I’m floating free
But the waves keep trapping me
Waves are supposed to move as one
But the waves are fractured
Waves surround me
Coming at me from all angles
Crashing into me
Wave after wave
I can’t breathe
But I’m floating,
Free
I’m not going under
I’m floating
I’m breathing
Free
If I trust the water,
I can just be
I can let the waves crash into me
I can just be
Free
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.
A realisation I had yesterday…
I started at the front
I started strong,
with hope,
a steady pace.
I walk the road with others,
surrounded by familiar faces.
Faces that are comforting,
encouraging.
The road is hard,
I have fallen behind.
I’m being held back,
something is holding me back.
Familiar faces pass me by,
smiling, 1, 2, 3.
My hands are getting full,
my shoulders are dropping.
I’m tired,
my body is tired.
My hands hurt,
they’re burning,
red and blistering.
Are your hands red and blistering?
There’s no one there.
So many people in front of me,
How did I get to the back?
They’re walking so freely,
each step light, easy.
Their hands are
empty.
I feel stuck,
I feel tired.
I’m carrying so much,
they don’t look back,
I’m left behind.
Why are their hands empty?
My hands are full.
Red, blistering,
full.
I should let this go,
my hands are full,
I can’t let them down,
I can’t put this down.
I’m stuck.
Hey you…
It has been a while hasn’t it?
Life has been… well life. Kids ill constantly, myself ill, travelling, work, Christmas events. It has been nonstop. But I haven’t come back to talk about the everyday things.
I don’t really know what I’m here to talk about. I haven’t been feeling anything big or dramatic recently but I also haven’t really been allowing myself to feel. I haven’t had time to process, to think, to sit in my emotions.
I’ve just been keeping myself busy – numb to everything.
As I write now, I can feel the emotions stirring under the surface, wanting to come out.
I just haven’t had time, you know? Or when I have, I’m just too tired. I’m tired now.
I know I can’t keep everything locked in forever though. I know I have been neglecting processing everything. Neglecting feeling my emotions. Neglecting my journal. Neglecting me.
I do this all the time – forget about myself for a bit, put myself last on my list. I’m not looking for pity or whatever you want to dish out, I’m just saying it how it is… I guess I’m just telling myself off. I shouldn’t be putting myself last or I’m never going to be able to care for anyone else.
Why do I know this but do absolutely fuck all about it?
I’m not even sure what the point of it all is. Of anything.
Rivers flow, leaves fall, the sky moves, I’m still.
What’s the point of it all?
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.
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.
I haven’t written for a while again. I’ve been ill (again, woohoo) and I’ve also been super busy.
I’ve been reflecting on some of my writing though, and I can’t help but think I take a step forward, then two steps back.
I seem to have these big revelations as I write, or seem to resolve whatever spiral I end up in, but when I read them back a few weeks later, I realise I never really sit with my resolution. I just accept it, forget about it, and then move on… only to end up in the same spiral again a few weeks later.
I suppose that’s becoming, though.
Or maybe it’s my brain’s way of saying that I know the answers, I can get them out, but I just need to learn how to process them.
Or maybe I’m just full of shit and pretend to know what the hell I’m on about.
Definitely the third option.
But again… that’s becoming. (That’s what I’m going to tell my delusional self anyway.)
Sigh. I don’t know. It’s exhausting.
Am I meant to have it all figured out?
If the answer is no – then what should I know right now?
If the answer is yes – can someone tell me why it’s so damn hard to figure it all out?
I just feel stuck, like I’m constantly going round in circles.
It reminds me of an image I saw once. It said that if we don’t do anything, we stay stagnant – the line doesn’t move. But if we do something, even when it feels messy, the line might go up and down, but progress is still being made.
Maybe I am still progressing.
Even if I feel like I’m struggling, I’m still taking steps towards the person I want to be, or maybe, the person I already am.
I’m discovering her slowly.
So now I need to make sure that after this big revelation, I remember it. That I actually process it.
I am enough.
