Sunday, October 8, 2017

Accept the kindness from your inner self, and share your journey to nourish your mind and body, and yours alone

I am part of a community. A community of writers, and they all remind me of me. I can be myself. It's still scary, of course. But I've opened up to this group of strangers more than I've opened up to anyone in my life, husband and counselor included.

I don't think this is a bad thing. I actually think it's quite healthy. I am putting in the work, grueling icky work, in hopes to find love and grace for my childhood self. I decide who deserves this knowledge and when and how I will share it. It has nothing to do with who I love and appreciate and how much I love and appreciate them.

I am respecting the boundaries of my authentic self and opening up space for my intuition to guide me to the people and places where I will share my special story.

Tuesday, October 3, 2017

Crying Over Spilled Milk

This, whatever this is we're doing, playing house. This isn't working.
It's a fucking spilled drink or crumbs or who knows and no one should care. Just wipe it up and move on. What a waste to get my attention just to tell me, "Hey, you spilled something." 
Surprised yet not, I ask, "Do you want me to get up right now and clean it?" 
"Can you please just wipe it up? Just really quick?"

Then you nudge me a few hours later because (y)our favorite show has started and yesterday you told me, "I enjoy watching this show with you." Can you first clean up my spill? Because you'll have spills too. And why the fuck are we already tit for tat?

I tell you I want to start marriage counseling soon and you are shocked. You tell me I'm on a different page than you in our relationship. What you are telling me is that your behavior is fine. You actually don't even think of yourself as "behaving." You are just unconsciously living on pages about an okay marriage.

What will you do if anything spills on these pages of yours? I will be absent and you will be forced to clean up the mess. Because the alternative to your pages are my pages, and you will be forced to clean up the mess.

What if I don't?

You're out of chances and evolutionary advances in empathy and human compassion. If it exists in that capsule you carry it is not revealed to me. How sweet it is to be your friend or your coworker. There is no sweetness in being your wife. I am not blaming you. Like you always say, "You knew me before you married me." All I am entitled to be is your girlfriend taken aback by all that you lack with the courage to say "I don't."