Too Much

You feel too much.
You share too much.
You think in sharing maybe understanding will come.
But it's too much to put that on anyone.
Your best friend says, "Maybe try being less open -
I hate saying that to you because that's not what you should be,
But maybe you should be."
It's hard to bare your soul, eyes swollen.
It's hard to name your flaws, and then have others name them back to you,
As if you didn't just name them.
As if you don't beat yourself up already a million times over a million different moments
For those very same flaws.
You want to care. You want to be let in to someone else's pain.
But they have to let you in.
You can't just break in.
Just like you can't expect someone else to break into yours.
You deserve to be walked with. But not because you're broken. Because you're worth it.
And walked with means different things.
Talks in rooms about all the what could be's, if you could just be better.
Or sitting with you in your dark and just being.
Breathing.
Accepting.
Fighting.
Together.
Losing the things that bring you joy leave you questioning
Where is the meaning?
Where are the silver linings when clouds are darkest?
If the purpose in your gifts is to give them away,
And you're not able to give,
What then?
Are your passions less potent when you're weak? Less valid when you're vulnerable?
Must you be perfectly whole first?
You are too much.
But somehow you are never enough.
I guess "normalcy" falls somewhere in the middle,
And you seem to miss the mark every time.
This weight you carry is overwhelming.
And words and hugs and talks will not lessen it.
We all carry our own great sadness.
I wish I knew yours, and you knew mine.
It would not be too much.
Perhaps some of us are just meant to be creatures of the shadows.
That is why when the light shines in us,
It shines so brilliantly.
Maybe you feel too much.
Or maybe, you just feel.
But to feel means to be alive.
And that is something worth feeling too much for.

Owning Our Stories

These struggles do not define you. You are not your illness. Not your weakness. Not your brokenness. Not your scars. And though these things all shape you, they do not define you. You are much more than that. 

Believe in your story. Fight for your story. It's worth it. Even on the darkest days when you feel like no one is left standing next to you, it is worth it. Someone out there needs you to speak when they cannot. Someone out there needs to read your words. Someone out there needs you to stand beside them and say, I'll fight for you and with you. I cannot promise that in owning our story we won't ever know darkness again. But I can promise that you are not alone. I am not alone. We are not alone. 

All of us - the brave, the broken, the hopeful, the hopeless - all of us are part of something much bigger than we know or see. Our community is in each other, and our currency is love.

Transformation

Transformation isn't without waiting, without pain, without moments of darkness followed by glimpses of brilliant light. And you just have to hope those brief glimpses are enough to get you through the next series of seemingly infinite darkness. But transformation begins with accepting who you are. With embracing who you are. It begins with laying your heart and soul brazenly on the table and saying, this is who I am, and I am not ashamed.

Firefly

You thought you were so put together, and yet so easily you come undone. You have good days and bad days. Some days, you have more bad than good. But spring will come. Summer will come. You will feel warmth again. Night will fade, and you will stand in the sun. Light will return, illuminating your veins. You just have to love yourself until it does. You have to love yourself in the night. I know that when you see your reflection, you don’t recognize yourself. But that’s okay. Because I still see you. And you are brighter than you realize. Even when your deep sadness and your exquisite pain paint shadows on your already worn face, the world sees something different. I see something different. I see how you glow and glow, more intimately and more intensely as you bare your soul and clench your teeth and hold on for dear life. I see spirit. And beauty. And grit. I see a firefly, both hesitant and radiant.

Letting Go

Who can be the judge of individual loss? And the weight it has on you? Maybe your loss seems inconsequential to others, but to you, it's a part of your world gone missing, sometimes for good. And no one can really judge the impact that has on you. So allow yourself to think, to feel, to cry – at least for a little while.

The hard part about letting go is the emptiness you feel when you do – the feeling of losing your grasp on everything you felt was so real and vital in your life. In the aftermath, you may find yourself lost, without strength to even leave your bed. But that's ok.  Because you will need time to just lie there and let the pain seep in – to let the sadness and emptiness wash over you. That's all part of the process. Don’t be in a hurry to find your feet – you will, eventually.

In a way, I think you always knew that a small part of you needed to go, to break free and move forward. But sometimes, the thing you have to break free from is the very thing you held so dear. Perhaps it’s the only thing you've ever known, or the only thing you’ve ever hoped for. You don't want to let go; but at the same time, you know you have no choice. Leaving isn't always an act of selfishness. Sometimes it's just self-preservation, knowing that the best thing for yourself and for the situation is for you to let go. And to be let go of. Except that underneath that knowledge, the truth is that all you really want to do is stay. So you say, “Let me go.” But you feel, “Don't let me go.”

And that's the brilliant sadness in it.