Through this process of therapy has come a series of moments, of which I didn’t expect. Moments of intense and unabashed heartbreak. Moments of laughter and discovery. Moments of clarity. Moments of confusion.
There have been several times, as I am sure there will be several more, where the blinders have been ripped off. Where I stand, naked and shaking in the brightest sun. Secrets totally stripped, and I am lain bare. Where there is nothing but the truest essence of what I am, flayed open. Begging for acceptance and expecting nothing but the worst.
And I am still here. In one piece, or perhaps a collection of smaller pieces, somehow fashioned together. I am not what I expected I would be at this age. I am not where I expected I would be. I have not accomplished what I expected what I expected to accomplish.
What I have done is something less tangible, by way of scales and measures. What I have done is simply get up and walk. There have been times I have done it all wrong, there have been times I have done it without an ounce of grace. There are other times where I have surprised, even myself.
I do not have all of the things I’d wished I would have at 32. In other ways I have so much more. I have cast my long held wish of being a mother to the wind, if it comes back to me, then it comes. If it does not, then I will have other adventures to tend to.
I am in control of this vessel, and my time of terror is over. I am no longer a victim of the wind. Seeking what I want is not a selfish endeavor, rather a gift for me to give to myself and those who love me. Those who love me well. I am surrounded by those. Now it is time for me to be one of those, myself.