Category: notes on grief

Start writing…

December 10th, 2023

There are three weeks left of this year and part of me just wants to hibernate so I can say I survived.

It feels silly to say that because the survival portion of this has really just been the last four months.

But damn, I have survived.

Right now, in my brain, I’m trying to absolutely disclaim away the things I’ve gone through mentally and physically in the last four months, the things I’m honestly still going through and dealing with.

But damn, I survived something and I think I’m starting to come to terms with that.

There were a few terrifying moments in the weeks I was dealing with the vertigo that caused me to not be able to eat or move or be. A few times when going to the bathroom I came moments from passing out only to be saved by the fact my toilet is next to a counter I could lean on. A few times where I came close to choking when small movements would cause me to throw up.

I cried myself to sleep most nights.

I missed my mom more than I could even articulate.

It was a lot.

And I’m slowly starting to realize what I’ve come through and how it has and still is affecting me.

My word (phrase) for the year that I’ve been coming back to is “coming back home to myself”. And I’ve been halted on writing because I didn’t really know how to hold the last four months and those words in the same hand.

And I am still not sure where this is going to go; I’m just going to choose to walk on the path and see what happens.

When I think about coming home to myself, in the beginning of the year, I thought that it would be about finding who I was again. I thought it would be stepping more into the things that brought me home. The brought me joy and that allowed me to lean into things that brought me power of self.

I had a moment, when I was laying in my bed, unable to move, to lift my head, unable to close my eyes, where I had the realization and the thought that I had been stripped of everything that I felt made me, me.

How could I be a home to others if I couldn’t even be home in my own body?

How could I be a home to others and to myself if I couldn’t even walk down my stairs?

I know in my knower that I am still me, Meg, even when I was physically trapped in my bed.

I know that I am still me, even when I felt like a shell of human.

I had to come home to myself with nothing to give to realize that I was still Meg.

I had to come home to who I was when I physically could do nothing to realize that people aren’t around me because of what I can do for them or what I bring to the table.

I had to come home to who I was when I had nothing to give to remind myself I can do hard things.

The last four months have been scary and anxiety producing and have caused me to question more things and interactions than I’d care to admit.

I’m still grappling with my balance and my face and my inabilities daily. I just push through the things that scare me. I’m still grappling with having to decide if this is my new normal.

I’m still in survival mode sometimes.

What writing these words has reminded me, is that l am, like my mom, a tough old broad.

It has reminded me that homes are so many things and they have so many functions.

And sometimes you don’t get to go downstairs for two weeks.

If you’ve made it to the end, thank you.

I hope you’re able to look back on 2023 and see the places you became more yourself, to see the hard things you pushed through.

To see how you’re stronger.

To see where the joy lies.

You did the damn thing, so let’s take these last few weeks and celebrate that.

With love,

Meg
Where I’m at.

August 27th, 2023

I wasn’t going to write.

I didn’t want to pin this season however long it may be anywhere.

I don’t want to look in a mirror so I really don’t want to look in the mirror that are whatever words might come out of my mouth.

Truth be told; I’m scared.

When the doctor said the phrase “Bell’s palsy” last week I actually really resisted the urge to google more than the paperwork in front of me.

The thing about googling Bell’s palsy is that people that recover quickly don’t talk about it.

I’ve been out of work all week. I’ve been dizzy and exhausted and I’ve been avoiding talking and FaceTiming and anything that is having to use my voice.

My brain is desperately wanting to check out and not have to think about any of the things.

Because at the end of the day- it’s where I am right now.

I’m trying to remember who I am, what I’m about and what I’m made of.

I’m trying to remember my strength.

So, with all that being said, I’m going to go into this next week and keep moving forward.

I’m going to choose to believe again and again and again that this is a season and from this place I’ll be stronger.

And also for now, I’ll know that I don’t always have to be strong and that if I need to cry I will (even if it’s only with one eye).

