Hair in a ponytail, coffee-full, paperwork to finish before I race to gather in community of the morning. I am at peace.
Yesterday, I was not.
I had encountered, faced, and fessed up to a lingering anger. As I do, I sorted my thoughts and mighty emotions in writing. The blog template was the safe place I chose to lay down fomenting feelings so I could see and deal with them.
What I did not intend was for the vulnerabilities of those thoughts to ever be exposed and published. So much for intention. I don’t know if I hiccuped, my computer hiccuped, or the universe belched, but without warning, my screen rolled up and gave me the congratulatory “you’ve just published your # blog” thumbs up.
Amid the stew of raw emotions I’d been ladling into words, I panicked and could not find a way to delete or unpublish the blog, “A confession.” Holy Cats. I pounded out an update of explanation and searched for a delete mechanism that worked. It wasn’t until I quieted my breathing into something akin to resignation, I realized how to pull my eviscerated heart-thoughts from the public square. Phew.
What a freaking start to an otherwise good day.
I woke to the peculiar quiet a foggy Sunday morning affords and tumbled towards the coffee maker. In the cool, my balcony welcomed my unfuzzing brain. The flowers are looking a wee worse for wear in the late summer scorch. My neighbor – already up – has hung laundry in the soggy air. Morning bunnies stealth in the greens below. A spider has made a home in my peppermint pot.
Rarely do I allow awareness to trump movement and activity.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
Keep it up.
Yesterday, I wrote of a long-overlooked sinkhole of anger. More cesspool than sinkhole. Growing in an environment where anger was the providence of only one gold-medal-olympic expert of rage, I learned to stash those feelings and avoid her inevitable cross-hairs.
When faced with anything personal like deception, rape, or relational blitzkrieg, anger sunk as a time-delayed depth charge. I began to launch anger so far beneath the surface, I could not identify or own it. Always a surprise – followed by shame – to see anger at the table.
But here it was. Bubbling up and bringing fear and shame to the party.
Fear I’d never be enough, find my purpose, or people/person.
Shame that I allowed such great evil to invade my self and the lives of my framily.
Fear + shame that “it would always be this way” and the damage irreversible.
You know, maybe I am doomed to hold my history alone and in meager means.
Perhaps unawares I invited great grief upon my family and friends in the brokenness of my return to the prairie.
I am so sorry.
In the grey fog of today, I decided to believe anything is possible.
Good is not abandoned.
Hope is no farce.
A future may be building in the place where anger, fear, despair, and shame flooded only two years ago – leaving such destruction in its wake.
Lately, I have felt joy to joy to joy to joy.
Silliness and a
Pitty-pattying heart woven in peace.
Exquisite Life woven into threads of the profane.
Yoga is helping.
Pals to walk and run with.
I am still afraid.
The future seems so ominous at times
Our human neighborhood is as rife with violence
As it is full of good-hearted people
crafting community on this spinning clod of dirt, water, and air.
is a reprieve.
I extend it to myself
to each of us.
We are bruised
We are resilient
and hopeful creatures.
And we are better together.
Coffee on the front porch
walk on the Konza
puddle-jumping in the rain
giggling during yoga
or yodeling down the slope
Join me in this life of overcoming