The last blog post I put up here was in 2017. Well then, holy shit…
I used to write a lot. A sort of reflective, ruleless type of writing that existed as a release for me. And it helped, I needed it. I wasn’t so sure of myself then. I think that I thought, maybe hoped, that I would gain some answers through writing, the words would just appear and I would be able to see myself with greater clarity. Yes, I think that’s why I wrote so much before.
Truth is, clearly, I don’t write as much anymore. And as I sit here I’m starting to wonder why that is. I’m confused as to why I feel so uncomfortable opening up and being vulnerable or not even uncomfortable doing so but just not for whatever reason. Initially I thought a part of me had just forgotten how, I’d lost the ability to fuse together thoughts and words. But that answer doesn’t sit right, that can’t be it…
Then my mind went to excuses. I don’t have the time or energy needed to make it a focus in my life like it was before. But I know that’s bullshit, I firmly believe if you are passionate about something and/or if you need something you will make the time and find the energy for it…
So, that brings me back to the beginning. It helped so much before, I needed it. But perhaps now it’s not as necessary, maybe I don’t need a self-clarity aid? Maybe I’ve grown and I’m not confused, not looking for answers to questions I can’t know the answers to…
I feel like that’s it. I’m just not writing because I’m not searching for anything right now, I’m pretty content with the here and now.
If I think back to a decade ago I can hardly believe that. I have difficulty hearing myself say that I’m happy. It felt so far away back then, maybe even an impossible notion. I can remember relapsing in my eating disorder for the second time and thinking to myself, “this is what my life is going to be”. I thought I was going to be caught in an endless cycle of sickness, inspiration, recovery, relapse, sickness, inspiration, recovery, relapse. I felt like my life was never going to “get going” because I couldn’t get out of my own way.
If you’re reading this and you feel like that, like you can’t get out of your own way, I want to tell you that it can happen. All the time we hear, "don't give up hope", and I'm tempted to say that, but I’d confess hypocritism there, because I gave up so many times, just accepted the cycle and chose to stop fighting it, BUT I think in a totally different way now, I believe that hopelessness can be temporary. And that idea of temporary hopelessness means that it’s not finite, it’s not finite in ANY regard.
How do I know that's true?
Because we can’t predict the future, and I'm learning it's best not to try to. Even if things feel hopeless at one point in time, we can't know that they'll remain hopeless. So if we can't find hope in the present or what the present will lead to, we can at least take some comfort in knowing that nothing ever remains the same. That hopeless wind may change direction one day. Could be one day soon.
I guess what I'm trying to say is that we can't tell anyone that their feelings are invalid. If someone feels hopeless, they feel hopeless. What I am trying to say is that if hope feels pointless and absurd, and utterly impossible, reminding yourself that we can never know the finiteness of anything including hope, might just give us the strength we need to keep going. In knowing that hopelessness can be temporary we might self-inspire ourselves to put up with the hopelessness until all of the sudden we're no longer experiencing it.
The honest learnings and raw reflections of my practice and my life. Unedited.