The only thing I hate more than failing is failing publicly. And since I haven't posted a picture in a long, long time it's painfully obvious that I failed my fourth 365. I let everyone and myself down. This post could be considered an excuse or and explanation but hopefully more an insight to how I was feeling during that time I was away.
Writing is hard and it takes time.
"If you do not breathe through writing, if you do not cry out through writing or sing in writing, then don't write because our culture has no use for it." - Anais Nin
I know this and I was committed because regardless of how difficult the process I love the results. I write to share and be heard; I write to put my unique story out into the universe. If you are wondering - there wasn't a single moment where I said, "That's it! I quit!" I missed a week in December, then another and another. Catching up became and overwhelming task. My blog, my labor of love became work. Work that I resented - work that I rebelled against. I wanted to play. I wanted to rest. I wanted to just enjoy the moment and not write a book report on it. In my anger and rebellion I forgot to see the light. I lost my own light.
I tried to fake it. I tried to put on the mask. But each attempt made me more bitter. I was angry at everything: the weather, lupus, my feet, work, family, friends even the freaking Tupperware drawer that would not close. I was drowning in anger. I pushed away those who loved me most. My relationships were cracking and I felt more alone than I have in a long time. Maybe it was just a severe case of the winter blues, but when I couldn't bear it anymore I sought out help.
- and now here I am.
Ready to come back. Not for another 365 - but ready to regain my voice. I feel shy and hesitant but I want to share again.
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