I’ll be thankful for the kind words and the care packages and the love and prayers and the humans in my life.

And I’ll do my damndest to speak even though it is really really hard.

That’s it.

That’s some guttural, real, from the pits of where I’m at this Sunday.

That’s all.

With love,

Meg
The rebuild

July 19th, 2023

I’ve been listening to a lot of Taylor Swift lately.

It’s the house I’m living in and I’m ok with that.

But, today, while doing dishes I heard the line; “time won’t fly, it’s like I’m paralyzed by it, I’d like to be my old self again but I’m still trying to find it.”

I was feeling off today, a little grumpy, a little sad and I wasn’t quite sure why. Then that lyric played and I realized it really hit me hard.

I thought, honestly, it was just the griefs. The wandering feelings that like to pop up like little flowers- trying to remind you of the things that made you sad, of the people you’ve lost who are still wrapped around your roots. And to a point it probably was.

But the thought that brought tears to my eyes as I washed dishes was that today starts the long weekend where two years ago I saw my mom alive for the last time.

It was the last time I hugged my mom, the last time I rolled my eyes at her (in person- I still do it to this day).

I knew when I left my parents house that weekend that it would be the last time I would hug her, the last time I would untangle her oxygen from somewhere or grab her some ice.

I’m trying to be old self again but I’m still trying to find it.

I was a shell of a person then. Covid and work burnout and a few other things, I went into my long trip between visiting my parents and attending a friend’s wedding in Hawaii just completely on empty.

For the most part my griefs, the things that sprout up here and there I can meet and sit with and move on. But, sometimes, today, the emotional realization that the person I was in the moments before I got on a plane to come say bye to my mom and the person who got on the plane three days later are two completely different humans.

And right now I don’t really know what to do with that.

Those that know me, know that I am person who feels deeply. I feel what’s happening in the room, I feel the emotions of those around me, I feel a lot of damn things.

The narrative in my head that has tried to win the past few months or so is that I don’t need to feel grief anymore.

That I should be stronger.

That I should move on.

That I should get over it.

That my grief is a burden and I should just keep it in.

That I should just be my old self again.

That I should just be the person before instead of the girl who’s mom died.

Which, I know, is absolutely stupid. And impossible.

When a disaster strikes and you have to rebuild, most likely, you won’t rebuild in the same way. You’ll find a new countertop you like, or some different crown molding.

You’ll also find ways to batten down the hatches for another impending disaster.

Because once you live through it you have the knowledge that it could happen again.

And that’s a heavy thing to live with.

I know, sitting here today, that I can’t be my old self again. I know that my mom dying was my disaster and I had to rebuild.

I know in my depths.

But today, with the realization that I haven’t hugged my mom in two years, I sit wishing desperately to be my old self again.

I sit feeling a heaviness in my soul and heart. I sit with prickling tears in my eyes.

I sit.

I don’t write these words for pity or sympathy, I don’t write them out of any desire but to remind myself, to remind you that grief is not linear.

I write them to gather what I’ve learned and what I’ve felt and what I’m picking up as field notes to even remind one person that they aren’t alone. That I might not know your situation but I’m living in the same book.

There is a point in time where we all have to keep moving after a disaster. We usually have to move back in to the disheveled house before every room is ready, we have to cook in air fryers and wash dishes in the bathtub.

There’s a point where you have to keep living.

And every once and awhile get reminded of the disaster.

We just have to take those moments as they come.

I don’t know what part of the process you’re in, I don’t know if you’re washing dishes in a bath tub or if you’ve even gone back to the house yet.

I don’t know if you need a push or if you need to slowdown the rebuild.

I just know that it’s ok to realize you also need to grieve the person that was lost in the losing.

The person that was lost in the disaster.

You.

With love,

Meg.
1,100 words on 38

June 4th, 2023

I’m sitting here in a place I’m physically in almost every day of the week.

And I’m sitting here wondering where I’m going to go next.

I feel as if this year I’ve truly had a year of shedding things, people, scenarios.

