I slowed down yesterday. Physically, mentally, emotionally. I slowed everything down. In fact, on some levels I completely stopped. I face-planted on top of the chaos I’ve been praising the past few weeks.

I wish I was sitting here now, telling you how satisfying and peaceful the process is, relaying to you how changed I now feel, or how serene my mind and heart are growing to be.

I’m not. And I don’t.

There’s no shred of peace, or inkling of satisfaction. 

Turns out, face-planting hurts like a b*tch. 

I don’t mean to be rash or abrupt, but then again maybe I do. I’m so bloody exhausted of being so bloody exhausted. For once, I wanted to stand in the middle of the mayhem and throw my hands up. I didn’t want to pretend I was alright. I didn’t want to maneuver my way around the bombs in order to make everyone feel sane. I down-right refuse to go through my life situating my days in perfect rows, hoping that perfection will find its way to me. I don’t want any of it.

So yesterday, I got to be a mess. I slept for 13 hours. I ditched teaching. I spent multiple hours at Barnes and Noble staring out the window, actively, intentionally breathing. I allowed myself space and time to be pessimistic and somber. I got to complain and mumble beneath my breath and outwardly ache, and God it felt so good to finally be a mess. To be alright with my mess, to share it.

I woke up today and the birds outside my window were crying with song. I could almost taste their joy. I smiled. That was the first thing I did this morning: I smiled. I walked into the kitchen and opened every one of our blinds so the sun could tickle the contents of our living room. I ate breakfast slowly and I read multiple pages from an author who makes me yearn to write until my fingers bleed.

I stood up today, in the muck of my mess, and trudged through it. I’m still not “serene” or “changed” by any means. My mess is still very much here, and very much my own. The only difference is, I’m alright with showing it off. I’m alright with accepting it and grieving over it. I’m not ashamed. I’m a messy fighter.

I face-planted yesterday and I’m singing in the kitchen today.

Day by day, friends.



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