Noted. (1)

You are beautiful. Created with a purpose although you never had a plan to be anything more than loved. Shattered in ways that no one should ever have to experience. It pains me to admit that you too, have broken others and spread grief through your lack of understanding. Pushed the kindest person away because love was such a foreign concept for you. It always seemed just out of reach. Like a student in a classroom and no one stood up to teach. How can you want love when you do not know where love begins? How do you keep your head up when facing a familiar end?

You just keep going they say. Take it one day at a time. Although, you are so close to permanently losing your mind. But if you want something different. If you pray for something more. Then you have to believe that it is worth fighting for.

Sometimes that fight means it’s just you, keeping the peace. Sometimes the hurt you inflict will force people to leave. This does not mean you are unworthy. It does not mean you will always be alone. But sometimes you have to get comfortable doing the work, on your own.

Never mind they said they would never leave you. Promises are broken everyday. Understand that people who are similarly broken may not believe you can change.

It’s not about what they believe. Some people will give you up in a fight.
It’s about you doing the best that you can, until you finally get it right.

Love Always,

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The Truth About Perfection.

I remember being assured that failure was not a permanent disposition. That mistakes made in earnest pursuit of the truth would eventually take me to the right place. Still, I endeavored to perfect my ability to get it right the first time. Who wants to drop the ball or try and then fall when there is an option to be the best at everything?

In early grade school I believed that I could handle it all. In time I learned that I had a broad aptitude for many different subjects, semi-athletic skills and a mouth that could fill in the remaining gaps. What I lacked, however, was that one specific thing that I could claim was meant for me.

Some people ran faster, scored higher and knew exactly what was in their destiny. I envied those with their heads on straight and dreams that were supported by their perfect families. I could not understand what made me different or why the idea of excellence seemed so far away.

I had a hard time believing that what was special about me was the fact that I was not the same.

As a parent now I urge my daughter to celebrate and learn from her mistakes. Perfectionism is a crippling disease and I vow not to let her inherit what I have had to learn the hard way. We all need to get more comfortable with the truth of our individual and beautiful flaws.

The truth about perfection, is that nobody is perfect at all.

perfection, blog, inspiration, life

The Height of Anxiety.

Sunday, I had a panic attack.

Every past failure rose up from the grave – and met me when I was most vulnerable – to drag me back down. I am familiar with not getting it right, or making unpopular decisions and being unreliable. But there is a brand new level of hurt experienced when you let your own self down. quotes, blog, anxiety, healing

I was running on empty. Most people see the gas light and immediately hurry to resolve the issue. Not me. I will keep driving–insisting that I can go much farther than mechanically possible. Sometimes, I am annoyingly successful. The person who always seems to slide through the cracks of undesirable situations. At others, I am the broken down car on the side of the road with a T-shirt hanging out the window.

Painfully and publicly aware that I do not have anywhere else to go.

Mistakes force patience down your throat. They invade personal spaces with their uncanny ability to break up your oblivious peace. I thought I could handle all these responsibilities, but the truth is the more I juggle the higher the chances are of me dropping things. Now, I have to stand still and face what went wrong. Now, I have to go back to the beginning when I should have been more disciplined from the start.

The first time I failed a class I was shocked and angry. Shocked, because I thought I did just enough to get by. Angry, because I could have done better, and my laziness reaped a negative result. But I went back and retook that class and the next time I more than passed the course. Eventually, I earned my Associates Degree.

Maybe I thought the next level of college would be a breeze. Maybe I just took on too much and did not understand what was required of me. Or maybe, I am not smart enough or young enough to do what is necessary. When you believe this type of negative narrative you will be hard pressed to succeed at anything. Self-created pressure keeps so many of us from aiming higher and pushing harder when the inevitable difficulties appear.

Sunday, I let my anxiety take the driver’s seat. But if I am honest, fear and the belief that I am undeserving have long been passengers in my now disabled car. I fought earnestly at level one to get to what I knew was mine. Late night papers and canceled plans were the norm of my existence. I have sacrificed fun to pay for school books, gave up countless nights of sleep to get it all done.

And I will not my anxiety get the best of me, not while level 2 is still left to be won.

