Category: midnight thoughts

And here I am (not)

There was a young child whose start in life had a hand over her mouth.

Be a good girl and don’t cause problems

Be a good girl and do what you are told

There was a young girl whose entry into puberty had a hand over her mouth

Be a good girl and don’t rock the boat

Be a good girl and stop talking so much

There was a young woman whose entry into young adulthood had a hand around her neck

Be a good girl and it won’t hurt so much

Be a good girl and just be what you are told

There was a woman whose entry into full bloom is being marked by tearing at the hand shaped  scars that conceal her voice

She is a good woman

She listens closely

She has ridden the wave and broke through the surface

She whispers when she should scream

She bears the scars of the wounds seen and unseen

She tried to be everything that she was asked

and found she was nothing, it did not make her worthy

The Heart of an Empath

My wounds are such, that when I see them reflected in you, my response is one to want to heal you. To shelter you and let you know there is better.

My desire for connection and the mutual exploration of the deep does not fit.

I am to be taken in doses, as I see I am too much, or is it not enough?

I am told my need to help is not normal, by some even unwelcome- no matter the intent.

Do we not all have the desire to help each other? To care for and nourish each other?

To bathe the wounds in kindness, love and acceptance?

I do not understand why I don’t fit here.

Birthday

The night before.

I have so much in my head.

I’m sitting thinking of what this night may have been like for my mom.

I’m thinking about how she never got to see this number for herself.

I’m thinking about how I’m not sure I’ve done enough with this gift of time.

I’m thinking about who I want to be

I’m thinking about who I am

I’m thinking about the things that have broken my heart.

I’m thinking about the things that have bandaged my heart.

I’m thinking about what kind of cake there might be tomorrow.

Happy Birth Day 💜

Your Prison

It’s ok.

Vulnerability is hard, but I don’t judge you for it.

I don’t judge you for not knowing. For finding it so difficult.

Your tears don’t frighten me.

Your fears don’t frighten me.

I see your overwhelmed humanness

I never had any other expectations- you had already placed so many upon yourself.

I can not fix it for you. But I will be here while you try. A hand to hold, a shoulder to lean, an ear to listen and a heart full of compassion to rest in.

The walls you built to hold you up imprison you with your demons. You have made it hard to reach you, the noise so deafening you can not hear. The frustration of self so loud you think the sound is outside your head and coming from my lips.

If you looked in my eyes, the reflection of you that you would see is one of gentleness, kindness, love

Not the unworthy monster you believe is lurking.

Yet- you think I must lie. How can I see your strength, your beauty, your worth? You demonstrated it over and over to those around, but forgotten to save a bit of light for yourself.

The light you gave me to hold once, when my own battle became so dark I could not see, is a treasure I wish to return to you, to light your way. But you can not see enough to take it.

My heart aches watching you battle. Seeing your wounds erupt from within. I can not love you enough to fill the holes you keep tearing. How can you believe your grace is poison?

How can you believe you are not loved?

I ask the Gods to help you, to hear you, to guide you through. I’ll always be here, when you release yourself from the dark.

Shame

Shame perverts everything we do.

Why? What do we have to feel shamed about? Emotions? Needs? The flesh that carries us? The mind that creates? Our desires? Fears? Our successes? Failures? Our mistakes? Our vulnerability? Our kindnesses?

The shame we carry can make us closed, cruel, judgmental – indifferent to expressions of gratitude, love, caring, joy.

It divides us.

We push it off on others, not acknowledging it is our own burden we carry. We believe that love, compassion and understanding are not for us. We are not worthy.

There is so much I want to write- so much I want to express. I just want to roar

FUCK YOU

I don’t want this any more.

Fuck you to anyone who has ever made you feel lesser than.

I will not be shamed for my vulnerability

I will not be shamed for my caring

I will not be shamed for my body

I will not be shamed for my willingness to try

I will not be shamed for my past

I will not be shamed for who I am

I will not be shamed for the love I give

I will not be shamed for trying to heal

I will not be shamed for my truth

I will not be shamed for asking for help

I will not be shamed for offering help

You can try,

by your words

your actions

your silence

to tear me down

to your level

Here I will not stay

You can keep your judgements

You can keep you helpful arrows

You can keep your cloak of shame

I will shed mine and rise above

Children Today

Torture to see pain and fear in your child’s eyes

How do we explain the world? The lack of empathy. The constant fear drum being beat relentlessly.

Wanting to say everything will be alright, feeling the words dry up on your tongue because you don’t know. Never make promises you can’t keep.

Her heart is heavy. Mine is breaking.

I hold her, wipe away the tears, fighting back my own.

Hope, hope, find it, enough to share. I can not bare one more thing.

Until I have to.

Tell her ‘bout the wheel, how it will turn. It won’t stay like this forever. It can’t.

A piece of childhood shattered. Another bit lost.

I must be her port. Hold steady despite my fear.

Hold It

The sacred honour of holding stories comes with a price. 

The space I create for the words you need to spill, the poison you need to excise 

Burns

Burns a hole

Deep dark ugly secrets fester

I learned this lesson from the other side – so very few have I spilled my bile on…. 

watching them run in horror from my contamination- burning through the space they gave me

This place now locked. 

I believe this had fortified me from the same danger. That the space I could give was impervious to the acid of the tragedies you tell. I know what the poison will do if not relieved from self. I wear these wounds.

I must keep my neutral mask in place, my eyes have changed.

Will justice prevail? Not in the face of fear. Not this time.

Silence- I can only tell my story, but I carry the stone of yours, I see what is in your shadow.

It is not mine- only as a witness. I will soothe my burns, seal it up, create the space for another. Taking a moment to reflect if this is what my own toxins have done? Had it changed the eyes of others? Is this what made me invisible? Is this what turned them away?

I can clear the burning from my own eyes, I will still see you, just as I will see others.

The sacred honour of holding stories can come with a price.