Writing is my first love. I basically taught myself how to write when I was five years old, bugging my dad to tell me the spelling of different words after I sounded them out. It is where I excelled in school. I was devastated in college when I got a C on my first essay and I cried. How is it that I love doing and spend time perfecting was no longer exemplary? I worked my ass off to improve, and I did. I was getting As soon enough with dedication, tutoring, and having multiple sets of eyes on my work. Over the years, I stopped writing and then would pick it up during times of heartbreak. Knowing the relief I got from writing, my love was relegated to bringing comfort and was no longer the source of my joy.

I started writing last year, and then I put it down and led myself through some tragic moments. This year, after the peak of tragedy, and amid rebounding, I started writing again. And this time, beautiful, loving words. Some describing pain, other pleasure. Ultimately, reclaiming my long-lost love. Even though I put her down, she came back to me with open arms and I have consistently been and love her everyday for the past several months.

I’ve talked about her a little bit, because I keep the things I love close to my chest. I’ve only exposed a small bit of her to you, because, I’m afraid.

She is so beautiful, raw, and exposing, and she exposes me. She shows my vulnerabilities, and it scares me. I do not want her judged by anyone. I want to protect my heart, and I am finding balance as to how to share and guard at the same time. Is this possible? To be everything at once? To shield and share? No, its as if my wounds are coming to haunt me.

My true love is writing.

Writing makes me feel alive, when I’m not writing, I think about writing, when I am reading in my head I am writing responses. I envied those that can just write and share it. My words are sacred to me.

I want to keep close the things that I love the most. Only give a few sprinkles here and there. But it is time to stop sprinkling.

Writing this made me cry.

Writing is my magic.

Its where I can create the entire galaxy, where I can birth new worlds, where time ceases to exist.

I know I love it, so why does it scare me?

Because it is where I bare my soul.

I can write about writing all day.

Comment below, Is there something that lights you up this way. What is it? Are you still doing it, or are you on a break?

Complete this sentence: I feel the best when I’m __________.

Free Writing

The Beginning… written on a beach in Dominican Republic on 06/15/2019

There is a time for everything, a time to laugh, a time to cry, a time to mourn. Right now, is a time of self-discovery and resilience. As I sit here on this cloudy day, with the sun peeking out at this beautiful beach, I can’t help but think how unexpected this trip has been. How unexpected this ear thus far has been and how utterly grateful I am for my health now, yet how sad about the how’s of this lesson.

Have I allowed myself to really feel the depthless of this loss, or has my answer been to run away and turn to distractions? I didn’t know what I had to write about until I started and honestly am surprised where this is taking me.

Sadness, tears in my eyes. So much joy and sadness at the same time, it feels like balance, is that crazy? As I take a moment to pause and look at the beauty of the sea in front of me, I am ultimately knowing that my gratitude is beyond words, that I am supported by the universe and that I am whole.

I attract peace and abundance. There was one year that all I wanted was balance, and another that I requested peace. I’ve slowly worked and attempted, and it feels like the hard lessons assisted with the reach of this point. I feel things that do not seem as possible to be felt simultaneously.

I feel weak and powerful

I feel alone and loved.

I feel in awe and angry.

I feel love.

I feel love.

I am love.

Everything is love.

Thank you, God, Thank you Goddess, Thank you Spirit, Thank you Universe.

I am whole and incomplete.

I am blessed and unfortunate.

I am unbending yet flexible (this one made me laugh out loud)

As I write, I cry and laugh. As I lean back, I recognize my strength in doing that and the weakness in my toes and legs tingling due to holding my position too long and realizing the extent of how much is exactly what I’ve realized.

Where does it get us? To label things as right or wrong? Better or worse? Bad and good? We do it all the time, but the duality of all things make it impossible to choose one. The balance is in the awareness of both. Is there an ability to choose? Probably. Do we have to? Definitely not.

I want to keep writing but I also just want to lay here.

I’m doing both. This beauty, this perfection in front of me is breathtaking, yet I’m giving it all my breaths. A time to pause. This life is now. Namaste.