healing journey – TALKING ON EGGSHELLS

CANTILENE

oh, va bene, ti giuro che va bene, se prego, poi, magari Dio interviene, va bene, ti giuro che sto bene, malgrado le intemperie, e va bene, dai, mandiamo tutto all’aria, tanto, prima o poi, col vento tornerà…

There are some things I want to talk about in this post. It might feel a little all over the place at first, but hopefully by the end it makes sense. It’s a lot and I hope you’ll stick with me.

I’ve been doing a lot of breaking patterns, and it’s really fucking difficult. It’s not easy to reprogram 40+ years of survival, but I’m doing my best. Most days include laughing so hard I cry. Or just crying in general.

I’m not spiraling as much anymore- and I say that very loosely. Spirals still happen, but the amount of time I spend inside them is getting shorter and shorter. Unfortunately, I am not at the point where I can stop one before it starts. But being able to stop it before it completely takes over feels like a milestone worth noting. I’m still not sleeping. I still don’t fully feel safe or at peace in my body. I have faith that will come eventually, but I’m not there yet.

In my last post I talked about running a race I never signed up for. And honestly, I thought it was one of my best posts. I was humbled pretty quickly – it got 8 views. EIGHT. My reach isn’t very big right now. But the whole point of this space is to share honestly and maybe make people feel a little less alone. And I trust it will find the people it’s supposed to find. I’m not trying to stress about it. I know this blog has a sad girl vibe most of the time, and not everyone is into that. It’s fine. I’m not for everyone, and I’m finally becoming okay with that.

Anyway, I’ve been thinking about something for a long time, and I’m going to do my best to put it into words. It kind of piggybacks off my last post, so here we go.

I’ve been thinking a lot about the movie It’s a Wonderful Life.

Little backstory: I fucking HATED this movie when I was young. My mother loved it and would gush about it every Christmas. And it is extremely on-brand for me to hate something completely out of spite. Honestly, it was one of the only forms of autonomy I felt like I had back then so I fucking HATED it. Hearing George Bailey yell “Zuzu’s petals!” would send me into a rage.

Recently though, I’ve become hyper-fixated on this movie. Teenage me would FOR SURE be disgusted with me. But the fixation has less to do with the ending of the movie and more to do with what happens after. I promise I’ll do my best to explain why.

The thing about George Bailey is that the movie allows you to watch an entire lifetime of self-sacrifice unfold in a single sitting. We meet him as a kid with big dreams. He wants to travel, build things, leave Bedford Falls, experience a life that feels larger than the one waiting for him at home. And then little by little, those dreams keep getting postponed. Everytime he gets close, something happens that requires him to stay.

Just this once. Just until things settle down. Just until someone else is okay. Just until the next crisis passes. Over and over again. And obviously, helping people you love is part of life. Sacrifice is part of being human. That’s not what I’m questioning.

It’s because all of this happens within the contained structure of a movie that you can actually see the pattern clearly. Over the span of 130 minutes, you watch someone slowly build a life around responsibility while drifting further and further away from themselves.

In real life, it usually happens slowly enough that compromises start feeling normal. The exhaustion becomes part of your personality. And I think that’s part of the reason why this movie hit me so hard at this point in my life and what makes George such a painful character to watch. Because none of his sacrifices are meaningless. The people around him genuinely benefit from his kindness. Entire lives are better because George Bailey stayed. But somewhere along the way, George himself disappears. I think two things can be true at the same time.

Watching George got me unconsciously thinking about all the times I pushed something I wanted aside because something else seemed more important. All the times I chose what I was supposed to do instead of what I actually needed. Not because my life is bad. It isn’t. I’m genuinely grateful for my life. But over the years, the last few specifically, something snapped. I’ve run myself completely into the ground in ways I didn’t even fully recognize. I’ve tied my worth to what I could do for the people in my life and completely lost myself in the process.

What makes everything more complicated is that when you spend a long time in that role, it doesn’t just become something that you do. It becomes something that people come to expect. And when you finally step outside of it, even a little, it can feel like that shift gets noticed immediately. The unspoken expectations are the hardest part. Because once you become the person that takes care of everything, it can quietly create a system where your availability becomes assumed. Where your capacity becomes relied upon. Where your presence is counted on in ways that no one ever explicitly said out loud.

And that’s where things start to feel invisible but heavy at the same time. Because you’re not just managing what you’re doing for others, you’re also navigating what they’ve come to expect from you without ever having agreed to it directly. And I’m not saying that’s a bad thing for everyone. Again, this is part of life, being there for the people you love. But I also think that a lifetime of doing has gotten me to this point emotionally because some part of me is calling out for a little more.

Not more success. Not more things. Not some dramatic reinvention. Just more connection to myself. More honesty. More presence. More aliveness inside my own life instead of constantly moving through it in survival mode. Because helping people isn’t the problem. Loving people isn’t the problem. The problem is how easy it is to slowly disappear inside of constantly being needed. And I think somewhere along the way, I stopped realizing how much of myself I had quietly handed over. And maybe that’s why George Bailey suddenly felt less like a character and more like a mirror.

Thinking back on it now, what stands out to me most, is how often George’s sacrifices happen without real acknowledgement in the moment they occur. You can see it on his face – the disappointment, the frustration, the split second where his own plans shift again. But almost every time, life just continues moving forward. The situation gets resolved, the responsibility gets absorbed, and George returns to the role of the person keeping everything together.

Even when people are grateful – and they are in their own ways – it doesn’t always translate into awareness of what those patterns are costing him over time. And what makes that even more complex is that he isn’t unloved. There are people who genuinely care about him. Mary, especially, deeply loves him and never stops believing in him, even through the years of stress and exhaustion. That matters. But love doesn’t always equal awareness. She sees him and supports him, but she doesn’t see every internal fracture that builds through the years of constant self-sacrifice. So the weight of it ends up being something George carries entirely on his own.

Uncle Billy losing the money becomes the clearest example of the dynamic – not because it causes everything, but because it reveals how long George has already been operating this way. Cleaning up messes. Absorbing crises. Solving problems. Carrying responsibility that others don’t always fully register as heavy. And that’s why the breakdown feels so real. Because it isn’t really about the money. The missing money is just the final crack in a foundation that had been under pressure for decades. And that’s where the bridge exists for me.

It isn’t one moment that creates the collapse. It’s the accumulation of moments that don’t feel like collapse while they’re happening. Things build quietly. Repeatedly. In ways that don’t always have words attached to them in real time. Not dramatic or visible. Just a slow internal chipping away where your own needs are no longer as immediate as what everyone else needs. Until eventually there’s a point where something in you says “I can’t keep doing this the same way anymore”.

There is so much to be grateful for at the end of this movie. George survives. His family is together. The financial crisis is resolved. The community shows up for him in the same way he spent his entire life showing up for them. That matters. But I can’t help wondering what happens when the adrenaline of that night wears off. Because yes, the money problem gets solved. That was huge. It was the immediate crisis threatening to destroy him. But what actually changes for George Bailey after that? That’s the question I keep coming back to.

Clarence changes George’s perspective. He forces him to see just how much meaning and impact his life had even if it didn’t look the way he imagined it would. And maybe that realization saves his life. But what struck me was that the experience is completely internal. No one in his life knows what actually happened on that bridge. They don’t know he went there intending to end his life. They don’t know that Clarence intervened. They don’t know he was shown an entirely different version of reality where he never existed. That entire collapse and reconstruction is exclusive to George. It only belongs to him.

So everyone only sees the aftermath. They see him come home a changed man, having no idea what he went through to get there. And that’s where I stopped and really thought a lot. Do the people around him actually change? Do they suddenly stop depending on him? Do they suddenly realize what he’s been carrying all these years? Probably not.

That was a private breaking point. They did’t experience the moment where his entire identity, everything he believed about his value, was stripped down and rebuilt in a single night. To them, George came home grateful. Relieved. Renewed. But internally, I believe it was far more complicated than that. Because the external conditions of his life are still the same. The responsibilities are still there. The unspoken expectations are still there. The town still needs him. His family still needs him. And even if now he carries all of that with more perspective, perspective alone does not undo exhaustion. Being needed is not the same thing as being held. And that is where this movie feels so painfully human to me.

The ending isn’t false to me. I think George truly feels joy in that moment. I think he genuinely understands, maybe for the first time ever, that he matters. But I also think that healing from a lifetime of self-sacrifice would take far more than one beautiful night surrounded by people who love you. I think the next morning he is still George Bailey – maybe a little lighter, but the same nervous system, same patterns, same accumulated weight of everything he’s been carrying. I would like to think that in the aftermath of everything, it made people pause just a little before immediately handing him the next problem to solve.

