My heart is opening again.
I can feel it.
Even after a heavy-ish, wonky day.
One in which I was unsure and unsteady and unnerved.
Even after these last few months.
Even after this last year.
And three years of darkness.
And a decade before that of processing and knowing and struggling and debating and denying and staying and slowly breaking through.
And then leaving.
My heart wants to be open. She does.
She fights for it every day.
But it’s not easy for her.
It feels like every step forward she takes, there are another two or three steps backward.
This past year in my life has been both brutal and beautiful. It’s been so, so brutiful. (Thank you for that all-encompassing word, Glennon Doyle.)
In this moment, I hold my head in my hands. (Like I held my heart 12 hours before.) Sobbing. Tears streaming down my face. Feeling every single hurt that I felt in this past year of life.
This is how I ended my day yesterday.
Started my day today.
And begin my birthday in a few moments.
The beginning of my 51st year.
I used to say leveling up to Badass Level 51. Now I say leveling up to Hot Mess Level 51. Because that’s more true.
Reading poems that were written to me over the past year. Hearing lovely hellos that were not-so-tentatively whispered, asking me to let them in. And remembering goodbyes — some that were spoken and some that were sadly unspoken.
And I am 100% certain that I have never felt more pain than I have in this moment in time.
My heart having been broken a few times already this year…and maybe more. (But I really hope not.)
Swaying to Coldplay as I write. Because comfort. And love. And all their words that have brought me solace from the first day of this year to today.
Because I know all these tears are just process. Grief. Letting go.
They are not me, playing the role of a victim.
I own my shit.
I own that I am the common denominator.
And I am willing to do the work to not bring my own baggage and bullshit into another space…a space that is being held by a soul who doesn’t deserve all this extra stuff I bring along. But who still wants to help me carry it…and wants to walk through it all and share the burden by offering his shoulders.
(God bless those fucking shoulders.)
It’s after midnight now. An intentional late night that allows me a conscious transition from one year to the next.
Letting go of the past.
Stepping into the new.
Hoping that it will welcome me with open arms.
And if not…knowing that I will embrace myself regardless. With love. And awe. And respect. And truth. And honesty. And love. And courage. And bravery. And resolve. And love. (Did I mention love?)
Because I believe that’s what it all comes down to.
Love with a capital L.
Love for ourselves. For each other. For that special soul knocking on our door, asking to be invited in.
We all want the same thing.
To be seen and heard. And to feel love and give love.
And personally, I want to give love as much as I want to receive it. To souls who are brave and deep and willing to go to the places that I inevitably want to go. To the places I want to take them. If they are willing to go there with me.
I am leaving my 50th year behind with mixed emotions, because what looked like a year full of beauty in the beginning became a year punctuated with loss and heartbreak and questions.
And then, just as my birthday approached, hope surfaced once again. Winking at me from the corner. Smiling at me. Asking me to be brave. To take another chance.
For fuck’s sake.
Encouraging me to step outside my comfort zone.
And live. And maybe love.
And in this 51st year that is just beginning for me, I’m 100% sure that I deserve all of that.
Previously published on medium
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