A Life I Cannot Bear
It’s this: one where I no longer see magic. One where I forget where I’ve come from. Where I don’t notice everything around me.
I’ve said before that leaving our home in Troy welled a bit of panic inside me. I remembered all the times sitting on my couch alone, on the road to healing and becoming a new version of me. Leaving made me fear I would forget. I would forget what it was like to feel so alive and so connected to everything. There is nothing like pain and grief to make you very aware of the present moment, and to choose to breathe it in as part of you, while also choosing joy and seeking moments of happiness as you can.
I didn’t want to forget. I didn’t want to go through the motions of life, not honoring what I did in that house, for myself, and for my kids. I still don’t.
So a life I cannot bear? Is one where I am so busy with the to do’s of the day that I don’t see the light dance between the trees. One where I don’t grow and change and connect to my own pain. Where I don’t bleed or bend or pivot and allow what is moving inside of me to surface.
One where I stop becoming.
One where you stop becoming.
One where we all stop becoming the whole of who we were meant to be.
