I miss writing.
I miss seeing the words come alive on my laptop screen. I miss the exhilaration when what is communicated is expressed exactly how it wants to. How it is supposed to.
I miss writing. I miss showing up on the page. Dialoguing with it. Dancing with the page.
I miss that.
I miss the feeling of contentment. Of Bliss. Joy. That refreshing feeling when words just effortlessly flow. When my fingers and the keyboard are merely instruments through which whatever message needs to be said is aptly conveyed. When what wants and needs to be written is given its rightful voice, space, and attention.
Much has happened the past several months that is worth sharing. So, so much.
But I’ve held back for various reasons, one of which is legal implications — a dilemma most commonly faced by memoir writers.
I guess I’m in that phase in my journey where I am given the opportunity to master the life skill of RESPONSIBILITY.
Responsible Writing and Sharing. Speaking and Writing my Truth. Mindfully. Responsibly. I’m being reminded of that.
I’m being reminded that there are consequences to all my choices and decisions. That every word, thought, or action does not end with the utterance of the word, the having of the thought, or the execution of the deed.
There is a rippling effect that may not be known to me at the time that I think it, speak it, or take action. But there sure is an impact on myself as well as the collective.
What I put out comes back to me. What I give so shall I receive. What goes around comes around.
Life eventually balances itself out, eh? All the time.
And it’s kind of interesting — Divine Synchronicity is what it is again most certainly — that the ‘mess’ that I’ve been finding myself getting entangled in involves people who have not acted responsibly.
Those who refuse to accept and acknowledge their wrongdoings. Those who refuse to own up to their shortcomings. Those who believe that everyone else is at fault except them.
It takes humility to admit that one made a mistake. To the self-aware individual, it is a non-issue. A no-brainer. Admission of one’s misstep is automatic. Organic. There’s no second guessing. It is, in fact, empowering and freeing. As a matter of fact, the self-aware feels burdened when they know they have offended someone and have not offered an apology and extended a hand to make amends.
But to the unevolved, extending a hand — or anything for that matter — is unheard of. Unthinkable. The unevolved’s auto-response is washing one’s hands. It is the easiest and most convenient route. To look and point the other way. To blame the other. The unevolved refuses to come clean.
The Blamers. The Manipulators. The Poor-Me’s.
I have had to deal with such lot. And they have ‘blessed’ me with the opportunity to set boundaries. To assert myself. To not get pulled into their dramas. To not get sucked into the toxicity of their energies. To not get on the Karpman Drama Triangle — or get off it as quickly as I recognize the power struggle.
The Karpman Drama Triangle is a model that illustrates the energy dynamics of abusive home and dysfunctional family environments.
There are three roles involved — Victim, Perpetrator, Rescuer. The model applies not only to dysfunctional homes. It is also commonly played out in dysfunctional and unhealthy human relationships and social interactions. I’ve written about one example of how it played out in my own life here. Lynn Forest also wrote an excellent piece on the topic which you can read here.
It’s been quite exhausting dealing with the energies of manipulation, deception, betrayal, blaming, and victimhood — again. But they’ve come — for the nth time — to bless me with yet another opportunity to go even deeper in the healing of my childhood wound — a “gift” for which I’m most grateful.
However, being able to identify the gift behind such challenging encounters DOES NOT make their selfish, irresponsible, immature and disrespectful behaviors less wrong or more allowable. Absolute not! They are just as inappropriate and unacceptable. Intolerable. Inexcusable. Enough for me to keep away from them. Boundaries, remember?
And I miss writing about such experiences and the insights that I’ve gained.
I miss writing and sharing about my realizations and how I’ve grown from my experiences — even and especially the most challenging and tragic ones such as those from which I’m still in the process of disentangling. And to think that this predicament of being ‘homeless’ started over a year ago, whew!!! 😮 😮 😮
I miss writing. I miss the dialogue. The conversation. I miss dialoguing not only with the page but with fellow travelers.
And may this post serve as the beginning of my coming back to the page. Of coming back to the conversation.
⭐ ❤ 😀 ❤ ⭐