the shit and the shine

I have been tending and pruning for the past couple of weeks. Lingering in color palettes, fonts, and feels for how I want this space of mine to be while continuing to join sentences together.

The stark black and white began to feel sterile. A bit too perfect. And the writing being released is anything but perfection.

It felt good to brush a fresh coat of paint on these walls to make it feel a bit warmer. It matches up with my feels over the favorite library books I poured over during my childhood. They didn’t have perfect, pristine pages of white. They were worn, a little yellowed and creamy in color while holding some breathtaking stories.

These pages of mine have stories that need a warm, imperfect place to land and roam.  

While navigating through feels of a creative shift, my inbox was hit with Intel that gave a slight punch to the heart. Some of it had to do with my writing. About giving my storied life from the past and present room to breathe and belong.

Lately, I have suppressed myself.

At home, I have thoughts and feels being worked through from a layered past. My boys don’t need that kind of muck to wade through. So I’ve been quiet and kept it in the figurative closet. Plus, I don’t have words to some of the feels just yet.

At work, I have many reactionary thoughts and feels from the things I hear within a very Southern, cynical, Republican, Christian mindset of employees in the medical field who don’t have to piece together a livable salary with three jobs. So I’m quiet. Because I need my job to survive. 

With extended family, they are all conservative Christians listening to Rush in the afternoon. I’m not trying to generalize their hearts and minds, yet I live COMPLETELY different from their belief system and it can be overwhelming at times to hear their thoughts - or their radio in the background. So I’m quiet. Being liberal is just one more thing to add to the black sheep status.

However, I do have a glorious outlet of brilliant women within my art group. Yet I don’t want to be the one who burdens them with all the currents of feels roaming and raging right now. They are friends who have their own bits of life to wade through without me added to their lifeboat. Plus, there is some life that we can only process on our own.

So what’s a curious woman to do who is mostly surrounded by people who can not handle the questioning of all things and the living of life from a place they vocally demean and degrade?

I’ve done the quiet thing for so damn long. I think that’s why a private journal isn’t really an option for me. It doesn’t feel like a release and resolve.

The only thing I know to do is turn this place into my temple of truth (I know, it sounds like a horrid Indiana Jones re-make but just work with me). I’ve realized this is my one and only place where I can think, speak, and feel my way around life freely. I have no one to hide from or evoke admiration from. This is my place of real. Which is quite funny, because these days the wild wild web can be filled with the exact opposite - a staged, plastic menagerie of life moments.  

The self-imposed silence has been going on for too long. It's time to release the shit and the shine to reveal the depths of myself I have yet to know of.

I wonder - what will happen when I simply show up for myself? Can I find that fierce woman I use to be all those years ago championing some of the most marginalized people in our country? Is she still there? I need a 2.0 of her who champions not only others but herself. The only way I can find her is to gently massage away these caked on layers once and for all with a liberation of words.