All eyes to the stage

you can watch her claw out of her skin

I wasn’t expecting addiction to be a blanket, a balm, a salve

I wasn’t expecting it to to be an answer to a question I never should've asked

I wasn’t expecting something that felt like mercy.

I was cold, then I wasn’t, one too many times.

All eyes to the stage, an illusion or a balancing act?

Didn’t expect it to feel familiar, like a nickname

Even when you shake it it rings in your head

I wasn’t expecting it to feel like friendship, where even the shadows make you less lonely

All eyes to the stage, she’s building a chrysalis, or a shell

I wasn’t expecting it to weigh so fucking heavy

it’s no heavier than the word recreational, I suppose

I wasn’t expecting it to cling to my bones

winter weight just won’t leave, how could it?

I wasn't expecting its strength

I’ve been so brave before,

But it is self conscious doubt

childhood fear

My achilles heel is my self.

All eyes to the stage

See the unpainted lady

Once in a dream I was whole

Get your eyes off the damn stage, can’t you see that’s a person up there?

Before you read this

Before you read this, go out and look at the sky.

It is night, it is day, it is the absence and the presence of more.

Before you read this, swallow a star.

You won’t be able to keep it but it’s a good lesson, to love things you know you can’t keep, and besides, it will light your way.

Before you read this, Dance.

Let your hips and shoulders stretch like a yawn, like a shout. Use them with abandon, they are yours and no one else’s.

Before you read this, cry for something you have forgotten. It was not a waste. It was a stepping stone.

Before you read this, move quickly through the world. Run, swim, leap, tumble, Move until the pattern of your heart shifts from ‘mortal, mortal, mortal’ to ‘alive, alive, alive.’

Before you read this, sing out loud. Quit saying you can’t. You have a heart don’t you? It’s the only requirement.

Before you read this, let yourself forget. You needn’t carry those things with you anymore. They were never intended for you, just cast offs from the people who built you, things that were too big for them to hold, and you picked them up because you fix things. But it’s time to let them go.

Before you read this, listen.

Listen to music in cathedrals and from the tinny headphones of the teenager next to you on the bus. Listen to birds and dogs and for animals you didn’t even know made noise.

Listen to your body; what is she hungry for?

Listen to the ones you love; what are they always not saying?

Listen to yourself at 5 begging for one more hour to play outside, listen to yourself at ninety rejoicing over hours well spent.

Before you read this, remind yourself that heartbreak will not kill you. It means you were brave. It means you lived.

Before you read this, give yourself permission to want more.

Before you read this, give thanks. Before you read this, dare. Before you read this...

--

Idea stolen from Neil Gaiman's Before You Read This, which is super cool also, but kind of dark, and I wanted something more uplifting.

 

In my new age, while I cannot claim many years, I am cyclically aware of the duality and transitory nature of all things.

When I can forget it, I wallow in that ignorance, because to look too long at it is to wonder when the pendulum will swing back, and whether I’ll be able to handle the change.

(I must. I can. I will.)

In a search for health I have discovered control, and with success comes joy cradled in terror: that I will make a complete fucking mess of this if anything falls out of balance. I create a new space, another and another, a more sober space, a healthier space, a calmer space, a more prepared space, I can, I will, I am in control, I’m good at this, this is easy, I am worthy…

I am fallible.

There is no infinite climb, no ultimate understanding. It’s a stopping and starting, a clumsy-beautiful lurch forward with scraped knees and bruised ego and hope cobbled together by loving words and chance.  But the steps I can land consecutively feel so good. I think, “I’ve got this now.”

She’s got herself together. Her ducks in a row. What a well-adjusted young lady

          Who spirals into manic benders spent gripping tight to blankets and partner and the fervent hope that this one can be rode out without the safety net of substances.

          Who goes months at a time unable to put forth any more. All I have, and it’s not very much.

          Who avoids truths to spare feelings.

Who is blessed with knowledge and support and still unable to use every gift, meet every eye.

