Homecoming.
I return to the page with trepidation and chagrin. I’ve been away for far too long. Like missed phone calls from my parents while at college and canceled trips home on long weekends, this absence feels empty and heavy.
Yet this is a homecoming. The glide of the pen across this page is as familiar as my bed’s embrace. I run my fingertips across the page with a caress akin to my mother’s tenderness. I look upon this canvas with something deeper than apprehension – for when I write it down, it becomes real. Unavoidable. A part of me.
I was not well.
With each passing phase of the moon I pretended to be here. The mercurial waves of guilt and regret overwhelmed me. The deep trenches of my mind engulfed my shoulders – bearing down with a weigh that left me stumbling.
I’ve fallen...
It all begins with an idea. Maybe you want to launch a business. Maybe you want to turn a hobby into something more. Or maybe you have a creative project to share with the world. Whatever it is, the way you tell your story online can make all the difference.
It all begins with an idea. MaThese deep wells of despair called my name and let me wallow over the people I could not and cannot fix. I protected a shame for needing to be needed. My long held desire to feel loved, even if I needed to do something – to fix you – to receive it.
I’ve languished over becoming the villain in someone else’s story and felt the flames of my anger spill out across my tongue. I stared at my reflection and watched my fear of conviction by association carve capillaries of regret across a once smiling face.
I abandoned writing much like I abandoned myself. I folded inwards and tried to feel full by depleting myself. I offered space in my home and in my heart. Pushed away my own needs to make way for yours. I muted echoes of an inner instinct so that your petulance felt deafening.
I forgot what it was to be present – to enjoy the pleasures of my own company, to not fixate on being loved but on the fullness of possibility.
I was not well, and I am working on being whole. I punctuate these memories and feelings with a reminder that writing this down is my way of coming home.
A return to myself.
