There was this feeling I used to get when I was younger. Back before I highlighted my hair, or discovered bronzer. Back before I learned that striped shirts, courderoy pants, and black skater shoes with hot pink laces didn’t make a good combination. Back before I started tweezing my eyebrows, or questioning myself.
Back when I knew EXACTLY who I was.
It was a feeling of confidence. An empowering energy that sorrounded and filled my every day. It was the way I would look at myself in the morning- combination skin and dirty blonde hair. Crooked teethe and baby fat. And yet, I never doubted for a second that I was beautiful. Because I hadn’t yet learned the worlds definition of beauty. Because I had my own definition for the things that I believed in, because I believed in
MYSELF.
I was excited to get on the bus. To draw tiny feet on the foggy windows with the side of my hand and my fingertips. A monday morning work of art that would have faded to a frosted whisper by the afternoon. I was excited to put my backpack in my locker and make the long haired girl untameable cowlick laugh. Excited for school plays I auditioned for and collages of Cameron Diaz and the Olsen Twins that I so carefully taped up in my closet.
I was excited for life.
Excited to live it. Excited to learn who I was. To learn how to love it. To learn how to love, period.
That excitement has faded over these past few years. And in its place- anxiety, self conciousness, nail biting. Worry filled nights when I forget how to meditate and small moments in the afternoon when I forget who I am completely. And as I lie here on this Tuesday night, or is it Wednesday morning? With my puppy growling at his reflection in the dark window by my side and an almost empty glass of tea in my lap, I realize that without that joyous hunger for each and every moment of each and every day, I am settling for a life that isn’t mine.
Because I am still that girl. The one who will make you laugh at your locker and get the whole school bus to belt Disney toons. I am the one who can, and will, wear anything. The one who knows how to rhyme like she knows how to breathe. The one who can make art in the most mundane places. The one who is not too damaged to give her heart to another, even if she somehow let herself believe she was. Becase I am strong.
Because I am UNBREAKABLE.
Because I am so much more than these fingers can type tonight but one last thing that I can write before maybe I finally get some sleep,
I
AM
DESERVING.
Deserving of joy.
Deserving of confidence.
Deserving of a love that knows no boundaries.
I have not tainted my soul with the mistakes of my past, I have only added to its glow by learning the value of pain. By taking my weaknesses and staring them straight in the eye until they emerge from this miraculous cocoon of life as my greatest strengths. And maybe it has taken me all of this time, all of these restless nights, to finally see, but these bruises are what will make me a teller of stories and a soother of souls. A poet, an artist, a sister, a daughter, a lover, a friend. Someone who will never claim to be perfect but will revel in her imperfections and give you space to be just that- imperfect.
and perfectly deserving
of love
of joy
of the peace every one of us was born to know.
Only our minds can get in the way of obtaining what is already ours.
This mind is ready to rest, and ready to live.
Back when I knew EXACTLY who I was.
It was a feeling of confidence. An empowering energy that sorrounded and filled my every day. It was the way I would look at myself in the morning- combination skin and dirty blonde hair. Crooked teethe and baby fat. And yet, I never doubted for a second that I was beautiful. Because I hadn’t yet learned the worlds definition of beauty. Because I had my own definition for the things that I believed in, because I believed in
MYSELF.
I was excited to get on the bus. To draw tiny feet on the foggy windows with the side of my hand and my fingertips. A monday morning work of art that would have faded to a frosted whisper by the afternoon. I was excited to put my backpack in my locker and make the long haired girl untameable cowlick laugh. Excited for school plays I auditioned for and collages of Cameron Diaz and the Olsen Twins that I so carefully taped up in my closet.
I was excited for life.
Excited to live it. Excited to learn who I was. To learn how to love it. To learn how to love, period.
That excitement has faded over these past few years. And in its place- anxiety, self conciousness, nail biting. Worry filled nights when I forget how to meditate and small moments in the afternoon when I forget who I am completely. And as I lie here on this Tuesday night, or is it Wednesday morning? With my puppy growling at his reflection in the dark window by my side and an almost empty glass of tea in my lap, I realize that without that joyous hunger for each and every moment of each and every day, I am settling for a life that isn’t mine.
Because I am still that girl. The one who will make you laugh at your locker and get the whole school bus to belt Disney toons. I am the one who can, and will, wear anything. The one who knows how to rhyme like she knows how to breathe. The one who can make art in the most mundane places. The one who is not too damaged to give her heart to another, even if she somehow let herself believe she was. Becase I am strong.
Because I am UNBREAKABLE.
Because I am so much more than these fingers can type tonight but one last thing that I can write before maybe I finally get some sleep,
I
AM
DESERVING.
Deserving of joy.
Deserving of confidence.
Deserving of a love that knows no boundaries.
I have not tainted my soul with the mistakes of my past, I have only added to its glow by learning the value of pain. By taking my weaknesses and staring them straight in the eye until they emerge from this miraculous cocoon of life as my greatest strengths. And maybe it has taken me all of this time, all of these restless nights, to finally see, but these bruises are what will make me a teller of stories and a soother of souls. A poet, an artist, a sister, a daughter, a lover, a friend. Someone who will never claim to be perfect but will revel in her imperfections and give you space to be just that- imperfect.
and perfectly deserving
of love
of joy
of the peace every one of us was born to know.
Only our minds can get in the way of obtaining what is already ours.
This mind is ready to rest, and ready to live.
