I wanted to tell you about how I was struggling with my new job. I wanted to tell you about person A who said this and person B who made me feel that way.
But then I came to the harsh realization that this isn't about them. It's about me, and it's also about you.
I wanted to tell you about this move to Colorado. And now it's been more than six months and as I see the calendar approaching almost one year, I feel an overwhelming sense of shame that I haven't told you everything. But then again, I've come to a point where I don't think I want everything out there anymore.
And then it hit me. The reason I couldn't write to you in so long is because I didn't know what I was feeling. I was feeling too much. And I couldn't write just to write. I had to write when it hit me. So here we are.
I moved across the country with the person I love and that's a big deal. But instead of processing it and enjoying it, I panicked for three months. Because I didn't have a job. And money wasn't coming in. And insurance was running out. So I'd panic, but not like normal panic. I was on a a completely new level of overload.
Then it happened. I got the job. A good job with good pay and with a work life balance that I was craving more than anything. I became someone who bikes to work and lives an active, outdoorsy lifestyle. A real Coloradan. And so I got lost in all of it. The living part. I forgot about the struggle. I basked in the 'okayness' of it all.
Money was coming in. Insurance was set. I was taken care of. I did it and life was good. But I knew somewhere deep down that the panic lay dormant because I hadn't really gotten rid of it -- I had only shoved it back into its hole. "See you next time."
But then next time came round way too soon. The job -- it was stressing me the fuck out. My panic always seems to come from something outside of me. "It's the job that's stressing me out," I told myself. And don't get me wrong, it was. But it was more than that, I think. And it's taken me several months to get to a point where I can pinpoint it.
And that's why I'm writing to you now. Because the thing I've been missing is sharing the lessons I'm learning out-loud, and I'm in the process of learning a big one.
This new job? It makes me feel like I have something to prove. It brings up that "not enough" feeling in me which is that thing we all have that pushes us. That keeps us fighting on this journey to uncover something more. You may define it differently than me. I just know that my thing has to do with my enoughness.
It's my biggest struggle. It's the thing that's taken me on this journey to where I am now. It's the piece of me that's guided every decision. I thought my mom dying was my fault - I'm just not enough. I thought my dad giving up on me was my fault - I'm just not enough. I thought my stepmom putting all her hurt on me was my fault - I'm just not enough. I thought me not fitting in anywhere I went - friends, jobs, relationships, all of it - was not fault - I'm just not enough.
It's like a bad song on repeat in your head that just doesn't go away, no matter how hard you try to change the station.
Coming into contact five years ago with someone who saw me for all of who I am - mess and everything - and loved me anyway changed everything.
It has rocked my world in the best way and has made me open up to myself in ways I didn't think possible. Colliding with unconditional love when all you have known is conditional love hits you unexpectedly and wonderfully and makes you grow and stretch and become in ways you didn't know were possible.
It also terrifies you. It also makes you question everything. It also makes you look inside yourself and see what's really there. It helps to break you open.
I think I've been cracking for a long time now. Rumi says "the wound is where the light enters you." Since I was young I've been writing, and I remember writing a poem where I said that "I wanted the light to know my name." When I was coaching I would tell my clients that they could turn their wounds into scars by turning inwards and seeing love and acceptance where all they might have seen before was hate and disgust. "It starts with us."
But I don't know if I ever fully got to my wound -- deep enough to heal it completely. That's why I stopped coaching. I was scared. I was scared of all of it.
I would watch my clients in awe as they transformed and I'd watch myself fall behind, feeling like a total hypocrite for not doing the work and walking my talk.
But I could see that it worked. But I was scared. And I didn't have me cheering me on, like they did. I was just ripping myself apart.
And I think, finally, I'm getting to the wound of wounds. I've been having really bad dreams lately about my stepmother. I see myself screaming in my mind.
She's yelling at me. She's telling me I'm worthless. And I'm right back in that place I left almost ten years ago. It still feels fresh because I think I still hurt.
I went to therapy last year and it helped me more than ever uncover pieces of this. I went for my relationship, and came out for myself. I was struggling to communicate with the person who loved me most and it took me time to transform my blame into self-reflection. It wasn't about him, it was about me.
I was projecting and hurting and not knowing how to deal with someone who didn't want to control me. I was the one spewing out hurtful words. I was trying to protect myself from something good because I didn't know how to let myself go there. And I came out of it realizing that there's just a hurt little girl inside of me who has been told she's not enough for a really long time. She's listening to a really crappy song on the radio, and it's up to me to change the station for her.
I'm trying. I really am. And things have been great. My relationship has grown leaps and bounds and I'm excited for a future now, not as scared as I was. And when you love someone that much, you're also terrified of losing that love. You've gone off the deep end and there's no going back.
We hold on so tight when we don't want to lose the best thing we have. When it's so good and safe and stable and filled with unconditional love, we (or I in this case) become a little crazy. There's this part of me that wants all of the power to control every possible outcome that could - potentially - destroy that sense of peace we've worked so hard to get and are so lucky to have.
Point blank, I'm afraid of losing what loves me.
I worry about accidents happening. I become paranoid. A phone call that's just a little too late makes me think that something happened.
I get flashbacks in my mind of the ambulance taking my mom away. I don't remember much at all of anything, but I remember that. And I never want to relive that.
But living in fear of losing what you love is no way to live at all. I'm seeing that now. And at the same time, all of these feelings I have deep down in the wound of my wounds is helping me realize who I am and why I feel the way I do -- where it all comes from.
I don't remember ever holding on so tight - it's been a long time since I've loved someone so much and had a life I cherished this much. It makes me want to protect it. I never held on this tight, not since my mom died. Growing up in a house with my dad and stepmom made me actually want to let go.
