Messy Courage

I'm at the beach. Burying my ass in the sand. And it's everywhere. I love it here. It's not quiet but it's peaceful. And we all know I need more peace. My life has been chaotic. painful. lonely. exhausting. stressful. I've been angry and confused. Hurt and rejected. Beaten down to the point of shrinking back. I have let everyone else tell me who I am. Or who I'm not. And I've believed them. Well I started a book today. Tailor Made by Alex Seeley It's about identity. So here I am. At the beach. Tired of the last five months.  I'm not sure I was ready until now. To put all the words spoken over me to rest. To change how I view myself and others. But it's time. I asked God. Who am I? I listed everything that's been said by others. You... are annoying are too loud talk too much need more compassion are intimidating are a piece of shit I listed other t

It's 8am. I've been up for an hour. hurting grieving heartbroken The babe in my arms is as close to comfort as I can get. And it's not much. This whole "grieving a living person" deal is shit. It's not fair. But I'm doing it. One step at a time. "It is never too late to be what you might have been." - George Eliot I see this every morning. Something I wrote on a chalkboard. I didn't write it for me. At least, not at the time. Amid the pain and heartache, I've made a decision. It's my turn now.

What's wrong with me? This question has circled my identity. Like the moon orbits the earth. Sometimes it pulls at my heart. Other times there's no trace of it. What's wrong with me? But really, someone tell me. You're not good enough. You talk too much. You're obnoxious. You're too loud. You're too emotional. You're too opinionated. You're not as pretty. You're a bitch. You're too much. So it's been said. Second choice. Second option. Second best. There's always something better. __________ I know that all of this isn't true. But I have believed it over and over. This is how I've felt my entire life. Worthless. At my core. __________ So someone tell me. What's right with me?

Sometimes hope hurts. And I don't like hurting. Hope is dangerous. It requires vulnerability. A soft heart. Want to fix this? My heart lept. Hope sparked. But my hope and reality don't mix. Reality doused that flame. And I hurt. Right now, I'm tired of hoping. Because I'm hoping for what cannot be. My heart is heavy. My body is weak. My mind is spent. Jesus.