I have much less space for the things and people and moments that I don’t walk away from feeling more like myself.

There is a fine line between the needing to do something and having to do it. A fine line between doing a hard thing because it’s good for you, doing a hard thing because it’s needed and doing a hard thing because you’re being unnecessarily self-sacrificial.

I think I’ve done a handful of things this year because I needed to prove to myself that I wasn’t struggling. I needed to prove that the grief and the sadness and the things that felt INCREDIBLY defining weren’t actually who I was.

I needed to prove to myself that I was going to be ok.

This year was a struggle of a grief that has undeniably wound into all facets of my life and my actions but having to choose and remember that I am not it.

When you have a grief that is life shattering it’s hard to mend the breakage without the grief being a part of the glue

It just is.

I’d like to note here that as honest as I am- there are still things that I set aside for just a few. A few things i just deleted. And I wrote some things that I realized aren’t for all.

That’s a piece of myself I’m keeping.

This past year going into next is continuously realizing what places in my house are for others and which aren’t.

The really tricky part about being a home for others is that at the end of the day- you still have to sleep in that home.

So, because it’s who I am and I’ve already referenced vampires to someone once today-all I can think of right now is some of the mythology of The Vampire Diaries Universe. When a vampire came up to a home, they had to be invited in. Getting invited into a house is so simple a lot of us don’t realize that we do it all the time. (Now, don’t worry- I’m not about to get all 90s youth group on you about like “leaving doors open for the devil to get in”- IYKYK).

Like, in TVD before a person knows about vampire it’s so easy for them to just give a haphazard “come inside”. Then BOOM you’re stuck with that vampire having access to your house until the deed physically changes.

Once characters in the show knew this little piece of information they became highly aware of who they were letting inside.

But luckily for us, we aren’t dealing with vampires.

We are though (I am though) dealing with things that don’t stir up life inside of me.

Things, people, situations that just don’t, at the end of the day, add to who I am as a human and I’m going to boot them out of my house to the best of my ability.

Because in the year of 38 I’m choosing to lean into the things that add to me as a human.

That’s not just running through wildflowers or sitting on my hands.

Because, hard things add to who I am as a human.

Choosing to go out after 9pm on a Thursday to sing karaoke at a bar with my best friend Tori and her husband Shawn adds to who I am as a human.

Accepting grief adds to who I am as a human.

Woods coffee runs with Joanna adds to who I am as a human.

Camp adds to who I am as a human.

Being the back up back up at church adds to who I am as a human.

The audacity adds to who I am as a human.

Being a person who knows how to show up adds to who I am as a human.

Helping theater kids become theater adults adds to who I am as a human.

Identifying as someone who works at a church after never wanting to again, adds to who I am as a human.

Seeing my close friends succeed and cheering them on adds to who I am as a human.

Being with the inhabitants of a little blue house in Irvine adds to me as a human.

McDonald’s sprite and those I share it with adds to me as a human.

Using the massive amounts of child development knowledge adds to who I am as a human.

Things that add to my close circle as humans; add to me as a human.

Laughing over 25 cent mimosas adds to who I am as a human.

And I should repeat even though it scares me: hard things add to who I am as a human.

I have to say that list got progressively longer and that added to me as a human.

Because, making space to write on a Sunday at a bar adds to I am as a human.

And it stirs hope I so desperately need.

I think, that there is always a little bit of trepidation with hope.

The desire for hope brings the realization that there could be the lack of hope.

And in the process of writing all of these I realize that as terrifying as it is to say (especially in the weeks prior to camp): I am stronger then the realization that there could be a lack of hope.

I’ve proved it by just showing up.

So.

Here’s to a year of choosing the things that add to myself and add to the people who add to me.

Here’s to a year of choosing hope to the best of my ability without trepidation.

Here’s to a year of karaoke and ax throwing.

A year of quarter mimosas.

A year of being the back up back up and the church intern.