And maybe I’m thinking too deeply about all of this. But George Bailey has become very near and dear to my heart. And it’s because I see a lot of myself in him. Not in obvious ways, but specifically in the quiet resentment that builds when you spend too long tying your worth to what you can carry for everyone else. And I think the reason I keep circling what happens after the movie ends is because I’m always trying to understand what happens when you stop surviving and start living. What do you do when you finally realize your life mattered, but you’re still left holding years of grief, shame, anger, responsibility, and unmet needs? How do you begin again after spending so long emotionally abandoning yourself just to keep going? And I think, in some strange way, I keep harping on what George Bailey would do next because I’m trying to figure out what I do next.

And this is where my thoughts expand beyond George Bailey. Because most of us are living on autopilot in one way or another. Not in a dramatic, movie scene kind of way, and not necessarily in visible crisis. But in the routines, responsibilities, and identities we build that keep us moving without ever really asking if they still fit who we are. So the question for me becomes: what does it actually mean to be living?

You can be functioning, productive, needed. You can be “fine”. And still feel completely disconnected from yourself underneath it all. And yea, maybe the rest of the world isn’t sitting in the kind of emotional breakdown that I’ve been experiencing, I understand that. Most people aren’t actively trying to rebuild their entire internal structure. But I do think most people are carrying at least one thing they don’t fully know what to do with. One question or one quiet uncertainty that hasn’t been resolved yet. And maybe it doesn’t have to be more complicated than that. But I also think there’s a point in life where something shifts – where something cracks open in a way that can’t be ignored anymore. And it doesn’t have to be this big, dramatic thing, but it’s enough to get you thinking.

For me, it felt like my whole internal structure got destroyed. And when that happened, it forced me into a space of figuring out what comes next. And it’s fucking scary. The things that used to keep me safe – even if they were just subconscious patterns, survival strategies, or ways to keep moving – just don’t work in the same way anymore. Or they stop working completely. And being dropped off in an unfamiliar in-between place where the old structure is gone, but the new one hasn’t formed yet, is fucking strange. It’s a place that’s disorienting and hard to explain unless you started walking through it. You can’t go back to how you were before, but you also don’t know how to fully exist as who you’re becoming yet.

And that’s what the last few years have been for me. It’s what my entire body of writing has been circling. My life isn’t bad – it’s actually full of things that I am so incredibly grateful for – but whatever way I was functioning before does not work for me anymore. I still carry all of the things, but it feels like I don’t know how. There have been moments where I have felt completely overwhelmed by my own mind. Moments where I’ve seen myself in that same place metaphorically – on that bridge – more times than I can count. Of course there are much bigger problems in the world. I know that. But this is still my experience, and it’s the one I’ve been trying to make sense of.

All of this has been an attempt to rebuild something while it’s still standing. To fix a foundation that I can feel shifting under me while still trying to function on top of it. And most days I feel like I’m failing. Like I’m letting people down. But watching this movie at this particular point in my life was unexpectedly important. It reflected things that I hadn’t fully been able to articulate in my own experience until now. It made me see patterns I didn’t even realize I was living inside of. And getting through this – whatever this ultimately becomes – is really the only goal that feels honest right now.

And I’m sure the director of It’s a Wonderful Life thought he was simply making a feel-good holiday movie. I don’t think he imagined that decades later, a 40-something woman having something of an internal crisis would be sitting here dissecting it and thinking of the aftermath. But maybe that’s the point. Stories don’t stay where they’re written. They meet us where we are. And sometimes you don’t find a movie when you’re ready for it. It finds you when you finally are.

For all the times in my life this movie was forced on me growing up, I think maybe this was the first time I truly saw it, and the first time I truly saw myself.

Maybe it really is a wonderful life. Maybe sometimes a shift in perspective is enough to help us find our way back to it. But I also think it’s okay to admit that we don’t always have it all figured out. That we are human, and sometimes we break. Maybe we all need a little more grace — for ourselves, for each other, and especially for the people quietly carrying more than anyone realizes.

As always, thanks for reading. I’m always here if you need me…

va bene pure se va bene, solo se a te va bene…

Song name: CANTILENE/ Artist: JVLI (ft. OLLY)/ Year: 2026

BUTTERFLIES

Handcuff yourself to Rock ‘n’ Roll, dreamin’ Hollywood dreams, protect your neck and save yourself, gatekeepin’ the peace, it’s how you cope, but now you’re chokin’ while you’re prayin’ for some discount Jesus Christ to come save you from yourself…

I went back and read some of my old posts today. Different dates. Different titles. Same exact feeling. Every single one of them—heavy. Exhausted. Trying to make sense of something that never really changes. I kept thinking I was getting somewhere. Processing. Moving forward. But reading them back? It’s the same story. Nothing’s changed. And I think that’s what finally got to me. Not in a sad way—in a what the hell am I doing? kind of way. Because how many times can you say the same thing before you realize you’re not stuck…you’re just repeating something you never questioned?

And that’s when it hit me… I’m running in a race I never signed up for.

Not just any race—a lifelong one. The kind where everyone else seems to know the route, the pace, the rules. Meanwhile, I showed up in thrifted running shoes, soles worn down, three sizes too big, tripping over myself just trying to keep up. I’m wheezing. Out of breath. Already behind. And people keep yelling, “Keep running!” I want to laugh. Or cry. Or scream. Or all of the above. Because I didn’t train for this. I didn’t fuel for this. I don’t even want to run.

Every time I slow down, someone hands me something else to carry. “While you’re running, can you take this too?” No water. No break. Just more weight. “Try harder. Do better.” For what? There’s no finish line. Or if there is, it keeps moving. Every time I think I’m getting close, it shifts just far enough ahead that I never actually arrive. So I just keep running. Tired. Sloppy. Falling short. Disappointing people without even trying to. And I don’t even know what finishing is supposed to look like anymore.

I’m surrounded by people who look like they belong here—steady stride, controlled breathing, purpose. Real runners. And then there’s me, somewhere between a 5K walk and a full-blown collapse, forced into a marathon I never agreed to. And the wildest part? I keep telling people, “I don’t belong here.” And they keep smiling like they’re reassuring me. “No, no—you’re fine. You belong.” But they’re not listening. I try to get someone—anyone’s—attention. I try to say it clearly this time: “I don’t want to do this.” And they wave me off. “You’re fine. Just keep running.”

At one point, I actually grab a cup of water. For a second, relief. Then someone smacks it out of my hand. I just stare at them in defeat… seriously?! And for a second, I think it’s about the water. Like that’s the problem. Like if I could just get a sip, I’d be fine. I’d keep going. But maybe that’s not it. Maybe I don’t need water. Maybe I need to stop running. Because I’ve had things knocked out of my hands before. Things I thought I needed. Things I worked for. Things I told myself I couldn’t lose. And when they were gone, after the shock, after the scramble to make sense of it, there was something else… Relief. Not because it didn’t matter. But because I didn’t have to keep forcing something that wasn’t right for me anymore. And honestly, I most likely would’ve kept going. Out of obligation. Out of habit. Out of fear of what might happen if I stopped.

I’m not a victim here. I’m just… in the wrong place. People comment on how badly I run. I know. I’m not a runner. “You can’t sit down.” Excuse me, but yes the fuck I can. Except, I never did. Because I’m pretty sure, way at the beginning of this race, fear was hardwired into my system and took over the whole operation.

Keep moving or something bad happens.

Keep going or you fall behind.

Keep running or you fail.

No autonomy. No trust in myself. Just noise.

I’ve been doing what everyone else does because that’s what I was told to want. And when I started realizing that maybe this isn’t quite right, the problem became me. Something must be wrong with you. But no. There’s nothing wrong with me. I’m just exhausted. Of course I am. I haven’t slept in three years. My brain doesn’t shut off. Responsibilities, ones that were never mine to carry alone, loop over and over and over again. There’s no quiet. No peace. Not even in the good moments, because I’m too drained to feel them fully.

No one did this to me. That would be easier, honestly. Cleaner. Someone to point to. Something to blame. But that’s not what this is. This is a script. One that gets handed to you so early, you don’t even realize you’re reading from it. You just start performing. Hitting your marks. Saying your lines. Running when everyone else runs. And for a lot of people, it works. They like the script. They thrive in it. They are runners. Good for them. I mean that. But what if I’m not?

