Tuesday, July 4, 2017

my so-called heavy heart

I don't usually like to write on here when a wound is newly raw. I fear the level of honesty in the now and in retrospect.

But this time is important, and these words are not the entire story.

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In the past few weeks, perhaps months, I've been facing an insecurity that is so deeply rooted that I might as well call in a landscaper, architect, and a team of the best and strongest people to excavate the area and design something new where the weed currently stretches up like a cancerous tree.

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I want to say that this is half my fault. Of course, I wasn't perfect throughout the past months. But claiming responsibility for half? When so much of my half invested in empathy, encouragement, hope, and curiosity? To say I am sorry for handing over my heart is just something I'm not interested in.

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At first I didn't want to know why. Because the past has provided words that my mind refuses to let go. I didn't want a new lie to believe about myself in the morning and at my weakest. But you were too much a coward to even pick up the phone. And when you said that I'm just not good enough, I had to hear the reasoning, the equation that got you such a bullet of an answer.

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Had it been the cat jokes I'd send you at random in the day? How you would refuse to laugh because even at my most playful, it somehow just wasn't funny or amusing enough?

Had it been Los Angeles? I've found so many men to be too small in the face of a woman with big dreams. Even when, on my own and because of my truths about you, I explained how much bigger I believe you to be in comparison to the artificiality of money and popularity.

Had it been the letters and notes? The gracious words? Telling you of your worth and how spectacular you were. 

Was it my curiosity? My ability to step out of a comfort zone and trust that you were who you said you were? 

Was it the listening ear I gave you for days on end in spite of your inability to even ask me how I was doing?

Was it my wonder at your craft? My belief in your potential? My constant laughter at your quick sense of humor?

Was it the way I was learning to pursue you walls down, heart handed out because why not take a fucking risk?


The list could go on for sometime.

The insecurity in me wants to point at a false reason. It wants to say but of course you're not enough, here's why...

Though I'm not going to do that. Not this time. I've done too much and become too much to throw the woman I am away.

And even the uncertainties of one hundred men cannot amount to a single definition of who I am.

I'm not responsible for someone's inability to just be honest, for someone's inability to see. 

I am, however, responsible for my inability to be honest with myself; at fault to believe the lies; just as bad as an idiot if I let time take anymore of me with it.

So, okay.

Here is to just not being good enough, because I am so much more.

A friend of mine gave me wise words as I talked through my thoughts: 

She said that we absolutely can't give power to people to break us simply because they are too scared to love our heavy hearts or show up...

And she's so right.

Carrie Bradshaw right.

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I won't give the man any more attention than I already have, though I will seek to look on this with grace. 

Not just grace towards him, and especially grace toward myself. 

And on a morning when I want to say how dare you say I'm not enough, I'm going to say thank you.

Thank you for answering when I worked up the courage to call you in search for my own truth because you weren't strong enough to do it yourself.

Thank you for failing to look at the things that make me so much more than enough, because in doing so you're forcing me to see what I've failed to see for too long now. 

Thank you for the bullet that has created a space in me to become a better version of myself. 

And thank you for weeding yourself out of the garden of my life.

In case you weren't paying attention before, I'm planting not only a whole new garden but a deeply rooted tree. One to rest what you so kindly called my heaviness under.

Though, for the record -- it's not that my heart is too heavy. Rather, it's full, and tender, and beats with voracity and enthusiasm, and if it's too heavy for you then that's answer enough for why you just couldn't show up. 

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There are so many more words. But I'm leaving it at these.

Here's to a year of the single girl -- may I find myself with grace and dignity. Creativity and joy. And a whole lot of unexpected adventure in the pursuit of learning just how enough I am. 

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