A year of figuring out how to move forward.

A year of supporting the humans around me in their dreams.

Here’s to a year of realizing that the glue is dry, it cannot move and it does not define me.

It pushed me on, became a part of my story but it’s not all that I am.

Here’s to a year of choosing the people, places and things that add to myself and the ones that I add to.

Here’s to, honestly, 38 being the year of Meg.

Because the year of Meg isn’t selfish.

It’s finding ways that I can add to myself and in turn add to the people around me.

However that looks.

With so much love,

Meg
You have to read to the end

April 24th, 2023

I have been dreading actually sitting down with myself and trying to put words onto a page.

I don’t think I’ve had any real revelation or moments that I want to untangle. I don’t think I have anything of worth to say. I don’t have anything good for myself to share.

I have no insight.

So, I’ve been trying to think of what I need to do. Currently sitting here, staring at the drink I just ordered and wondering if I have anything worthwhile to say.

I had a lot of hope there for awhile.

Hope that things were changing. Hope that I would be able to hold on.

Hope that something was around the corner.

But, just like the crash after a performance or a vacation or an event that you’ve been waiting for; there is a crash after a burst of hope.

I think I hoped that actually believing in the hope would change something.

But now, as I look down, my hands are empty and I have to find a way to cultivate the thing that I want.

It’s scary to write these words. It’s scary to put them in a place where people can read them.

It’s scary because I feel like I’m failing at being who I’m supposed to be.

And they feeling inevitably makes me want to run.

I’ve felt it for a few weeks.

That desire to hide. To not truly put words on a page.

To hype myself up instead of admitting that I felt defeat.

It’s been almost a year and 8 months since I left my preschool teaching job.

It’s been just over a year and a half since my mom died.

And lately I’ve been having to push down the narrative that I haven’t done enough.

That I should have achieved more.

That I should be stronger.

That, once again, I’m actually failing at life.

I want to say a lot of things right now.

I want to hype myself out of this hole.

I want to tell you I know what tangible thing is next.

I can’t.

I can tell you though this simple thing:

I still haven’t run.

I’m still to the best of my ability showing up for the ones who have shown up for me.

I’m choosing the things and people that give me life and hope and joy and declining the things and people that feel like an obligation.

At the end of the day, I get to choose who I let into my home.

And whether I’m good at it or not- continuing to choose grace over myself.

None of it is simple.

But it is worth it.

I don’t know what else to say. I do know that none of these hard things are easy.

Choosing what’s good for myself and my soul over what other people think is good for myself and my soul.

I started a journey about two years ago of creating strong boundaries.

Creating those boundaries changed the narrative of who I was to people.

But you can’t let people decide who you are based on what they need to get from you.

And I must repeat: only you can decide who gets to come in your home.

And there it is: some hope I’ve cultivated.

It’s in my hands. (And so is the tequila based martini).

This is why we need to do as the magical creative human in my life Betsy Garmon says “we must practice our practice”.

We have to sit with the things that help us stir up life.

We have to do the things that bring us back to ourselves.

For me; it’s sitting at a bar and writing.

That’s how I get to the point.

That’s how I talk to God.

That’s I create hope.

So thank you.

Thank you for helping me find my point.

Thank you for reading to the end.

And thank you, from the bottom of my heart, to those (whom they absolutely know who they are) who have created hope for themselves that I’ve been able to take part of.

To whom it may concern,

Here’s some hope.

With love,

Meg
Clean out the corners

January 11th, 2023

In September of 2021 I started a new job and about 3 weeks into I finally felt capable of attacking something that I had put off far too long: my closet.

So I pulled everything out and just had it on the floor as I began to go through it and see what I was and wasn’t wearing anymore.

Then, a trip that was supposed to be going to hang out with my Orange County family turned out to be one that flipped my whole world around when my mom passed away.

I came back for a few days before going to spend a week with my dad- took one look at the clothes and shoved them back into my closet.

And it’s been like that ever since.

