The weirdest part of growing up that no one ever talks about is this constant pressure to be happy.
This constant threat that if you are not completely put together in your later 20s that you are a failure.
The thought that your mental health should be perfect. You should have a perfect diet. With a perfect exercise routine. A perfect job. Traveling schedule. Perfect conscious.
Its exhausting always trying to be perfect. To be sane. To be this image.
I don’t know a single person that has it figured out.
We are all spinning around on this planet wondering what we are doing wrong. Exhausted.
The weirdest thing is not being allowed to say “there are times I am not OK.”
We just don’t have to be.
I was breed in chaos. But I will not let it take me.
I have a lot of anxiety about life. It’s not the anxiety surrounding money, jobs, career path, house, etc.
It’s small things. Like floor boards creaking at night. The sound of someone clearing their throat. Someone quietly eating dinner without looking up. The sound of yelling. The dark.
It’s a shock to my system. A shiver down my spine.
It’s the language of chaos. The language of the unheard.
Abused children speak a langauge you can never learn. It stays with them years after the trauma has been ripped away.
If you want to heal your children, don’t put them in chaos to begin with.
To the boy always pushing girls off the swings for me in head start,
“You know I’ll always be that person”
“I said I’ll always be that person to you. Even now, you know.”
Cody, you were an amazing present I never said thank you for.
I keep wanting to show pictures of my trips to you. I know we planned to go on many trips. We decided this summer we would go on surprise trips all the Fridays we could. We would go camping. I planned all the hikes, and all you were thinking about were the s’mores. Our priorities were never in order, but we still got there.
And now, sometimes, I don’t feel close to you when I’m just standing here. So I start writing, and suddenly you are here. So I’ve been writing more. And I’ve been thinking more.
I know you always believed in heaven. And I don’t think that concept sounds that bad. I mean everyone partying and seeing loved ones again. I’d like to think that’s where you are. And eventually I hope I get there to you. And I’ll show up begging to ride all the amusement park rides. And you’ll say, “That girl wasn’t on a swing, but I pushed her out of the way for you. Ride with me.”
And maybe that’s what heaven is like. Some alternate universe where you can have all the people you ever lost doing exactly what they are supposed to be doing to you.
Sometimes I just want you to know we all still love you. We all still will.
“I love your feet only because they walked upon the earth and upon the wind and upon the waters, until they found me.” – Pablo Neruda
The way you twist and turn in the dressing room, trying to make sure the dress fits you just right. Your tiny little ankles pivot this way and that way as you decide this dress is not for you. The next dress is just the right length. I can tell by the way you raise up on your calves. It is perfect. You pivot around once more before you twirl to your side. This is the dress you want. I have already fallen in love with you ten times before you leave the room.
I know all this because I was waiting on you outside of the room. I could see those tiny little feet move around like artwork. I could almost hear the little pitter patter of your feet as you swiveled around. And now out you come wearing that little smile.
In this messy world this is love. I know it. It may not be perfect, but the way my heart falls in step with your feet I am content to live out this life.