(Wow. Writing that sentence made tears come to my eyes. Maybe that’s a spiral for another day -there’s definitely trauma behind it.)
The train was delayed. I’d grown tired of my book and even more tired of skipping songs that didn’t fit the moment. Then something outside the window caught my eye – I’m not even sure what, and suddenly my mind slipped into a spiral. The words that followed poured straight from my head, through the pen, and onto the page.
I just had a moment of what is the point. The train driver is a train driver because? The accountant is an accountant because? What is the point? We’re just cogs. Are we making the world go round? No. Are we making life go round? Kind of. But who for? Really? For us? What is the point of life? Seriously? I honestly have no idea. I wish I knew. I suppose there is no point. So what’s the point? What is the point in everything, if there is no point?
I’m having an existential crisis on board this train.
Maybe the point is there is no point and I’m born to just be. To just live. Unapologetically me. Just live.
Go through the motions of being human. Feel emotions. Love too hard, too much. Laugh and cry. Hold and be held.
Just be.
The more I think about this writing, I can’t help but feel like saying “what a load of shit.”
The point is there is no point? Is that really true?
Am I meant to find my own meaning in this world? Am I meant to just live how everyone else is? Is this seriously my life for the next 50 years?
I don’t know, but it seems a load of crap. The world is so beautiful. Humans are beautiful. Yet, my life is the same mundane thing everyday? I’m meant to choose a career or something and say “yes, the reason I was put on the earth is to do this 5 days a week, 9 hours a day”?
I’d love to believe what I wrote, to “just be” – but honestly, I don’t think it’s possible.
I was thinking I’m not really in my feels lately, and that’s why I can’t write anything decent.
But then I thought, what if I’m just happy?
But I’m not even sure I know what happiness feels like.
Which is such a weird thing to admit, isn’t it? Surely I should know what it feels like?
When my sons were born?
When I sit and play with them?
Surely? But all I can think is, yeah that feels nice, but there were other feelings there too.
What does happiness actually feel like?
I’m not sure. What’s it supposed to feel like?
I’ve felt fine. Just okay.
But I don’t think I’ve ever felt pure happiness.
Maybe when I found out I was pregnant with my first son – I cried tears of joy, but also absolute fear. Even though he was very much wanted and (kind of) planned, it was still terrifying.
I keep trying to justify it. Trying to prove that I have been happy at least once in my life. But I genuinely can’t think of a single time I’ve felt that big, cinematic kind of happiness people talk about.
Maybe happiness isn’t a big moment.
Maybe it’s not something that stays for long periods of time.
Maybe it’s just small moments.
Holding my sons in the quiet hospital room when it was just us.
Those small moments of peace.
Or when I sit and listen to music in the evening, and that’s it – nothing else.
Or when I light a candle and just watch the flame flicker.
Or when I watch my boys play together.
Maybe happiness isn’t something that lasts, because life always finds a way to distract us.
But there’s joy to be found in every moment.
When I walk in the cold morning air and the sun peeks through the clouds.
Or when every sock has a pair and there’s none left in the basket (I wish).
Maybe my days are full of happiness – I just let the things that seem important get in the way.
I haven’t sat down to write in a few days. I’ve honestly been exhausted – on top of the toddler being ill, then of course getting ill myself and the last week of school before half term, it has been none stop. There were moments when I felt guilty for not finding time, for not pushing through anyway, but I reminded myself I’m allowed to rest, to take time for myself, especially when I’m ill.
So here I am, today. I’m showing up when I feel able to, when I feel comfortable enough to do so. I am proud of me for doing what was best for me this week and not just because writing, journaling or whatever we want to call this, is what has been helping me most.
With how busy I’ve been this week (busy dying in bed), I don’t have much to write about. I haven’t had any ground-breaking moments, or anything particular to share but like I said in my last entry, life doesn’t have to be chaos, just small moments that stretch my world.
I saw a stranger in a coffee shop the other day (when I wasn’t ill). I went to work and was deep in focus but I looked up and there was a man, sat there alone. He wasn’t on his phone, or any device. It was just him, the table and his coffee. The scene fully distracted me, I was so curious to know whether he was lonely or just quite happy looking between his coffee and the wall.