2022 was inevitably just surviving.

And I still feel weak for saying that but that’s what it was.

My closet bursting at the seams has been this symbol of everything I didn’t think I was capable of handling.

But this year I’m coming back home to myself.

Which means doing things that feel really hard and overwhelming.

So, last night I decided to start the work of cleaning out the corners of my room.

I shoved my bed as far as I could into the middle of the room and began a trash bag of things I didn’t need anymore.

I created space.

Then tonight after a long day I unboxed some things I’ve gotten for the kitchen and then got to work on moving all the furniture in my room and vacuuming and taking a lot of deep breathes.

It all feels like a long time coming.

My friend Michele has been someone who I’ve talk to a lot about not feeling shame for being incapable of doing something. She’s been a cheerleader when I’ve been able to do something that feels bigger than me.

Today she said that this year feels like we’re getting out from underneath all the shit that’s been squishing us. And we know we aren’t going to get squished again because we’re strong and we’ve practiced and now we can thrive.

I got emotional as I cleared out my corners.

As I vacuumed and threw out things and contemplated what I needed and didn’t need.

I’ve realized how heavy I’ve felt and been and how my room has been a picture of what was going on in my brain.

And how I’ve felt like- in a way- that I deserved the things because I didn’t know how to feel better and because I thought I just should.

Grief is lonely.

And my room was ultimately a picture of that.

But, now, I’m cleaning out the corners. I’m not done yet and I get a new mattress on Saturday and I’m going to be able to sleep again and enjoy my space and keep moving forward in whatever this is.

I don’t know what you might be holding right now or what your room or your brain looks like but this is my encouragement to you to mentally, spiritually, physically and tangibly clean out your corners.

You deserve it for you.

With love,

Meg
Coming back home

January 3rd, 2023

I was going to go sit and write somewhere, but nowhere was sitting with me and it’s cold out and I have things I should do instead. But, I decided to make a snack and grab a sprite and sit on the floor with music in my ears and try to do something I don’t do a lot: write at home.

I don’t know if I currently have the capacity to write about what I’m feeling heading into this year but I’m hearing some things loud and clear so I thought I’d write even a muddled mess of a first try.

Last year my word was “create” and as I pondered through that and what I thought I did or didn’t do; I realize I did create-it just didn’t feel like how I thought it might.

The thing I keep hearing for this year, loud and clear, is just a simple phrase “come back home to myself”.

I know that feels like it should be easy right?

Absolutely not.

I’ve been surviving the last year of my life. I’ve been doing what feels like the bare minimum to keep my head above the water line. Emotionally, physically, spiritually. I’ve been doing exactly what I need to do and I’ve been pushing through.

I think I’ll be honest that at the end of it all, I just truly want to come back home to myself this year.

And I’m not 100% sure what that all entails.

I just know that I need to find those parts of me that I’ve lost along the way.

That I need to not be scared of it.

That I find hope again.

And I know this all sounds dismal- it’s not.

The reason I want to come home to myself is because I have people and spaces and times and abilities that show me who I am.

I know those things.

But, it’s time I start remembering that I have to walk in the door to come home.

Finding ways to care for myself that aren’t always easy and that take some vulnerability and courage. Finding more ways to be exactly who I am.

Finding ways to come back home to myself.

It’s truly an up in the clouds type of word for the year but I’m sure I’ll keep delving and keep figuring out what it means each day.

Happy new year my friends.

With love,

Meg
Gargoyles changed my perspective

December 11th, 2022

I honestly just want to go to sleep.

I’m tired, I had drinks with a friend and some fries, I have a full week ahead- but this morning I had a thought about story. And I feel like I need to flesh it out a bit, so here I am, in my comfy with a Yule log playing on the tv, my Christmas lights on and we’re gonna talk about it.

I just finished a book in a supernatural series I’m reading and with each book I’m shocked to see that this author has more story to tell and more places to go and more character development.

