Posts tagged Real Talk
Am I Doing This to Myself? Illness as an Identity, Limitations Around Happiness, & What It Took to Gain Back a Voice After Ten Months Without One

I write to make sense of things, or at least that’s what I tell myself. 

I pull on thought, put it there, then I pull out another, and put it there—over and over I go, mind churning up bits of debris, entirely unsure of where they came from. Actually, I’m convinced they were nothingness until I began to share their story, not mine. 

There’s a plot line, so into it I dive, pulling up more and more until I’ve exhausted myself and conjured up a scenario; a moment, a conversation, seemingly impossible limitation; I'm so far from reality that I have to call in a lifeboat to carry me back to me, where dinner is growing cold, my computer glares at me from across the room, and the only signs of this mind-excavation is being worn on my face and in the heaviness behind my eyes.

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A Little Life Update: On Moving Closer to the Truth, Working Alongside the Uncomfortable, and Settling Into More Than Lyme

It's quite late on a Wednesday night, and most certainly far past the time that I told myself I would be going to sleep, but something, most likely my gut, told me I should sit down and write this, otherwise I'm not certain any sleep would take place. 

I've been a little absent, and maybe even distant from this community. You see, it was unexpected: I had a plan and was on a roll, moving what felt like seamlessly from one moment and one post to the next: adventures, stories, and sharing the inner workings of my mind? Easy! I was making it work, crossing of my to do's, and even tossing in a handful of workout sessions here and there.

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I'd Rather Not Talk About Lyme Disease: On Doing What's Best For You Right Now, Even If That Means Less Lyme Talk + More Wildflowers

Just like that, I'm curled up in the floor...

Hands grabbing at two bobby pins, missing, falling, and missing again, eventually with one in each hand I move my fingers quickly, tangling and un-tangling the two pieces of wire. 

When I stop, my hand convulses, vibrates even, sending shivers of pain and pressure through my veins. And you know what really gets me? The anger. The there-is-no-way-this-is me anger that wriggles and ties my insides in knots. 

I don't set it free, not this time, but it takes everything I've got to keep it under control. I want to scream and smash things. I want to be angry with myself as hurtful words bounce back and forth in my head. But I don't. I just sit here, hands and forearms now wrapped tightly around my chest, focusing on everything and nothing at all. 

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On The Road Again: Trying to Find My Footing In The Face Of Anxiety, Self Doubt + Every Day Uncertainties

My oh my, it has been awhile hasn't it! 

I just got back from sitting in the back of the jeep, on the pacific ocean, while spooning out bite size pieces of watermelon to eat while I take some time to slow my mind down. After rattling my way back (the jeep doesn't have the best suspension), I have plopped myself on the little balcony of the place I am staying.

Just the right amount of sun hits my face as I attempt to put my thoughts into works and then onto "paper" for you. Sometimes, they flow easily and I don't have to think twice about grabbing a few here and there from the chaotic part of my mind that holds all of my thoughts, and putting them into some kind of tangible form. 

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Slowing Down: Why Taking a Few Steps Back Is The Only Way I Can See Myself Moving Forward

I can hear the rain dripping down the side of the house, splashing against the rough of the rocks just outside my office door, the one that joins me to the outside.

The gentle hum of cars and streaks of light dancing across my wooden table on the floor soothes me. I close my eyes (yes, while I type!) to try and soak it in just a little bit more. My mind is working against the grain, weaving through knots and unexpected curves, struggling to grip at the sense of clam that I am so desperately trying to usher in. It’s been difficult you see, to take the pressure off. To tell myself that it’s ok to dive into the pile of books that sits next to me on my futon - the pens and notebooks calling my name.

My hands shake...

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