Becoming, Lucy

I’m so exhausted. And I feel like that’s all I say at the moment. I don’t know. It’s so frustrating. I really feel like I have nothing to write about, and anything that does come out of me… God it just feels like a cliché or sounds just horrid.

I want to be able to write, i really do but I’m just stuck. Nothing feels inspiring at the moment. That’s a lie.

I have been writing, about love, about feelings… A lot actually but I don’t know if I’m ready to share them on the internet… I did promise this would be raw and real writing but I don’t know if I’m ready to share it in real time.

Well now that I really think about it, is the reason I don’t want to share it is because I’m embarrassed? Embarrassed about the love I want to receive and to give, to be part of? What is embarrassing about having a love that makes me happy, that fulfils me? Not that I have that but why can’t I write about it, yearn for it? Does it make me seem desperate? Needy? Too much? What is possibly wrong with me knowing what I want?

I haven’t a clue. I wish I knew why sharing those pieces feels so vulnerable for me. I don’t know, it’s tricky. Everything feels tricky. I think because I’m so exhausted, everything feels so raw, so vulnerable at the moment and I’m kind of scared to share it.

I’m in a season of heavy feeling, of deep feeling where I am feeling everything without really a reason. Processing things without a reason, my brain, my body are just kind of purging all the bad.

This happened to me in May time I think this year. I’m sure it was around May. It was tiring – things I hadn’t thought about in years coming up and forcing me to think about them, to process what I went through.

I changed a lot through that time, I felt like I was going through a rebirth and I rediscovered things about myself I hadn’t touched in years and ultimately, that process was stepping stones to now, to this, to me blogging, to journaling, to writing poetry, to the creative side of me I kept hidden for so, so long.

So maybe I need to stop being so… restrictive and allow this process to wash over me, allow the layers to peel away, shed my skin to reveal what has been hidden beneath all along. It may be uncomfortable but it’s part of my becoming.

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I wrote the above during the week, I don’t know what stopped me from posting it or why I didn’t really bother to look at it again – I suppose the exhaustion is real.

Anyway, after I had wrote that, I felt better. I let go more and more as I continued to write, everything flowed out of me easily, unrestricted – which made me realise my own brain is blocking me a lot of the time from processing and feeling when I ‘want’ to (which is so cool our brains can do that but annoyingly frustrating). So a few days later, I wrote the below. Now it isn’t good, it isn’t perfect but I just knew I needed to somehow get the metaphors swirling round my mind out and then one day when I truly understand it, I can come back and refine it, make it better… When my brain decides to stop being so restrictive.

My consciousness is a dam
filtering through thoughts
only allowing a few through

the dam releases
the dam lets go
and I’m free

But now there’s too much
too fast
all at once

But I need to let go
I’m better when I’m free
I’m me when I’m free

too much
just enough
follow my own flow
follow my own way
my own making

I am a river.