          Who knows the exact texture of the ceiling, the tempo of the blinking of the clock, the cadence of the barking of the neighbor’s dog; watch the numbers tick by, get up, lie back down, read awhile, get back up, change seats, read a book, drink some tea, back in bed, and still, still

Was it enough? Was I too kind, too cruel? Should I have said this instead? Does she deserve better? Do they? Does it matter? Who’s responsibility is… How far should I… When will it… I’m not sure. I’m happy. I’m scared. It’s enough. There’s more.

To remain in the light.

To look at, and then truly see, as much as I can; good and bad are not all that far removed, after all, and binaries are just hues and shades dancing along Mobius strip. To acknowledge my fear without tainting my joy. To acknowledge my weakness in a way that celebrates my strength. To embrace discomfort. To forgive, myself mostly, for being human, for not knowing, for having to relearn and recalibrate and rebalance over and over and over and-

To rejoice and not cower in the knowledge that I am reborn, reintroduced, seeing and loving anew and different every second of every day for the depth and breadth of my life. That change is inevitable, but life is enduring, relentless, it survives all by becoming more than it was before.

So too shall I.

The struggle of maintaining sobriety has been on my mind frequently of late, and I thought I'd share this tidbit I wrote a few months ago.

I'm practicing leaning into discomfort.

It's uncomfortable.

Music is better sober. That's something I didn't expect. I loved the hazy waves of sound emotion, but sober I still get those glorious flavors of nostalgia and joy and pain, but my brain is more nimble. Instead of one foggy dream, it's a hundred vivid lifetimes.

I thought I would lose the nostalgia. Ha. That's the existential void. How humbling.

Joy is rawer and I can focus on bringing it to the forefront. I fail sometimes, but I have a choice almost always now, not consumed, writhing, caught in some unknowable force. It's me. It's mine. It's a little broken, a little prideful. But I'm am powerful too, in my strength and perseverance as much as in my vulnerability and empathy.

I cannot control the ebb and flow of time or space. But I can control myself. My reactions, my choices. Not the impact I have. I have to let it go, good or bad, with the knowledge that I've done everything I could.

It will always change. There will always be more to learn, more to feel, more to process. That's good. That's right.

That's the journey.

I feel more alive now. I was afraid I'd feel old, afraid getting older means getting boring. I realize now that getting boring is a choice.
I also realize there will be some reprioritizing.

At 16 I was going to live fast and die young. At 18 I was going to have every (inebriated) experience. At 21 I was convinced my only qualifier would be "fuck up." Self-indulgent, but true.

And now.

Now.

Now I recognize my role as tool, an instrument, a weapon, a balm. I recognize my usefulness. It is awe inspiring and terrifying. I'm not just responsible for me now. I'm responsible for the person I must become.

Fuck.

But when my body is consistently filled with the energy of a hundred loving hearts, when my mind won't rest, weighted by the injustices perpetrated by apathy, when my arms are wrapped around my babies...
It doesn't even feel like a choice. Now it's a privilege.

Especially considering the starting point. Self-loathing, codependence, addiction...

And now.

Now.

Sometimes I weep with the joy of it. It overwhelms me. And sometimes I'm still buried deep in old pain with only a hope and a commitment to sustain me.

And it is enough.

I am enough.

This mindset is great, but I'm living now in the understanding that my sobriety cannot be for anyone but myself. It's a big part of the struggle I'm having currently, remembering why I am so much better, happier, prouder, now, over a year sober. Still workin' :)

I am sharing this experience because I've recently been feeling the weight of it in a way I hadn't previously. I am hoping that giving it voice will clarify things and enlighten me, but if nothing else, at least I can share.

I am a proud person. It's not a characteristic I love or hate about myself. It's just true.

Because of that, and because of the cultural framing around body image, I avoid discussion of my own body, esteem, and appearance, because I feel that admitting to doubts and self hate would be a display of weakness uncharacteristic to the image of myself I have built. Or I think I have built. Or tried to build. Writing these things causes my discomfort, but I am attempting to be present, regardless.

A little less than a year ago, I made several personal changes. The decision to get sober was initially a reaction to the lack of control I was experiencing in my life, but it promptly forced into motion a number of other introspections that had almost farther reaching consequences than the sobriety itself.

