Cleansing waters. Cleansing tears, carving pathways to my tender heart.
It only gets more tender as I get stronger.
Endings flood my eyes and beginnings bud beneath the ground
Under my feet where I cannot see
But I trust
I trust this feeling of
It’s a mystery, everything.
I surrender to it
I watch the waves come and go, the sun rise and fall, the wind blow, and I sit in the great stillness that lives at the center of it all.
It’s f*cking hard.
Sometimes it feels like my heart is ripping open, shutting down, or both at the same time
But there is this delicious hint of freedom…
I stick my toes in the warm salt water
Of the life
That is meant
As I hold the chaos in the palm of my hands
I left a man I loved today because I know it won’t work.
And I do look back. I’m not ashamed. There were precious times and tough times, we weathered a lot together.
So I bow down to embrace all parts of this ending—the sadness, the relief, the pain, the yearning, the restlessness, the anxiety, the wishing for something to hold me up, for something to fill up the damn empty place.
More and more…
I let that emptiness be
I let it sit and settle
And I don’t need to fill it up with the desperation of distraction
A bare spot in my heart
Where my beloved man used to be
Where the love for him lived
And I let God and nectar and something I dare not name
Like a slow, steady rain
And in time, the emptiness shall be a garden.
A flourishing, sweet garden full of zinnias and buzzing bugs.
The empty place—it is fertile.
But for now, I let it be.
I bask in the lulls of loneliness and fear and a strange joy and beauty and hope and panic.
I bask in it all.
Because as long as we are trying to eviscerate ‘negative’ emotions to heal our broken hearts, we will never heal.
To heal is to integrate.
It is to look right at the places that we fear the most: the darkness, the shame, the doubt, the heartache, the grief, the pain.
And in this looking, we become braver. Softer. We see that we don’t have to abandon our hearts when they ache.
We see that we can lean in, instead. We become deliciously intimate with our own experience, with our pain—and our joy.
This becomes an unexpected sort of victory.
We begin to have a slow blooming of compassion for ourselves
For all who hurt like we do.
The brilliance of this gift cannot be expressed in words.
It can only be felt in the trembling of our hearts.
In the muffled beauty of our tears.