b a r e

writing is healing. ask me anything.

Tag: joy

What if

What if
You are not your Ego
What if you are not your exterior, your physical form, your reflection
What if you are not the identity you have formed, piece by piece, layer by layer, year after year after year

What if
You are the Light
Bright, piercing, blazing
Larger than the Universe
Connected to everything that is, ever was, ever will be

What if
You are Love
All the oceans combined
Always present, available, infused, no matter what
Surrounding, supporting, solid, strong
It can’t be earned, because it is already there, already given, already received
Already a part of everything, inside and out, every atom

What if
You are Whole and Complete
Nothing missing, nothing cracked, no chips, no gaps, no limping
Underneath the frail, tattered layers of who you think you are
Solid and powerful
Simple and elegant, beautiful and perfect
Every cell exactly where it’s supposed to be
A delight, a joy, a Life
Uniquely formed, special
Exactly as you are
Not defined by society, your parents, your internal record,
But already, before it all, behind it all
A You that is a Gift
Imagine it
It is Truth

what is this

My anxiety and depression used to be textbook perfect.

My panic attacks always came on like a tornado. The sucking building pressure and then the mind crushing explosion as the storm hit. Shaking and crying and a surety that the end was upon me. It would blow through me, devastating me, then leave me in a scattered pile of jagged pieces on its way out.

My depression was the bottom of a dark hole, miles away from the light at the top. Feeling completely worthless, a burden, disgusting, a waste of space, deserving of only misery. All willpower crushed out of me. All self-advocacy erased. I had no say, because nothing I could say would ever have any value.

But lately I think I’m dealing with a completely new beast. There are things that scare me, that demand action in my life. I can see them clearly. But it’s like they’re down at the end of a long tunnel. I can’t reach them. They’re so far away. And I’m so very, very tired. I try to push forward. But it’s not so much mud or sludge, as it is hardened concrete around my legs. I know I should be screaming and waving my arms to get attention. But instead I just try to keep the oxygen going in and out of my lungs. And I aim some darts in its general direction. So something kind of gets done. Why can’t I be aggressive? I used to be so good at that. Get in your face and demand. And instead I’m mostly paralyzed. Dragging forward, some.

But I’m not sad. I’m not value-less. I’m not filled with self-loathing. I’m not terrified. I’m not covered in knives of fear and worry. I’m not crying nonstop for no specific reasons. I don’t wish I could just disappear. Every day, for at least one moment, I feel the flame of joy in my heart. (I remember going months without any light or warmth inside me.) I am grateful to be on solid ground, instead of beneath it.

I wonder if it’s the “new” me, or a transitioning “current me.” That’s what we’re told to expect. You won’t ever be the person you were before. So figure out how to appreciate the person you now see in the mirror. I’m trying, I’m really trying.

What brings you joy?

The most delicious sounds in the whole world are the tinkling giggles of my daughter’s laugh. Her laugh is pure and full of gusto. She’s not self-conscious of the sound. And she experiences her mirth with all of her little round belly. She throws her head back and her arms out and announces her own delight. They pour from her like a waterfall, splashing all over me and anyone in vicinity. It’s just not possible to not smile. My cheeks hurt from just imagining it. Her toothy grin and raised brows as she nods to tempt you to tickle her again. She loves it. She loves being happy. And her joy feeds me too.