Be (adjective): to have presence.
I’m going to let the words flow this time, I’m going to set the truest parts of me free, the ones that I’ve kept trapped, deep in the heart of me.
I’m not going to hesitate, I’m going to let the words tumble, messily, no filter, no editing, I’m not going to stop them, I’m not going to stop her.
I’m not going to rush to her if she stumbles, trips up or falls, I’m going to show her that it’s OK to practice, that she doesn’t have to have it all figured out, that it doesn’t have to be ‘right’ first time round.
I’m going to leave her room to try, give her a chance, let her be.
It was the wake up call I needed, I’d been teetering around the edge of me, for so long, ignoring her screams to set her free, and let her be.
It was the pain that I needed to feel the deepest part of me, the twisting of manipulation that made my soul scream, it was the realisation that I’ve never let her be loved, I’ve kept her trapped in a world, in which she felt so forgotten.
She felt she was wrong for even considering her voice could be heard. I’ve kept her stifled and suffocated, hidden from the light, the lifted expectation and the warmth of her right.
She’s been waiting so patiently buried in my pain, the doubting of not knowing if it was me who was going insane.
What do I know? What do I deserve? Who would want to read me, the scars from my past?
My brain constantly on fire (that book that marked me hard).
The fear was of not ever being, not being me, of feeling so crazy, that my life was just a story, all in my head, so what if I just wrote it, my pain from the past? What if I wrote it, and it healed those raw parts?
Could my soul be soothed from writing my pain, with no validation from inflictors nor readers, I don’t need your approval, permission nor praise, I just want to show her, her voice can be raised.
Silenced for so long, by those who ‘loved’ her, my shame weighs heavily that I never encouraged her.
One phone call, a conversation that forced me to my edge, on which I’d been teetering, scared to leap, what if I just made a pledge? A promise to care for her, to no longer let her lie, a commitment to nurturing her wings, so that she could learn to fly, from the borders of what she thought was her limit, above the depths of the oceans she has carried inside her, she deserves a chance to soar through the sky, let the pain blur.
Feel the sun on her face, the wind on her back, the feeling of being supported and no longer being held back.
What she asks for is not extravagant, it’s the freedom to flow, the knowing that it’s OK to evolve and grow.
I’m no longer going to keep her buried in the busyness of life, she should be made the priority, be given a full life. She should be able to breathe, to sit for a while, feel cared for and loved, after years of the toxic vile.
She shouldn’t have to seek permission, to simply be, the woman that’s been buried in the deepest part of me.
I want her to see the sun rise and feel the ease, as the pressures of expectation get carried away with the morning breeze.
Her fear was not that she wouldn’t be good enough, it was that she would never feel free, to be who she really is, just me.
Lost in the noise, the falseness of it all, she followed her truth and the strength of her pull. She ignored it for so long, that sadness of not being, teetered around it, often the tears would fall.
The frustration of not being able to let yourself be, is paralleled to a madness, ‘the battle of me’.
The internal fight, the doubting of self, negative talk, critical words that fly, like bees swarming angrily trying to stay alive, a survival story, deep within me, it’s now time to let my words and her soar free.
Freedom has been fleeting a slow becoming of me.
Glimmers of hope, as I clung to the rope, of one day, I’ll be her, that woman who is true, the calm one who is present, at ease and no longer feeling blue.
The darkest of midnights, she followed the cycles of the moon, the tunnel felt never ending as she walked her way through.
The darker the forest, the lighter the clearing as the truth is revealed and her worth she can now build.
I won’t give up on her this time, I am committed to practice, my mission was never to be better than anyone else, it was to be true, in the hope that in standing for a voice that was told, “Your story is invalid, you have nothing to tell”, I’ll send out a message to a soul far away, that being is her birth right and it’s time to be on her way.
Write your story, paint your pain, craft your feelings and learn to dance on despite the rain, for it doesn’t last forever and the storm always subsides, in the stillness you’ll feel her, your true self will rise.
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Oh, the power of words. Thank you for sharing them. I've recently learned that the word "essence" literally means to be. That's our essence.