It comes over me like a blanketing sheath of chaos, challenging the very breath of my existence. It robs me of hope, levity, and clarity. I try to resist. I try to ignore. But nothing works. It just sits there in the pit of my stomach waiting for energy to feed on. I know it’s not my truth because my truth never feels this desperate. Yet it encapsulates so much of my being, it feels like it must be true.

When I am in this space, silence feels uncomfortable, and loneliness feels unbearable. I feel untethered, unsupported, and needy. I feel completely alienated from myself – as if I’m watching a twisted and distorted plot unfold in front of me. I’m the main character and yet I have little association with this person who claims to be me. This is not me. This is not my truth.

And then I remember the words uttered to me in one of my most challenging moments by a person I respect and admire tremendously…

“Confusion always feels the same. No matter how much work you do and how much your consciousness evolves, confusion always feels the same.”

And so now I sit here pondering on one question: what is confusion? Is it resistance? Is it dissonance? Disassociation? What is it that could overshadow me to such a degree that it completely nullifies the plethora of tools I have in what I would consider to be an overflowing toolbox at this point? And then I notice one very poignant fact: I’m not breathing.

So, I then return to breath and continue pondering…

Confusion, for me, seems to boil down to fear in its most rudimentary form. And in this scenario, it is fear that I will not be able to meet my own needs because I have someone dependent on me who needs so much. So, I dig in my toolbox and pull out my boundaries. Where is my edge? How far can I put myself out for this person while still maintaining my own sense of self and my own sense of safety? What are my limits and where must I draw the line? It’s not an answer that’s coming to me now but at least I know what I need to ponder. The confusion starts to lessen in intensity and my breath starts to return to a more supportive capacity. I have the thought to judge myself for letting myself get to that state of desperation yet again. How many times have I done this? Why can’t I control my emotions versus letting them control me? Why can’t I rest easy in the space that knows what I need to do even if I don’t yet know how to do it? Sometimes the answers aren’t always obvious, right? Sometimes we have to be willing to jump blindly before we can see where we’re landing.

I know all of this! I know it from years of experience that have burned this truth into my consciousness like a brand even lifetimes can’t remove. Yet, that one wildly frustrating truth still remains: confusion always feels the same. Fear always feels the same. Separation from truth always feels the same. What changes, I guess, is our response time and reaction to it.

Today, I did better. It took me less time to notice that what I was feeling, though wildly uncomfortable and overshadowing, didn’t feel true. It took me less time to realize that my breath had ceased and my lifeforce was detained – unable to support me. It took me less time to choose acceptance versus extinguishing my energy with resistance.

Now, I’m back to remembering what I momentarily forgot: confusion is only temporary.

It never feels that way when we’re in it but, eventually, choice will become available again and it will be up to us just how much energy we want to feed it with. Or maybe we choose the braver path and let it starve, knowing that resistance is futile, and acceptance is the only path to peace. This time, I remembered something else. If we breathe into the surrender, the current can flow as it’s supposed to, and we’ll end up exactly where we need to be. It may not be where we want to be. It may not be at all what we had in mind. But at this stage in life, I’m learning to trust that things aren’t always as they seem. And maybe, just maybe, even the confusion itself – that momentary separation from truth – is just a bump in the road we must hit to enliven the clarity that comes on the other side of it. Maybe.