Becoming, Lucy

Recently I have been lost – feeling alone, numb, quiet, tired.
Protecting myself (I think) from processing, from truly feeling my emotions. I’m not sure what gave me the push to process again or when and why I suddenly felt safe enough to do so but this week was that turning point.

Thank god.

I say thank god as I was tired of being numb, tired of being tired, tired of being quiet and retreating in. That’s not to say it was easy – I really had to dig deep to figure out what was going on for me, to name my emotions and then to let them out, let them come to the surface. Truthfully, I think it was writing again that finally made the emotions stir – I didn’t write for awhile because of how tired I was which I suppose just made me more tired because I wasn’t processing anything.

But yes, this week. This week was a turning point for me. I noticed my patience with everyone and everything has been low, work has been more procrastination than work, life has felt robotic rather than lived. Every thought I had ended with “I’m so tired.”

I didn’t feel enough whilst also feeling stretched; stretched so thin and not being able to do anything about it. I had no one to turn to. I kept hiding, hiding behind tv shows, going to sleep early… I was disappearing into the cracks of my own life.

Whilst processing that, trying to figure out how to get out of this rut, I was struck by grief. Grief, heartbreak, whatever you want to call it, that I’m alone, that I have no one. I have people, don’t get me wrong, people in my life I love dearly but I have no one that knows how to emotionally hold me. Someone who doesn’t try to fix it but just let’s me be and holds that space for me.

As I read that back, it sounds rather depressing… And it is but that’s not the point. The point of it all was/is I should be proud. I wrote a poem about it, I wrote it down, I processed it, I felt it. I’m proud I was able to verbalise it, I’m proud I didn’t shy away from a hard truth. Sure, it’s sad it’s my reality but it’s okay, I’m okay. I’m still here, surviving, living. I still show up with curiosity, with hope, with a smile, I’m still here and I’m okay.

All week, I have been wanting to say the words “I love you” out loud, it has been this overwhelming urge and I have had no idea why because it was always when I was alone (at one point I thought maybe my subconscious knew there was a ghost following me around and I thought, “whelp, this is it, I’m going crazy”). It turns out, I have wanted to say those three words to myself.

And I am. I am in love with myself. I’m in love with my ‘becoming’, my softness, my intelligence, my growth, my bravery, my strength, vulnerability, my awareness. I have so many things to love about me and I finally get it.

In that moment, when I spoke those words out loud, it felt like relief, recognition, expansion, warmth… Just everything all at once. I learned to love myself in the middle of it all – the becoming, the mess, the exhaustion and that’s a special sort of love.

Real love.