I don’t usually write about something that I am going through at the moment because it feels too tender, too exploitive.
But I feel called to do this so perhaps, one of you is calling this out of me.
I am struggling at the moment. Very much in the last few days. I was away for the weekend on a program and when I got back, I walked into a messy house, demanding children and all of my domestic duties dropped around me, clang, like a cage. The real world felt so tiring, so heavy, so strong, so much.
I am feeling grief, anger, resentment, confusion, fucked up, let down, caged, heartbroken, bodybroken, powerless, exhausted and like I have nothing left.
I can’t cook one more meal. I can’t wash one more dish. I can’t pick up one more toy from the floor. I can’t send one more email, or do anything on my “to do” list. It feels like prison.
What I want to do is to run away. Go to bed and stay there with the covers over my head and my door locked so no-one can ever come in. I want to burn everything around me, if I had the energy. But in my body, my shoulders are hunched and it feels like too much effort to walk. I am broken.
And on top of everything I feel, I put judgement. I have no right to feel like this. Shame. No-one else falls apart like this. Guilt. Do you think life should be all about you and what makes you feel good?
All of these emotions swim around until they have me in a whirlpool that pulls me down into hell.
The hardest thing for me to do, this morning, is to move and feel it all.
I can feel the pain as I open up my chest and drop my head back – it hurts, I whisper.
I howl. I sob. I make sounds that I have never heard before. Sounds that would break my heart if I heard them from another woman. I would think, that woman is breaking apart. I cry more loudly than I have in years. I don’t care who hears me.
I go from the floor to standing, which feels like too much work. I curl up against the wall and try to disappear. All the while, tears running down my face and I am moving between levels of grief and anguish. Like a rollercoaster, I go up and down, up and down.
And still I move. I try to tell my story of loss…what loss, I don’t know, but that is what it feels like.
I try not to fix. I try only to keep moving and to keep feeling it all. Every anguished moment, every painful opening, everything.
When my sobbing feels finished (for now), I breathe and let my body move. It is only the breath now, and my body moving. And an energy shifts somewhere…I become a woman’s body filled with not just grief but, now, hunger. Lust. I pull on my shirt so it is tight and hard on my skin. My movements get bigger. Faster. Thirstier.
I realize that I am fighting for my life.
I can feel the breath where I take back the wheel. I move from victim to creator. I will live this life of mine. I will feel it all and I will fall and struggle and howl with grief. And I will fight for my life.
I am not cured. I am not finished. I am not shiny and happy and back to face the world with a smile on my face.
But I am fully alive. Fully aware of what I am feeling. Fully released, for now. Fully myself. I am the captain of my ship.
In the comments below, I’d love to hear what this makes you feel or think about. We are not alone in fighting for our lives; for the lives we want to live. How are you fighting for yours?