Before silence falls on my writing voice and my ink-pot goes dry, I feel aligned with everything I am. And being an empath who relies on her emotions to write, I always succumb to drawing from the intensity of my complexity, especially the negative ones.
Melancholy hovers over my every emotion. And I feel everything.
This blends into my writing into seasons and if you find time to read it, my writings can help you track me emotionally from the other side of this screen.
Sometimes, I live for the whole being a vulnerable thing.
I relish the sharing thing. I sit with my words and choose which goes where. I craft. And the results are polishedly expected and come stacked in poetic phrases that bring out relatable traits from those who read it.
But... there are those times, the pain just decides to clothe every one of my pieces. I leak. Bleed. And spill nothing but the versions of it that I house.
During such times, my conditioned self gives in to the shame that comes with sharing one's brutal life lessons or trauma. It instead revives the urgency of the need to disappear and go fix whatever it is my triggered version assumes needs fixing before I can resume publicly journaling.
I have always followed it back to hiding.
Even though, I watch myself die every hour. The whole fighting one's demons become a thing and then I feel obligated to hand my inner critic the keys to everything that seems like freedom. In return, I am forced to capitalize on my obnoxious apprehension toward the unknown.
I fell for this when losses drowned my dreams last year and watched myself retreat from everything. Writing. Work. Social circles. My farm. Though the lack of rain plus my crops being stolen last December contributed some more to my leaving the farm.
I felt discouraged and disappointed.
My finances were messed up. The holidays. But times are easing everything again and like the human I am, I must try again. And so I have been living one day at a time. I have been healing and grieving every short-lived journey to last year's dreams.
I have rediscovered my love for cooking. I might not like eating a lot but I express love when I cook so I am now cooking for us. I am exploring nurturing succulents and balcony gardening. I have dreamt of beginning the journey of furnishing my house.
Power tools and an oven are on my wishlist as DYI ideas and new baking recipes are pinned on my Pinterest. I have experimented with a few homemade things and enjoyed the results. Yogurt. Tomato paste. Detergents. Bleach. Condensed milk. Ice cream. Detox. Bathing gels and skin products.
Motherhood has kept me on my toes as much as I have used it as an escape. For my brood, I have wanted to better myself and in doing so, I have shown myself grace and kindness in ways I couldn't a few months back. I might have missed out on building but I don't regret that pause, it was necessary.
It brought me back to my words and goals. Reminded me why life is all about having fun while trying a whole bunch of things. So here is to constantly evolve into the most accepting version of myself and the thrill of any new beginning and this moment feels like mine.
wambuku w.
