a collection of chaos @lanemarvels - Tumblr Blog

Masterlist

------Navigate my blog writings here!-------

She was always in me

Evolution really is a funny thing.

It’s strange how quietly transformation sneaks in—until one day, you barely recognize the person you used to be. Lately, I’ve become more acquainted with this new, adult woman I see in the mirror every day when I wake up. Her needs, wants, desires, and beliefs have shifted—radically, but in the best way. And I’ve loved getting to meet her. To meet me.

Where identity was once a brutal and all-consuming search, I no longer feel lost. I truly believe I was born again the moment I turned twenty-five. For the first time in my life, I know myself intimately. I love every part of who I am, and I deeply identify with the way I see myself.

I know, maybe that sounds silly. But I used to be a girl with a fragmented sense of self—a girl who gave away pieces of herself in the name of people-pleasing. I gave up so many chances to discover who I really was. And once I realized that, once I saw how lost I’d been, I worked hard. For ten years. I unlearned. I relearned. I fought to uncover the person I was always meant to be.

And I know that girl—my younger self—would be blown away by who she became. Because I am everything I wished I was. And more.

Sure, there’s still more I want to be. Dreams I haven’t touched yet. But when I step back and look at how far I’ve come, I can’t help but feel proud.

I always had a vision of the kind of person I wanted to become, but I didn’t know how to get there. Not really. Not until I started being her— before I even believed I was ready. That’s what changed everything. It made me feel like I was finally in tune with my higher self, the version of me I’m striving to become.

Now, I’m embodying her. I’m not perfect, and I never will be.

But I’ve made peace with that.

I’ve made peace with my light. I’ve made peace with my shadow. And I’m no longer afraid to show up fully, as both.

Lately, old pictures of me have been popping up on my feed. It’s wild to look at that girl from ten years ago… five years ago… even last year—and feel how much she’s changed. Her wants. Her desires. Her worldview. And yet… I still feel connected to her. She’s still in here somewhere. I honor her.

What I wanted then and what I want now—it's night and day. I don’t resonate with the life I used to live, and it’s strange to be reminded of it. It’s wild that we can outgrow a life that once felt like everything we wanted. Maybe it feels so different because I never imagined I could dream bigger. That I could actually become the version of me I only fantasized about.

But now, here I am. Somewhere along the way, I stepped into the next chapter. I’m sure age and frontal lobe development have a lot to do with it, lol. But it’s more than that.

I feel like an adult now. I feel like a woman.

And it’s exciting.

This new era promises to be electric and grand. Yes, it can be intimidating at times. And hard. But when it comes to identity, I’m not afraid anymore. I no longer dilute myself to fit the moment; I show up whole. I am who I am, as I am, in this moment. Take it or leave it. I’ll be at peace either way.

Because now, I’ve become the person my fifteen-year-old self never envisioned. And I’m becoming the person my inner child always believed in.

#collection of chaos #inner child #change #ramblings and reflections #womanhood #evolving identity

"'Cause I adored you And I just wanted things to be the same You said you'd meet me out there tomorrow But tomorrow never came..."

-Tomorrow Never Came, Lana Del Rey & Sean Ono Lennon

#collection of chaos #lyrics #the words I've felt #lana del rey #tomorrow never came

And so it goes

I was the first to see the cracks in our foundation,

Like a band that continues to play past its prime,

I warned you that the rhythm would suffer without a change in tune,

Now the silence feels louder than the sound we once made.

We were a team, the first I felt connected to,

Bound by late-night strategies and early-morning victories,

Every win a shared heartbeat, every loss carried together,

But now, the games are becoming stale,

We go through the motions of our rehearsed plays,

I still show up to practice, but my passion for playing is weaning,

Because I’m tired of getting benched,

And hydrating to those who wouldn’t give water to me.

Our pool parties are always celebrated on the shallow end now,

Swimming feels more like sinking because my body is exhausted,

And your life jacket threatens to drown me despite my efforts to understand how it works,

Now I’ve begun to ask myself why I’m trying to float when I can simply stand up,

Because I did not come to wade in the shallow,

I’m a swimmer, I dive deeper, I create waves, I make a splash,

And if this is all that is left of our crew,

Then maybe it’s time I ventured into new waters.

But lord knows, I’ve raged against that,

Even as I’m going down that road again,

My greatest attribute, my greatest weakness, the ride-or-die mentality,

I’ve made myself a martyr by believing so,

Because I don’t know how to quit when I’ve dedicated my life to a gang,

I take my oath to the grave, riding still beside you,

But my tires are wearing from this rough one-way street,

And I may see the signs, but I don’t want the road to end.

I see that the gang is chasing ghosts,

Holding onto artifacts that keep this space alive, but not living,

Cracks in the shack grow as the wind shifts directions,

The thrill of the mystery no longer seems to excite or ignite,

Because we are no longer those rotten kids,

And perhaps we are the ones behind the masks,

Unable to recognize each other any longer,

For that, I am the haunted one, so I've welcomed the palo santo.

With acceptance for the present, I cleanse myself of the past,

The energy once dedicated so deeply to others is returned,

It was this covenant that taught me my power,

But it is through my will that it all may end.

And I’m not okay with that. I haven’t been.

But I’m learning to be.

#collection of chaos #writing #the things i never said

I have a dream that haunts me

I have a dream that haunts me. It always starts the same.

There is a river that separates two lands: the land of what was and the land of what could be.

You are rooted in the land of what was. I can see it clearly from here: the soil beneath your feet grown familiar between your toes, the quiet shade of the trees that covers the skies, the roots that have crept up your legs. You don’t seem to notice them anymore.

The river roars between us. I am knee-deep in its cold, rushing waters. The rocks beneath me are sharp and unforgiving, tearing at the soles of my feet until blood mingles with the current. My voice hurts as I call to you, straining to be heard over the crashing rapids:

“Come with me.”

There is desperation in the way my hand stretches out towards you. I don’t know how long I can stay here. The water is cold, the current relentless, and every step I take is harder than the last. My muscles contort as I try to keep myself upright as I look to you.

I’ve been here before, wading through these same waters. The calluses on my feet rubbed raw. The many times I’ve hoped that you’d see what’s on the other side. That this time, you’d take my hand.

But you don’t move.

And here I am, stranded in the middle of this river. Wondering if my efforts are worth the bodily damage.