Yes, he sat with his back to the whole café so he was facing the wall. Even when I’m sat, not working or reading, I don’t sit with my back to the café, I face it so I can people watch and make up crazy backstories for each person. So this man definitely had me curious.
My social anxiety was screaming at me not to start a conversation and unfortunately, it won. I suck at small talk. I should’ve used that moment to stretch my world a little bit and I will, next time (I’ve made myself promise) – but that whole moment stretched my world just a little. He had me curious, he had me questioning my own choices and even made me promise to strike up a conversation with a stranger next time I see someone alone. It’s the small steps, the small moments that help me on my becoming journey.
I suppose I also need to answer the three questions I told myself I would answer each week:
What made me feel alive this week?
Probably the moment in the cafe with the stranger. He reminded me that we might feel lonely in our own worlds, but we share this big world with billions of others and thats a magical thing.
What did I choose differently?
I don’t have a dramatic answer for this… Oh wait, yes I do. Well not dramatic but it’s better than me saying I’ve finally gone from iced coffee to hot now it’s cold enough. I chose not to guilt myself for resting.
What would I tell my boys about this moment if they were my age?
Hmm… I’d tell them I was proud of them for choosing themselves, for not letting themselves sit in guilt. I would also say they should find any stranger and strike up conversation with them, they don’t have to look lonely or make you pause for you to step out of your comfort zone. Start easy, start with the barista at the cafe next time.
Wow… I did not expect to get that out of me by answering those questions. I guess it shows I already have the answers inside of me, even when I don’t feel like I do, I just need to approach it differently.
I’m philosophical as fuck now that I’ve taken a break from writing for a bit. Call me philosophical Luce x
Hi me,
I didn’t write at all yesterday… Truthfully I was asleep when I usually sit down to write. 4am wake up and work 6am – 5pm meant I was asleep by 6:30pm – I was exhausted.
I’m not sure I had much to say yesterday anyway, or even today. Life is still… Life. Just getting through each day…
It’s no way to live is it? I don’t want to live like this, just doing life. My mind has just jumped to something I learned in Sociology at college, how some people are happy with life being like this and that’s why the world will never change. I’m really not sure I want to end up on a massive sociology spiral with myself, so I’ll go back to making it about myself instead.
So yes, I don’t want to just live life like this everyday… I get that it’s normal – life isn’t meant to be something fancy everyday or the way we see it in movies or in the media but I also don’t want to work to live or spend everyday doing the same routine for the rest of my life. I want adventure, to explore, to do my passions – start that business, write my book, see the world, research things I’m interested in.
And I can. I can do those things but also those things require money and time. I’m about to spiral into the fact I’m a mother and it just isn’t my time right now, I can feel it sat there wanting to come out but I’m fed up of that excuse. Because that is what it is, it’s an excuse. I can find ways around it, I can include the boys, I can make extra money (somehow) – I don’t have to keep using being a mother and having limited funds as an excuse.
I want to live for today, not for in 10 years. I want to show my boys what it’s like to live for today, not just for the future – the future is still important but so is today. I am fed up of disguising my fear as responsibility. I want to show my boys how to live, not just survive.
I have started already though, I should give myself some credit. I am doing things I wouldn’t have done 2 years ago, booking those concert tickets, taking day trips, having ‘me’ time rituals and also including the boys in my things. Small things, which have been making a difference to my everyday life and helping me shape who I am as a person – discovering who I am away from being a mum.
I have been reminded how short life is time and time again, so it’s time to show myself and my boys what it’s like to live. Living doesn’t need to be chaos, or big dramatic moments, just small things that stetch my world.
So starting this week, I’m going to answer three questions – not just for me, but so my boys can see it too someday:
What made me feel alive this week?
What did I choose differently?
What would I tell my boys about this moment if they were my age?
Hopefully these help me understand what ‘living’ means to me and I can begin stretching my world.
Sending love, me x
Becoming, Lucy 