I’m a sucker for a supernatural story. I think it’s the BA in English in me that loves stories that aren’t cut and dry where I have to search out the themes and character archetypes and strings that weave through a story. I love the moment where I realize that something I read ten pages ago was actually the foreshadowing I thought it was.

And I love when an author uses all of those elements; archetypes, themes, context clues and story crafting to take a hard left when you think they were going to go right.

[For example: Gargoyles. (The girls that get it; get it)]

When they craft a story that feels like it always was only to open the world in the story to things you never thought possible.

And as you read on you realize it all makes sense. All the things that have lead to that moment make sense. You just couldn’t read it in the way the author meant because to you that’s what they had always done.

I’m really bad at believing that life is just going to be the same again.

That the situation is the same, the scenarios are the same, the feelings are the same.

That nothing lifted to make the story different.

But today, sitting in church during worship I got a fierce reminder that if the story was the same I’d just be rereading a chapter.

And I’m not.

Going into a new year can feel like a lot of things. And no, the world doesn’t change when the clock strikes midnight. But it becomes fresh.

You can create hope and life and walk into something choosing to believe that the story is going to turn left rather than right.

You can believe you aren’t rereading-it’s a new chapter.

(Like maybe there might suddenly be gargoyles).

I can admit freely that especially in the last year of my life I’ve lived in fear of the other shoe dropping. That I’m gonna get on a plane and the world will crash down again, that a phone call will crumble me.

I’ve treated each season like I was rereading a chapter rather than writing a new story.

I haven’t stepped out of the box enough to see that the themes and context clues and foreshadowing mean something wholly different than before.

And that is honestly terrifying to admit.

There are a few weeks left of 2022. I know there isn’t a magic spell, or some potion or anything that will change it all.

But, I do know that I have to stop living as if I’m rereading a chapter.

And honestly I don’t know what that means.

But, I do know that this isn’t just a me thing.

You also aren’t rereading a chapter.

You don’t have to live in the monotony of what always was.

And you, human reading this, have so much to contribute to the narrative.

So, with that, I’m going to shower.

With absolute love,

Meg
It all feels ugly.

November 20th, 2022

I’m currently a little scared to look at all the things I’ve swept under the rug.

Sweeping things under the rug, shoving them in a closet, chucking them in a bag to deal with later isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Sometimes to survive you just have to do that.

Today in church as I sat during worship this line stuck out and played in a loop for me the rest of the morning.

“Everything you’ve lost; love’s returning”.

Now; I’ve felt really ugly for the last year.

I’ve tried so hard.

I’ve tried to not be the daughter who lost her mom. I’ve struggled almost every day with that. That weight of grief. The absolute utter loneliness I’ve lived in. The feeling of not having done enough or been enough.

I will repeat: I’ve felt so ugly.

I have to pause and say that I’ve had the most amazing humans in my life who have held me and fed me and looked me in the face and told me that my mom would be proud of me. Friends who I hadn’t talked to in years who still check on me frequently.

I have not been alone.

But the deep loneliness has been hard to shake.

And I have just had to survive.

My word this year, the one that spun in my brain at the beginning was create.

I tried to run from it, I tried to find any other word, but that was the one.

And today all I could think is that all I’ve created this year has been a mess.

I’ve fallen behind on projects, I didn’t meet goals I wanted, my room is still a disaster, I’ve barely written.

I haven’t created anything.

I know this year held hope, it held newness, it held camp and rocky and working with people I love.

It held good things.

But all I can think of is how ugly I have felt.

How grief was so messy and tormenting and how I wanted to yell and cry and throw things.

All I can think of is the parts of myself I’ve lost and don’t know if I’ll ever get back.

All I can feel are the rough edges that feel like they are permanent.

All I can identify myself as is a daughter who lost her mom.

All I can see is what I’ve lost.