I can see your face now, turned toward me but distant as if the roar of the river between us has drowned out my voice entirely. Or maybe you’ve just stopped listening.

I tell myself to keep trying, that maybe you just need more time, more reassurance, more effort from me. But the longer I stand, the more I feel the water pulling at my legs, the rocks slicing deeper into my skin. I begin to wonder if this is all that is left of this journey we’ve been on. The wading in waters. To fight what is coming is cataclysmic, this is nature. For the river doesn’t care, a venturer like me would know.

And when I feel the inevitable occur this time, I silently resign. Whatever it was worth, I know I always tried.

I tried.

My legs give out, and I sink into the water. The current tugs at me, pushing me downstream. I let it take me because I can’t fight anymore. My hand falls to my side, empty. The words I’ve shouted across this river dissolve into the rush of the current, swallowed whole.

And as I drift away my only hope is that you’re happy.

I’ll send you letters about my adventures. And maybe one day that will be enough for me. For now, it will always sting putting the pen to the paper. Because you were meant to be there with me.

But that’s the dream.

It always ends the same. But as I wake up, it won’t haunt me anymore.

#collection of chaos #writing #the things i never said

I see you, you don't see me

“Here I am, expecting just a little bit Too much from the wounded But I see, see through it all See through, see you” -3 Libras, A Perfect Circle (2000)

I have always been addicted to literary criticism. When analyzing a text, I can normally find a multitude of different ways to interpret it. I will dig into words and find meaning behind them– searching for connections and evidence like a fool, all in the name of understanding something deeper. And I’d like to say that my love of reading between the lines stopped at my passion for literature. But anyone who knows me knows that it simply isn't true. I analyze everything and everyone, deeply.

I’m a contrarian when it comes to the idea that people are innately bad. I believe there is always a cause or reason for people's behaviors, whether that can be measured or not. Whether a person knows it or not. Everything comes from something, and it is when you begin to evaluate people closely, that you realize that most of their actions often stem from something they experienced, or something deep within them. And maybe that’s why, at my core, I have always tried to lead with understanding. Because even those with the worst behaviors likely inherited those actions from some aspect of their life. Mental illness, trauma, underlying inner hatred– broken people, break others. I can speak on this as someone who has been both the villain and the victim in my life. I have had to work hard to analyze own my behaviors to fully grasp my experiences and reactions to things. In the process of learning more about myself, I was able to better perceive others. I think understanding that we are all human is important to being more empathetic. However, that doesn't mean that we should ever excuse bad behaviors in others for the sake of understanding. I can understand why a person is the way that they are, but the way they treat me as a result doesn’t make it okay.

That was what you taught me.

I suppose in some ways, it was my fault for falling so deep down the rabbit hole. I will give it to you, you are mysterious, and I have always been a sucker for a mystery. I’m sure that sentiment stroked your ego a bit since your aura of the hidden was something you always held so closely to you. So much so, that you never allowed anyone into your space. Anyone who got close to glancing through the cracks got pushed away. And I, foolish as it was, believed that if you allowed me in– if I saw you, then maybe you’d see me too.

There is a craft to your confinement. Never misstep, never misspeak. You’re very particular in the way you move. It must take a lot of energy to uphold the mask that you so carefully created. You told me once that you’d control their perception– that you could live so comfortably in fabrication. Which is funny, because I think at your core, you do want people to see you. But only if it’s on your terms.

You were so adamant that your persona wouldn’t break. You even took pride in the fact that you would only allow people to see what you wanted them to see. Well, besides me of course. It’s funny when you would show me more of what was beyond that wall, you’d tell me that I couldn’t venture further. I couldn’t do this or that because I knew too much. Yeah, okay.

Well, I hate to steal your thunder– but that facade never fooled me. I always found the person you created to be your most cowardly trait if I’m honest. You see, your most vulnerable moments were your most attractive to me. I always felt that any glimpse into that person I saw, the raw and unfiltered, was hauntingly beautiful. I think it's what made me stick around for so long. I just wanted to see if you ever had the bravery to put the mask down. I’m glad that I did manage to find pieces of that person, and I’m sure you hate that. There is a pride in knowing that in some ways, I touched you. I was closer than anyone ever had been before, maybe more than anyone ever would be– you even expressed this to me once. You may now despise that it’s the truth, and you can deny it.

But I know.

We both know.

Reflecting, my only mistake was thinking that I could change you. I was once a creature to the void too. I lived in that darkness, and I know how addicting it can be. The adrenaline from handling everything on your own, living in survival– it’s enough to keep you there. It can make you believe that it’s all you ever need. It tells you that you’re better off alone and it affirms every negative belief you’ve ever been told about and to yourself. There is comfort in knowing the familiarity of darkness. But if one never seeks to leave that cave, into the unknown, one can get stuck in the cycle.

There is a beauty and tragedy to the cyclical experiences in our life. We either break the cycle and understand ourselves better than ever; or we repeat it, forever and ever, wondering why the same outcome happens every time. And though it would be easy for me to point out your evident cycle, I instead want to focus on one of mine. One that plagued me throughout my own life.

See, you wouldn’t know this, because you didn’t bother to ask– but I was notorious for trying to fix people. From a young age, it was ingrained in me to never give up on those I cared about. Which can be an admirable thing, until those you care so deeply about destroy you. I would not give up on people to the point that it killed me. I encountered cycle after cycle of relationships with people who I broke myself trying to fix. It wasn’t admirable. It was never pretty. And it was certainly not worth it. I lost myself so many times, trying to morph myself into the safe place that others could find themselves in– I gave so much of my light away, that it would burn out.

Because despite what you may have read and seen in the movies, other people cannot save you. It is the individual that must save themselves. That was a rough thing to learn for the empath in me. The bright-eyed, open-hearted, optimist in me, who just wanted to give people the love I thought they deserved. I know you. You’d ask me if it was worth it. You’d tell me I only have myself to blame– and you’re right, my nihilist. I shouldn’t have been so willing to risk everything on a gamble. I was naive to think that I could save anyone because it’s just not how it works. But hey, that was my cycle. That was my own lesson to learn. And I had to break it to know what I do now.

Our experience was rock bottom for me– a turning point if you will. It made me recognize and analyze myself in ways that I never had before. I actually want to thank you for that. It was because of my death after you, that I was able to be reborn again stronger than ever before. And unlike before, there is no wavering of ever allowing myself to go through that again. And trust me, I have been tested.

