It’s been a long number of months since I’ve posted here. Today though, I feel the melancholy washing through me as I listen to the sweet painful lyrics of Kyle Lionheart. Rinsing my tired thoughts through the same old tumbler. Cleaning the floor ready to start over.
I have struggled greatly some days. Tears and heaviness and the aching of a scarred and bruised heart trying to heal with little guidance. There’s no splint or cast delicate enough to wrap it up.
I have soared the dreamy highs other days, light with relief and lack of stress and so full of poignant strong direction. Laughing nonsensically at simple beauty and sunshine on my face, finding freedom in the joy that I have missed these past few years.
The emotions have come with writing, much writing. Angry and spitting. Overwhelmed and spinning. Confused and shattering. Joyful and singing. Words that I have in equal parts wanted to drown in and wanted to throw from the clifftops. See I wanted you to understand me. I wanted to be seen. I wanted truth to shine and false ideas to explode. But the words didn’t sit well in me, or beside me, they weren’t properly representing all of me.
I am coming to realise that I do not want to add electricity to the storm of this already challenging life. I do not want the bombs dropped. I do not want to be seen for the hurt. The vulnerable yes, but the anger, no. I have found it impossible to balance and draw a line between honesty and more pain and so, much of my writing goes unpublished for a later date.
I have not been short of life of late, of journey and belonging and inspiration found in the hearts of friends. Friends who have gently been asking “So…have you been writing?”. I am back to sharing, to processing, to loving, to feeling. I am standing back at the doorstep of vulnerability, shaking with fear and longing anticipation.