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This is the part where no one claps for you. Where you say things that people would have better left unsaid. Where you confront yourself… Where you say things that you would have felt better left unsaid. Where you… Where you unplug the phone, turn down the music and sit. With. Yourself.
No one claps. You possibly (almost certainly) cry. You definitely rage. You plan and host that pity party to perfection. You play the damsel in distress. You are the victim. The wronged one. And nothing changes.
You sit with the unspoken and palpable pain. You sit with the perfected contortions designed to accommodate avoidance, denial and a status quo you positively hate yet welcome the same.
This could also be the part where you tell yourself the truth. This could be the part where you name the hurts you endured and trace its path. Please know that it will take you down dark alleyways and weather beaten bridges. There won’t be clear signposts but follow your inner compass. There won’t be resting spots, but rest you must and the floor will do just fine. This is a journey that needs time and energy.
Don’t just look at the darkness ahead. Don’t just contemplate the overgrowth. Just don’t look back. Tilt your chin to see the sky, and look around to see what has grown despite the darkness. The wild fruit is edible, and you should delight in the unexpected growth. But don’t idle.
Once you have rested, keep going. Move pass the thorny bushes and over the muddy pathways; move through the derelict cities and the sketchy subways. Know that you built this. Know that you can rebuild this.
Beautiful.