In college, I remember telling my poetry professor that I didn’t like editing my poems. That it felt like I was taking some of its magic and significance away. That I preferred it raw and “real”. It felt watered down, too technical and unemotional, and not as impactful when I would go in to tear it apart to “fix” it.
I guess the mistake on my part was thinking that this process of editing is anything like “fixing”. I also think that it correlates to my childhood wounds where I felt my mom was always trying to make me into someone I wasn’t by telling me to change this thing and that thing, all these parts of me. And so to take something, like a poem, that was seemingly poured from my heart, and trying to make sense of the process of editing to make the piece “better”, just made it feel like it was not good enough to start with.
And this was the problem too, I think, because when we are always sensitive to not being accepted or seen, we perhaps, some of us, cling even more to certain parts of our identities. Rebelling and exaggerating and defending what feels “real”. I felt those first drafts of my poems were real. So I didn’t want to do anything that would signify erasing it, since I have felt erased all my life.
Continue reading The Shame Behind the Creative Process
A part of why “just listen to your heart” doesn’t work is because people tend to get their minds mixed up with what their heart and soul is actually telling them.
The mind and the ego both for all its time in existence has tried to mimic the heart and the soul. The more that is found out about emotions and spirituality and things like that, the mind and ego will create a rigid pattern so that they can follow. This is because we still adhere to certainty, we still want a guide to present to us our vulnerabilities and moralities.
“Listening to your heart” only works when you get to know how your body works and what it communicates to you. If your body is rooted, it will naturally give rise to the heart’s song. The mind can go round and round in circles for years before ever touching a toe into the heart’s pond.
Continue reading Why Listening to Your Heart Only Works When You Listen to Your Body
I used to want to feel normal. That’s all I ever wanted. Now I see that my perspective and definition of feeling normal was really just to have a sense of belonging, a right to be here. No explanation needed for why I exist.
I’ve equated the feeling to how babies in their first years of life start to learn how to manipulate and exert their influence onto the outside world. How you can see them growing more and more aware of their own power and joy. To feel “normal” to me meant just that – such alignment with your physical reality and the freedom to know you are capable of bending it and being a part of it. A dance between you as an individual and the larger world around you. That you don’t need to hide or feel hindered.
And I kept seeing that everywhere in others, except in me. I wanted so much to be someone else in order to be free.
But by accessing all the blockages I’ve been knocked with and learning to heal and bring my own inner child through more, I’m beginning to sense the rightness of my being more. And sometimes that’s all you need to start with : just the sensation of having the right to be. Quiet gestation.
So I guess the world normal wasn’t the most adequate word at all. All I wanted was to be so exquisitely blissful in my own inner world and being able to touch the skin of the outer one. Magic within the ordinary.
there are stars that revolve
around an unstudied black center,
swinging at 100 miles per second.
there are molecules on my skin
that dance chaotically in heat
when i am involved in something
bringing me closer to my center
grand or small, the extremes
of all scales tend to end up
looking roughly the same.
maybe all that you are is more
than all the things you are not.
and maybe you’ve got to start to trust
the uncertainty of discovering
this moreness rather than obliging to
who you were told you were not
and should act like instead.
the weight of all that you aren’t
is easily seeable. but the glorious
abundance of all that you are
can only be felt, and relinquished into.
At some point in our lives, we tend to recreate the traumas or patterns we experienced in childhood. Maybe once, maybe more than once… There’s that cliché but it’s true. We play out all the pain and the longing and the desires we’ve had. This happened to me when I was 13.
I was with a boy who not surprisingly mirrored lots of the same emotional difficulties as me. He was an on and off again runaway/kid who got kicked out, who lived in group homes and was involved in gangs. He dabbled in physical self-harm before he met me and I was already a few months into my own path of cutting before I met him. We met at the perfect conjunction where all of this expedited in me. And I must’ve seemed so crazy now looking back because my head also throbbed with notions of romanticism and emotional fantasies.
Continue reading the relationship I had when I was 13.
I was wondering why, these last couple of days, even when my period and pms symptoms subsided, was I still feeling so lethargic, and unmotivated, and lifeless almost. Then I remembered – I have chronic depression. And it is not something that goes away permanently every time I feel ‘good’ again.
I think sometimes we tend to want to avoid very uncertain or despondent feelings like this and just want to power through with whatever we planned to be on track with, not taking time to rearrange and deal with the unexpected. It never works like this especially if you deal with any mental/emotional health issue. I was being really hard on myself, feeling angry about why I couldn’t just get up and go outside or enjoy the routine I had going this past month. I was trying to override this “fatigue” and finding loopholes to snap out of it. But it doesn’t work that way and it’s never worked that way, so why did I still try ?
Continue reading reminder: depression happens. and the opening it provides does too.
I guess the thought of that came to me “randomly” one day while driving in my car. It was weird realizing that that fact didn’t even cross my mind for so long. It was as if I was too busy focusing on what other things I needed to improve on, what other things I was lacking, the ideals I was not meeting yet. I hadn’t stopped to give myself any credit or acknowledgment for the things I did progress in and the actual difference in the quality of life I am living now compared to 7 years ago, when my world was much, much smaller and denser.
I cried out of a mixture of joy, disbelief, and amazement. Because to go from hating yourself so much and feeling so much internal frustration with the inability to cope that you turn it against your own body and mind was really a battle. Sitting here and being aware of how I, in contrast now, can physically recoil from even thinking of myself doing that is… something I am very grateful for.
Continue reading I haven’t cut myself in 7 years.
Vulnerability is like drowning, but finding out you can breathe, albeit in a different way. And although some people find this out, it still can be a discomfort to not resurface and not go back again to the kind of air and pressure they were used to all along.
But vulnerability is really submerging all of you, and letting all the masks and layered insulation you’ve had in place slowly loosen and release under water, being carried away because it’s no longer needed.
You don’t experience yourself clearly when all the mirrors you’ve placed around yourself only reflects the small of yourself that you were comfortable being uncomfortable with.
Tenderly living is like the sun’s shine. How it continuously radiates but can never peak back inside at it’s own core to define it. It just lives from it. Breathes from it. Always in touch with it.
And what feels like fire to your lungs at first later becomes what you know is necessary. Because it forces you to stay in between each moment instead of trying to conquer each moment, with swords and armor and vigilance that only tires you out at the end and beginning of each day.
Learn to be submerged. Learn to breathe inconspicuously. Learn to love and be loved in a different way.
if everything is a cycle.
if your emptiness is a cycle.
if the darkness is what you
keep returning back to.
that so is your joy.
so is that love you feel
inside yourself opening up
more and more, little by little.
so is the natural current then
that unceasingly washes you back
to the familiar grounds
of your wildly unrelenting