My Painting- Italian Villa |
I am amazed. I am
amazing. It is easy for me to write that I am amazed. It is a little
bit more difficult for me to write that I am amazing because
somewhere deep within myself it feels like it is arrogant to say that
about yourself. I am amazed that I am amazing. Hmmmm.
That was still strange for me to write, but it is this duality that makes these two halves whole and complete. Without them, all there will be is an incomplete hole.
That was still strange for me to write, but it is this duality that makes these two halves whole and complete. Without them, all there will be is an incomplete hole.
I
am inspired by so many things and people and moments, but I never thought I could be inspired
and re-inspired by my own writing and experiences.
I have spent the majority of my life looking out for the answers that
are supposed to tell me who I am or how to become everything I dream
of. The only thing with this is that I am still discovering how life
is made up of moments that ultimately become a collection of clues.
Not so much the clues that tell me which way to go or what to do
next, but they always point me in the direction that leads me back to
me. This has been my biggest problem in my journey of this life. I
couldn’t believe that little me could possibly have any answers. If
I did then why the heck would my life have turned out this way?
It
seems that I give myself my own answers. For instance, take the question I wrote just 2
sentences before this. I asked if I have the answers then why the
heck would my life have turned out this way. Immediately I was clued
into the words “turned
out.”
My life was turned inside out because I never really went inside to
take care of myself, and for the most part I grew up having to listen
to everyone else. Which meant that there was very little room for
learning how to think or trust myself.
As
I go through and read the things I have written, I am truly reignited
inside and my heart is moved. It’s amazing to me how much of my
life was spent writing for everyone else. Writing for me was my
escape. It was my place to go where I could feel alive and for a
moment inspired because beyond that the feelings faded and in
order to feel that way again I'd write another piece or
article. I loved everything about how I felt when I would write. The
feelings were so strong and so deep that just by writing about the
things that move me and that I have experienced along this unwritten
journey
I actually believed that I was living the things that I was writing about.
Writing was my
resource for external validation and worth. I wanted to be wanted. I
wanted to be accepted. I wanted to be great. I wanted to color
everything that I wrote with the paint of my passion through the
brush strokes of perspective. Why? Because I believed in the beauty
of inspiring others.
Once upon a time,
writing was the only way I could access my heart. I loved the way it
felt when I was able to pour myself out onto the pages, and for a brief moment the
inescapable torment of darkness within my life was transformed into the light of
understanding, compassion and connectedness.
Writing for me was
safe. I was able to say what I wanted to say and figure out the best
ways to get my point or thought across without being shut down or
rejected. Well, at least while I was writing it anyway. I was never
comfortable trying to talk about things that hurt because I was very
shy and scared of people. Or it could have something to do with the
fact that since I was 2 years old I had “professionals” prying
and probing me to talk to them about my life.
I had my first
experience with one of these professionals was when I was only 2. My
mom was at the end of her rope with me because I was constantly
throwing temper tantrums and she didn’t know how to handle me or
what to do. So she brought me to a shrink. Apparently in our first
session I was trying to psychoanalyze the doctor, and my tantrums
didn’t really get much better. Needless to say I didn’t have to
see him too many times.
When I was 5 I used
to get into trouble at school because I wouldn’t stay sitting and I
liked to get up and try to run around and kiss the little boys who
were in my class! I wasn’t very cooperative and so more often than
not I used to get a sad face on my daily card that would go home to
my mom at the end of the day. My mom used to ask me why I was misbehaving in class. I didn't know what to say
when I got in trouble and I was afraid of getting spanked. I didn't know why I was being a "bad girl."But in all seriousness I looked up at her and told her “I’m thinking.”
For always
“thinking” so much I grew up not really having a clue how to
think at all. I learned how to react, and I learned how to do as I
was told mostly because I was afraid of what would happen if I
didn’t. I have learned that when you are afraid there is no thinking going on. Well, I
mean there is thinking going on but that is more like obsessing over
ruminating thoughts about whatever it is that is happening, has
happened or is going to happen.
I remember growing
up constantly afraid. There were 2 different kinds of afraid though.
There was the fear of the unknown like being afraid of the dark.
Nothing ever really happened but imagining something "could" happen
gave me creepy feelings and that felt really icky.
The other kind of
afraid is the one where you have personal experience and know what is going to happen. Like when my mom used to
try and hold me upside down by my ankles and spank me with a wooden
spoon. When I was little I either got spanked, my mouth washed out
with soap or I had to kneel on a pile of uncooked rice in a corner
holding a heavy phone book on the top of my head. The thing with
punishment is that none of that really changed me or stopped me from
doing the “bad” and “naughty” things. I just got better at
hiding and hoping not to get caught.
