Sometimes I still cry…
I still grieve. I hurt for the loss of pieces of me that I might have, at some point believed, made me feel whole and vibrant.
It’s as if I were made of clay. A piece of pottery strong and deep enough to hold so much! Yet, too fragile for the exposure of exterior experiences. Weathered out, shoved, pushed, or thrown into spaces, beaten in ways that could’ve left me completely shattered.
Sometimes I still cry…
Because even as I’m not completely broken, the Core of me remains. Worn out and tired, I find myself weaker with each passing day.
Because pieces of me have broken off leaving cracks, cuts, holes, and gaps too wide to repair.
Because the pain of my insisting that I must learn to live, love, and accept my imperfections, my incompleteness, my not enough-ness; is deep and hurtful.
Because the question: “Was I ever perfect, complete or enough?” shows up more and more each passing day with a torturing silenced no-answer.
Sometimes I still cry… I am grieving
The loss of my innocence.
What was left of it?
The part of me that felt as if I knew how to trust ever so naturally.
The part of me that felt as if I had faith in things and life as a whole.
The part of me that felt as if I was just beginning to hear my little big voice of truth.
The part of me that felt as if I was just beginning to step up and step out to be seen and heard.
The part of me that felt as if I was filled with curiosity and enthusiasm.
The part of me that felt as if I had just begun to explore my sense of inner freedom.
The part of me that used to see self-doubt as waves in the ocean that I could swim through, effortlessly.
The part of me that felt as if I was just beginning to FEEL openly and freely Self-expressed!
The part of me that longed for clarity, understanding, acknowledgement or enjoyment of my own light.
The part of me that was beginning to face a willingness to embrace my very own personal shadows.
Yes…Sometimes, I still cry.
It’s as if Those parts of me have been chipping off like pieces of dry beaten clay.
And I grieve…as I look for ways to accept that some things, are meant to stay broken, scarred, or incomplete.
I grieve and I struggle to accept or get settled in the idea that those pieces of me have served their purpose and I no longer need them……
But still, I cry.