What if I was never meant to run in the first place—I just got really good at convincing myself I was? What if the exhaustion isn’t because I’m failing, but because I’m forcing myself into something that doesn’t fit? That would explain a lot. Why everything feels heavy. Why I’m always tired, even when nothing looks bad on paper. Why the good moments never quite land the way they should. Because I’m not aligned. I’m just compliant. And that’s a hard thing to admit. Because if no one forced me, then I have to be the one to stop.

So the question isn’t “How do I keep up?” It’s: “What am I doing all of this for?” To be loved? So people won’t leave me? So people won’t judge me? They’re judging me anyway. So what is all of this actually buying me? And what happens if I just… stop?

Maybe I’m not a runner. Maybe I never was. And maybe the bravest thing I can do now is stop pretending that I am. I don’t know what comes next. There’s no map for this part. No guarantee that stopping leads to something better, or easier, or even clearer. It might be messy. It might be quiet. It might feel like standing still while everyone else keeps going. But at least it would be mine. Because if I’m going to spend my life doing something, it should matter to me. Not just look right. Not just sound right. Not just keep everyone else comfortable. Just unapologetically me. Drop the guilt. Drop the shame. And just exist.

And if I don’t want to run, then maybe I don’t have to. But what if I disappoint the people who matter to me? What if they were expecting me to cross that finish line? Yea, I could what if myself into anxiety again. Or what if they weren’t waiting for me at the finish line? They were standing on the sidelines, cheering me on. They were rooting for me to be myself. And maybe the real disappointment wouldn’t be stopping, it would be watching me keep going in something that was never authentically me. And if that’s true, then this, right here, this choice is enough.

For now, I’m going to sit my ass on the curb and catch my breath—apparently that’s allowed. As always, thanks for reading. I’m always here if you need me.

so what’s the point of holdin’ on when lettin’ go’s the only way you’re changin’? stop waitin’ for the grass to grow, catchin’ butterflies that ain’t worth chasin’…

Song name: BUTTERFLIES/ Artist: ALL TIME LOW/ Year: 2025

LANDSLIDE (Part II)

well, I’ve been afraid of changing ’cause I’ve built my life around you, but time makes you bolder, even children get older, and I’m getting older too…

I’m in the middle of writing another post, catching up on the last couple of months. But this one skipped the line because it felt more important.

Things have been heavy lately. The inner work has been heavy. The person I’ve been working on becoming occasionally peeks out from behind the curtain—but she’s still learning, not quite ready yet. Since I turned 45 in February, I promised myself that the weeks leading up to it—and everything after—would be dedicated to finally figuring things out. And that’s what I’ve been doing.

This post jumped the line because today is my father’s birthday. The first one without him. And I don’t quite know what to do with that yet.

It has me thinking about last year—how I didn’t text him. I was hurt. I didn’t want to play the birthday text game anymore. Even though we weren’t speaking, he still texted me every year on my birthday. And this year, even surrounded by love and beautiful messages, I missed his.

Now I’m sitting here wishing I had known it would be his last birthday. Wishing I had just sent the text instead of holding so tightly to a lifetime of anger. Like I was finally taking a stand—“screw it, I’m not texting him, that’ll teach him.” It feels so small now. I didn’t talk to him before he died. I didn’t get to say I was sorry.

But we live and we learn, right?

If I knew then what I know now, would I change it? Yeah—probably. If I knew it would have made him smile. But I didn’t know. I was still angry. And now I’m just…sad. I’ll be okay. It’s another lesson, and I’ll take it with me and try to do better.

I recently went for a soul reading, and my dad showed up. I know not everyone believes in that, but I do. And it brought me a kind of comfort I didn’t realize I needed. I missed my dad for a long time while he was still here. And strangely, since he’s passed, I feel his presence more.

Grief is layered like that. Complicated. Sometimes I feel like I don’t have the right to grieve because we were on such different paths when he died. But the truth is, we were more alike than I ever allowed myself to see. It wasn’t until after he was gone that I let go of the anger and realized our inner blueprints were similar. At the core, it was always about love. About worth. And somewhere along this journey, I’ve learned that your worth isn’t tied to your usefulness in other people’s lives. I hope he knows that now. I hope he’s at peace with it.

I could tell you that if you’re on the outs with a parent, you should send the birthday text. But I’m not going to do that. And I’m not going to sit here and spiral in regret over not sending mine. I didn’t know better then. I do now.

My father was a good man. And today, I’ll do my best to celebrate that.

oh, take my love, take it down, climb a mountain and turn around, and if you see my reflection in the snow-covered hills, well the landslide will bring it down…

Song name: LANDSLIDE/ Artist: FLEETWOOD MAC/ Year: 1975

I WISH YOU STAYED

For the first post of 2026, I’m starting things off a little differently. No song today. This is most likely a one time thing, but in case you’ve been reading along and happened to notice, I just wanted to make sure I clarified.

I went to a Reiki session a few weeks ago and something really interesting happened in the middle of it. And it’s something that has been the driving force of the last few weeks of my life. I am going to do my best to try to explain it, and I hope it lands. If not, at least it’s here (shrugs).

I was on the table, warm and cozy, eyes covered, in a very serene setting. And I guess it was about 5 minutes before the healing session was over that it happened. Very clearly, a scene from Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind started playing, as if it was on a projector screen in front of me. It’s one of my favorite movies. And if you haven’t seen it, this post is going to spoil it for you. My apologies.

In short, the movie is about a recently split couple, Joel and Clementine. Their relationship is slightly tumultuous and after they break, Clementine goes to a specialized clinic to have Joel erased from her memory. After a visit with friends, explaining his most recent interaction with Clementine, his friends tell him what she’s done. He goes to the clinic to see what it is and decides to do the same. The process before the actual procedure is to simulate the memories of Clementine and “map” where each memory lives in Joel’s brain. Once they map all of the memories, they can schedule the procedure to go in and zap each one while Joel is asleep. Except in the middle of his procedure, Joel realizes that he doesn’t want to erase her. He starts chasing her through the memories and hides her in places “off the map” so that they can’t erase her. The techs have to call the boss for help as they’ve never seen anyone do this before. The boss realizes what Joel is doing and ends up completing the procedure himself.

One of Joel’s last memories is the first time he met Clementine. It was at a beach party in Montauk in the middle of winter. The beachfront homes were all empty and Clementine persuades Joel to break into one and pretend it’s theirs. She’s not at all apprehensive about breaking and entering, but it makes Joel uncomfortable. She explores the house while he stays in the foyer downstairs. He says he’s leaving, and she says “so go”, and he does. Before the memory gets erased, Joel and Clementine speak about how they both wished that he stayed.

There’s a reason why I’m telling you all of this, give me a moment…

This scene is what played in the middle of my Reiki session. You can watch it here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AD8g0LB89bU

I wish you stayed.

At first, I couldn’t figure out what it was trying to tell me. I came home and I was in a daze. I listened to that scene the entire ride home. Every time it finished, I restarted it. I felt like I was on the outside watching myself. And that is seriously how I’ve felt, in one way or another, ever since.

Once I got home, I decided to dig in as much as I could. What was this scene trying to tell me? I worked with some shadow prompts to try and help crack this code, because I was deeply intrigued while also completely confused. Eventually, I got there. That scene, essentially, was me talking to me. The whole scene.

I wish you stayed. I wish I’d stayed too. I wish I had stayed too, I do. What if you stayed this time?

I’ve written a lot here about self-abandonment. It was basically my favorite thing to do. And after years of doing that like it was my job, I stopped. What if I stayed this time? It has been so goddamn uncomfortable. Choosing to stay with myself when my first instinct is to run has been incredibly difficult. I am uncomfortable about 95% of the time. The quiet moments are the hardest. I have never paid so much attention to what I’m feeling before. When I’m busy, I’m fine, but I’m also exhausted. I can’t be busy all the time. And this is necessary. I get it now. And believe it or not, I finally see a tiny bit of progress. It’s minimal, but it’s there.

This year absolutely destroyed me. Everything felt unbearable as I was breaking down. I cried more tears than I ever thought I could. It has been heartbreaking to realize how much damage I had done to myself. I thought that I got through the hard part already, but I had no idea just how buried all of this shit was. There was a lot of grief this year. And I had to make my way through it. I did not consciously sign up for this, but sometimes things happen that we can’t explain and that’s just the way it is.

