Free

My friend Alan and I have had long discussions about divorce, loss of love, desire, & affection in relationships, and feelings that are hard to put into words (rage, stagnation, frustration, loneliness). He's always urged me to keep writing all of this. And I do write pretty personal stuff here. Most of the time, it doesn't frighten me to peel back my thick layers and expose my soft spots-fears, hopes, dreams, faults-but please don't mistake that for being free of fear.

Another friend always talks about how brave and strong I am. How inspiring I am, that I can get up every morning and smile, that I can enjoy things in spite of the torn-up tortured grief I have, that I can have hope and faith and feel love and a teeny seed of peace sprouting within the center of me. Please don't mistake all of that for being free of pain.

Yet another friend reads my blog and tells me "It's all so heavy."; "Don't you write about anything happy?" And I realize my stuff is heavy. My words do weigh me down, sometimes even after I've written them in my journal pages or typed them here. But life is heavy. The good, the bad, the unexpected, the lonely, the unfair, the painful, the unforgivable, the joyful, the blessed. All these things are so heavy, and I speak them to others not to lighten my load, but to share the load, to find companionship and fellowship among all of you who feel what I feel. But I grow weary carrying this all alone, even when I have friends and family who offer to help. Please don't mistake this for being free of strength.

Most days, I am okay. I thank God I'm alive, that I have a mother who cares enough to take me and my daughter in. I feel blessed that my girl is strong, that I have strength I didn't know I had. Most days, I feel strong and happy and almost carefree. But please don't mistake carefree with free of care.

I am all the awful things you can think someone would be w/ a broken heart. I am all the awful things I never wanted to be, and always despised in others. I feel weak and broken and tired and torn and weary and angry and spiteful and dizzily full of rage.

Yet.

I am free.

I make a conscious decision every day to focus on the seedling of peace taking root within myself. And to focus on that tiny whisper of hope floating through the air, catching the breeze and gliding to the ground to rest at my feet. I don't always win the battle-sometimes my focus is uncentered and my gaze falls a bit to the left. But never mistake that for being free of hope.