I’m Not A Sad Song

As usual, my fantastic consistent inconsistency has kept me from writing, for much too long. Actually, I do have 4 drafts of posts I started and never finished, along with notes scattered here and there, but nothing complete.

In the most sincere way though, from where I sit now, I believe that part of why I didn’t complete any of what I was writing was because it was all kind of icky, and painful. A little bit too much reliving “my story,” which I don’t want to do. Not because it isn’t truth, or because I want to be in denial of it. Its because I’m not her anymore. As I think back on the last 8 years or so during which time the DV and his addiction sort of ruled my life, its almost like I’m listening to a sad song about the life of someone else. And I’m not a sad song. I’m just not.

When I made the choice to come forward about how his sex addiction affected our marriage, the addiction in general, and domestic violence experienced in our marriage, I did so very thoughtfully, and with the goal of shedding light, and, in particular with the DV, helping others in similar situations. I still very much wish to do so, but I’m not entirely sure how to, without having to recount my story. I was never much for being categorized or identified as anything like victim of domestic violence, or even survivor of domestic violence. I’m…just… Michelle. I’ve had experiences. Some have been shit. Some have been fantastic. For better or for worse, I am the sum of all of them. And I fully believe I choose how large a part each of them plays in making me who I am.

I have neither fame, nor fortune, and I’ve not done anything most would consider remarkable, (yet), but I do know I have something to offer. I want to be able to say to anyone who needs to hear it I FUCKING GET IT SISTER!! I want HER to know, she is NOT crazy, and she is NOT alone. I want to be her strength when she needs it. I want to be whatever she needs, to help her through to the other side. The side I’m on now. But without having to rehash detail that was, quite frankly, really fucking horrible sometimes. I’m finding my way to that, for me, and for YOU. Maybe just writing these words is what I’m supposed to do?

Oddly enough, almost nothing I’ve written above, is what I’d intended to write, in this particular post. This post was meant to be more about the shift that occurred within me, in the last few weeks. About the (continued) transformation of self, and the life I’m living. My return to MY deep, very individualized, ever evolving, (spirituality, faith, system of beliefs, way of life, whatever makes you comfortable), and how, in a way I’d actually for a long time thought impossible, I am happy again. Like, happier than I ever remember being, absent things like new love or the birth of my children.

I don’t know the moment it began, this shift, and I’m sure there were steps leading to it, but I don’t know exactly what they were. What I can identify is the exact moment in time that I (cheesy as it sounds) surrendered to my utter heartbreak, and in doing so allowed my heart to start to heal, and started to feel happy again. The details aren’t important (for anyone but me) but I’ll happily share them if asked.

What I can say that I believe is one size fits all, is that I SINCERELY chose to allow the change to happen. I (unknowingly?) facilitated it happening. I chose to do things I normally don’t do. I pampered myself. I faced some scary closet monsters head on, because I knew I had to, in order to move forward. I also allowed myself to, very publicly as it happens, FEEL every single fucking thing I was feeling, in any given moment. I ugly cried while in the company of hundreds of other people. And I didn’t care. (I guess I should say I placed myself in a situation where I knew it was safe to ugly cry. I probably wouldn’t have been quite so OK with it in, say, the mall.)

I traveled (one of my favorite things EVER) to Arizona (one of my favorite places EVER) to listen to some of my favorite speaker/author/spiritual/psychic type people. I spent time with some (albeit not enough) of my favorite people.Saw some of my favorite places. Ate some of my favorite food. And got THE most BAD ASS, GORGEOUS, and profoundly meaningful tattoo, at my favorite tat shop, ever.

And of course, there has been MUSIC!! One of my favorite things EVER!!  There was a private listening party in the sunshine of the “work in progress” music sent to me by my brilliantly talented, beautiful in every way imaginable, and profoundly humble friend, music as part of a healing, music as part of a worldwide meditation (God {Jesus? HA} love you James Twyman!), music at bars, played by some of the crazy talented people I used to go hear on the regular. And there was music in a backyard amongst friends, an impromptu jam session, played on acoustic guitars, in the middle of the night. And there has been music to help me sleep. There have been songs that a month ago would have had me in tears for the memories they held, that I can now listen to, no problem. Just. Music.

There were also REAL conversations. With strangers, new friends, and old friends. No bullshit, irrespective of the subject matter, conversations. Conversations that reminded me how much I CRAVE real conversation. Conversations that inspired me, and that broke me open in ways I needed to be. Conversations that made me not just think but FEEL! Conversations in which I was reminded that I am likeable, lovable, and that I have a voice (literally and figuratively) which some actually are interested in hearing. Even when I’m being full-on dork. (Dear God I’m such a dork!!!) Conversations in which I made myself vulnerable to others, and they to me. (Still, and forever, honored by this.)

There have been hugs, laughter, and still some tears, but of a different kind, the last few weeks. I have been challenged to view things differently than I ever have, around certain situations. I have been asked to do something which for me is stupid hard to do, without falling into a place of fear, or giving into the urge to attempt to control the situation. I have been challenged, to paraphrase a portion of Oriah Mountain Dreamer’s “The Invitation”,  to be alone with myself, and truly like the company I keep in the empty moments.

I dig that if anyone reads this, none of what I’ve written may sound profound. None of it actually IS, in and of itself, profound. But for those who are where I was, and for myself knowing “the depth of my despair” as it was, its pretty amazing. For anyone who has ever been a place of absolute darkness, like the deluminator from Harry Potter sucked all the light out of the entire world, and dementors sucked all the joy from them, you’ll get why I feel moved to write about this shift. Why I want to do whatever tiny thing I can to help others know that they don’t have to be in that place for always, and that nothing profound need be done to move forward from there. (Although it will seem at the time like moving a mountain!!!) It is to you I say again, HOLD ON. Find your not profound things that will help you. Don’t be hard on yourself if it takes you, like it did me, years to step back into the light.

So, I’m just here, working on becoming a more awesome version of myself. I’m not a sad song. And neither are you.

(I SHOULD go back and edit this because I am a YAPPER! But I’m not going to. It is what it is.)


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