What we went through was transformational. If not for you, it certainly was for me. You see, I try to grow from everything I’ve experienced. I reflect, and when things go to shit– I make something beautiful out of it. I’m creative in that way. The patterns of my past behaviors no longer relate to the person I am now. I’m better off because of what was. I share myself authentically with the world with no inhibitions, I can finally express all of these thoughts in a way I never could to you. The places where I once tiptoed in fear of being too much, have become a stomping ground of new territory and excitement. I write my innermost thoughts and display them for the world– and those who see me through it are the ones I hold my space for. I wonder if this will ever be the case for you. If you’d ever be brave enough to step outside of what you’ve known.

My hope for you is that one day you will find it within yourself to remove those barriers around you– that you let the light in. To be free of the cycles you self-prophesized. That you find a solution to the emptiness inside you. I want you to know that now, I only feel apathy towards you. What once shook me to my core and infiltrated my bones, passes through like an old memory. I don’t hate you. I don’t think I ever could. And I don’t regret you either. I’m glad that we met because you freed me in so many ways– ways that you would never understand. And maybe in that way, in your misunderstanding of my nature; I will always remain a mystery to you too.

Because you never saw me, like I saw you.

#the things i never said #writing #collection of chaos

The next twenty-five

I enter my 25th year very soon– which is crazy to think about.

Here I am, writing this post, reflecting on the past years of my existence on this earth. I already have done and seen so much– things I will forever try to catch up on telling the stories about. My character has been pulled in different directions and I have seen myself navigate the different challenges I’ve faced– all that came full circle, one way or another. Life has a funny way of doing that.

When I entered my twenties, I worried what it would look like to be twenty-five. I wondered how I would feel about it. Would I be disappointed? Would I feel a sense of impending doom? Would I have a sense of quarter-life crisis? I truly wasn’t sure.

It is humorous that I thought I’d be a lot more freaked out about it. Sure, I have been examining my face a bit closer and I am now witnessing the affects of aging. My baby fat disappating from my cheeks. The way my various expressions have begun to crease my forehead. How sore I get from a simple workout. Everything has become more apparent that time is only moving forward. I assumed that these physical signs would create a sense of chaos within me– but lately, there has been a shift in my mindset. Call it divine intervention. Maybe everything is finally aligning and I’m seeing things more clearly. Maybe my frontal lobe has just developed.

Regardless, all I can say is that I’m actually feeling quite the opposite of a woman in crisis. As I write this, I feel illuminated. Excited about life– more than I ever have been. I think this has stemmed from a recent understanding of what I want out of my life, and my purpose. Both of which have only become more apparent to me as I took time to ask myself the questions about what I really wanted to do from here on out. I have known I was entering a new phase of life for a while, and I wanted to be prepared.

As I mentioned in previous posts, I spent the majority of 2024 really delving deep into myself. It was a bit of hermit year– so much so that people around me were concerned because I wasn’t going out as often anymore. The truth is, though I have definitely isolated myself, it was never in vain or sorrow. It has actually come from a place of needing to be alone and have my life completely centered around myself. And thank god for that inner knowing. Because without this time I’ve taken for myself, I wouldn’t have been able to understand what it is I need and desire. It is through this period of inner transformation that the complete rejection of accepting less and the boundaries surrounding my peace have become so simple. I no longer feel a threat of what is needed or expected of me, because I know what I need and expect for myself. This time around– this new life, this new era, I am finally in control.

Knowing I am in control of my future gives me an inner thrill and lust for life. I sit here, completely inspired to finally take control of my narrative and chase that adrenaline I always crave in a way that feels right to me. I get more time to shape my future and that is such a blessing.

When I’ve thought back on the past years, the feeling of confinement, misunderstanding, and fear comes to mind. I empathize with the past version of myself. I believe there was always someone else’s narrative that constantly shaped my life, my personality, my desires, and my wants. I was always searching for validation from others, and I let this need for approval dictate how I went about my life. I got stuck in the conventional train– you know, that overbearing story that gets pushed onto us at an early age. I idealized so much of that narrative because that is what I was told I should want. And when things did not work out as I had believed they should, I was devastated. I put an unrealistic timeline on myself. By this time, you should’ve done this. But now, as I enter my mid-twenties I see that chasing a timeline is bullshit. It is! Because how can we expect to follow the same timeline as everyone else when our lives and desires are so different from one another?

I lost track of what fed my soul, in hopes of appeasing the societal expectations.

I was caught up being worried that I wouldn’t have money, a house, or a perfect career, that I stopped being able to discern if any of that truly mattered to me. And though those comforts of stability are always a great thing to strive for, I realized that for me– those things were never the goal. Those things that I will find in time, are not something that defines my life and existence.

Luckily, I no longer feel tied to societal expectations. I have not once in my life fit the mold of what has been expected and I am tired of trying to fit into it. My life would be boring if I did anyways. I feel like a new book is beginning. I want to be clear that I have no regrets about how my life has gone thus far because it led me to this very place. I have already done, seen, and accomplished so much– regardless of what can be measured by others. But I am also ready to change the genre, and make my story even grander than before.

Perspective is everything. I now can understand why people say that twenty-five is so young. Because yes, I am still a child navigating this world, one who has been completely reborn. We are all children to the world, if you think about it. We are always growing and evolving. It is only our view of ourselves that change. Children look at the world through eyes of curiosity and magic. When did we lose this ability? Why have we allowed anything or anyone take that from us? How do we realign with that aspect of ourselves?

This year I believe the universe had begun drilling into my head the need to reconnect with my inner child. When I was a little girl, there was one thing I knew; I wanted to live a life full of adventure and I wanted to be able to tell the stories about that life. I never wanted to feel like I let any stone unturned when I died. I didn’t want to look back saying, “Man, I should’ve done that.” Everything was special because I got to experience it. And those little things that we all begin to take for granted, were once the most inspiring things to me. A ride on a bus. Buying my own groceries. Going to the movies. It is the simple things that can bring you joy when you value them like a child would. It was through my younger voice, that I have found my future belonging. When you look at things in perspective, there is actually no gap in guidance that comes from an adult and a child. I see now that we can learn just as much from the children as they can learn from us– and I have learned so much about life by validating and understanding that child within me.

