I’m feeling lost in my own script.

Some things are falling apart. I push away and retract. I reach out and wait for the burn. I think there’s an end but I go deeper and more is shed.

I lie on my mat and mutter I’m an oxymoron…with emphasis on moron.

I am a volcano of rage, passion but not porn, a torrent of tears. I can see through the eyes of compassion. I am competitive, driven and focused and with the flip of a switch, soft and tender.

I struggle with being in the moment.

I’m annoyed at going slow. I’m riding a cusp of raw. My body hurts from the pain it has endured and is enduring. I haven’t been able to speak freely and now I say things like I see them.

I frighten the hell out of me.

I’m hosting a full spectrum of colors and the prism of my heart is exposed and exploding. It breaks with each breath and it seeps old hurts and old blood.

It’s dark and sticky like the mucky parts of life.

I’m searching for the fluidity and the ability to keep going. Let the new in and trusting this hellish growth. I’m plucking shrapnel from my heart. In this cave of despair I’m looking for self-love where the moon washes over me and the sun is there to warm.

I swim in a sea of questions.

How do I nurture myself?

How do I let go of pain that hurts so deeply?

I have fallen into a rabbit hole of bleakness. There’s little glamour here in redefining the self. Some days, I can barely breathe. Having my socks match is a thrill. Life is robotic and I function in a fog. My splintered heart bleeds and my wings have lead ice crystals that weigh me down.

In a recent Ayurveda yoga class, the teacher wisely said, “Stay with the position that your body needs the most at this moment.”

I remained faced down and rested my forehead on the cool wooden floor. I had nowhere else to go unless I burrowed into the ground. I would have banged my head and cried if I were alone. Instead, I wrestled with my inner demons while the class hummed along.

Forgive yourself for the blindness that put you in the path of those who betrayed you. ~Rob Brezsney

I see the reflection of my angst in all that I do. My body, the keeper of symbolic bruises, is ultimately being healed. I am redefining me and it’s absolutely gut wrenchingly terrifying.

It’s a process,

I’ve heard repeatedly and it fucking hurts like hell…few share this part.

It is an acceptance of who I am. And who the hell am I is still being defined.

I’m clearly in this for the long haul. How did I tap into this rage, grief and overwhelming despair? It’s so focused, laser sharp and burning the edges of reality.

It screams, she’s always been there you just have to find her again.

I fear my epitaph will read…She died without finding true love.

Not the fairy tale of Happily Ever After.

The real stuff, it starts with self-caring, self-nurturing and self-love. It is the stuff I’m afraid of. The cave I rarely dare enter. It’s as expansive as the universe.

I want to breathe love and feel my own self-love.

I no longer want to run from the reflection I see.

I am far from perfect or normal which is insanely freeing. The exercise ball of life is rolling under me shaking what I believed to be real and integrating a new balance.

I’m not [spiritually] bad; I’m just drawn this way. ~ Rodger Rabbit.

My mind, body and soul are exhausted in processing these lessons. I circle through the coiled thoughts of my soul searching for answers that riddle my mind. It is when I let go of thinking I feel the shattered pieces of my heart. I pull the splinters through a sieve and the healing really does happen. My chest cracks open and there’s a strength from my legs through my core that reverberates the muscles to fire.

I’m on fire.

I am merging the feminine and the masculine into a marriage of my own true self. It’s a continuous process of labor and rebirth. The reality is it can suck and it is hard work. I’m in the thick of facing the shadowy moon of my identity and glaring sun of my relationships.

Funny how the heart can be deceiving,

More than just a couple times.

Why do we fall in love so easy?

Even when it’s not right. ~ Pink

I am learning to forgive and trust myself as well as others. Learning that self-love isn’t wrong.

It’s authentic.

I can see through the lies and manipulation. Illusions are no longer my walls but what is left?

I am in a metamorphosis of budding acceptance.

Who I have been…is who I’m not. What I will be….is what I am. It all takes time.

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Asst Editor: Jennifer Townsend / Ed: Lynn Hasselberger