Who am I?
My life has been an unspoken, spoken, hardbound, intricately, interwoven, into every aspect of my being, contract with life. I have been miserably failing this contract. The weight of failure and pursuit of clarity to what the contract even says, often consumes me. Stumbling tired, stuck in routine, with consuming thoughts, discouragement and an ill fitting bra with a twisted strap, now covering a knot in my back.
So this unspoken contract, the one that I have been compiling, living by, consciously and subconsciously. Still binding myself to pages of old. Constantly holding court in my mind. Playing defendant, prosecutor, judge and jury. I realized this contract is nothing but paper that I have been carrying around.
The only binding words, between me and this life, is what I am writing. My story, it is as unique as I am, and it is being written as I go.
I can not go back and rewrite a single chapter but I can learn from those previous chapters what I want to include in my future chapters, what I want more of, what I want less of, it is as tho I finally gave my soul, the pen, and told her to write. And yet the contracts of old, would rear their ugly heads and appear.
I find myself struggling so much with “acceptable” and “unacceptable” emotions, I would get so angry at my husband for not accepting me but in reality it was my contract of old. Myself, not accepting my authentic, raw and scary self.
Pages from my childhood, where my parents signed my name up under the contract of religion, have had and continue to have the largest seat in my mental court. This contract contained the one and only way to connect with God. The purpose of each of our lives, within the guidelines of the following 184,902 page rule book.
This contract also contained subcontracts that extended to the role and status of gender, patriarchism, and relationships, followed by it’s 95,873 page rule book.
I never learned all the rules, in all honesty, as much as I wanted to get my parents approval and abide by the contracts of their lives, I just never saw the validity of it all. It was not producing peace, or joy or connections, it was not producing life.
The only way that I know these rule books contain so many pages is because those are the amount of pages I have read, written and continue to devour, discovering, exposing and freeing my name from the bottom of those contracts.
In this arduous journey, that I will forever be on, the rewards of freedom, peace, joy and connection have landed myself sitting, with this question on the chalkboard.
Who am I?
What story does my soul long to write?
I have been stuck in the routine of stress, or as most people call it, life. I am a sensemaker of the mind, soul and body and I take it so seriously, too seriously.
As Matthew McConaughey said in an amazing speech, titled, This Is Why You’re Not Happy;
“The you vs you obligations, we have to have them
These are not societal laws or expectations that we acknowledge and edow for anyone other than ourselves
These are faith based obligations that we make on our own
These are not the lowered insurance rates for a good driving record
You will not be fined or put in jail if you do not gratify these obligations that I speak of
No one else governs these but you
These are your secrets with yourself
Your own private counsel
Personal protocols
Although when no one throws you a party when you abide by them
No one is going to arrest you when you break them either, except yourself
An honest man’s pillow is his peace of mind
And when you lay down on that pillow at night, no matter who is in your bed
We all sleep alone
These are your personal jiminy crickets and there are not enough cops in the entire world to police them
It's on you”
It is on me and I have been catching my jiminy crickets and really listening to what they have to say.
By erasing my name from the bottom of each contract, that had bound me to remain silent, hurt, confused, isolated, rejected, and exhausted. I am finding myself handing the pen to my soul more and more.
I had learned to give her the pen when I felt an emotion. She would write the silence, hurts, confusions, loneliness, rejection and fatigue, oh it felt so good and then my mind would neatly gather those words, clean them up, make sense out of them and make sure that, when sparingly shared with others, they come out under control and “put together”
Who am I?
What is she drawn to?
What does her dance look like?
Her song, sound like?
Her gaze drawn too?
Heart vibrations?
Heart tears?
What does life look like, to her?
What does aliveness feel like?
What does she say when I hush my mind? Mine is currently saying, sleep.
So I will….goodnight
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