So I spent a handful of hours in a freefall of being triggered by old stuff this week. I’m trying to distance myself from the actual person involved, and just talk about the sensations. Its not easy, frankly, as there are so many parts of me that place blame squarely at his plate. And while it is true that he is unsufferably certain of my unimportance, or irrelevance, it is up to me to see that as a problem he has, not proof that I am those things.
You get this?
Man, am I a work in progress…. shit, man. I keep thinking I’m done, I’m through being crippled by my own thoughts, and then whamm-o, a sinkhole. I know I’m a thousand times better, I am. I’m not carrying the anxiety on my shoulders, I’m not afraid all the time. I’m lucky enough to have a sister who is a social worker with years of therapy under her belt who can call me out of a spiral so well. Very lucky.
I’ve planted hundreds of seeds guys, and the metaphor is with me. There is so much growth happening, in the tiniest of ways and the germination rate is 93%. Get that? All these tiny things, 93% of them grow into something. So keep planting. Keep on keeping on.
On a side note, I’m going to have a shit ton of habanada pepper plants. A shit ton.
Let me know if you have need of a habanada pepper plant. I’ve got a SHIT TON.
love you, and that’s where I’m at. Love. I’m resting on that laurel, baby.