What I found at home | A new way to see broken

With my momma and new furbaby, Fiona Grace, on our way to my new apartment.

I was anxious to sit down and write these words today.

Last time I wrote for you, my [broken] heart overflowed for pages and pages. It was out in the open, for everyone to see. A way of helping others, but also a desperate cry for help.

There was a part of me flailing around my being - the broken, scared little part that screams in pain and terror when things get too easy… or at the sight of someone less self-aware, a sure sign of danger.

The pandemic seems to be ending - or at least this city has decided it’s over.

Suddenly, we don’t have to wear masks anymore - and we have travel plans again.

The bars are open, restaurants are coming back to life.
It’s a collective sigh of relief.

While the rest of the world tiptoed out of its shell these past couple weeks, so have I.

In the panicked throes of heartbreak, I ran home to my family…

And in the warmth and safety of the familiar roots, a break from the stretching and striving and becoming I’ve been at for years, I was given a gift of contrast.

I knew I was struggling, but until I had my loved ones and doctors and community reflecting the thriving baseline of the past to me, it wasn’t clear that my heart and body were starving. Not just aching or weak, but deeply hungry.

The first step to recovery wasn’t at all about that broken heart.
The first step was to come into my body and allow it to belong to me again.

In my mind, I pushed it so far away.

It was screaming for nourishment and I didn’t believe there was enough in this world to possibly keep me going… not without hurting someone else to take it - which I wasn’t willing to do.

I pushed away not only my body, but my heart, too.
The part of me that longs for and creates soft, thoughtful spaces…

It was something my partner didn’t understand
- and didn’t ever seem to need… so I assumed it was something wrong with me.

I decided to see what would happen if I ignored old signs of brokenness…

and what I found was that the more I prioritized keeping up with the fast-paced busybody I came to love, the more my inner peace crumbled.

I declared it all toxic - ashamed and frustrated with myself that I thought for a moment I could just get over it, just like that.

I was annoyed and afraid of the way I let someone less broken than me have more of my trust than I gave to myself.

I ran back to the people I could trust myself to disagree with.
I ran back to where I knew relying on my judgment was the only way to survive… where I knew how to be strong and independent.

When I got home, I was admitted to the hospital and received four breathing treatments and two sets of IV antibiotics every day to help manage my Cystic Fibrosis and get my lungs and weight back up to normal.

It took a couple days, but my appetite came back.
I gained a little bit of desperately needed weight.

And then my mind started screaming.
The panic had been numbed, subdued in proximity to the gift of strong and steady energy my sister gave me.

But the hospital was sterile and I felt a new normal trying to settle in…
This isn’t it. They’re begging me to sit still, stay here, be this person. This isn’t me.

I remember knowing the thoughts were irrational, but the fear was real.
And so, gently, I tucked my mind in and promised the scared part of me that we would not stop here.

I’ll be back to write, I assured her.
We’re not done, I just need to rest and fuel this body. This is a part of our work.

Still, the internal screaming persisted
And I knew it would be stronger than me if I didn’t do something about it…

So, I left the hospital.

AMA, and a huge step in trusting myself.

It was a compromise - we can leave this place, but the body still comes first. I have to love this body - or there will be nothing left for you, I told the panic inside.

It worked. The storm calmed and I threw myself into caring for the body that allows me to love so deeply, to do my creative work, to create and appreciate the beauty of a warm, cozy, bright, safe space.

I knew a financial foundation was also a critical need.
One of the biggest triggers for my little friend panic is barely having enough money for rent - or having no money at all.

This cycle reminds me that I am broken.

It affirms that I’ll always be that way, that I can never really get better - no matter how clever, creative, and kind you are, you will always be a broken little girl, that cruel voice sings in the back of my mind every time I scramble to pay the bills once again.

I pushed myself during the pandemic and learned how to make more money than I’ve ever made or seen before in my life -

And it worked!
With my back against a wall, I was able to come up with the money every single time. One time, I had to ask for help. The rest, I did it by myself.

In the travels from Oregon to Florida and the Carolinas, I played with the numbers… stretching rent from a couple hundred dollars to $2,000.

I saw that no matter what the number was, I could make it happen.

And yet, at the end of each month, upcoming rent and the need for groceries left me feeling depleted and desperate again.

