There’s something about fall that I am in love with. I love the golden Aspen leaves. Bundling up for football games. Anticipating that spooky goodness Halloween brings every year. I also get to break out my crockpots and soup recipes (making chicken noodle soup out of leftover rotisserie chicken later). But for me, the inevitable change in nature leaves me to reminisce about my own growth in the past year and how its time to take in that growth and build a sturdy foundation of who I am so I can start strong when spring (rebirth) comes around again.
It’s been rough coming to terms with who I was, who I am, and who I will be. A little girl who read and wrote to combat her depression. A teenager who thought that perfection would save her from a judgmental world. A young lady who knows that hard work does not reap reward without sacrifice. And now, a woman, breaking away from that child, who is learning how to live this life with grace. I’ve prayed all my life but in the past year, I especially prayed for inner peace and strength. Peace to my past and strength for my future.
I found out that I could not write until I accepted my traumas. I have found an inner strength that I have never known. I have survived from so much: loneliness, abuse, harassment, rumors, bullies, mental disorders, eating disorders, my sexuality. All of these internal and external events that hurt me to my core, but no one ever knew. I bottled it up. I hid it. I suppressed it. And in the end, it killed my writing.
Accepting what’s happened to me pulled that stopper out of the bottle. For some reason, I was afraid, very afraid, of what would happen if I revisited the past. That bottle shook with rage and sadness when I wasn’t ignoring it. But as I journaled, the tears were inevitable. As I practiced yoga, I exhaled the stress right out of my body. As I slept. As I stopped drinking. As I ate nutritious foods. As I read. As I traveled.
I started to feel like myself again.
For the past few days, I’ve felt a stillness inside of me that I’ve never known. Maybe its the hot yoga I’ve been doing or how I have jobs that make me happy. I’ve been working on myself for a year now and there were several times that I just wanted to say fuck it, move back home to Missouri, and call it good on my career. But there’s this voice in my head that tells me I’m not done writing yet. I haven’t met who I need to yet. I’m not done exploring Colorado. I’m not done traveling the world. I still have this longing to help the poor, to help the animals, to help the environment. Why should I quit on any of that? Because my feelings got in the way?
I know that it’s okay to be human but I should never let that stop me from who I’m supposed to be. I am still trying to be kind to myself after what’s happened to me. I am still hard after my goals to become a sommelier, to become a better yogi, to create a fashion publication. I will enjoy the dying season with people who love me and uplift me, and in turn, will continue to love and uplift myself.