It feels like avoidance. It feels like denial. It feels like drowning in my own ability to numb. It feels like slowing down when all I want to do is speed up. It feels like letting go. Like free falling with no wings and surrendering all control.
The hardest part of healing is showing up. Showing up for my emotional self when all I want to do is hide. Showing up for my physical self when all I want to do is sleep. Showing up for my spiritual self when my soul continues to scream. Confronting my fears in order to comfort my soul.
I must proceed with the process and process to proceed.
The terrain is unknown, rough around the edges, but we as humans are just the same. My process of healing, like any journey, has had its peaks and valleys. Moments of drowning in my own shame, sugar coated with moments of worthlessness. Countered by the euphoria of pure bliss during mindful moments of humble pride in all I have accomplished. What I've learned is that the sea saw of healing sways with each wave. It'll tip you head first, sending you on a nose dive as if you were jumping off the plank and then, just when you're about to hit the bottom, you are catapulted out of the sea and through the air like a flying acrobat in Cirque Du Soleil, defying all counts of gravity. Everyone speaks to searching for balance, but I'm more interested in the sway of the sea saw amidst a storm.
I think being an artist makes me a little bit of an adrenaline addict, always searching for that next high. Or maybe I'm just an addict jonesing for the art (but that's a topic for another day....) I guess all I really mean to say is, this journey isn't for the faint of heart. I have willingly dug up my bones in order to uncover my truth. I am both the researcher and the subject. I continue to discover who I am each time I choose to sit down with myself. But each day I must actively choose to proceed with the process, for the alternative results in choosing to block my process, thus creating an inability to proceed. What do you choose?