Wrestling is Not My Sport

But I do it everyday. I wrestle with thoughts that aren’t mine. The ones that tell me that I’m not enough. That there isn’t enough money, that I’m a terrible mother, friend, sister, cousin, you name it. I wrestle with wanting to be disconnected somewhere in a cave and wanting to be found and pulled out into the light. It’s a struggle, the black, the white and the shades in between. Two steps forward and the same resistance comes back with equal force. I’m still not ready to tell my story but I can say that the, “black holes” in my memories are finally beginning to be filled with other things, new things. Things like messy wild flowers, dried leaves, days of sitting on the couch with a hot cup of tea or warm cider. Remembering how much I LOVE fall! They’re becoming…becoming something. I’m coming up on 9 months. It’s been a ride. But at the end of the night I’m grateful that the battle isn’t mine. That’s peace. I’m also grateful when I get to wake up in the morning and try all over again, to completely submit.