel it.

The deeper I heal, the more I realize a big part of it is relearning God. It's letting go of conditioning and impersonal, external stories. It's anchoring my soul in love and compassion and finding strength in my newly found discernment. That's where He waits for me to meet Him. That's where He waits for all of us, no matter what.

Losing My Light

So much has happened this year. I've been overcome with a darkness and depth of loss that I could have never imagined before. It's now almost May and I stand here just on the other side of it all.

I've survived Jack moving to RI. He's all settled and truly thriving.

I've survived my move. And although the process of finding a place to live here was much more difficult and longer than expected, I've been able to move into a little house that perfectly suits my needs for now.

I've survived the loss of the job I've loved. I was fortunate enough to find a virtual position in another area.

I've survived yet another court battle with my ex-husband.

I continue to survive every day... without Tony's physical presence. But now the idea of attempting to start a new relationship doesn't seem as impossible as it used to.

Yet, with all of that, I still find myself searching for a light in the darkness. I still feel the heaviness and an inability to breath normally.

What is wrong with me?

Why am I not lit up and dancing in the streets?

Have I been broken so badly... beyond repair?

I sat alone with God and asked those questions. He showed me that my light isn't gone. It was dimmed and covered to protect it from this season of upheaval.

Because when life asks too much of you for you too long, your system doesn't break. It conserves.

It pulls your energy inward.

It quiets what isn't essential.

It protects what matters most... until it's safe again.

And although the shift to recovery is starting, my nervous system doesn't quite know how to feel safe again.

I can take solace knowing...

there is a reason for how I feel, or don't feel right now

there is a universal pattern of conservation... for protection

and more importantly... there is and will be an exit.

The cover will lift...and my light will brighten again. It won't come in big waves of elation or fireworks. It will be in slow and subtle moments... moments that teach me how to trust this new life that is being created inside and outside of me.