I was raised in the
“Children are to be seen and not heard” era. As a child being
silent was associated with obedience, and it determined what other
people thought about how well you were doing as a parent. “Acting
up” and embarrassing your parent(s) was an absolute no-no.
I didn’t have much
of an outlet for any of the anger, pain and fear that I remember
stuffing down inside. That's why once I learned how to write it was like opening
the floodgates of my soul. It was more therapeutic than all of the
counseling I had ever gone to put together, and writing became my
greatest friend.
Through the years I
have learned so much about myself through my writing, but it is only
over the past year and a half or so that I have stripped away the security blanket
that I used to cover up the real me. My writing used to be a way for
me to appear to have it all “together.” I developed a large vocabulary when I was pretty young so one of the perks of using big
words was that it made others think I was really smart. That made me feel
really good about myself. As with everything else in my life, my vocabulary became nothing more than just another cover to
hide behind.
As I have undergone
transformation after transformation I find that rather than just
writing about things and hoping to become that some day, I finally discovered how to live the things that I
write. This has changed everything! I used to cringe when I read
things that I have written over the years because I used to think I was
some kind of expert about everything I have gone through. I
wrote like I had overcome everything when the truth is I
hadn't even gotten started. Instead of judging myself and being
critical, I have learned to read my work and see just how much I have
grown throughout every step of each process and season of my life. I
have learned to simplify everything that I write and just
be myself. My real self.
I am not concerned
anymore about whether I sound smart or not. It is most important to
me that I am real. I have worked very hard to face
myself and learn how to live a totally transparent life so that what you see is
really what you get. I don't live one way in front of people and
another behind closed doors anymore. Everything I have ever hidden
has been exposed, and all that I spent my life hiding and hiding
behind has come to light. I have nothing left covering me except the
life giving light of love! This is a miracle I never imagined could
really happen in my life! Reconciling me with myself has been the
most epic road of my journey and I have never been the same!
I
am completely committed to being honest especially about the person I
used to be, who I am today, and what the process from there to here
looks and feels like. I have become authentic, real and trustworthy.
I am also exposed, vulnerable, and totally alive for the very first
time in all of my life!
I am in a place that
I have never been before and it seems everything I am facing is
outside of my comfort zone. However, I have learned quite recently
that a comfort zone is not something that has a negative connotation
to it as I always thought it did. Being in your comfort zone is being
in any place where you are gifted or have a developed ability to do a
particular thing well and fairly effortlessly. Which means you don’t
really have to exert yourself to face the challenge in order to do
it.
I am challenged
every time I write because the “old” me who tried to sound super
smart and complex knew the words and could make them sound
impressive. I wanted everyone to think that I had all the answers,
meanwhile my entire life was spinning in all directions and I was
totally out of control. I was a hypocrite and I didn’t even realize
it. So I made a decision almost a year and a half ago that I am done
trying to hide how flawed I am or trying to sidestep the
embarrassment and humiliation from all of the things I have chosen,
caused and experienced just because it would be easier to just “leave
those things out.”
Rather than just
writing from my head and what I “know” I continue diving deeply
so that every time I write my heart has been poured out into every
word that I have written on every page. Love is the only reason I am
and I am certain more than anything else that love is the only way
true life and transformation is possible. In the end which is the
beginning, the only thing that is more powerful than all of the
negativity and fear rampant in life is the awesome power of never
ending love!
I have been scarred
from the inside out and maybe I always will be. I am learning to
accept every scar as a reminder that I have fought in the battle of
my life, I have won and now I have the scars to prove it! I am still
here, and that is a miracle that I can’t sit back and just keep to
myself. Because healing is only a belief away! Everything is possible
when you are inspired to believe!
2 comments:
Dear everybody else in the room:
You ARE so amazing. I am spellbound by your writing and your story and your miracles.
Dear Chene,
I am so thankful that you take your time to share in my journey! I am so moved by what you feel about what I have begun to share. Good, bad, ugly, and miraculous is a part of life that I am certain everyone on the face of this earth can identify with. I am here to share, connect with my heart in all I do. If not for the light of love that has brought me through and patiently waited on me to take each&every step, I would never be here to share the miracles of falling and forgiveness. So thank you and "everybody else in the room" for being such an integral part of my journey, and thank you for letting me be part of yours! I am honored and thankful!
With Love Always,
Elizabeth (and everybody else in the room :)
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