And in the making it happen, I saw a survival instinct come out that I didn’t know was there - this total embracing of being a victim.

Reflecting from my hospital bed, I realized I had been playing out the “I’m broken” story over and over and over behind my own back.

And every time I played it out, it felt more true.
I felt weaker, more fragile, more vulnerable, and more afraid.

I knew the traumas of the past and my little friend panic were playing a part in the situation, and as tempting as it was to beat myself up for the disgusting habit I had discovered in myself…

(I’ve been working for years to suck out all the ways my childhood experiences trained me to victimize myself - it’s something I’ve always struggled to forgive myself for, even though from a psychological background it makes sense.)

I decided to believe that I am resilient and clever, rather than to tell myself that I am greedy and weak and pathetic.

I asked my little panic friend to wait and give me a chance to figure out how that new belief might feel. We don’t have to keep it, maybe being a victim really does make me horrible… but let’s try this new idea on, I told myself.

Panic seemed to be on board, so I set off to test the new belief and learn all that I could.

I wanted to learn how to allow nourishment to continue flooding into my life in every way that I could…

Without begging or making myself be small and ashamed in order to be taken care of. (That made me shudder just typing. What a gross way to exist...)

I’ve always been uncomfortable looking at how much fuel is required just to sustain every day life.

I might come up with rent and an abundance of healthy foods and beautiful meals this month. Maybe even for three months.

But what about all of the rest? Then I have to do it all again… and again and again?

The thought exhausts me; it makes me want to give up.

Or at least… it used to.

Before June, it did.

But in June, I got a taste of a new sort of generative living…

A way to work in my strengths, the things that don’t drain me as quickly or as dramatically… I learned to rest, and to generate income, support, and nutrients even as I rest.

It feels like I’ve been living a life that wouldn’t destroy me to sustain.

What a gift. What a gift.

It’s been eight weeks at home, eight weeks since I last sat down to write.
I was afraid of what might come out

(afraid I might say I’m terrified that the raw, broken, panicked version of me could still be strong enough to ruin this shift and run away with me again)

And in truth, I’m still a little nervous.

This feels too much to share.
Unimportant and unnecessary, too.

I feel like I’ve just got my own two feet back under me, and who am I to try to help anyone do anything?

And yet… when I let myself think about all that I’ve come through, all that I’ve done, all that I am, and who I’ve been even in the darkest moments - even when past traumas take over my reality and distort my vision - I feel proud.

And I know that I can help.

And I know that I am not hurting anyone by simply being myself.
Taking up space.

I don’t have to shrink down anymore.
I don’t have to pretend.
I don’t have to hide.

Those words sound so common and simple
but the ideas are stretchy and uncomfortable to me.

It’s all new.

I don’t know what’s next, creatively.
I’d love to finish Crystal Belle and the collection of poems and short stories. I’m so excited to see it finished and in your hands.

But just for today, this needs to be enough.

I have thank you cards to write.
Birthdays to make note of on my calendar.

Walks to go on.
Sisters to hug.

I need to tell my mom how grateful I am for her,
how strong she has made me,
how beautifully she has loved me.

I need to reflect back to her what I’ve learned,
and make up for the parts of her that I’ve resisted and rejected
because now I see it all in a whole new light

and it breaks my heart to see her berating herself with words I put in her head as an angry, broken teenager who didn’t know any better.

I know now.

I will not let the art run away with me this time.
We will walk together, hand in hand, as the closest of friends…

Because now I know that life can be sustained without tragic sacrifices that make me wish I could just disappear.
Now I know that I am worthy of the support and nourishment it takes to sustain me…

And I am grateful for it and embracing it.

I’m ready to let the love pour in - and flow right back out as well.

When I feel tempted to skip a breathing treatment or put off responding to a text (that I know I’ll forget - for months), I remember…
Friendship
Family
Sisterhood
Community

We give and take, we share, we grow together and ‘the rising tide lifts all boats.’

I let it all in so that I can give back, too.
I let it all in so that I can be a part of the circle of life - instead of trying to be the whole circle all by myself.

This is all a part of my creative work.
It’s not just about putting thoughts to paper.

There are more beautiful things in life than words. There is more I can leave behind than just words that soothe souls.
Yes, that, and also so much more.