The last time I wrote, I described a triangular power founded in truth. Truth is like a flower, in that it blossoms into wisdom and discernment, growing towards the sky as perspective. Over the years, that perspective changes – it can get stronger, healthier, livelier; or, it can be weakened, stunted, feeble.
There’s a lot of talk about being true to oneself, and living an authentic life. These ‘lines of wisdom’ appear to encourage and uplift. But, meanwhile, the message of being true is broadcast along other ‘lines of wisdom’ for me to be courageous, and step outside my comfort zone, work harder and I can be a better version of me, that every day is a new day to be better.
Without realizing why, I started believing I wasn’t good enough to be my true authentic self. That I needed to improve, and work on the areas that were a little rough around the edges. Now, don’t get me wrong, there is a place for self-improvement, but it doesn’t need to be my mantra. It needs to be in the background, working alongside the main focus of accepting and allowing myself to live as me.
This time last year, I was in the middle of my 28-day journey to renewing my spirit of giving. I was depleted – completely and utterly depleted. I felt I had nothing to give my kids, husband, parents, friends, siblings, etc. Worst of all, I felt I had nothing to give myself. Except a hard time. I felt I had to get over my disappointments, failures and broken-heartedness. Quickly. If I couldn’t, then I once again would be a failure.
After 28 days, I felt a little better. But, I wasn’t ‘cured’ of my ailment. Actually, during that time period, I had a revelation shake me to my core. It was one of those revelations that caused me to question every single decision, idea, perspective and root of my being. I fell down the hole of an identity crisis.
By New Year’s, I’d abandoned my ‘old’ self, thinking she was what was wrong with me. I vowed to ‘improve’ and ‘be a better version’ of me. Then, I wrote a story. A story that slapped me in the face and opened my eyes to some truth. That truth gave me some much needed wisdom about myself. How I viewed my ‘self.’ How I felt others viewed me, too.
It hurt to read a story like that. We never want to admit our frailties. We want to believe we are strong, able to take whatever is thrown at us. But, at that moment, I not only felt weak, but I saw weakness. It was the perspective I needed to make a change. The perspective that gave me an early morning wake-up call and motivation to start working on my ‘honey, do this, list.’
It’s been nearly eight months since that point. I do feel like I’ve picked myself up from the fall, even if I still have lots of questions of about who I am and what I want in life. During this process, I’ve been given inspiration for a novel.
“If there’s a book that you want to read, but it hasn’t been written yet, then you must write it.” ― Toni Morrison
The novel I’m writing isn’t just a book I want to read; I know it’s a story I NEED to read. Just like the short story I wrote at the beginning of this year. There is a lesson in it for me. Another perspective I’m not seeing. I must write, so that I may learn.
And that brings me to another crossroads. Being true to myself. I’ve written a little over a fourth of my story. I call it the soft part of the book. The easy writing. Starting out with characters, background stuff. All the ‘truth’ a reader needs to form wisdom and discernment, to start building that perspective. I am now reluctant to move forward, to get to the heart of the story. The part that takes courage to go beyond my comfort zone. I’m feeling uncomfortable.
Is my true self the one who perseveres and has grit? Or is my true self the procrastinator and self-defeater?
Who gets to decide?
Until next time –