Miss Bot

Raindrops Redeux


Well, it happened. Long story short, on the evening of my 33rd birthday, I had what the doctor in the ER said was a panic attack. I won't go into the details of the sordid event, but let's just say, it's left me shaken.

I knew this was coming, I suppose. I've been tired for a long time, tired and a bit melancholy, my heart of love a dull beat under exhaustion and busyness and my incessant people pleasing.  I spent a lot of time pleasing people other than myself, saying yes when I should have said no, backing down when I could have stood up, squashing and squinching and pushing aside the still small voice inside of me.

Now much of this came from a good place. I love people, and I also hate perpetuating harm. So sometimes, when I disagreed with someone, rather than start a fight, I would try to see if from their perspective, try to listen, try to be open minded. The trouble is, sometimes I'm  so open to the minds of others that I forget another important mind and opinion: my own. Sometimes I get so lost in absorbing the hurts and fears and anger of others, diffusing it, forgiving it, trying to contain it, that I lose myself.

And that's not ok, right? If I believe (and I truly believe) that each person is sacred, that each person should be heard, that each person is uniquely loved and loveable, and at the same time, integral to the health of all humanity, then I need to extend that same belief to this guy (two  thumbs, pointing at me).

And yet this is a harder pill to swallow.

Sometimes, I reject the whole "self love, self compassion" thing. There is a part of me that believes it is selfishness, that in order to truly love  others, we must put down our own lives for them.

And yet, there is selfishness built into this rejection of self compassion. The truth is, some people on this planet love me. They love me dearly and deeply, and my pain does not serve them. It hurts them. They would want nothing more than to see me healthy and happy and thriving, with my voice in full, maybe even getting mad every now and again, if it meant my voice was being heard. I know this because I feel this way about all  the people I love. I think about my nieces.  Do I want them to become small, self-loathing people? People who do and say what others think is best, simply for the "benefit" of the other?

HELL. TO. THE. NO.

This is my nightmare, that these sweet babies would be anything other than their fully expressed and wonderful selves.

So back to me. 

What good does it do the world if I shrink? Nothing. I am here for a purpose. I don't always know what that purpose is, but I know I was made for something. My health is integral to the health of all humans.

I think of it like this: if the human family is a body, then all parts are important. The health of each single cell is important. If I'm  sick, I make the cell-buddies next to me sick, too. If I heal, my healing impacts and heals those around me. So as I heal, you heal. As you heal, I heal. Like it or not, we're in this together.

So I think this is my battle today and probably forever. I can't give up.  I need to heal. And I need to do so both gently and fiercely. Gently, I hold my tiny infant girl self. I hold her and I love her and I tell her she is loved and safe and wanted. Fiercely, I hold that same girl, and I help her get up when it's hard. I help her get out of bed when it isn't easy, to face the world and not hide in shame.

And frankly, I can't do this alone.

A little while ago, I asked God/the universe: hey. So, if you're out there and if you have a purpose for me....would you please let me know?

Of course, I expected a gentle voice. A quiet wind. A warm and happy feeling in my heart.

And instead I got this: panic. Existential anguish. A real and true fire in the belly and spirit.

God is telling me something, so I'm trying to listen.

And I'm trying to do it both gently and fiercely. Because ultimately, this call comes from love. It comes as a reminder. I cannot continue to live as I was living, with life as a blur, with my voice silenced and sad. That is not what I was made for. And it took a big shift, a big moment, to knock me out of it.

So  in this time, community, I ask for your help. For your support. For your wisdom. For your love. For your patience, grace and prayers. I am so grateful for each and every one of you.