The saddest part of all of it is that I really believed that I didn’t matter. That I was just here to serve everyone else without any regard for myself. Constantly beating myself up and making myself smaller to fit in places that couldn’t hold me anyway. Finding out what I’m actually feeling versus throwing it under a blanket feeling, like “anxiety” or “stress”, so I could suppress it further has been extremely eye opening. The way I speak to myself has changed. I’m breaking deeply rooted patterns of self-loathing. It’s a slow process, but I’m staying. As I’ve said before, some days I can feel the changes, and some days I’m crying on the bathroom floor. I am doing my best not to completely fall apart. I stay with it, let it move, and do my best to go about my day.

2026 has to be the year I choose myself. I have backed myself into a corner where I have no choice. And I have some really tough moments where it feels like the thoughts are eating me alive. Telling me that I’m not worthy and that I don’t deserve to move forward. I know they’re not true, and it’s taking me less time to combat them, but in the moment, I want to run. Staying is crucial. Staying is key. Staying changes what comes next.

It’s been a long journey and it feels never ending. I look at myself a year ago and I know that things have changed, despite the moments where I feel like nothing has. I look for outside sources to validate my existence, I have done it all my life. My nervous system relied heavily on it, and learning to feel safe within and trust myself has been a whole lesson that I’m finally starting to understand. But it’s years of conditioning being broken so it’s taken me some time, more than I have patience for, to even take a tiny step. I’m doing it, but it’s weird and uncomfortable, and most days I hate it.

Anyway, if you’re going through it right now, don’t let it destroy you. Stay with it. Feel it, let it move through you, and breathe. I never saw myself in this place, but I’m here, still kicking and screaming, but here.

I wish you stayed. I wish I’d stayed too. I wish I had stayed too, I do. What if you stayed this time?

Anyway, wishing you peace in 2026. I won’t say happy, because we are all doing our best. But we deserve peace. And remember, that even when it doesn’t feel like it, it’s okay for you to change the narrative so that you can write the next chapter of your story.

Thanks for reading, I’m always here…

NO HARD FEELINGS (Part II)

when my body won’t hold me anymore and it finally lets me free, will I be ready? when my feet won’t walk another mile and my lips give their last kiss goodbye, will my hands be steady? when I lay down my fears, my hopes, and my doubts, the rings on my fingers, and the keys to my house, with no hard feelings…

NO HARD FEELINGS

Four years ago, I wrote this post. Reading it again made me sad, but I felt pulled back to it because of something that happened yesterday. Lately, every time I think I’ve seen the worst of things emotionally, life is like “HA! Girl, yea right!” Another rabbit out of the hat. Another gut punch that knocks the wind out of me. So let’s talk about it.

Since my last post, when I felt this tiny flicker of hope because I was beginning to understand what healing actually looks like for me, things have gotten so much fucking worse. Worse in a way that almost feels absurd. Life looked at my progress and said “Ok, now let’s go deeper.” I get it. I do. I needed this part. I needed to uncover even more of what I’ve been carrying, so that I could clearly see the shit I won’t be carrying with me into 2026.

The truth is that even though this post is 4 years old, I remember that girl. She hadn’t completely fallen apart yet. She was a nervous wreck, yes. Too hard on herself while carrying the whole fucking world on her back, but still intact. She had no idea what was coming. And while I still see pieces of her in me, I am not that girl anymore. Honestly, I’m not even the person who started 2025 back in January. I don’t remember who that person was. The last month has completely destroyed me and all I can do now is sift through the rubble and try to rebuild from here.

At this point we are all familiar with the fact that I don’t sleep. And I didn’t think it was possible, but in the last month it somehow got worse. I’ve been running on fumes. My nervous system was in shambles. My body never gets a break. Even in the few hours that I do sleep, there is no rest. I wake up already behind, already emotionally depleted. Yesterday, I woke up feeling completely empty. I was in tears, feeling like everything was crashing down around me.

I did the laundry and took a shower, hoping to create some sense of normalcy. Eventually, I laid down on the couch and tried to relax when the phone rang. I didn’t recognize the number, but something in my body said, “pick up the phone.” I’m so glad I did. It was someone from the VA calling to actually help me resolve all of the nonsense that I’ve been trying to make sense of for the last 2 years. He could hear my anxiety over the phone and told me to breathe. He told me exactly what he needed from me and reassured me that he would absolutely help. He needed a form signed by my grandmother to get the ball rolling.

I got everything ready, heated up some pasta for dinner for her. Bundled up and took a walk over to her. My body needed to move, to inhale the cold air. I put in my earbuds and told my thoughts to shut the fuck up and let me have this walk to myself.

When I got to her floor, she was sitting in the common area with the other residents. I walked up to her and said, “Hi Beauty!” like I always do. She looked confused. I told her it was me. She told me to take her to her room. We wheeled down the hallway. I told her it snowed and asked if she had seen it. She said she had, through the window. When she pointed to a door and said “I think this is my room,” I told her she was right and we went in. I told her I had a form from the Veterans for her to sign, and that I brought her some pasta for dinner. We got the business out of the way. And then came the crushing blow I never saw coming…

She said “you look like someone I know.” I said, “it’s me Gram.” She looked confused. She kept asking if the person with my name had made the pasta. I kept telling her that it was me, that it was my name she was saying. She grew agitated. She said again that I looked familiar, but she didn’t know who I was. We made a little small talk, but I could feel her discomfort. I handed her the pasta, and I told her I would bring her back to the common area before dinner.

I want to be clear about some things. I know that I am dealing with a 102 year old woman. I know that it was after 3 PM and she has a tendency to “sun-down”. But this was different. She has been confused before, but she has never not known me.

I was destroyed. My main concern at that moment was making sure that she felt comfortable. And I realized, in that moment… comfort was not found in me like it usually was. Our goodbye was awkward. I told her I loved her and I would talk to her later. I got in the elevator with one of the nurses and held my breath until I could get back outside to the ice-cold air.

The walk home was quiet. I thought about the day I’d had, looked up at the sky filled with puffy white clouds and tried not to break my neck on the icy sidewalks. I took a detour to the corner store to pick up something for dinner. Before I arrived, a song shuffled in my earbuds and stopped me in my tracks. Hot tears poured out of my eyes. I gave myself a moment to cry and then collect myself, so I didn’t look like a mess when I walked into the store. I let myself sob on the long block home and pulled myself together before I walked through my door.

The rest of the evening continued peacefully, and I decided that after the day I’d had, I desperately needed sleep. I took Xanax and slept for 7 straight hours.

This post from 2021 was flashing like a neon sign as I walked to work this morning. 4 years ago, I wondered what all of this was for. It felt like nothing had changed. Here I am, still wondering what all of this is for. This is not what I ever wanted for her. And as good as she’s been, I forget how fragile all of this is. How quickly it can unravel, how easily it might just keep getting worse.

I know yesterday was one moment, and the next time I see her, it might not be like that. It might not happen again for a while. But it happened. And so, I want to reflect on a few things that have been going through my mind because this is important.

Reading that 2021 post again, I can see the fear I was carrying. Fear of loss, fear of what might happen if I couldn’t keep her safe. Yesterday, that fear was replaced with grief. Pure, aching grief. For so long, my life has revolved around her. Every thought, every action, every part of my day somehow has been in service to her comfort, her needs, her safety. And in the process, I lost myself. Pieces of me that weren’t even tied to her slowly disappeared, and I didn’t even notice. And that’s why a moment like yesterday hit me like a freight train.

Watching her not recognize me, even for a few minutes, somehow loops me back through all of it. The fear from back then. The years of putting her before myself. The part of my identity I built entirely around her presence in my life. It all comes rushing back at once.

Not just yesterday, not just the fear I carried in 2021, but the parts of myself I’ve lost over the years. The pieces tied to who I thought I was, who I’ve been for others, and who I’ve been trying to hold onto. I think back to this summer, to the losses I wrote about in my post in September: losing the dance studio, losing my father, and realizing how much of my life has been built around roles and responsibilities that defined me externally.

Yesterday somehow it all clicked. The identity I built around caring for others, the self I misplaced, the grief I shoved into corners of my mind, and a false happiness I’ve clung to, thinking that helping others could fill the parts of me that I lost. Her not recognizing me reminded me in a brutal, visceral way that I’ve been living so much outside of myself, and that now I need to begin rebuilding an identity that is exclusively mine, even though I have no idea where to start. Some of the main pieces of who I was were ripped away this year, and it’s not lost on me that it’s for a reason, whether I like it or not.

Every time another thing happened this year, I reminded myself “it’s not happening TO you, it’s happening FOR you.” I’ve said it countless times, but I don’t think I really believed it. It was just something I said to ground myself in reality. It’s all very clear to me now.