I now know what I want going into this new era. I want to search for those things. The little things that feed my soul. The moments that make me feel that magic again. That sense of adventure, the adrenaline, is all I think I will ever truly need.

On November 7th, I rented a hotel by myself for the first time. How cool is that? Okay, stay with me here. Yes, I’m an adult and this is something that many have done time and time again. On paper, this is probably not monumentous to the average person. But when I really took it in I kept thinking to myself; how lucky am I to be able to do this? When I was a child, I had dreams of getting to be an adult and do these things. Why not celebrate this? These little new experiences can be exciting, we should be able to relish in that! And truthfully, I don’t care if you find that to be lame. I honestly could care less about what people think about me nowadays, because I’m finally living for myself– and I’m tired of not romanticizing every moment.

So yeah. I rented a hotel room. I got to relax and read a book. I wrote some more of the plot for my novel and life felt like a dream.

I know it is so mundane. But that doesn’t mean we can’t find appreciation in it. I think with everything going on in the world right now, I am more determined than every to find beauty in this chaotic world. To really relish in what it is I am so privileged and lucky to experience. I’m now so much more appreciative and forever grateful to be able to do the mundane. Because not everyone can, and not everyone who does finds the beauty in it.

So, I have begun to romanticise and take in the opportunities I have. I am living in beautiful Flagstaff, Arizona and I am a student at Northern Arizona University. I will graduate this year. And I am thrilled to say that I’m currently creating a novel that I really believe in. It is that feeling of absolute thrill that lets me know that I am exactly where I need to be. I am present.

As I find peace in my present, I search for the things that fuel me. I have taken more advantage of the time I have left here in Flagstaff– venturing to do things I never have before. I went to a musical at the Coconino Center for the Arts the other day. I haven’t been to a play in ages. But I knew I wanted to finally, after four years living in this town, see and experience more of it. I had forgotten how alive I feel in the presence of other creatives. How much music, singing, and the arts touches and inspires me. Everytime I go to watch a play, I feel this way.

Admittingly, there were times while I was watching it that I zoned out. There were moments during the performance that I found myself wondering what my last era of life would have looked like if I had challenged my upbringing more. What if I had completely dove headfirst into the creative aspect of myself? Pursed the arts over athletics. How might my life have looked? But then I recognized that maybe it was those years of my life that prepared me for these moments now. I can now, be a creative and completely appreciate it for what it is. I can have a deeper relationship to the arts than I maybe ever would have. In that realization, I was moved by how happy I was to be there. It has made me understand that I need much more of this in my life. Even if I didn’t have the opportunities to delve into this aspect of my soul’s desires for the first quarter of my existence; I know now that this is the focus. This inner calling and pull to the creative side of me is the future pursuit.

So, I am unapologetically going to follow those dreams, the desires that I believe I was always meant to nurture.

You wanna know something else? This musical that I watched had a protagonist that was a writer– something that has been occurring a lot in the media that I’ve consumed. I feel like it’s just another sign. So much so, that I’ve begun to nod everytime its happened. Like, yes universe, I hear you, I feel you. I see it so clearly now. This has been what my path has always been shaping me towards. I’m finally identifying as a writer and not feeling imposter syndrome for once. I even introduced myself as a writer that night and I didn’t hesitate at all when I said it. It was natural, because it was true. I am the protagonist of my own life, and I happen to be a writer. How relieving it is to know that identity– to know that from the journey of being lost, I have found my true calling.

The adventurer, the writer.

With these things so intrinsically apart of me, I am ready for what is to come. The direction is nothing and everything. Because I know not where I’m going, but I do know that the journey is what excites me. I feel really fortunate to know that. I can create my own reality and shape my experiences based on what it is I want in life. And as my future unfolds, I plan to fall deeply into the sense of adventure, with others or alone– I don’t care. I walk this path, and no person can sway me from it.

I want to see the museums and well crafted literature.

I want to feel the adventure in far off exotic lands.

I want to taste the foods and all-consuming literature.

I want to hear the live music and dance to its tune.

I want to feel so deeply that my heart cannot contain it.

And I want to write all about it.

This is what life has in store for me. This is the road of my next twenty-five years and beyond; and how can I not be elated about that? I have everything I could ever ask for and more. I have a family I love, the most beautiful inner circle of friends, and an inner confidence and drive for freedom. Whatever is thrown at me I see as another opportunity to grow, because I’m lucky to get to experience these things.

So yes, I am turning twenty-five, and the world is not ending. My world, my life, is only beginning again. I am reborn. And as I gaze into what this next chapter holds, I bravely look ahead knowing it will be better than I can ever imagine or put into words. May you too, find what it is that drives you. I hope that you understand what it is that you want out of this life– forget the material and societal expectations. Push all that holds you back aside. Chase those stories that you wish to tell one day. Because that is what matters.

We only get to live this life once, so make it something worth writing about.

#ramblings and reflections #writing #turning 25 #inner child #collection of chaos

My relationship to change

Change is a powerful thing.

The relationship with myself has been the pinnacle of my life. My best friends have called me a phoenix, referring to different phases of my life. I have died many times in the process of change. This process was something I used to rage against. Change was inherently apart of my nature and yet, for so long I resented it. I hated that the familiar was constantly shifting. The chaos of life was a negative thing because there was no control or guarantee on what would happen. What was to become was always scarier than what was comfortable. I think this is why for a very long time peace was merely a concept to me– much like freedom. Because when your conscious mind fights so hard to resist change, your subconscious never finds rest.

Change is the only thing, other than death, that is guaranteed.

In recognizing that, I found answers.

In accepting it, I found peace

Understanding the subconscious, in whatever way I can, has been the key in my healing. This past year, I have worked incredibly hard to return back to a state of equilibrium within myself. I have been patient. I had to be. Because with accepting change, you also have to realize it is a process. There is no set timeframe to periods of transition. Sometimes it can be a flash of a moment and sometimes it can take years. Going into this new shift, I knew that I had to approach things differently with how I navigated my emotions towards myself. I knew I had to trust time.

And let me tell you, it is hard to be patient with yourself.

