2023—1012
My body doesn’t know how to be happy—
I’ve been feeling more anxious than I have all year since the passing of the Autumn Equinox. I’m sensitive and exhausted, and it’s unfair. I have no internal warmth, and I rely on the sun to feel alright. Until yesterday, I was numb and had nothing to say— throat blocked, breath short, womb tight. (My body is trying to protect me)
Something in me screams, I’m not happy. I’m not happy. I’m not happy. I don’t feel happy! I feel like I’m supposed to be, but I can’t. I feel out of balance and depleted, and I’m freezing!!! Somehow, I stopped feeling okay after I got what I wanted, and I’m existing in this false peacefulness because I’m supposed to be happy. I’m trapped and aching. (My body is trying to protect me)
Big news!! I have a girlfriend! She’s my match and my great love, and I’ve wanted to be with her since we became friends a year and a half ago. Now we’re together and moving in the same direction and making space for healing and support, and it has deeply triggered me. I feel shame because I want to be happier. The last time I was in an exclusive and committed relationship, it was wrapped in abuse, self-forgetting, and ended with resentment. It’s unfair that my brain keeps reminding me of this when I want to enjoy what’s unfolding. (My body is trying to protect me.)
A year ago today (as I write this on 11 Oct) the divorce was finalized. I went to fucking court. I paid for the whole thing. I’m still learning how to be happy. I’m still learning how to be free.
A year ago I came out to my parents, and they couldn’t celebrate my fullness or even perceive me as I shined so bright! They hid their faces from the Divine in me as I begged them, “Do not be afraid!” Last night, I told them that I’m in love and love is being reciprocated back to me. Dad said, “You know where we stand, but I know you’re happy.” Mom was silent. I felt confused, but ultimately relieved which cracked me open to be honest about all the nuance that exists in me and dump all of this information out to you all today.
So here it is: I’m scared I’m gonna ruin everything. I want feel happier, but I’m scared I’m gonna get hurt again. I’m scared of subtle, underhanded rejection, of “I love you, but I cannot be happy for you.” I cannot hold it all.
Can I also give myself space? Am I able to expand to hold this present moment? I’ve spent so much time making room, and I’ve already outgrown the space I created. This is new, and my body is protective. I’m walking into something beautiful and good with C-PTSD and debilitating self-awareness. But today, for the first time, I’m crying. I’m finally crying, thank GOD. My face is covered in tears, thank the freaking DIVINE. I get so tired of the numbness, the dissociation, the intrusive thoughts.
My life is so remarkable and surprising and filled to the brim with delight at this precious unraveling. Everything I wanted and imagined, everything I’ve dreamed about is here and simultaneously on the way. This moment is the result of everything I’ve ever chosen and how impossible and glorious it is to feel everything all the time!! The pain, the invasive memories, the sunlight, the God-forsaken cold!
Thank you for holding my entirety. Thank you for being a safe container for me while I’m in process. I journaled this yesterday, and I’ll leave it with you.
Remember how tender and open you were when your life was on the brink of that magical shift in love! And even though your heart races terribly and your thoughts vanish right as you reach to touch them, you are still existing as your truest iteration. It’s okay if she’s so SO tired; she is still here. She can be tired. Let her be still. Ask nothing of her. Allow her to rest.
Leaps and bounds are relative and in proportion. To the smallest creatures, you are moving so quickly and traveling so far. To you, it’s just one step. Maybe take half a step next time to let a younger Fran keep pace? After many long-legged strides, she begs you to wait for her and linger where you are— in the shade of a southern magnolia with a lemon in a mason jar of cold, cold water. Be quiet as she approaches you and learns to recognize your face.
The hollowed out versions of her own soft cheeks.
The hallowed crescent of her old toothy grin.
The sallowed timbre of her own precious laugh.
May her tiny hands hold your face.
May her round forehead reflect yours as they gently connect.