The truth is that lately, it has felt like my constant empathy, the thing that has defined so much of who I am, sometimes feels like it has turned to apathy. Maybe I’ve just been too exhausted, and my last bit of patience has been non-existent, I don’t know. My fuse is short and I shut down quickly. I don’t feel like the person I’ve known my whole life, and somehow, that’s ok. I’m scared to death and uncomfortable as hell, but I know that figuring out where to go from here is essential for my health. I can’t rebuild just to do it all over again. I need to rebuild carefully, in a way that protects me while also honoring the parts of myself that I’ve lost, and finally allows me to live my own life, not just in service to everyone else’s.

I was shaken awake in 2023, and for the years that followed, I wandered around in a foggy haze until a month ago. Refusing to give in. Believing that change wasn’t possible for me, or that I didn’t even really want anything to change. That I didn’t deserve dreams. Ignoring all the signs. Distracting myself with things that only detoured me for a little while. But in the last month, it’s felt like someone stood behind me, hands firmly on my shoulders, forcing me in front of the mirror that I’ve been running from. Forced me to stay there until I finally saw what I was avoiding. Watched me scream for mercy, beg to let me go and to let me run, until I exhausted myself and finally looked at the reflection.

I thought I lost myself so many times before, but 2025 was the year I finally had no choice but to fall apart. I’m still so scared. I still can’t fully accept joy, and there is still so much I need to learn before I can trust. My nervous system is still learning how to regulate while being so fucking uncomfortable that even one more minute of sitting in it feels unbearable. But I’m sitting here now, in the aftermath of every one of those unbearable moments, telling you about it. Proof that I prevail, in spite of myself.

At the beginning of this year I rolled my eyes at the thought of “taking my power back” because I didn’t know what it meant. I get it now. Life ebbs and flows whether you like it or not. What matters is how you show up in the middle of it. When the chaos hits, when the grief comes, when nothing feels steady. Showing up, even when it’s uncomfortable, is where the power lives. And I’m finally learning to stand in it without apology.

I don’t make resolutions anymore. This year won’t be any different. What I will do is recognize, finally, how far I’ve come. I will carry with me the clarity that I am stronger than I thought, that I can survive heartbreak and chaos, and that light can return even after the darkest days. I am not too much. I am me. And I am done resisting myself. I have sacrificed so much to get here, there’s no turning back now.

And so, I step into whatever comes next fully aware, fully present, and fully myself. No fear, no shame, just the quiet steady force of everything I’ve survived and everything I’m willing to fight for.

Tonight, I will breathe, knowing I’m here and ready to move forward. As always, thanks for reading. I’m always here if you need me…

under the curving sky, I’m finally learning why, it matters for me and you, to say it and mean it too, for life and its loveliness, and all of its ugliness, good as it’s been to me, I have no enemies…

Song name: NO HARD FEELINGS/ Artist: THE AVETT BROTHERS/ Year: 2016

FIX YOU

when you try your best, but you don’t succeed, when you get what you want, but not what you need, when you feel so tired, but you can’t sleep, stuck in reverse…

The last three weeks have been incredibly heavy. My last post touched on the subject, but things actually got much worse before they finally started to get a little lighter. The good news is that as I’m writing I am standing on the very rocks that once pinned me down. My feet hurt, and I still don’t know where I’m heading, but I’m no longer buried, and that is enough for today.

At this point I’m not even sure what I thought would happen at the start of all this. I’ve written post after post about healing, sounding like a broken record, while barely noticing anything changing long enough to stick. Most days I have felt like a frying pan of scrambled eggs. But I really did believe I would have pulled myself together in a couple of months, healed, functioning, ready to roll. To say I was wrong is an understatement. Two and a half years later, everything finally landed in the last three weeks. Maybe that’s a good thing? Better late than never, I guess?

I have heard, countless times, that healing is not linear. And I’ll be honest with you, I really thought that meant that it’s different for everyone. What works for you doesn’t work for me and vice versa. But I see now that while that statement is true in that aspect, it also means it’s not linear within your own journey. Sometimes healing looks like a straight line on paper, but in real life it’s more like waking up in the middle of the night with your heart racing, telling your mind “Can you just let me dream please? Let me have this one moment.”

And then there are days like today, where I do all of the things I’m supposed to do, and end up in the dark, overwhelmed by a single letter in the mail or by memories I miss. Days like today where the sound of a familiar TV show feels like sandpaper on my nerves and every goddamn thing is bothering me. Healing is strange like that. There are moments where your heart flutters for no reason, moments where a song can pull you back to a bench watching the waves, and then moments where you’re on the bathroom floor wondering how you got here.

So what changed? I finally got sick of being in the same loop. I’ve been recognizing patterns for a while now, and something finally snapped. And I won’t lie to you, it has NOT been pretty at all. And I’m not going to sit here and make it pretty for you to read. Because I really feel like this is the important part. This is the part I’ve been trying to get to this entire time. And I’m only just realizing this now. While I was searching for a big aha moment of “BOOM, you’re healed!” it turns out that a bunch of tiny little moments were working behind the scenes. And the definition of healing for me has become much more clear.

I refused to acknowledge a lot of things that have happened in my life that brought me to this point. My level of self abandonment was off the charts. And the worst part was, when I did acknowledge it, even just a little bit, I was consumed with so much guilt and shame that I would shut the whole operation down. I have been told a few times, by a few different sources, that I had reached a point of no return, but I still brushed it off. When I didn’t, it seemed too small to even matter. There is so much actual suffering in the world that my issues felt like they didn’t even scratch the surface. Who fucking cares, right? But that question is the whole point: any chance to abandon myself, I took it. I saw the wounds, I watched them ooze and felt their constant, nagging ache – and still kept throwing bandages over everything because that was easier than facing the truth. I never considered going deeper, getting to the root. It’s just a wound, right? It’ll close eventually. It never occurred to me that it could get infected and force me to pay attention.

The last few weeks brought trigger after trigger, each one getting under my skin. And every time it happened, I didn’t hesitate, I dove in headfirst. I faced all of those things that made me feel selfish, guilty and ungrateful. I pushed past the uncomfortable feelings that would typically stop me in my tracks. I am so fucking sick of being like this, so I finally allowed myself to feel all of it. Something I learned was that two truths can exist at the same time. You can love someone and they can also be someone who fucked you up a little bit. The trouble with the things that shape you when you’re young is that they settle into your bones. They stop being someone else’s influence and become your own reflection. They become normal. Not become, they ARE your normal. When the baseline is skewed, the whole system follows. Your reactions, your fears, the way you brace for impact, all of it is shaped by something you never chose but learned to survive.

I’ve been stuck in survival mode for a really long time. And I say stupid shit sometimes like “I wish I stayed asleep because my life was so much easier when I ignored my own needs.” It did not occur to me that I was tossing out red flags like it was my job. I have said it here, probably in every single post in one way or another, that my needs have always been on the back burner. They’re not important because everyone else comes first. This week was the first time that statement ever sounded crazy to me. For the last (almost) three years I still believed that I did not matter. Despite being thrown into the dark night of the soul, despite my soul screaming day in and day out, I still didn’t fully understand any of it.

I downloaded an audio book a while ago and I started listening to it last Monday. It was on in my earbuds while I was at work, so I wasn’t concentrating on it, it was really just background noise. I noticed after I was a few chapters in, I was having some big feelings. My face was angry and my body was tight. I shut it off. Why am I so mad? Lunchtime rolled around and I took a little deep dive into where this anger was coming from. I used various prompts to get to the root. And man, that shit was buried deep. And for once, I was angry enough not to cover the wound with another piece of gauze. I sat with it and decided that maybe it was time to see what I could do to stitch it up and stop the infection.

Even talking about this now feels wrong in a way that I can’t shake. I was taught very early on that these thoughts should be kept quiet, pretend like everything was fine. And a part of me still worries that being honest, even with myself, will somehow get me in trouble. I feel icky and part of me is waiting for the sky to fall just because I’m talking about it. But it’s the truth, it’s MY truth. I have taken on way too many things in my life that should not have been my responsibility. I kept stepping into roles that were never meant for me, carrying weights that weren’t mine, because I wanted so badly to be loved. I thought I had to earn it by holding everyone together. But here’s a little something I learned recently – it’s incredibly hard to be a people pleaser because people are rarely ever pleased…

I can finally feel myself arriving at the point in healing where turning back isn’t an option anymore. This is everything that I’ve been aching for – finally cracked open enough to let some light in. Finally willing to step past the threshold I’ve always stopped at. Tomorrow might pull me apart or put me back together or something in between. I don’t know. But what I do know is that I have a little bit of traction and I have to keep moving forward. And somewhere in all of this, I’m trying to give myself a little bit of grace. To meet the guilt and shame when they come rolling in, and talk myself down with the same kindness I’ve given everyone else my entire life.