It would've been easy for me to find frustration in this process. I know I have before. But I had to practice patience everyday and acknowledge everything I was feeling. It was through my gradual understanding of patience that I understood that frustration with myself was actually a manifestation of my resistance. Any anger towards not being at my inner goal was ignoring the process of change rather than trusting in it. It was a lack of self-compassion. Because I would never tell or expect anyone else to suddenly wake up one day and be brand new. I wouldn’t expect anyone who is evolving to be perfect on their journey. And I would not give them a timeframe in which they needed to accomplish their goals. Because goals take time in order to reach them.

Something that really helped, was that I have allowed myself bad days. “Bad” days, or those days where I thought I took a step back from where I was going, would depress me in the past. I would guilt myself for not being “on track,” but being on track is an illusion. A path, sometimes, has winding roads. Sometimes, you can trip or stub your toe. And trust when I say that I have had many days where I have stubbed my toe. But instead of feeling the need to turn around– I took a breath, addressed the wound, and got back up. Because I knew at the end of the day, I was still on my way. This was the journey. That was the acceptance that I found in the process. That was how I walked alongside change, rather than running from it.

As I write this today, I see the light as I walk into the new era. I have found myself more sensitive and emotional this week, without much knowing of why. There has been the overwhelming need to release, and I wondered if there was something that I wasn’t addressing; something I wasn’t coming to terms with or avoiding. Because these feelings of emotion did not seem to have a particular reason. And the more confused I was, the more I started to recognize that this was not an issue of pain or hurt from the past. It was not grief.

It was the relief.

This was my subconscious telling me thank you.

Because for the first time in my life, I have chosen myself. I have fought through fear and uncomfortableness. I have loved myself. I have allowed myself to assert boundaries. I have embraced change fully. And now I have never been more content and at peace in myself than I ever have. These tears I release come from the inner child within me, I know it. Because this time, through this transition, I have not abandoned myself. And I am proud.

The peace that I have longed for, the acceptance I craved, the love, the bravery, the strength– I have found it all within myself.

I don’t recognize the version of myself from almost a year ago as wild as it may sound. Because I am still me, but my mindset has evolved. I once gave all of myself to the world recklessly. Putting my soul into the hands of others, those who didn’t knew how to nurture it and I accepted the damage that caused. I was a willing participant in my own demise, hoping that by sacrificing myself, that I would somehow find my peace. But no more.

Today, the extension to which I allow others into my life is through the boundaries that I have found and always needed. I couldn’t allow others to destroy my peace anymore because I needed to protect her. I won’t allow anyone to threaten my inner world ever again. This peace is not worth losing myself over. The ones who get to know me, the ones who journey with me, are extensions of my peace and not a detriment to it.

And it’s funny, because I now know my strength, I am able to be more myself than I ever have. There is a paradox in my expression. I once believed that giving every aspect to the point of unrecognizability was the true definition of being free. But what I didn’t realize was that merely only became the over giver, an overextension. I gave everything waiting for people to see me. Now, people will see me because I give everything to myself. My life and my desires, my needs, are all met by nurturing my inner voice.

I write these blogs, for me.

I write my future novel, for me.

I write the story of my life, for me.

And in this way, I am more open than I have ever been. In this way, I have found the most insurmountable amount of peace. I am freer than I ever have been. And I am relieved, because I have grown and transitioned into a version of myself that I can finally be proud of for once. I’ve become a friend to change. Now, it excites me.

Because what is this peace without change?

#Ramblings and Reflections #change #writing #collection of chaos

Fifteen

“I’ll be number fifteen.”

Coach Lincoln handed me my large-sized jersey, the only one with sleeves long enough to cover my arms. I held it like a gift.

And when I tried it on, it was saggy– especially in the chest area of my long but thin pre-pubescent frame. But I didn’t care, I figured one day that I would fill it out. It was perfect, to me. That royal blue, black, and white I would adorn as an official varsity member felt nothing short of a movie moment. Here I stood, the freshman nobody. The girl that wasn’t expected. The one who fought her way through try-outs until the very last moment, to secure her spot on this team. The spot that was added just to ensure I could have a place on it.

At that moment, I felt chosen. Seen. All the hours spent practicing, at tournaments– skipping birthdays, parties, and sleepovers, were worth it. My time dedicated to being the best athlete I could was acknowledged. I did it.

It felt like the beginning of something special, monumentous, and maybe even destined. I could imagine it all in my mind, how exciting the future ahead was. The crowds, the team, the fun nights of laughter, the memories, my growth as a player. I could not wait to play varsity. I felt like I was on top of the world. I was so elated, and felt so lucky.

If only I knew.

***

“We weren’t planning on having more than fourteen girls on the team,” Lincoln tells the varsity girls on our first day of practice. “So we will have to work around this. We will oftentimes have an odd number in drills.”

The odd number was me, of course. I learned this quickly when we were told to find a partner for our first warm-up drills. The pairs quickly formed as everyone grabbed a ball. As I grabbed my ball, I looked around trying to find another single but everyone is coupled up. I tried to brush this off, it had to be somebody. Besides, most of this team was full of returning players, six of which were seniors. You could tell right away who already had established friendships, and the ones who were already getting along great. I was at a disadvantage by being added so late in the try-out process. Most of the girls had gotten familiar with each other, while I wasn’t sure of everyone’s names yet. But it was okay, I figured the girls would get to know me more soon, and we would all be in this position of being the third wheel eventually. Right?

I scanned the court, looking at all the pairs chatting together. Even P, the other freshman whose tryout went significantly easier, seemed to click with her partner immediately. She was on the varsity court longer than me during tryouts— it made sense that she got to know some of the girls. I walked around awkwardly with a ball in my hand and I searched for a group who was willing to take me in, but they were all avoiding my eyes. Great. Nobody wanted to volunteer for me to join them. Nobody wanted me to pick them, and I’m not sure if it’s because adding a third person to a pair takes away their reps– or if it’s because it was me who would be joining them.

When the girls started to begin the drill I walked over to Lincoln awkwardly with an apologetic look on my face and ball in my hand. I hoped that he would take the pressure off of me and place me with a group. Instead, he just told me to just pick a pair– like it was an easy thing to do. Feeling even more pathetic, I set the ball I had back into the cart and walked over to the least intimidating pair I could find. I confidently asked if I could join them. Or at least I hoped they thought I was confident in asking. In reality, my words came out a lot more timid than I hoped. They obliged but didn’t seem too thrilled. Or at least I gathered when they stopped talking to each other once I joined them. I tried to ignore the feeling of hurt— it would only intensify the anxiety I was already feeling anyway. At that point, I was just relieved that I was in a group.

