Hi! I’m back from my blogging sabbatical.
I’m not going to apologize even though it is in my genetic makeup to do so (Canadian).
I stand by my original statement that something in my life most definitely needed to give. Unfortunately, at the time, blogging became an avenue that quickly moved from a release to a stressor. How do I write a blog post when I’m struggling with so much?
So, I took some time off to focus on our house, my book, and the Christmas season.
But now that I’m back, the ol' think tank whirred to life, and I was once again left with many questions. It’s a new year, but am I a new me? What is weighing heavy on my heart? What truly matters to my life? What beautiful aspects can I focus on when fractures crack my steady foundation? What does freedom mean to me?
For many, it might mean financial freedom. For others, freedom from disease and illness. Freedom from an oppressive and painful relationship. Freedom from addiction. Depression.
There are innumerable ways to view freedom.
In six months’ time, I’ll turn thirty. Whew. And I must say, it’s hitting me a certain kind of way. I’m not dreading it. I don’t fear it. But I do want to face it being the best version of myself.
I’m striving for the freedom to be unapologetically me.
I’m striving for the freedom of inner strength. To cast away the heavy burden of guilt I carry upon my shoulders for needing this last year of my life. For taking a college degree I worked tremendously hard on and placing it aside. For having the courage to acknowledge that the job was mentally breaking me. For not always having the strength to face the day ahead. For the soothing tears and the ugly ones.
I’m striving for the freedom of self-love. To step out of the shower and not turn my back on the body reflected in the mirror. To accept my PCOS and infertility. To flood my image with words of kindness and acceptance rather than disgust and hatred. To listen to the inner workings of my body and what it is telling me. To understand that it may have broken pieces, but it is forever mine.
I’m striving for the freedom of showing up. Of being present. Of disconnecting from the crazed, image-obsessed world we live in. Of turning my phone on silent and really listening to those around me. Listening to their words for what they are and not just how I am planning to respond. Finding the beauty in a piece of college-ruled paper and pencil rather than an illuminated screen and fingertips. Writing letters. Reaching out. Reaching forward.
I’m striving for the freedom of giving back. Of recognizing the cracks in my heart, but also the privileged life I’ve been so lucky to lead. Of understanding privilege. Of speaking out against words of hatred, racism, and sexism, even when I fear the repercussions. I long to volunteer. The word “more” should follow such a statement, but I am ashamed to admit it cannot.
I’m striving for the freedom to always remember “it’s okay.” It’s okay to laugh and feel joy on the great days. It’s okay to lean into the pain and anxiety of the dark ones. It’s okay to have dark days. It’s okay to savor the piece of your dear friend’s wedding cake. It’s okay to watch Chopped for four hours straight. It’s okay to want to be alone. It’s okay to long for love. It’s okay to want more. It’s okay to be satisfied with less. It’s okay to cry. It’s okay to sing. It’s okay to struggle. It’s okay to pray. It’s okay to question.
I’m not sure what 2018 will bring my way. I, of course, have hopes and dreams. Ones of a published manuscript and a sense of accomplishment. Ones of perpetual happiness and sun-shiny days.
But, as we all know, we can only control so much. With that knowledge, I’ll continue to strive for freedom. For the aspects of what freedom means to me.
I’ll ask again. What does freedom mean to you? Let me know.
Until next time,