“I will love the light for it shows me the way, yet I will endure the darkness because it shows me the stars.” – Og Mandino
My heart is heavy.
I decide to tackle the mess that makes up my home. Maybe by decluttering my house I can declutter my mind too.
I start to pick up the toys that will inevitably get scattered all over the house again by the end of the day. I think about how my house represents the inevitable messiness of life. I mindlessly know where all of the toys go, but I can’t seem to grasp the direction of my own life. I’ve honestly felt a little lost lately.
Do you ever feel like life entails learning the same lessons over and over again? The repetitive nature of house chores is similar to the repetitive nature of life lessons.
Sometimes I feel like my head grasps a concept but my heart needs a reminder to soften to the truth. More often, my heart knows the truth of a life lesson, but my thoughts get in the way of hearing the still voice within. Sometimes it’s hard to discern if it’s my head or my heart or both relearning a lesson, but writing is my method for bridging the gap between the two, sometimes dueling, forces.
Blogging is hard on me. Not the writing part, but the posting part, and the networking part, and the believing in myself part. I’m not trying to gain sympathy and I’m not playing the victim card or the hero card. I’m only trying to be honest by sharing that it’s hard to try something new, invest much of myself into it, and have to battle my own demons in order to keep going.
I thought the tough part of this journey would be having the courage to start the blog, but the tough part is having the courage to continue.
My head knows that if I don’t believe in myself, no one else will. So maybe my heart needs to catch up to that realization. Or maybe my heart is fine and my mind needs to actually believe I’m worthy of pursuing writing. It’s all very confusing.
Since starting this blog, the highs have been higher for me and the lows have been lower because my head and my heart are in a constant battle, but isn’t that the definition of truly living? Yes, AND truly living is hard. It’s difficult to explain, but some days I feel more lost than ever before, and some days I feel more found.
I recognize how very self-absorbed I am to care this much about a blog, but I refuse to participate in the shame game by throwing a blanket of guilt on top of my already jumbled emotions. I dust off the guilt along with the dust that’s collected on my coffee table.
As I wipe down my dusty shutters, I wipe the tears from my cheeks. I can’t stop thinking about a story I heard on the news this morning about a woman that died in Hurricane Harvey with her young daughter clinging to her, still alive. I think about how scared the mother must have been and I wonder if she prayed to God to take her own life instead of her daughter’s life. I wonder if the motherless child will grow up resenting or praising God for a chance at life.
I promise myself I will make a donation to the hurricane emergency relief when I am done cleaning. Is this a selfless act, or rather a selfish act so that I feel less helpless in this world we have little control over? The line blurs between giving and receiving just as it does between head and heart.
I come across a grocery bag that my daughter has filled with toys and family pictures she emptied from the disorganized container where they normally reside. Ugh. Family photos. Just what I don’t need to see. My emotions feel even more raw as I look through memories with now deceased loved ones, friends that are no longer friends, and baby pictures of my son that seem as though they were taken yesterday even though he is now in kindergarten. I wipe more tears as I recognize that love and pain are inextricably connected. There is love in pain and there is pain in love. It’s all bittersweet.
I collect the massive amount of dog hair and dust that lived on my floor for the past week. If only I could just as easily sweep up my self-doubt and confusion into the pile and rid myself of it for good.
I get out the vacuum and when I hit the on switch, my daughter starts to cry. I understand. Loud noises bother me too. Sometimes sensitivity feels like a burden.
Right on cue, my daughter starts pulling out all of her toys again. I temper my anger and remind myself that it’s all ebb and flow. Perhaps mess and order are also connected since you can’t fully appreciate one without experiencing the other. Having young children is a constant invitation to appreciate the messiness of it all.
I know this isn’t the type of blog post that will be popular. The numbers tell me that people enjoy humorous or inspirational posts that lighten their day. I want to provide that, to spread light and positivity using words.
But this blog is also about sharing myself with all of you. Sometimes I experience pain and human sorrow. I have down days when I feel confused and lost and want to be honest about that side of me too. It’s all part of being truly alive in this world we live in.
Similar to the head and the heart, and to pain and to love, the light and the dark are also connected.
This blog is not my way of saying, “Follow me. I have all of the answers.” This blog is my way of saying, “I’m looking for answers. Are you searching too?” In other words, “I’m lost. Follow me while I try to find my way.”
It’s probably not the best sales pitch, but I don’t want to sell myself with this blog. I just want to BE myself.
And I’m messy. Sometimes I think too many thoughts and feel too many feelings and take life too seriously. This is the messiness in me that I’m no longer going to sweep under the rug.
There you have it.