Throughout partner drills, I was putting my full focus into everything that I did.

Watch the ball to my platform.

Call the ball every time.

Be quick on my feet.

I knew I had something to prove. I knew the fifteenth spot was an afterthought. I knew that I wasn’t a part of the plan. It was imperative that at all times, I was perfect. Because I couldn’t let that decision to add me, be a mistake.

Coach Lincoln and Assistant Coach Hall watched all of us intently, but I felt their eyes on me especially. I tried my hardest to never give them any reason to correct me. Correction, at this point in my career and in my mind, was equivalent to failure. This belief was always affirmed by the way my teammates stared at me when I was corrected— like I should’ve known better. They seemed annoyed when I asked something or when I did make an error during a drill. I felt pressure all the time to never make mistakes. There was no safety net in this environment– only survival. But this is varsity, I told myself. This is the role of the freshman.

Admittingly, all of our practices started the same. My third-wheel situation also became a regular thing. It was incredibly isolating knowing that I was the one girl on the team who never seemed to find a partner. And it wasn't like the girls didn’t switch around– they did! Just not with me. I would try to ask some teammates before practice if they wanted to partner up, but strangely everyone seemed to always have another girl in mind. I would smile and nod, but my anxiety only rose as the practices went on. I didn’t know what to do or why I was always the odd one out. Was this some precursor to my Varsity acceptance? Was being the fifteenth girl to join also combined with the role of always being the add-on? It was beginning to feel that way. It felt personal. Even still, I tried my best to be nice to everyone and not step on anyone's toes.

Normally after partner drills, we would then begin to serve. I wasn’t a great server. In fact, when I was in seventh grade on my first club volleyball team, I had a hard time getting the ball over the net when I served overhand. Back then I was really lanky and just didn’t have the strength to do it. It was discouraging and for a long while, stunted my growth in serving in comparison to the other girls my age. I remember back then my dad told me not to worry– that one day I would be more than capable of getting the ball over. One day, I wouldn’t even have to think about it. He was right of course because by that next club year, I was strong enough to not only get the ball over but serve it out of bounds! There I was, an eighth grader, so thrilled that I was getting stronger. But admittedly, I couldn’t serve the ball to particular areas of the court yet. This was something a lot of girls my age were starting to get good at and something that I was barely beginning to figure out. By the time I tried out for this team, I was a better server— just not a controlled one. Understandably, I wasn’t the strongest at this drill. And comparing my skillset to my teammates around me didn’t help for my confidence.

When we served different areas in practice, I was probably the least accurate. I pretended that I was not. I knew that the more reps I got, I would start to blend into the pack. But until I got there, I had to convince myself that I wasn’t completely behind. I couldn’t be behind– that was the expectation that the others seemed to set. In the early days of this team, there was no camaraderie; and if there was I certainly never felt it. I didn’t feel supported by my teammates as I stood among them. If we were a pack of wolves, I was the lone wolf. The runt in the back always trying twice as hard to keep up with the pack. I had to mentally tell myself that I was meant to be on this team, I was their equal. But there was always a brooding feeling that if I fell behind, this team would leave me there.

It didn’t matter if I was the tallest on the team, I was always the smallest.

I felt this way all the time– like no matter what I did, I wouldn’t be seen as up to the standard that was set around me. My efforts to bond with my other teammates in between plays, just like they did with each other, fell flat.

I remember this one time in particular; two girls were laughing about something and I was standing right next to them. Overhearing the conversation, I chuckled with them and tried adding another funny comment. I couldn’t tell you what I said, but if I worked up the courage to say it, it had to have been decently humorous. But man, they did not think so. Actually, the only thing that was funny to them was my audacity of even speaking to them.

They both laughed awkwardly and looked at each other as if I was an alien. You know, they gave each other that look like, “Oh god the weird kid is talking to us.” And that was when my fears solidified in my mind that I was not wanted on this team. I was actively being rejected by the varsity body and I didn’t know how to mend it. I just tried to be as sweet as possible from then on out, as awkward as I was. I didn’t give any input or try to crack a joke anymore because the last thing I wanted to do was give the team any more reason to not like me.

After we served, we’d typically go into drills where we mimic gameplay. It’d be high-intensity and always the bulk of the practice, normally six-on-six. At first, the game was almost too fast for me, and I was intimidated every time one of the seniors hit the ball. I worried that I wouldn’t react fast enough, that I’d get nailed in the face. But I always reacted fast enough, and over time I adjusted to the pace. I was thankful that one of my greatest attributes throughout my life was the ability to adapt. Without adaptability, I would’ve floundered. Luckily, the coaches were right about this at least. Choosing to have me play on varsity made me better.

But even as the practices went on, and that gap in ability seemed to close, there was still a constant state of peril that my body was in. Every practice, my senses were heightened, and my anxiety told me that I had to be perfect.

My heart rate was constantly rapid, but I don’t think it was ever from exhaustion. Water breaks were my five seconds of relief where I didn’t have to perform, and I could breathe. I dreaded when those seconds ended because my body always went back into that fight or flight mode.

The relief I felt when Lincoln called the team in for our final huddle before ending practice was euphoric. It was the best part of practice! We’d wrap up any additional thoughts, and then he would ask the girls if there was anyone that they wanted to acknowledge that day for their efforts. In this early time, I never was acknowledged. Not once. And as much as that bothered me, I was just glad that practice was over. We would take down the nets, count the balls, and put away the water jug. Most of the girls stayed behind after taking off their shoes and ankle braces to chat a little longer, but I didn’t. They didn’t want to talk to me anyway. I couldn’t get out of there fast enough. I knew Mom was waiting for me outside, so after gathering all my stuff, I would rush out to the car.

When I’d hop in the front seat, the first thing she would always ask me was how practice went. Sometimes, I would tell her it was good. Sometimes, I’d tell her it was okay. And sometimes, all the pressure that built up inside me just couldn’t handle the question. Some times, I would sob on the car ride home.

But that was just the beginning.

#From the Outside #volleyball #volleyball experience #varsity vollyball #writing

The former athlete

While lying in my bed writing this, my body is completely wrecked.

If I had known that after a little over two years of not playing volleyball, I would wake up the next couple of days feeling like I got run over by a train, I would’ve probably never signed up for this class. Well, what else did you expect supergirl?