When I heard this song the other day it stirred something in me that put the wheels in motion for this post. I’ve spent years hoping someone would fix me – patch the holes, quiet the bad thoughts and make the constant ache go away. There was a longing for someone to rescue the parts that I couldn’t hold. But it finally hit me that the person I had been waiting for was me.

It was always me.

And now, for the first time in my life I’m not turning away from that. I never let myself believe that I was capable, but I’m learning that I’m actually the best person for the job.

lights will guide you home, and ignite your bones, and I will try to fix you…

Song name: FIX YOU/ Artist: COLDPLAY/ Year: 2005

Anche Fragile

io non vivo senza sogni e tu sai che è così, e perdonami se sono forte, sì e se poi sono anche fragile…

There’s a post in my drafts right now telling you all about my trip to Sicily. And for whatever reason, I couldn’t finish writing it. It all seemed very mundane and blah and I just wasn’t feeling it. Today was a super mushy day. I felt very disconnected from everything despite my best efforts to stay engaged and participate with everyday life. One week ago I was sitting in a parking lot across from the sea, watching the moon through the clouds, smiling and listening to the waves crash, and now I couldn’t feel farther away.

I was never really a beach person. My very pale skin always burns despite all of the SPF and I hate having sand in places I didn’t know existed. But as a Pisces, I’m drawn to the water. And so when I visited Sicily in May, it was important that I took advantage of the nice weather and stayed in a beach town. As someone who spends the majority of her days either in a very overcrowded city or glued to her couch, when I arrived, it was a literal breath of fresh air. And so with this visit, even though it was cooler and the sun set earlier, it did not deter me from going back to the same place.

I would like to tell you that I’ve changed, that this trip fixed all the things that were broken, and so on. People asked me if I found out anything profound, or if I feel different, are you happy now, do you feel better, will this be your last trip? People can’t wrap their brains around a woman going away without her husband to chase something that they don’t understand. And I get it. Two years ago I would have been the same way. I already told you, I can’t explain it, but I’m lucky to have a husband who lets me go where my soul is leading me. And literally talk me off a ledge when I’m on 30 hours of no sleep, panicking that the world will fall apart because I selfishly took another trip alone, and wanting to book a plane ticket home immediately. He’s the calm, I’m the storm.

Please understand that this is not me gallivanting around the world, taking pretty pictures for social media and living my best life. This shit is gut wrenching and not at all aesthetically pleasing. I spend a lot of time sitting in different places and feeling shit that I don’t understand. One day, the rain stopped for a little while, I found the biggest rock on the beach that I could sit on and I just sat there. The wind was blowing ferociously and I just sat there, watching the clouds and the sea. There was literally no one around. It was such a peaceful moment and I just breathed it all in as tears involuntarily poured out of my eyes. Completely out of character for someone like me, but what does that even mean?

I am still navigating my way through all of this. Things have shifted and I am not sure where to put them. I am still processing all of it. As much as I am here, a part of me is there, and I don’t know what to do with that. So I’m just trying to be patient with myself. When the feelings of missing it arise, I try to move the energy and put it to good use instead of letting the feelings completely drown me. And I’m proud of myself for that at least.

I’ve spent my entire life being my own worst enemy. With shame and guilt standing firmly by my side. And I’m ready to let that go, but it’s going to take a minute. So I’m just trying to be a little gentler with myself. Some days are better than others. I am so used to hating myself that it makes me cringe when I try to do otherwise. But I’m learning. Beating myself up over every single thing is not productive. Crucifying myself for every mistake is not productive. Learning to be a little nicer to myself is way more productive. Even one little step everyday is a step in the right direction.

As much as I sometimes resent it, I am grateful for this journey. There is still so much I am trying to figure out. Patience is key and I have none (LOL), but I will get there. Not to be dramatic, but my life kind of depends on it. A little over two years ago I remember the moment the light left my eyes, and it feels like I’ve been clawing my way out of the darkness ever since. Everything has led me to this point. There’s a quote I saw recently, I’ll probably get it wrong, so don’t officially quote me here, but it’s something like “Courage is not the absence of fear, but the ability to act in spite of it.” And I believe that’s what I’m doing here. The fears have been piling up over the years, making me this shell of a human just trying to survive, and each time I do the thing that scares me, even with shaky hands and more panic than my little body should be able to handle, it’s an act of courage for myself.

I always pushed myself beyond my means to get things done and stay strong to a fault. I feel everything to my core and break sometimes. More often than not lately, but fuck it. I powered through for a really long time, doing the most while asking for the bare minimum. Carrying the whole world on my little back so that I could be loved. And you know what? None of that was necessary. Learning that has been a painful and enlightening lesson, but it had to happen eventually. And maybe I’m not the same person that I was before, I don’t know. But I am doing my best, taking it minute by minute, and that’s really all I can do.

As always, thanks for reading. I’m always here if you need me…

quella forte, sì, però anche quella fragile…

Song name: ANCHE FRAGILE/ Artist: ELISA/ Year: 2018

a squarciagola

a me, che cеrco un segno dentro al fondo di un caffè, che perdo tempo a stare al mondo senza un perché, che manderei tutto a puttane ma non ci riesco, ci metto tutto me stesso…

It’s been a while. I don’t really know what’s going on anymore, if I’m being honest. I feel like I’ve lost all abilities to regulate emotions. Looking for signs at the bottom of a coffee cup (as this song says). This summer absolutely kicked my ass emotionally, and I feel like I was somehow thrown back into inner childhood behavior when it comes to dealing with shit emotionally. It’s been incredibly frustrating and enlightening all at once. The amount of times I tell myself “you’re alright” per day is astronomical. Sometimes it works, sometimes not really, but every day is new goddamn adventure (shrugs).

Two very big events happened in July and August. And they were two very different losses, but both were big parts of my identity. And I think that I handled them both like a normal person. But the inner turmoil, the parts that you don’t see, wreaked absolute havoc on my already fragile nervous system. And I’m trying so hard to make the changes to feel safe in my own body, but because most days I’m exhausted and absolutely fried mentally, it’s not easy. So let’s finally talk about it.

At the beginning of July I was let go from teaching dance. And although the last two years have not been my best, and I had a gut feeling that it was going to happen, it still hit me pretty hard. It’s not that I took the job for granted. I had been teaching for 24 years. And at no point did I ever think to myself “I’ll always have this”, but it never occurred to me not to think that, if that makes sense. It was always a part of my life and it just kind of folded in to my existence. I have no hard feelings, these people were like family to me. And I guess that’s why I felt a little slighted by it. It’s just this very weird place of like yea, maybe I wasn’t fully in it the last two years, but also we were like family and maybe having a chat with me about it, instead of letting me go would have maybe made me feel better? I don’t know. And I mean that. I really don’t fucking know. There is still respect and love, but that part of my life is done. I won’t go teach somewhere else. And that chapter in the book of my life is closed. And it’s really weird. Who am I if I’m not telling you “I can’t, I have dance”? Anyway, I keep telling myself it didn’t happen TO me, it happened FOR me, and we will leave it at that.

My father unexpectedly passed away in August. The events leading up to his death were so strange. And the day that he died it kind of all came together and I actually said out loud to myself “okay, I understand now why all of this happened.” It all felt divinely orchestrated, I can’t explain it. When my sister called to tell me that he passed, there was this huge release. There was sadness, of course. But, because my father and I were not speaking, I had no idea that I worried so much about that moment until it happened. When I heard the words, with the tears came this insane release in my chest. It wasn’t until after it happened that I realized that I was always subconsciously worrying about that moment. As the daughter very much on the outside, would I get that call? It’s such a weird thing to worry about, and it was even weirder realizing that I was doing it for as long as I did. Because even though he and I were both on different journeys, he was my dad and I loved him. And as much as we had not been in touch over the last couple of years, this loss was heartbreaking.

