Reverb: The time of year where I sit down for the next month or so, reflecting on the past year and manifesting what's next. Part of me is already feeling raw and exposed enough as it is, but this writing exercise has become a tradition that I don't plan on backing out of any time soon. Some of the prompts will be of my own devise, while others will come from other hosting websites.
A number of people are now opting out of New Years Resolutions, and instead meditating on one word or theme for the year. Looking back, what was yours for 2015?
As I typed out a final reflection for the current year, my mind kept coming back to the concept of hope. Hope for all things made new, for the past to die away, and for the possibilities to come. I experienced it in waves: when I finally found work, Mom and sister moving into a new house, and meeting some pretty great people inside and out of my comfort zone. But there were times when hope seemed superficial, a buzzword coated in cliches for what I could not guarantee to actually happen. It felt shallow, as though I was chasing after something I could never quite catch (which from a certain perspective, I was).
The more appropriate word would have been emotional.
Good Lord, 2015 was quite an emotional year. A year filled with a few big changes that were a long time coming, including my parents finally going their separate ways. I was literally on a pendulum of feelings, literally hitting everything on the spectrum from complete and utter happiness to all out rage. I found joy in the little things, the every day and mundane. It was my way of focusing on the here and now, rather than get all worked up about what may or may not happen eventually.
And of course I was sad that a part of my life was coming to an end, even if it was unhealthy and dysfunctional in the grand scheme of things. I had to come to terms with the nature of certain dynamics, that some relationships might not be what I so desperately wished and prayed for since I first became aware of it.
Yet, the more obvious factor, anger, was actually a misconception. I was more pissed at the way things were being handled, as opposed to what was actually happening. I couldn't be genuinely honest without someone making comparisons as to who was suffering more, or completely invalidating what I had seen and heard for so many years. And when I can't communicate what I'm feeling, I start lashing out and become resentful. It will build until I'm literally on the verge of taking somebody's head off.
It all was very much a disguise for helplessness. It was one thing to not have any kind of control, but to have very little influence was a different story entirely. It seemed like nothing I did or said mattered, and eventually resign myself to the fact that this was a train wreck in which I couldn't get away from.
But I've learned a lot from it, having become more aware of how I express myself, communicate, and ultimately relate to others. And that is what I call progress.
On the outside, it's not particularly monumental. However, I have battled with my sense of self-worth for close to thirteen years, and I am finally in a place where I've comfortable with the way that God made me:
I am an expressive person, and it's literally impossible to hide it. Whether I'm in a good mood or a bad mood, most people that know me well enough can tell.
I'm a sensitive, and toughening up is not in my vocabulary. Yes, some things will initially hurt at first, but I try to be an advocate for letting it out and then letting it go. When you name something, you give it less power over your mind and over your life.
I am a deep feeler; love, pain, everything. As uncomfortable as it is to feel like an outsider to both my peers and dear ones, I'm grateful for it. I consider it a gift to feel, as we now live in a culture that continually glorifies busyness and keeping it casual. It's scary as hell and kind of weird, but I'm leaning into it...slowly.
There's so much more to discuss and expand on, but I'll save for that for the coming days. For now, I welcome this journey with open arms, and I give thanks for all that join me.
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