I wanted to give up there. I didn't care about myself or losing what I had because it held no meaning. Everything looked nice on the outside but it was more than fucked up on the inside. I wanted to lose it all. I didn't need control then. I just gave up on living at all.
I wanted to lose the worst parts of my life in order to somehow claim some semblance of good somewhere, somewhen, somehow.
And I did find my piece of good years later, in a completely new place, and I think it had to do with the decisions I made for myself leading up to that point.
I wanted more and I found it. I wasn't ready for it, but it's helped me become who I am today. It's helped me hold on tight again and not want to let go.
I realize that when I started writing to you, I was talking about my job. But that's just the tip of this iceberg.
This piece of the story is about the lessons you learn and where you find the answers you're looking for. I'm still working on finding my enoughness and it's hard.
Even when you have someone on your side, day by day, cheering you on it's ultimately up to you to look yourself in that mirror every day and say "I love you."
And I'm in a weird place now figuring it out - yet again - what I'm meant to do with this life of mine. Sometimes I just want to become a recluse and live on a piece of land. Sometimes I think I just want to be and have the freedom to wake up every day and enjoy it all - to seize it all -- this life. I'm thinking about a future these days, and it feels alien to finally be at a stable place where we're looking to save up for a house and all of the things we want. I was always anti that. Anti a normal life. But here I am and I'm learning how to navigate.
I have a job with a good income and good benefits and a nice title, but it holds no deep meaning for me. It gives me stability, sure, but is that it? When I was coaching I had the freedom but I was struggling to make it work financially and I don't want to go back there. And then I think about how I got here.
There is no linear or logical path from political science to marketing, but here we are.
These days I'm thinking a lot about what I wanted when I was young. My favorite gift was a microphone and I sang and sang. I loved drawing and looking at my mom's old sketch books filled with realistic looking hands and eyes. She was also a writer. And there was a time when my dad was an artist.
I think I somehow inherited this "I need to create SOMETHING" gene. And it's this "something" that I've been chasing since 2012, ever since my first tweet.
I don't know what it is or what it looks like and it's so frustrating to say that I still don't know.
What I do know are the facts -- the creations I do have. My poetry. My writing. My tweets. My posts. My Facebook groups. The safe spaces I've cultivated. The workbooks I've made. The lessons I've shared. The people I’ve helped. They exist. They're proof of this journey. And where does it all lead? God, I want to know.
I'm not a singer. I'm not an actress. I'm not an artist. I am a life coach. I am a writer. I am a content and digital marketing manager. What's the sum of it all? Where do the pieces of one's life journey lead to? And maybe it's like that famous phrase. It's not about the destination. But let me tell you, the journey to get there is filled with highs and lows and laughs and love and heaps of crying on the floor and a lot of unanswered questions.
But it's a journey none the less. And this job of mine has ripped off the band-aid that I've been using to cover this wound of mine.
It's about time I come face to face with myself and what I want. I've had a dream on my heart for more than four years now. A dream for a space for creatives to gather. A space filled with creative expression and self acceptance. And recently that vision became so much more clear. Being in Colorado, surrounded by people chasing their creative dreams, I know there's possibility. And this dream won't let me go, it's holding on mighty tight.
I know there are spaces here where I can make it happen. Deep down, I know I can. But I'm so scared. I don't know how to start. At the same time, I don't want to keep putting this part of me on the back-burner. I'm terrified of putting myself out there and no one showing up. I'm scared of being just not enough.
And it's been holding me back. It's the wound of wounds. It's the little girl inside of me screaming for the station to be changed. I know I need to change it. And that's the place I'm at. Fully in love, fully supported. In a state I'm falling in love with. At a job that isn't my end game. I know that.
I've quit things before, but this is different. It's not about just me anymore. It's about the life my partner and I are creating, we're in this together. I know I don't need to do anything rash. But it's difficult when you know yourself so well that you know you're not where you're meant to be. And I'm also lucky that I even have the privilege to choose what I want to do with my life - whatever that may be. I have the choice, and there is freedom in that, and that is a gift.
It would be so much easier if I knew exactly what I wanted to be when I grow up, but I'm growing up fast and I never liked that question and my life has never been so easy.
I think this little girl in me is ready for me to bet on her. She needs room to breathe. She needs me to be there cheering her on, betting on her. Holding her and her dreams so tight.
I think it's time that I start to act on enough. I think it's time that I start to take those baby steps, no matter how scary and insurmountable they may seem.
That's the only way I can bet on me. Maybe I write up that business plan. Maybe I scope out warehouses to renovate. Maybe I start saving up for a house and a space.
And put the good income and good benefits to use -- knowing that a title doesn't define me.
My high school yearbook quote came from Natasha Bedingfield's "Unwritten." If that doesn't describe me to a tee, then I don't know what does.
All I know is that I needed to share all of this with you. Because part of me knows that I need to be kept accountable. Coming face to face with all of who you are and choosing to tell yourself "you're enough" and that you're willing to bet on yourself takes support. It takes a whole tribe of Worthy Warriors holding each other up.
And I need my tribe, more than ever. I don't want to take these next steps on my ever evolving journey alone. I want you to be a part of it.
Okay? Okay then.
It's also blizzarding outside as I write this to you. The winds are howling and it's kind of terrifying. When another burst of wind gusts, I wait for our door that leads outside to our balcony to budge, but it doesn't. It doesn't move at all. Before all of this, the move to Colorado, finding someone who loves me wholeheartedly, I had finally found a space to call my own. But that was a house, it wasn't a home. And when the winds got really bad back east, my door to the outside would shake. And I mean shake. I would always think that the next storm, that next scary night, would cause it to break open.
The door never broke open; I did. A little later on. A little down my life road. A little more wise. A lot more vulnerable. I broke myself open.