I blamed a lot of shit on my dad. And when he passed, it’s crazy, but I let it all go. I had written a blog to him and posted it, maybe you read it, maybe you didn’t. But I immediately deleted it after finding out. I don’t know why that happened. I think, ultimately, that I felt bad for him. And I’m not giving him an out, our relationship was tumultuous. But what would be the point of me holding on to all of the shit that we had been through? He is no longer here. Why not try to remember some of the good stuff and maybe start releasing some of the bad that really isn’t even relevant anymore? It’s not like I will ever have the chance to talk it out with him again. It’s just taking up space in my body. Space that I could be putting to better use. It was so heavy for so long, maybe it’s time to put it down…

To those of you who may be reading, who might be going through the same type of thing. Angry and blaming a father you’re not speaking to, I’m not going to tell you to let it go now while he’s still here. There are some relationships that just don’t work out. Even father/daughter ones. And if you want to be mad and blame, that is absolutely your right. The real issue is that as daughters, we are constantly looking for validation from our fathers. And it’s something that is just woven into our DNA. It’s not our fault that it’s there. But what I will tell you is what I’ve been learning on this whole journey that I’ve been on… seeking parental validation, even subconsciously, will fuck you up. There is guilt and shame in places you didn’t even know existed. And I’m still working on that every single day. We look to our parents to be the ones that know everything. But just because they brought you into this world does not mean that they knew what they were doing. Most of them are parenting the way that they were parented. And it’s really fucking difficult sometimes to give your parents the benefit of the doubt, because your emotions are a mess because their emotions are a mess. But you get to a certain point, for your own personal peace, that you have to give it to them. Because every single one of us has something inside of us just wanting to be loved and accepted, whether we know it’s there or not. And eventually you have to take that responsibility off of them, cry your fucking eyes out, tell yourself that everything will be okay, and start relying on yourself to give you the love and acceptance that you crave.

I am still scrambled eggs most days. I’ve been trying to write for the last two months and nothing would come out. And I don’t know why sitting in a hotel room in Vegas opened up the writing floodgates, but it did. I have been working really hard on trying to figure out who I am and what will make me happy. Trying to figure out what my definition of happiness is. I have spent most, if not all, of my life basing my happiness on the people I love. If they’re happy, I’m happy. If I just do everything that they need and they’re happy, then everything will be okay. And that’s a little fucked up. It’s a lot fucked up, but it didn’t come from a dark place. It put me in a dark place when I realized that I built a whole life on that and then my inner world came crumbling down. I don’t know why I’m this very emotional being. I don’t know why I feel shit that other people don’t feel. I don’t know why some people can handle things like normal people and I feel all the things. I’m not going to beat myself up for being that way. You’re you and I’m me and I don’t have to be like you. But I do need to figure out a way to continue to be me that isn’t so chaotic. For me, not for you.

And so being gentle with myself as I try to work my way out of this mental mess I’ve created has been one of my biggest hurdles. I have compared myself to others forever. I’m not where I should be but at the same time I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. I constantly get in my own way. And I’m sure that if I really gave myself a minute, instead of being wound up 24/7, I would make some serious progress. I am the only one standing in my way. And it’s infuriating, but it was necessary for me to discover all of this about myself. Maybe I’m not like everyone else and that has to be okay. Maybe it’s okay for me to do things that are out of the box and don’t make sense to you. Those things don’t have to make sense to you in order for them to be okay.

Here is the biggest lesson that I’ve learned so far. It’s weird, but it’s real and I want to share it. You ever catch yourself judging someone for something that you would never do and then not long after that, you are faced with something similar? Yea, that’s how life works. When you spend your life critiquing what others do, I’m not talking about jokingly, I’m talking about shit you see people doing and making it a point to be like “why the fuck would they do that?!” and go on a bender about why even though it’s not your concern or your business. When you spend a lot of time harping on things that shouldn’t concern you, it is crazy how a similar situation eventually makes it’s way into your life. And you find yourself making decisions based on what you need. And suddenly you understand. Literally anything I’ve ever harshly judged someone about, came back to kick me right in my ass, forcing me to learn a lesson. And it keeps happening until you understand, so try to notice it and learn from it quickly.

This was very long winded, but very needed. I’m making some changes around the blog and I hope to be here more. I’m trying to show up for myself, hold myself accountable, even though things inside my body still don’t feel quite right. I need to keep following this path wherever it leads me. I find moments of clarity amidst the chaos. I know that life is a balance of good and bad. I’m not looking for always good. What I’m looking for is the ability within myself to not make every bad moment a catastrophe. And so healing the nervous system and feeling safe inside my body is my first step. Knowing that I don’t have to grip so tightly to peaceful moments because I absolutely will have more. I have spent my life trying to fit in places where I sometimes don’t, placing labels on myself that were incorrect, and trying to make everyone happy while not prioritizing my own happiness. I don’t have to be “the girl with daddy issues” or “the dancer” or anything else for that matter. I can just figure out who I want to be without all that. If I’m the writer of this story, and I’m not totally happy with it, then maybe it’s time to take those necessary steps.

Thanks for being here, and thanks, as always for reading. I’m always here if you need me…

ma giro attorno a ‘sta rotonda da mezz’ora, e sto in silenzio anche se penso a squarciagola, ma quelli come me fanno finta, che non sia dura, non sia in salita, che sia tutta vita…

Song name: A SQUARCIAGOLA/ Artist: OLLY/ Year: 2024

BLACK LINES TO BATTLEFIELDS

like screaming in the air, the sound for all who care, the siren rings in vain, when lightning hits the ground, to all who stand around, the shock of ignorance…

I haven’t cried hysterically in 2 whole days. I felt like I should tell you that. And I have been trying really hard to keep it that way. The last few days have been busy, but when I have free moments, or time to listen while I’m doing whatever I’m doing, I am working hard at trying to actually heal. I listened to something today that struck a chord with me, and I wanted to write about it. It made perfect sense to me and maybe someone else needs to hear it too.

The abandonment wound is the driving force behind my composition. I have searched high and low for some other explanation, and all roads always lead me right back to it. And so since I’m actually giving this healing shit a shot, I have been diving a little deeper into how to fix it. I’ve said it here before, my self worth is less than zero. I don’t see any value in me being here. Yea, I can do a million things for everyone, but at the end of the day, I always see myself as replaceable. When I think of feeling anything else about myself, I feel weird. Because it’s not something that is familiar in my body. I always thought less than less about myself, and it’s going to take me a minute to shift that perspective.

When you’re on a healing/spiritual journey, you get a LOT of videos, articles, books on Carl Jung. Please Google him; he’s done far too much for me to write it all out here. His work is revolutionary and I won’t even begin to scratch the surface by trying to give you an abridged version. Anyway, when everything kind of fell apart inside of me, I was introduced, almost immediately, to his work on the “inner child”. It refers to the subconscious part of you, your younger self, who is still holding on to memories and behaviors from childhood. If you were wounded by some form of trauma or neglect and your younger self is still holding on to those things, it will affect your conscious life as an adult. And man, I fucking felt that. And so I listen to and read a lot of things in relation to this because I believe, 100%, that this is where a lot of my healing needs to happen.

What I listened to today was about the inner child and how it creates and shapes the relationships you make in your life. And how subconsciously you are attracting specific types of people into your life based on how that wounded inner child still feels. The video talked about different types of wounds and I actually stopped what I was doing to write down what was said about the abandonment wound: “Our psyche tends to seek the familiar, even when the familiar is painful. There’s a perverse comfort zone in repeating known patterns, even when they cause suffering because at least we know how to navigate this pain. The wounded inner child prefers known suffering to unknown happiness because suffering is predictable and controllable, while true happiness requires vulnerability and the possibility of loss.”

The reason why this seemed to really hit me hard today is because I wasn’t sad today and I didn’t know what to do with myself. It’s become such a norm for me to be crying about something, that when I wasn’t, it was weird. Bear with me here, I know this sounds fucking bananas. I’ve been saying for a while that it is me standing in my own way. I thought that it was just fear. But it’s so much more than that. I have subconsciously blocked myself, time and time again, mostly because I felt I wasn’t worth it. That my dreams and ideas would never amount to anything because there was no one pushing that little kid to amount to anything more than I currently am. So the same cycles keep repeating over and over again. And this supposed “comfort zone” is no longer comfortable. I have subconsciously refused to even give myself a chance until now.

As I’m writing this out, there is a lot flowing out of me. It’s far too much and far too personal to write about here, but I just figured something out. I was just trying to remember the first time I ever felt anxiety, and I fucking remembered. I was maybe 5 years old. I can’t remember what I ate for breakfast yesterday, but I remember this moment like it just happened. I know what I was wearing, I remember what I did, I remember all of it, very vividly. And that is absolutely fucking crazy. I have never had a revelation like this before, so please excuse me if I sound a little out of my mind. But I remember that feeling from that day, and it’s the feeling I have felt my whole life any time anxiety was involved. And I see little me and I remember her and how she felt in that moment. And I want to hug her for as long as she will let me and tell her that she made a mistake, and that mistakes happen, and everything will be alright. That she is loved even though she took a little misstep.

