Trying to move forward requires unburdening ourselves of the past. Not forgetting, just letting go of the weight of it, lessening its importance. Yes, it got us to here, and that has been the blessing. This week I am feeling the challenge of letting go of my stories, not all the way, but unpacking their dramas into the simple truths of what was.

There is much space in this. I am afraid of who I am without these stories, these justifications of why I am this way. But I cannot keep them as I know more. I can't cling to their defining. They are not working for me any longer.

For example, and this is one we all know of, the stories about the importance of sex. I am letting go of the story of needing to be wanted by boys in order to feel strong. That was a game for other times. But it got me through prior experiences of being single, and I am not sure how to traverse this space without that game. So much energy is freed by not seeking that kind of acknowledgement, yet I am a bit lonely without it. I lose my way and start on that path again, only to be laughing at myself moments later. I am no longer that girl who would be satisfied with such superficial admiration anyway. So it begs the question of how I would ever enter a relationship again, and I suppose I will just wait and see, and try my best to be open to it appearing in a whole different skin than before.

Retreating to sounds and smells and the outdoors this weekend. My frustrations of Saturday were pounded out with marching outside to loud music until I tired. I must remember to not retreat from the world and others when I want to retreat from my foibles. This is my practice. How to engage, but not too much. How to enjoy things without criticism of their unimportance. I can sit on my back porch for an hour and marvel at the myriad sounds from birds, insects, mammals, and even plants (walnuts ricochet off a metal rooftop). I can walk through strangers and admire and appreciate them from a distance. But I shy away from doing so with the ones who know me best. Because I get caught up in my thoughts and feelings and cannot just see what is when there is so much attachment. So I practice as a voyeur at something that requires getting my hands dirty. It is a terrible strategy.

That said, I did practice a bit more direct communication this week, to some satisfaction. I made an apology, and I meant it, and I did not attempt to justify my actions. Just claimed what I did, and said I was sorry. Did not even ask for forgiveness, which would have been greedy. And the mood between friends lightened again. Small victories do count.

Last night I was tempted to call for help. I wish I had, because I was not alone in that desire, and my sister-friend and I could have helped one another through a rough spot. Instead I stayed alone and distracted myself from it until I was so tired I would not have to feel any longer. Onward, I will work some more today.

Grateful for the few who stick by me in my isolation of myself. I am blessed with such friends who I am not deserving of. I hope they can recognise my efforts, that I still work.

xo