Miracles happen everyday.
But I feel like I am stuck repeating redundant story lines without any real release. It is time to accept reality. To gather all of my dignity and recognize my own potential. I can say that I am not my mistakes and that I am worthy of love that is not easily shaken. But I have to be adaptable when the picture has changed.
Love did not abandon me. It did not stick out its foot and trip me. Real love can overcome everything. But love can not be the only thing covering us. Sometimes we fall in love with the wrong ones. People who want you to cross the entire bridge rather than meet you halfway. People who only understand love under the context of chase.
Once the mystery is gone, so are they.
I am worthy of understanding. Someone who will experience me at my lowest and draw nearer when I need it the most. Someone who can filter through my anger and still want to keep me close. I do not need a love whose decision will always be to walk away or let me leave.
Real love keeps fighting.
Sometimes I give up. I get tired of fighting for something that no one else wants. I am told that I am unreasonable. But everyone has their limit and it is hard to recover once you have reached it. There is nothing a person can do or say that will make a difference to the one who is not committed to stay.
One day you’ll grow tired of them walking away.
Too many steps forward and you will be forced to leap back to the beginning. In every instance of regression we feel slighted as if we did not have a say in whether or not we went all the way. It is fair to be weary. To have a heart weighed down by an irrepressible pain.
But the art of forgiveness requires us to change.
I have no stock in another person’s recovery steps. They can be silent and broken, refusing to ask for help. They can be recklessly happy and move forward with grace.
But the art of forgiveness means we do not stay the same.
Each time we “get back up” a piece falls off from our resiliency. After awhile, there is no more hopefulness. No more faith. No more peace. I have written bitter endings into my narrative so much so that now I do not know how to get rid of the ache.
But the art of forgiveness means we put old things away.
The dream died. If we are being honest it never had a chance to survive. You put two people in a story who both believe they are right and it is only a matter of time before they end up on different sides. Fighting for a future that neither can fully provide.
But the art of forgiveness means you move forward with the rest of your life.
I hate to be the bearer of bad news in my own expectations or the facilitator of less than my absolute best when I am actively pursuing my dreams. I want to grow tired of the lies I sell myself and follow my heart as it leads me to truth. But it takes so much more than hopes and good thoughts to inspire lasting and effectual change.
Sometimes, you have to break down completely before you will ever follow through.
I am not infallible. Every day I wake up just like you with a choice to do better or to stay statically still. I could go on and on about the times I wasted or the balls I let drop while the world around me refused to stop–but none of that will matter unless I choose to make a difference now, for me.
When you are not emotionally connected to your actions, you will continue to fail without any regard to who you are taking down with you. You will emote and feel things deeply but forget that it is not all about your problems. It is about finding a path in the middle towards achieving and maintaining peace. Peace that can not exist if we are constantly fighting.
I do not want to hear “suck it up” when the truth in love inspires us to speak words of healing over people who are truly suffering. There are a thousand ways we can say the same thing without wounding sensitive spirits with our harsh expressions.
Some days this is harder for us to do–but the most beautiful things have a way of happening in spite of you.
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– Jen Cosby
As I draw further away from the negative reality of my past year–and come closer to the anniversary of our ending–I am hard pressed to examine and emote and release this anxiety that has already served its purpose for me. I suppose I just gave up when faced with the truth of my deception. I did not fight because I had nothing left to lose. Thought I was strong enough and wise enough to push past the initial defeats, but I will never forget you are missing from me.
I still try at times to make peace in my subconscious. My dreams are filled with road blocks and alternate routes that always lead back to you. Except, I spend most of my time jolted awake by the fact that I cannot change what God has told me is not now possible.
The hope is to give up the hurt you experience, and to focus your efforts on healing.
Bloom with Intention
We all plant seeds that will one day take root and bear fruit. Whether it is good or bad fruit is determined by what we choose to leave. –Jen Cosby
Usually this would not matter to me. What mattered then is how my hurt manifested itself as a quietly ticking time bomb that without warning exploded on everyone I loved. Shrapnel broke down decades old foundations and opened up carefully concealed scars. This makes me human but also magnifies just how weak I really was. And just how weak I continue to be, when I try to forget you are missing from me.
