Jolly Folly

“Never feel guilty for starting again. It’s your chance to rebuild your life the way you wanted all along.” -Rupi Kaur

To say that I have faced the changes in my life with utter contempt is quite the understatement. I left Michigan full of fear, anger, and guilt. I felt like I failed to save myself and create the life of my dreams. I never secured the apartment, I couldn’t hold down the job, I didn’t like the people I was surrounded with. I cried and begged God to get me out of there, because I was suffering and I just could not seem to make it all work. I seemingly lost everything. By that point I had gone through many phases of losing everything. I lost, and I lost, and I lost. I got so tired of losing that I began fighting. Everything that was ripped away from my hands had claw marks on it. I was hooked and hoarding what I could to maintain a feeling of having something, anything at all. I was desperate.

Stepping foot back into the hell hole, my mother’s home opened me up to all of the trauma and pain that I had attempted to run away from. I cried, I cut, I yelled and fought. Ultimately I lost to myself. I had no choice but to feel. All of the repressed anger that I had been holding onto roiled to the surface and I learned to acknowledge it’s existence. It wanted to be heard and validated. It wanted to be praised for protecting me. I learned to accept that part of myself as my protector.

Anger is an emotion, it screams that something is wrong, something is hurting us, and we need to make a change. I held so much of it low in my belly because I was raised in a narcissistic household rife with abuse and there was no room for my anger, only obedience. I was punished for feeling, I was told I was playing the victim. I was told that I don’t know what suffering is and that I got it good. I was told this and I was being beaten, gaslit, sexually assaulted and molested. I was told over and over again that my home held no space for me and I was not welcome. I became a vessel of shame and no self esteem. I played small and tried to hide but the rage around me always found me. In the end it stayed with me. For thirty years it sat low in my belly, swelling up to the surface in a powerful tornado when I felt even a wince of pain. I learned from my mother that I didn’t matter and yet every day of my life I have tried to be perfect, to be accepted, to matter.

The good news of this whole ordeal, this months long healing session encapsulated in my mind, is that I accept myself. I accept all of the broken ugly parts. I accept that not everyone will like me. I accept that I am a fierce fighter and I accept that I do know what suffering feels like. I have seen monsters and demons face to face for a long time now, so much so that I feel like Buffy or Van Helsing. I know now that I have what it takes to experience extreme trauma and heal from it, all on my own. I know how to nurture the little girl in me. I remember how much she went through and I fight for her now.

In a short time I will be writing from a new city, with a new job. I will make new friends and possibly fall in love. I will look around me and feel joy, and freedom, and excitement. I am no longer running from my past and running away from the pain and hurt. I am choosing to heal, and let it all go. I am choosing to free myself from the narrative of a life I no longer know. I am choosing me and my happiness and autonomy. So, although, I hate that I had to come out here, I am grateful for the work I’ve done on myself while I’ve been here. Knowing that I am leaving for good with peace in my heart and on my mind, is the greatest blessing of all.

” True freedom starts with absolute honesty. The moment you call a problem by its real name, you’re already learning how to make it less harmful.”