I have done stints in therapy during different periods of my life, and I don’t remember ever talking about this moment. And I guess anything I did or allowed in therapy was always surface level. It seemed that every time I opened up to something more, the hour was up and I was left like the walking wounded having to go back to regular life with this giant, gaping hole in my chest. Subconsciously I guess I blocked myself from healing as well. I guess everything has been leading up to this moment in my life where I am finally saying “enough is enough”. I can’t keep carrying this shit around with me, it’s fucking heavy. And I’m fucking tired.

The craziest part of all of this is that I’m writing it out and I’m not crying. There’s a little lump in my throat but I’m mad. I am feeling anger. Not in a non-productive way though. I’m not going to beat myself up about this. I’m just mad that I’ve allowed this. That I am a fully grown adult and still feel like a child, constantly looking for the acceptance and approval of the adults around me. Over sharing and hoping that people will like and accept me. Approve of the decisions I make in my life. Not be mad at me. And then leave me if they don’t approve. That’s the thing. The abandonment wound is such an underlying thing, that I’m afraid if I’m not sorry for being me then people will leave. What the fuck?! Like, I feel like I always knew this, but now I can’t not know this…

My whole existence has always had this internal battle. I get preemptive anxiety over telling people things, afraid of what the reaction will be. This has been a lifelong battle and it needs to stop right here. I need to stop apologizing for being me. Most importantly, I need to be okay with being me. I said earlier that I felt weird feeling anything other than bad about myself. That changes today. It is going to take me a minute, but I’m done fighting and trying to prove that I am not a garbage human being. I’m not saying it in a conceited way. I just need to stop dragging myself into these dark places because I don’t know how to exist in any other place. Just saying that gives me the ick, but I need to start breaking that programming. It will get easier.

I am really pleased that we got to experience this breakthrough in real time. I have stopped myself so many times from seeing the bigger picture. From digging deeper to see the root of the problem. To quote Chandler Bing “can open… worms everywhere”… but they are my worms, and they’ve been jammed up in that can for far too long. I can’t keep not choosing happiness because it might be scary. I have never even allowed myself to be happy for too long because someone was always ready to rip it away from me. And that’s not fair, and it’s not okay. And I’m aware of it now, and it’s strange but it’s clear.

I can’t promise that tomorrow won’t be a battle, but this was a little push into the land of actual progress that I needed, very badly. I appreciate you sticking with me, I honestly didn’t know where this was going to go when I started writing. But going forward, not everything is going to be an all out battle. All of the tools that I’ve been walking around with will prove themselves useful once I start shifting this weird fucking narrative I’ve been playing in my head. Thanks, as always for reading. I’m always here if you need me…

black lines can turn to battlefields when they are drawn in pen, the stop signs like human apathy, can cause a fatal crash… like screaming in the air, the sound for all who care, the siren rings in vain, when lightning hits the ground, to all who stand around, the shock of ignorance… the feeling hard to tell, a word can break the spell…

Song name: BLACK LINES TO BATTLEFIELDS/ Artist: Acceptance/ Year: 2003

GRAVITY

something always brings me back to you, it never takes too long… no matter what I say or do, I still feel you here ’til the moment I’m gone…

I stumbled upon a cover of this song a few days ago. I don’t usually like covers of Sara Bareilles songs. And I think it’s because she sings her songs so beautifully that no cover has ever really done it for me. But this cover? Here’s the link: Raymond Salgado – Gravity Cover I don’t know what happened. It must have scratched all of the right parts of my brain or something, but I was locked in. As soon as it was done, I restarted it. This went on for a while, I will not disclose for how long (LOL). Anyway, hearing someone else sing Gravity made me think about it in a different way than I normally do. I was always very linear when it came to my interpretation of it – this song was always a tragic love song in my mind. Of course there was one exception, and that was the So You Think You Can Dance Mia Michaels dance, where she made it about addiction which was fucking revolutionary. Watch it! Mia Michaels Choreography “Addiction” -Kayla and Kupono SYTYCD Anyway, it was so strange that this cover instinctively made me apply it to this soul journey that I’ve been on. And it felt like a desperate plea for release while also not wanting to let go or give up.

I haven’t felt right for the last month. The last week to ten days have been exceptionally heavy. I don’t want to sound dramatic, but I’m going to use the word unbearable. And I don’t know how to explain this to you so that you’ll fully understand. It just feels like a constant longing in my chest. A dull and quiet, constant ache. Like I’m homesick. It gnaws at me constantly. I haven’t slept more than five hours per night in the last two years, but this week I had not slept more than three. So, when I say it’s constant, I mean it. There is no rest. There is no peace. I am beyond exhausted and so incredibly sad. I am crying like I miss home, but I am home…

set me free, leave me be, I don’t want to fall another moment into your gravity…

I can’t tell you how many times this week I’ve begged, between sobs, to be released from this. These giant, heartbroken sobs pour out of me, seemingly from out of nowhere, and I beg God, Universe, Source, whatever you prefer to say, to give me respite from this. Even if it’s just long enough for me to get some restful sleep. One moment I am fine, and the next the aching and pulling in my chest gets too strong for me to handle, and I need to find somewhere to cry. There’s no stopping it. Sometimes it’s over in a few minutes, and sometimes I don’t have time for it to complete because I am trying to be a functional adult and have shit to do. So I pull myself together and do my best.

And I understand that this sounds strange if you’re seeing it from the outside. I’ve been told, too many times, that I need to see a shrink and get my shit together. And reactions like that remind me that not everyone in my life is a safe space. So, I put my mask back on and fake it until I make it. I am doing my fucking best. It’s not always so dark. The aching feeling described above is never ending, but when I am doing something that I enjoy, there is no time to fan that flame.

When I am alone, I’m here but I’m not. I’m lost in a spiral of thoughts. I pull out all of the tricks I know to get me out of it. Sometimes it works, sometimes I let myself get lost in it. Other times it’s just so incredibly heavy. The gravity of all of it pulled me down pretty far this week. And I allowed it. I did not have the energy to fight it. Clearly, it was happening for a reason. However, the last three days felt like absolute warfare. I realized why the panic was happening, but no matter how hard I tried, I could not stop it. I felt like I was falling down a rabbit hole. I have a really tight grasp on a lot of things right now. I know that I need to make changes, unfortunately I am at a point on this journey where the changes I need to make are pretty large, and I don’t know how to navigate it just yet. It’s 100% the case that I am standing in my own way, and it is 100% out of total terror.

There are a few things that happened since I started writing this post earlier in the week. And it’s important that I talk about those things so I can wrap this up in a pretty bow:

The grandma thing that has been heavily weighing my life down finally has a bit of resolution and I am finally getting some relief
There was a very big full moon that happened on Thursday – it was in Capricorn and it meant business. I chalked a lot of the heaviness in the days leading up to it directly to its arrival – no sleep, heavy emotions, etc.
There were a lot of cosmic shifts this week, calling for action to evaluate your life and make necessary changes. These shifts called for actual release of the things in your life that were no longer serving your highest good
The day after the full moon, I was let go from something that was, what I thought, a huge part of my identity. And I absolutely took it as “It’s not happening TO me, it’s happening FOR me” and that, my friends, is growth in my book

I will be writing more about that last bullet point above, but I’m not quite ready yet. It’s still incredibly fresh and I’m still processing it. However, as emotionally unstable as I felt this week, by the end of the week I had finally returned to my five hours of sleep and things felt lighter. Realizing that things happen the way they’re supposed to and not necessarily how I want them to was also something that gave me a little clarity. And I’m finally starting to shift perspective when it comes to certain things in my life. I still can’t fully let go, but my knuckles are no longer white while gripping them. It is taking a lot of self talk and care to make it through the dark moments that creep in, but everything will be alright. I am trying to shift 40+ years of conditioning and it’s going to take a minute.

Anyway, this was extremely long winded, but of course necessary. I appreciate it very much if you made it to this point. I can’t promise that every day the gravity of all of this won’t drag me down, but I promise I’m doing all I can to stay grounded. Thanks for reading, I’m always here if you need me…

I live here on my knees as I try to make you see that you’re everything I think I need here on the ground, but you’re neither friend nor foe though I can’t seem to let you go, the one thing that I still know is that you’re keeping me down…

Song name: GRAVITY/ Artist: Sara Bareilles/ Year: 2007