Today, I walk through doors that I did not have to blow up in order to walk through. They open because they are mine and I did not have to convince myself that I was worthy. They open because I accepted my undeniable part in the mess I experienced and gave up praying God would bless the dysfunction.
I realize my pursuit of wellness may not mean restoration. My desire to be better may never be seen. But I promised myself that I would be honest when I am hurting. And the truth of the matter is you are missing from me.
P.S. As life continues to evolve I am realizing that I am posting less frequently on this site. My goal is to only provide “good” thought provoking content at all times. With my current schedule in mind, I will begin to follow a bi-monthly posting schedule.
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I look forward to connecting with you guys on these platforms!
Artist: Henn Kim
I can still feel the imprint of your ring on my finger, reminding me I am not alone. There may be no more messages or pleasantries exchanged—but my thoughts never stray too far from you. I never thought I would have to mourn you, while you were still alive. But I remember the shock in your eyes flip from anger to surprise after I threw said ring in your face. Our final goodbye. How I knew it was over that night in November when you did not come home the 2nd time in a row.
I say little about such things, because emotions have a faulty memory. Extending mercy when absolutely necessary feels impossible when the absence of love kicks you in your gut. I would twist this ring–the symbol of your promise to me–and wonder just how long the truth had been postponed. There was this one time I cried all night, trying to reconcile the gaps in my punctured heart.
Praying that there would be new life after the one we built together fell apart.
Now you stand in front of me, ringing the doorbell to a house where you used to have a key. I count the amount of days that I have had to do this all on my own. In my dreams we are stronger than ever with a bond that is unbreakable. But dawn wakes me from my fantasy and it pains me to admit you are gone. Prayed for the day God would lead you back home.
I watch curiously as the expression on your face changes from nervous anticipation to quiet relief as I let the distance from the last 6 months close quickly between us.
Sometimes the fight does not begin until after we choose to give up.
I could tell you I am not an organizer. That I do not relish in setting goals or making plans for my future. But the truth is I wake up everyday with an idea of how I am going to advance my life. I can connect with my idea of perfect–fully knowing that true perfection does not exist.
The problem is waiting for another person’s idea of the right time.
I believe I am doing a good job of living my life. That I am doing my best and giving my all with the understanding that I can always do more. I could work smarter and be more intentional, but again I am not perfect. There will never be enough hours in the day to do what I want–and a lot of my waking hours are spent doing what is necessary.
There are times of great clarity when I feel God is propelling me towards my dreams. Then, there are longer lulls of silence and a presence of absence that I cannot leave behind. I hear this voice telling me to “get after it,” because at the end of the day I can only control me. I cannot take tests for my daughter or find better jobs for my family.
At times, it is daunting to even be responsible for myself.
I keep thinking this particular cycle I am subsisting in will stop. That I will wake up and follow the voice that wants better for me. But just like others with great potential, I waste time in fleeting emotions. This tells me I do not know what I want and maybe, I am not capable of change. Maybe I have already given my best and this is the highest I can elevate.
Maybe I am not worth being saved.
It would be nice to claim innocence and stand blameless in this mess of a world we are creating. But the truth is, we are inherently responsible for the effects we leave on other people. I know. I am far from perfect. I will not even attempt to list my personal faults–but at the top of these is my willingness to sacrifice live hearts on the fire of indifference. When I get to this place, it does not matter what the object meant to me.
I will not be happy until it is gone.
Lately, in my karmic loop I am reaping a ton of restless energy. I wonder what my next steps will hold and who else is not coming with me. After all, fortune favors the bold and those who understand the necessity of abrupt endings. I admire those who seek vaguely repentant deeds, wandering hopelessly in a cloud that takes you right back to where you started. But my riches are not invested in people or groveling on my knees for the sake of other mortals.
Everyday could be beautiful if we would all just learn to keep our mouths shut. Maybe, I find happiness in trying to mind my own business and in leaving others to their own coping mechanisms. I cannot tell someone else how to grieve, nor will I try to reason with someone who is bent on masticating mindlessly over a figurative demise.
This, is like telling a writer what they can and can’t write.
Yes, we are responsible for every character we type.
For the actions we take when we are desperate to survive.
We are tied to the words we speak in the darkest of nights.
But you cannot control them, once they come to life.