 


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Party of 3 (200 words)

I saw the clouds in your eyes as you tried to remember why you started. That blanketed expression you offered when you wished things were different although you know life has the ultimate and final say. What could ever possess a person to commit their entire life to dying with nothing but the darkest stenches of mediocrity? Why does living feel like the longest endeavor when it is the soul held captive in this unforgiving human body? Maybe the biggest fear is that they won’t consider your efforts–when the truth is intention means nothing if it does not bring you peace. It used to be about love and honest representation, but now all we do is mask our eternal suffering. Mistakes linger in our hearts–puncturing foundations with their ever-present tease. I know I am not above this “missing pieces” theory. Just like you, I fear failure and the inevitability of time given in vain, if I leave. But you can’t force puzzles to fit where they are not meant to be. I just wish you would admit to yourself what neither party wants to believe:

You will never find what you are looking for, if you refuse to set yourself free.

 


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– Jen Cosby

Pitiless, Penniless, and Free.

Perhaps you will not have to brace yourself for impact. We know how all things that are not meant to be end. At the beginning, we are so full of wistful expectation that we fail to see the oncoming doom in all its glory.

You were not meant for me.

I whisper this thought internally, because saying it out loud will force me to accept its reality. If I keep it to myself–maybe we can escape the anger and pain that comes when people disappoint you. Maybe being silent keeps us of ignorant of the truth.

But we both know this isn’t true.

Instead, silence rears its ugly head at the exact moment you need to speak. It glances over restoration and latches onto apathy. Now I do not care to fight anymore or try to make things work when I have given all I’ve got and you sat there unchanging.

Famous for painting pictures that no one else can see.

Pity comes from a place of superiority. You “feel bad” for someone–but fail to see how close you are to your own painful story. I was broken in ways that I will never repeat.

Now all I want is to be set free.

 

When Home is Not Home. (350 words)

Parents are the first homes for their children. We exist to welcome and nurture them–as the protectors of their souls. This is not a perfect job, nor one where you can take off when you are exhausted. We were chosen. Given an opportunity to pour purpose and breathe life onto their innocent, blank slates.

Slates that are always, always influenced by their surroundings.

Parents/mentors/extended family have an important responsibility to guide children away from hardship–but to stand firmly by their side when pain is inevitable. We are NOT meant to wound these innocent spirits with self-righteous ideas of who we THINK they should be. Especially, when their idea of who they are conflicts with what we were taught to believe.

If home is not SAFE, children will learn to outsource their needs. They will run–into the arms of others who may give them false information and take advantage of their hearts. They will lie and tell you what you want to hear when they think you cannot handle their truths. They will form guards against any connections to you.

I am reminded of children who “come out” to conservative parents. And parents who then attack the very thing they were meant to protect. There are parents who refuse to listen when their child is screaming for their attention. And parents who later blame themselves for the consequences.

I am reminded of myself. When I was younger I did everything I could to get away from home. I felt invalidated and broken. So much so, I delayed my potential for nearly a decade before I discovered that I was worth so much more.

Now I know that I am my home.

Sometimes, parents fail and we are left to keep our home safe. This is okay. Things like this happen to people everyday. We fall off our paths and run in a million different directions. We chase after things we do not need and leave our homes open without any security. We make mistakes then drag ourselves back in the game.

But with or without them you will find your way.

home, worry, hope, blog


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– Jen Cosby

Reality. (300 words)

Pull me back to reality. Because as of right now—I have given my whole attention to this alternate universe that only leaves me feeling incomplete. I stand up in my unhappiness, and look around. Seeing the anger and frustration I chose to bury.

Wondering if I will ever find my way back out.

Now, the ground quakes with rage and I know it is only a matter of time before I crumble beneath this pressure of my own doing. Eventually, we all must answer for the raw nerves we neglected to cover. But I am never given the opportunity.

When I am not actively healing, I like to believe I am living in a place where nothing goes wrong. I sleep through the night and spend productive days hoping to “do better” when the chance comes my way. I pick up my cross and carry on.

But I am just as broken as I was last year when I had to accept that I was on my own.

Some nights I dream of the innocent souls I sacrificed for illicit conversation. I think of the crimes I committed when I was unrecognizable to even me. Most people do not try to see the full picture. I am guilty of focusing on the side that favored my parts in the story.

It means nothing to say you will be there, or to pledge allegiance when you do not have to prove yourself. It is easy to believe you are the martyr, when you refuse to acknowledge another person’s scars.

I am guilty of caring too much about other people. And I am guilty of not doing more for my self. But I will set this Earth on fire, before I burn my light out for anyone else.