“I’ll think about that tomorrow!” Those were Scarlett O’Hara’s famous last words in the movie, Gone with the Wind. I quote her often if not daily.
I am a sensitive soul.
I am emotional.
I am an empath.
I FEEL stuff.
Other peoples’ stuff.
My own crazy-making-stuff.
As an intuitive, it can hard to foretell what’s about to hit the fan in the world without freaking out a little bit.
My 55 years of feeling to these depths have reminded me to surrender (cease control over the uncontrollable,) or die, quite frankly.
I have unmitigated and irrefutable, faith.
I don’t always live that way.
I can be controlling AF.
I can think I have all the answers.
I can be stubborn and short-sided.
I can suffer like there’s no tomorrow when things don’t go the way I want them to.
I can take life so seriously that it cripples me.
AND then I remember…
And I remind myself…
Where do you have power?
Where do you need to surrender and trust NOW?
It feels as though I’ve been in a deep dark pit for years now. In truth, it’s been mere months but months can feel like a lifetime when despair takes the wheel. It can feel suffocatingly inescapable.
I don’t know about you… but I blame myself. I shame myself as if that will instantly snap me out of it. I can hear my mother’s words as I type. Her standard battle cry was, “Snap out of it!” Every day that I haven’t I think I’m doing something wrong.
My mother’s ready to die. She flat out admits it as if she’s announcing she’d like cream in her coffee. Matter of fact, “I’m done. It’s been a good life… Your father’s gone. I’m ready.”
This is not shocking coming from her. She’s always been matter of fact, if not unedited, something we love about her.
I’ve been pondering her adamant stance and the distinction between my elderly friends and clients who love their lives, who greet each day with a heartfelt, “thank you,” and others, like my mother, who are pissed off and flat out DONE…
Daddy wanted to die at home.
Hospice came by with pamphlets on the end of life and what to expect.
My siblings flew in from far-flung regions.
I had arrived two weeks earlier upon Daddy’s latest hospital visit.
After his open-heart surgery three years ago, he had been in and out of the ICU continuously.
This latest month-long stint was his breaking point.
His six-foot frame had withered to less than a hundred pounds.
I was born without reproductive organs. I made that mean I wasn’t good enough. That I was broken. That I was unlovable.
Shortly after the discovery of my birth defect, I began dating men who I felt couldn’t abandon me because of it.
I dated bad men. Men who were projects at best and abusers at worst.
Men who wouldn’t leave me because I couldn’t give them a baby.
Subconsciously, I was choosing to punish myself for not being born with a uterus.
Margie’s only dream was to be a wife and mother.
She married in her early twenties the moment she met the man who checked all her boxes.
When her husband of twenty-eight years announced his love for his college sweetheart, insisting upon divorce, she was destroyed.
“I can’t be alone. I don’t know how to be alone. I’ve never been alone in my life,” she sobbed, sharing her heartbreak.
It’s taken me to this gorgeous wise, age of 53 years to say that I do believe I am able to honor & enforce, unabashedly, my boundaries.
It’s taken me a life time of relationships with addicts, abusers, the unavailable, pathologicals, sociopaths.
It’s taken me being on my knees in gripping pain, in my attempts to save addicts from themselves that it literally nearly killed me in the process.
I have had ‘experiences.’
This, my mantra of late.
I’ve been putting on hold launching my coaching practice.
My perfectionist has me paralyzed…
“But the website isn’t perfect.”