As I pop another painkiller, I’ve completely accepted that once this semester is over, I will not step foot on a volleyball court again with the intent to play. Shockingly, I’m okay with that. Sure, I know my body will adapt, and the fact that I can’t turn my neck to my left will eventually subside as the weeks go on, and maybe the pain that I’m feeling is exaggerating my feelings about this. But there is a glaring sign that this chapter of my life is at a close:

It didn’t feel worth it to me.

All of my old teammates and coaches are side-eyeing me right now.

Because how can a woman who dedicated the last fifteen years of her life to being an athlete not want to return to it? Some would kill for the opportunity to play again and here I am complaining.

I almost feel selfish in admitting that, but I promised to be real. And if I’m being truthful, there was not a moment while I was playing that didn’t feel like it was a chore.

Maybe if I were to play with my old college teammates I would have a different perspective, but I can’t for the life of me imagine being on the court again and feeling emotionally fulfilled by it. I took this class because I wanted to do it with my sister, and I hoped to get into better shape again– clearly, I needed that. But the decision to suit up in my old knee pads and ankle braces never came from the notion that I missed it. That’s what I struggle with.

I’ve thought a lot about my career since I stopped playing during the height of the Covid lockdown. I have waited long for that moment to happen. The moment that all coaches and all former athletes tell you about through your career– the day that you’d do anything to go back in time and play again. To be fair, maybe that moment hasn’t come for me yet. But as the days since being an athlete pass, and that life seems further and further from my identity, I wonder if I ever will experience that moment.

As I slumped into bed after class, already aching, my sister laughed, “I thought you were going to take it easy today?”

We both found humor in the fact that I was practically debilitated. Unlike me, she was still playing in some rec leagues, so she’s not sore like me. And trust me, I really did try to take it easy. In fact, I guarantee if you were to ask my former coaches, I wasn’t doing nearly enough to be considered great. Though given the fact my entire thigh hurts to put pressure on, I probably could’ve afforded to let a ball or two drop. But maybe that was the problem. I realized that no matter how much time has passed, or no matter what the stakes are– when it comes to sports I simply do not know how to take it easy.

Athletic performance is a performance. I have come to a point in my engagement with sport that I do not know how to not perform. Maybe that is why it is exhausting to me not only physically, but mentally. Taking plays off or giving half-assed effort is completely unacceptable. We are not taught as athletes to be average, only our best. And so, my body suffers.

“That’s what you get for going all out!” My mom said light-heartedly after I told her about my bedridden state.

“Hey, it’s not my fault it’s muscle memory at this point. I wasn’t yelled at by [redacted] for years just to let a ball drop!” I responded. We both found humor in this, and I’m glad that now I can in some aspects.

It made me wonder though. Am I a person who was great at sports but never loved them, or was the love of sports something that was taken from me through time? Would I perhaps have already had my moment if I didn’t have such a bad taste in my mouth after what had occurred in my career? If I had experienced a lifetime of great coaches who didn’t tear me down, would I have missed being an athlete? Would the pain that I am experiencing now feel worth it to me? I hope the more that I delve into it, those answers will become clear to me.

There was some good to come from playing again though. Playing as a former athlete vs. a current athlete is different. It relieved a lot of the pressure that I used to put on myself when I played. I didn’t have the same desire to impress or perform for everyone that I once did. It wasn’t as intense. The eyes that watched me were suddenly quieter and funnily enough, I played along in the smack talk between players. I would’ve never done that as a current athlete. I was always a person who let my playing do the talking for me. But as a former athlete with nothing to lose? Hell, bring it on. It was fun to play into the banter, all good-spirited of course. In the past, if I even considered competitive banter, and couldn’t back it up, I would’ve felt humiliated. Now, if someone talks smack, I see it as a challenge to rise to, not to back away from. If I lose? Bring it on, it won’t happen again.

Have I really become more confident in my abilities as a former athlete than when I was currently playing? Was I compensating for the fact I wasn’t in my prime anymore? Maybe. But then again, as someone who never dared to have confidence out of fear of cockiness; it felt great to finally stand there and say yeah, come and get me, I dare you.

In that way, maybe there is something that can be learned from taking this volleyball course and getting back into it. Even if it’s not exactly the fun time I expected it to be, maybe there is still more to learn about my relationship to athleticism throughout it. I can’t promise that I’m going to always look forward to it, but maybe this is a way for me to have a sense of closure with volleyball that I never truly got to have. Maybe as these weeks continue, and my body finally grows stronger again, my understanding of my athletic side will deepen as well.

And here I thought I was done having growing pains.

#Tales of the Athlete #athletics #former athlete #athlete confessions #writing

To the emotional ones

There was once a great shame in the fact that I was an emotional person.

To cry was to be weak, or so I had told myself. This belief, engrained into me from a young age, is probably something many of my fellow “cryers” are familiar with. It was a narrative that had plagued many of years existing on this earth. Throughout my childhood I would be watching movies that moved me in such a way that I could feel tightness gather in my throat. There, I would sit swallowing that nagging lump, hoping to God that no one noticed the glossiness of my eyes. Because when people noticed, they’d talk. I can still hear the comments.

Can you believe that so and so cried?

It wasn’t even that sad or moving.

Look at them, that’s so embarrassing.

Really, they seriously cried?

Oh. Well, I sure as hell didn’t. Obviously. Because to be a cryer, was to admit that I wasn’t as strong or mature as the others– I was a mere child who couldn’t handle my feelings. And that certainly wasn’t acceptable. So I spent much of my time holding my breath through the moments that would really touch me; all in the name of being the unbreakable person that I believed the world wanted me to be.

Of course, I’d be lying if I said that stopped me from being a cryer. No. I was guilty of having a trembling lip every time I had to express anything overtly powerful or heavy. If you were to ask me if I was okay, when I clearly wasn’t– I would cry. And if I were to be so pissed off to the point of no return, I did not shout at you, I would cry. And if I were to think too hard about how beautiful a moment was, I would cry. Because what else was my body meant to do, when I felt so strongly about something and had no other way to express it?

I resented so badly the moments I felt my cheeks flush with emotion.

Stop it. Do not cry. You cannot cry. Please, just not here.