One of those was my decision to cut diet culture from my life. I have struggled with and vacillated on my personal opinion of my body and dieting itself for most of my life, as, I think, do most women in this country. For years I tried to lose weight or shape my body in a certain way, with a definite moral worth attached to my success or failure. And because dieting is inherently, destructively fallible, I would succeed and feel validated, and then fail. And the sense of personal worthlessness and loathing I associated with the gain of even a few pounds was paralyzing.

Of course, at that point in my life, I hadn't yet named, claimed, or addressed my mental health issues, so that certainly didn't help. But after years of placing worth on that facet of my existence (like I did with so many other things I had no control over: intelligence, musical ability), I realized that the parts of myself I should be judging and weighing and promoting were the parts of myself I had worked for,  things like my compassion, my teaching ability, my social skills, my leadership. I realized that for as long as my appearance dictated my worth (and not even my appearance, my impression of my appearance), which inherently placed my value in the hands of other (white, male, cis, wealthy, closed-minded) people, I would be full of self-loathing and useless as a participant of purpose in this world.

So I said fuck it.

I stopped thinking about calories. I stopped thinking about weight.
I eat when I'm hungry. I am active as often as I can be.
I try to eat for energy, and because food is awesome.
I try to move for my mental health, and the enjoyment of the feeling of inhabiting my miraculous body.

I grant myself kind forgiveness when I, frequently, fail.

When I made this choice, I proactively disconnected my physical appearance from my self worth.

The biggest success I've had is eliminating the reaction to feel self loathing when I'm eating something delicious but calorically loaded. As time has gone on, as I am actively positive toward myself, that reflex has relaxed and for the most part I can eat what I want without guilt or shame. When I do feel those things, I have strengthened the muscle of rerouting my thoughts, reminding myself that food is delicious and completely unrelated to my ethical worth. It doesn't matter what I look like. There are other things of greater value.

BUT, I made those decisions when it was warm out. I walked everywhere, I was never in one place for long enough to really overeat often, and I was always outside. Combined with the calorie cut from not drinking, I actually lost weight.

And I didn't catch myself when the pride I felt about the changes in my life came from how I looked as much as how I felt.

Now, in the winter months, after the holidays, after lying in bed watching Netflix and eating, I have gained some weight. And the progressive mind frame I thought I'd perfected is a bit harder to come by. The choice to live fully, actively, healthily, but separate from the social value placed on weight and "fitness" ( because we all know it's not about health, it's about the look) is more of a struggle.

I've been walking everywhere I can because I love walking and because exercise makes my brain happy. I've been trying to cut back on the genuinely unhealthy eating behaviors. (Oh middle-of-the-night ice cream, I love you.) After holiday eating, I notice my body craving more fruits and vegetables and less crap, so I'm working to focus on how I feel. I feel happier, stronger, less sick when I'm eating with more balance than I have been. I understand that moderation is something I struggle with (hence the need for sobriety) and that applies to food too. And I'm trying to look in the mirror and appreciate and love and dote on every stretch mark and added inch. Because it's me. Because my worth is not earned, it is inherent in my humanity.

It's a delicate balance because I like the way I look, generally, and love my own style. I love my boots and my tattoos and my hair and my button-ups. Things I've chosen. It's hard to remember I didn't choose my metabolism, that controlling every calorie, will not, CANNOT be my priority. But it's ok to think about the way I look. As long as it's mine. As long as it's with love. As long as it gives grace and understanding to the realities of my body and my world and the fact that I have no right wasting my energy, or my skills, or my journey on self hate, so I better get loving.

It's hard to say these things. I feel like and am afraid that people will hear me saying, "Waaaah, I'm faaat, siiiigh," instead of  "I'm beautiful and fabulous and strong and gifted and determined and some days that takes more work that others."

Those of you comfy and happy in your diet and exercise, rock on. I know you feel great, and I'm excited to get my body back in balance. But those of you somewhere in the middle...

I feel ya. You're gorgeous. But you're also more than that. And I hope you are prioritizing your life with the knowledge of your infinite worth, giving yourself that love and forgiveness when you forget.