I like the fresh start of a new year. I like the hope it carries and the new page it turns.
And being a human is harrrrrd and heavy.
Between what I want and what I do is a wild field of confusion and regret, where promises and resolutions have bloomed and fallen.
Unfurled and unfolded, forgotten.
And still, there is desire, hope, and a frenetic willingness for something.
Something different, something to help me carry what asks for my strength.
What I Do Not Want to Carry
Deep breath. Open heart. Strong back. Say it, say it.
I could think of my human experience as a piece of luggage to carry in my travels; there’s only so much room to fill. Limited pounds. Something will (likely) have to go, better to unburden now than to unburden while everyone else is waiting in line behind me.
Maybe I do not have to carry:
Expectations, the mysterious ones that have been shoved into my pockets and in my shoes, the ones that are dusty from the past or misshapen by the warped image of whatever is to come next
The fear of not being enough, because every day I breathe is enough - for me, for you, for us, because ‘enough’ varies and arrives in different actions, energies, possibilities, and is so very dependent on the day (no matter what capitalism, patriarchy, the one stranger, that one sort-of-maybe friend, the algorithm, etc. says).
The fear of being too much, because the concave curve of my hesitation has never benefitted anyone, especially me, and it doesn’t reflect the shine of my insides/outsides, the glow that invites others into something warmer, something that lights them up too.
The heaviness of rejection and invalidation, I could remember the hundreds of times I have looked into the mirror, cheered myself on and been my best friend, my emotionally available parent, my right-sized self, I can remember this instead of focusing on all the times someone else couldn’t do what I already know to do.
The things I think I can’t say, I can say that something doesn’t work for me, that I don’t like how something makes me feel, that I don’t want what someone is handing to me, no matter how well-intentioned it is; I can say stop, no, not right now, I need to do it like this, I don’t think I can follow through like I thought I could, I don’t know, I am not sure, I am scared, I am afraid of my loneliness, I have deep shame about this and that, I am really happy, I just want to play for a while, I don’t want to grieve anymore, I wish to be seen in my joy as much as my pain, etc.
The things I think I can’t ask for, Can you stay a little longer? Can you love me a little louder or out loud? Can you do this too? Can I vent for a little bit? Can you definitely not do that right now? Can you invite me to things even though I might say no? Even though I have said no before? Could you say that again? And again? (I have doubts that are screaming because it’s a Monday, it’s perimenopause, this shirt is tight, I don’t like the clouds, so can you say nice things because I need to hear a voice louder than the one inside of me today.)
Any remaining story of not belonging, I belong to myself, to the sea, to the sky, to the wind, to the godds, to the creative force that wakes me up and stops me from getting away from my desk, I belong to love, to life, to the way I remember the spell I am creating with every breath, tear, sigh, step, song, etc.
Any measure of how I have been met or not met, the numbers that used to keep me safe in the court of defensiveness are not the ones that will add up to joy or contentment; numbers may be infinite, but equations find scarcity when calculated with biased formulas.
The ways I set future me up for unnecessary struggle and dysregulation, the lack of water, sleep, clear time containers, discipline, consistency, boundaries, play, creativity that is just for fun, quiet time, REST, learning what I need to learn, etc.
Of course there is more.
Freeing for Liberation
Sometimes it is heavy. Sometimes (a lot of times) what you see shared in these spaces is only a teeny, tiny part of what is going on.
This writing comes with an invitation, not only to think about how you might unburden yourself, but also how you might look at those you know and love with curiosity. Curiosity about what makes their lives heavy too.
More questions, more listening.
There is a poem about grief and about how when you walk into a room of grief, you need to be quiet and just let the candles speak.
In a world that is cruel and kind and so much in between and beyond, perhaps there can be softness too. Perhaps there might be softness in these meetings of each other, these meetings where our hands and arms are full, but we carry them anyway.
I do not say this to forgive atrocities or to ignore them. I say this because humans need each other, and let us meet each other unburdened so we might hold each other’s hands more tightly to walk toward what needs to be done next.
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As always, feel free to share with a credit back to me.
You can see more about what’s coming in 2024 at my website: www.irisanyamoon.com.
Powerful words. I did cry over this, in recognition and because I needed too. Thank you.