When I was in sixth grade, I got my first F on a math test. Prior to that, I had stellar grades that never dipped below a 4.0, so naturally this was the end of the world and I would never recover. After class, I ran into the girl’s bathroom and flushed my test down the toilet. As I stood there silently weeping in a stall, my main concern was what people would think if they noticed my swollen eyelids. I knew I could not leave that stall until I was presentable. I hoped I could get it together quickly; wiping my face frantically anytime a tear fell, cursing myself, and trying to forget about how upset I was. I remember that day in particular because there was a special event going on in the auditorium. Every year, scuba divers would come to the school and show us a slideshow of the many beautiful sea creatures that they found on their journey. I loved it, to say the least. But that year I spent every minute of the presentation in a bathroom stall because god forbid anyone knew that I was that upset about a math test. That I cried. That I cared.

But crying when you are sad is a given. Or at least in my world, it was. It was more acceptable to cry when I was sad, even if I still tried my best to hide it. I could somewhat accept my tears of disappointment, but the ones that fell from joy or sympathy? Well, those were completely unwarranted. I believed so intrinsically that those tears were the embarrassing ones. Those were the ones that nobody could see.

I was seventeen the first time I allowed a tear to fall from my face that wasn’t from sorrow. I was in a packed theatre watching the 2017 live-action Beauty and the Beast– I know, I know. But when the Beast sang the song Evermore, I sat in that old theater seat beginning to feel that familiar sting. I blinked and swallowed.

Nope.

We don’t do that.

You’re being dramatic.

And everything would have gone as designed until I heard it. A small sniffle that came from a seat above me. Someone else was crying.

There was a moment of disbelief and maybe inner judgment that rolled through me. I just couldn’t believe it. But those feelings of criticism were suddenly replaced by a flicker of validation. Knowing that I wasn’t the only one who was so moved by the scene somehow affirmed to me that I wasn’t wrong for suddenly having the urge to cry. And as they sniffled again, I contemplated why I wasn’t allowing myself to cry either. This movie, though with its flaws (the original movie is my favorite), touched me deeply; and there I was trying so hard to deny that fact. And for what? To break my sense of pride in the fact that I hadn’t allowed myself to shed a tear while watching a film? Why was that something to be proud of? Who, if anyone, was I trying to impress– prove myself to? It was normal for people to cry during movies. To feel something when consuming art.

A sense of revelation consumed me as I sat looking up at the screen. I realized then and there that I should be free to express how I feel. It hurt to hold back my emotions anyway. And so, in the glow of the cinema light, I allowed myself to cry while watching a movie.

And nobody shamed me for it.

From that day on, I began to come to terms with the fact that I was an emotional person. The negative connotation around that fact became more irritating to me as time went on. I didn’t understand why our culture and society was so against strong expressions of feelings. Why was a person depicted as immature, unstable, or crazy for being outwardly emotive? A pet peeve of mine formed when I recognized how often emotional people are often disreguarded when they try to express themselves. It seemed to me there was a belief that the minute a person cried, that they lost their control– that they couldn’t handle whatever situation they found themselves in. But just because society often tells us emotion as weakness, doesn’t mean that it’s true. It doesn’t mean that society is right.

I began to dismantle my ideas of what an emotional person was, and through that I learned so much more about what it meant to be brave. Because to feel outwardly in a world that criticized you for it, was brave.

From then on, if I felt the urge to cry, I allowed myself to. In whatever form it came in, I knew it felt much better than holding it in. There are still moments to this day, of course, when I have been scrutinized or picked on for having big feelings. It doesn’t bother me as it once did. I’ve had to work very hard not to apologize for crying and to help others around me understand that the act of being moved to tears is not a negative expression, it is simply just expression. And expression is beautiful. Because who are we, as humans, if not the emotions we share? What kind of lives have we lived, if not ones of great emotional movement? To the nihilist, life doesn’t have a definite purpose, and perhaps that’s true. But then, what do we do with our lives? What purpose can we find in it? How do we create meaning in a meaningless life?

I say it is to feel. To live is to feel.

And I was tired of not feeling.

I knew deep down that if my core belief and purpose was to experience all that life had to offer me– I needed to reevaluate how I viewed my emotions.

By allowing myself to be more honest with myself, I felt much lighter. The heaviness of emotions inside of me no longer felt like baggage to carry the more I released it from my body. I was able to explore my relationship to my emotions in ways I never had before. Granted, it took me finding a strong inner circle for me to explore just that. If I was going to live as authentically and true to myself as I desired, I needed to learn that there was nothing wrong with being labeled “emotional.” And truthfully, it wasn’t always pretty. In the beginning of this new journey of self-acceptance, at times there was a brutal and explosive nature to my feelings. After years of holding back, it was understandable that the rawness of my emotions would at times get the best of me. I just didn’t know how to handle them once they started flowing out.

From moments of fiery rage, to the overstimulating essence of joy, I became quite the extremist. Looking back now, there was beauty in that. No longer was there a containment surrounding my soul, but an inner wildness that drove me to understand myself much deeper than I ever had before. I often thank my people around me for sticking beside me through those times, and reminding me that it was okay to feel passionately in the way I did. It showed me that I could be accepted, even and especially in the times when I felt those worries of being weak or a lot to handle. I’m an emotional person and those who know that about me embrace me for it.

Those are the people I am authentic with.

Those are the people who get to see all of me.

Tears and all.

When you begin to break down old belief systems, the labels that once chained you to an identity no longer hold the same weight. An identity that I once deeply resented became one that I loved. Today I am much better at navigating and expressing my emotions in a healthy way, giving myself the patience to navigate them, trust them, understand them. Because emotions themselves are meant to be understood, not hidden. Truthfully, I would be remiss and I wouldn’t be myself if I didn’t feel everything as deeply as I did. It would be a great injustice if I held myself back from expressing all that I am. Even if some think I’m a too much– even I’m to be judged for it. Because it is a powerful thing to feel intensely.

I place too much value in expression to ever be shameful of that aspect of me again. I would much rather live a life of complexity and depth, than one of holding back. To declare that I reveled in every opportunity I had to feel. Even if that feeling were pain, at least I knew I got to express it fully, unabashedly. I am strong when I feel and I become free when I am unapologetically, everything.

And I would rather be everything than nothing.

#Ramblings and Reflections #identity #emotional people #writing

Trending Blogs

Recently Viewed Blogs

a collection of chaos