They say it all the time in self-help records and blogs, to adoration is to accept the ugliest specific areas of yourself. To be prone when you feel so thoroughly damaged. But which is something we often fail to read, or perhaps fail to write, is how that suffer really appears. How it find when the darkest street of your soul remains untouched by the street lamps of distraction and listing you formerly knew.
I can only speak for myself, but I’ll tell you for me, it looks like a pivot.
A decide turn away from the recreations and external obliges that allow me to forget.
Usually it’s a small move( sometimes even just a step ), defined by objective and purpose.
Things that surely don’t come overnight.
Things that surely don’t dwell every day.
I [?] t feels like a deep dive- straight in the inevitable unknown.
Headfirst. Without kindnes or tact. Tottering legs and sweaty palms, reminding of the physicality of your fear.
And it smells. It reeks of terror and sorenes and nerves.
But here’s the thing they actually don’t say to you . i>
The truth is, it looks like hurting . b>
Gaping and raw- as you step closer and closer to the edge of yourself. Striving to sit with the magnitude of whatever it is you’ve been unable to witness. This is where you come face to face with You.
It’s not all meditative sighs and long relaxing evaporates . b>
It’s saltwater and silence, a few paces of progress then tendernes. Above all of the other things you may have heard, it’s a process. A never aiming, ever deriving, opportunity to show up for the dread. To be susceptible in the most harrowing of ways. To unlearn everything you’ve thought to be true over and over until you no longer know them. Until you’ve repaved the roads in your recollection. Until you’ve ousted detest with compassion, appraisal with care and chagrin with compassion.
It might not be there every day- at the least it’s not yet for me. Sometimes it even is like it’s receded for good.
But I’m starting to believe, that’s what it’s supposed to look like.
Self acceptance isn’t a linear progression.
Although, wouldn’t it be easier if “its been”? It’s a intricate network of directions moving up and down, back and forth- slowly propagandizing you send over time.
And today, I know that’s okay.
After all, the caterpillar can’t grow into a butterfly without the cocoon. See if he refused to accept that ? b>
What a shame “it wouldve been” . i>