The way is love

Graphically real in a full monty kind of way

Hear me roar louder: Because I’m a woman and because I can

lioness-roar-images

I felt sorry for myself last night.

Not because I was alone, but because I felt invisible, like a secret kept well hidden.

And as I went through feelings of anger and frustration with myself, I realized I am not invisible.

That is a sore point with me. My mother often wished I were disappeared. Gone from her planet anyway.

But life isn’t black and white and situations come up where all can’t be revealed. I get that. I’ve lived that.

So, for now, I’m unnamed. I accepted that from the beginning and it’s not disrespectful. Not this time.

It is so weird for me to be living for myself alone. I still feel as if I should be tied to other people’s lives. I hate that word “should.”

It’s old patterns creeping back.

No, I choose to be in people’s lives. I love people on purpose. But my year here, living alone here in my apartment. is for this exactly.

It’s to come to terms with my past of giving away too much of myself, too easily to people who used me badly.

This is my year of saying over and over again in different ways, No more!

And it had to happen for me to go on. I see that so clearly now.

I can’t be half a person. I can’t be trying to fit in who I am around other people’s lives anymore. Always feeling as if my wants and needs only deserve to come after everyone else’s.

My heart firmly said, No more!

No more verbal abuse, blaming, shaming, manipulation.

And so I am here to learn that I need not be named to be all that I am.

I am in my own right here, writing and expressing who I am and how I feel.

How it feels to be an independent woman concerned with all the mundane issues of life like everyone else. Such as, Can I pay my rent? What do I want for dinner? Will I ever finish writing my book? Can I save some money to go to the spa? Do I need another sweater?

And in the middle of all those things I write, I edit, I read, read, read. I come up with ideas that excite me. I watch the news. I get more ideas.

And I learn more every day what it means to be me.

Not the me that other people think I should be (there’s that word again!), but the woman I am.

The woman who is a writer and an editor, and who has been for almost 17 years.

And is only now feeling confident enough to say that to the world and go it alone.

I’m a writer, hear me roar!

I’m a woman, hear me roar louder!lioness-roar-images

 

 

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