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@theartofmadeline

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occasionally subtle
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@avere-fede
https://www.instagram.com/p/CorOjz2Il26/
I keep saying I don’t want to start over. I don’t want to begin again. But it’s NOT starting over. It’s stepping into power. It’s continuing on to what’s next. What’s bigger. What’s meant for you. That’s NOT starting over, or from scratch. It’s moving forward. Don’t resist it (of course it feels sticky when you do), accept it. Move bravely towards what is yours.
I walk into my apartment in the morning after having been at my boyfriend’s house for the night. It is still and still-feeling. I hear CBC murmuring on my alarm clock radio that I lazily keep on the floor of my room. I smile.
Trying hard to embrace HERE. Sweltering city SUMMER. I know there will be so many (more) Summers spent by the water, in the country, probably on other continents, so for now - I’m here. Feeling the pavement under my feet. Listening to the cars drive by while I try to sleep. Biking by the river. Racing to yoga, to my partner’s place, to see pals in the park, to my friend’s driveway to cook. Working. Breathing. Eating. Drinking. Enjoying. Here where I moved to move on. Here where I moved to continue. Here where I moved to follow a path I’d been charting probably for YEARS unknowingly before consciously. I’m happy, I’m healthy, I’m hot af - I’m here.
I’m ready to make some big leaps.
Are you coming, or what?
Discomfort (from which we grow).
I’m pretty stuck on us. Not in a ‘I want to go back’ way. That thought now makes my blood run cold. As does the thought of running into you. It makes me feel the way I felt that night, backed into a corner of our bathroom as you moved towards me, yelling.
We never processed that night fully, did we? You apologized and I accepted and forgave you, but the 100s of tiny razor thin cuts on my arms burn with the thought of your voice taking that *tone* or good forbid it raising.
I don’t know how else to put it, I’m afraid of you. With some space between us I understand now, painfully, how I had to contort myself to fit around you, to not make you angry, upset, insecure.
I don’t know why I find men like you to be this particular and heartbreaking kind of beautiful.
Anyway, I’m pretty stuck, here.
Today I threw out the flowers you gave me over a year ago. It was more uncomfortable than I expected it to be, even as my best friend cheered me on.
It IS time to let go of the last bits of you that linger here in my apartment. That chapter still has some loose ends, and I don’t know if they’ll get tied up anytime soon.
From you I learned that hurt-people hurt people, no one really escapes unscathed around folks like us. That said, I never meant for you to feel like those flowers - largely regarded as placeholders for a space I wasn’t ready to fill.
Not easily, but fully.
See also: we do what’s right, not what’s easy.
I am thunder, and yet, you adore me.
I don’t know why it hurts more
somedays
than others
Learning how to talk with my heart.
Nothing feels sweeter than telling the truth/speaking mine.
r I n s e
I feel new.
I was scrolling Instagram, somewhat mindlessly (as usual) and I liked this post. Immediately I felt a pang in my stomach and scrolled back upwards to unlike it.
Nothing is more important to me these days than not doing things how they’ve always been done - or how I’ve always done them. Pretending otherwise is useless and a waste. Recongnizing and breaking patterns, shaking up my own status quo, knowing there’s so much more out there for me.
Heart-forward. Onward.