I don’t know what higher power you believe in if you do. I don’t know if you find God tangible. Right now, I’m sitting in the back corner of this brewery, tucked in a corner, (trying not to cry and not make eye contact with the bartender who has clearly watched me cry) and I just know beyond a shadow of a doubt that God is here too (yes, God sits in breweries). And the God I know is just sitting there and being in this space with me. Which is a lot for me who’s been dealing with not knowing how to sit in a space with God. But thankfully this God meets me even in places I don’t think I’m allowed to be in.

I don’t know right now what’s on the other side of all this.

I don’t know if things I’ve lost can be returned.

If the pieces of myself that I dropped to make space for pain can come back.

I don’t know how to tie any of this up in a neat bow.

I think what I’ve realized in the last 40 minutes or so of writing is that I can hold both life and whatever this is.

I can hold feeling ugly and moving forward.

And I can choose to keep speaking up instead of believing the voice in my head that I should be stronger than all this.

Sometimes I wish I could be more poetic or eloquent in my writing. But, then I realize that’s not who I am.

I’m just me, sitting here, peering under the rug and deciding what I actually need to keep.

If you’ve made it this far-if any of this hits you, if you’ve felt ugly, I want you to know I’m here with you.

That’s all.

Let’s keep fucking going.

With all the love,

Meg
Another Labyrinth reference

September 25th, 2022

I am not enough, I am not capable, I don’t hear from God and my voice isn’t needed.

All the words I’ve had, all the words I’ve deleted, all the words that have percolated in my head over the last hour have all had the same theme.

I am not enough, I am not capable, I don’t hear from God and my voice isn’t needed.

And I know how that sounds, but I’m gonna need you to hold on and keep reading.

Because at the end of the day, until we realize what binds all the awful things together in our brain we will be unable to figure it out.

I emote for the most part a very bad ass bitch attitude. Because honestly, you just have too.

But, when the exhaustion hits and the seasons change and memories come back to haunt us, it comes chugging down the tracks with a force.

And if you’re wondering: that’s where I’m at.

Exhaustion, changing into a season I’m realizing I have more against, and the memories flooding in.

I was having a conversation with someone a few weeks ago about how I’ve gotten better at meeting situations that feel heartbreakingly similar to other seasons in life not with “but I’ve been here before” but instead “I guess I have to go deeper”.

Because at the end of it all these phrases “I’m not enough” and “I am not capable” are not the same that they were.

They can’t be.

Not only am I am different human than when I met them before, not only am I stronger, but also I’ve seen some shit.

When I first wrote this long list of all the ways in which I feel like I fall short (it was pretty damn long), I felt guilty for even thinking them.

Not because they didn’t feel true, but because I had a momentary pause of; I should be stronger than than this.

But that’s not true.

I don’t need to be stronger than all the lies.

I need to be strong enough to recognize them for what they are and keep moving forward.

I’ve referenced this movie before, but I’m thinking of the scene in The Labyrinth where the main character realizes that the Goblin King has no power over her.

And I wonder how frequently she had to repeat that in her mind.

If she saw an owl, or had a moment of anger at her baby brother, or if she wanted to run. I wondered how many situations she met in her life past that where she has to tell that little voice in her head that it had no matter over her.

(It’s now I’m realizing that lies in my head are 100% David Bowie as the goblin king)

Because some days it feels easier to give in to them.

How easy would have been for her to give the baby to the goblin king and live a life free from the thing that made her feel something.

Sometimes, I don’t want to show up for myself.

I want lean in to all the things that cause me to not be who I am and just exist.

But, what kind of life is that?

I don’t really know where I’m going from here.

I have the legal pad of all the ways I currently don’t measure up.

I have the Goblin King trying to hand me a magic crystal to take the baby away.

Here I am though: standing my ground, speaking out that he has no power over me and choosing to keep moving forward and sitting in the muck and grief and places wherein I don’t feel I have the strength.

If you’re still here I want to remind you that you haven’t been here before because you’re in fact a different human than you were.

And the Goblin King has no power over you.

With love,

Meg