Returning

 I have not even written or typed anything remotely coherent since our little boys were 12-13 weeks old  (my last post). I should have. I should have tried to cling to something that manages my nerves and grounds me like writing. In hind sight it does seem like a healthy thing to do. But I couldn't. The many reasons why I failed to write are numerous, but in all actuality I simply could not honor my story. It felt selfish. It felt awkward. However, I am going to be forty years old this coming year. In a spirit of all out celebration, I am devoting myself to doing what I want. I am cooking, I am writing, and I am definitly not sweeping my floors twice a day or engaging in anything that snuffs out my joy. So, by the time that birthday rolls around I want to find myself. Not in a life crisis kind of way, but in a great returning kind of way. 

Seven years ago my life was wrecked in the most beautiful way possible. Now, I live in a home surrounded by love and light. I have children that are unique, strong, and totally unnerving at times. It is all a mess. It is my favorite mess. I have a love found in my spouse that makes my eyes leak when I even pause and attempt to write words about it.  But, much before that, long before any of that I abandoned myself in painful ways. I abandoned myself everyday, in every way, for thousands of days.

So, here is to the returning. Here is to finding the parts of myself that I let be taken. Because now I am whole and safe and I am no longer just telling myself that. I don't have to convince myself. I am sure I am okay and I am feeling it. Now, I am ready. I wasn't once upon a time and it's been a calculated approach to get here. A wise friend counseled me that each person has to heal and walk through trauma on their own time table. I was confused as to why parts of me were left so anxious and detached after years of being surrounded by love and warmth. But, here I am. I am going to be doing the work this year. 

Here is to the journey... to the returning.