Wednesday, January 2, 2013


I was talking with my sister and brother-in-law the other night about why I have stopped blogging.  I thought of a few frail excuses, including blogging being so 2010, having no time, life has been pretty dull, etc. etc. Then the acidic truth spit in my eye.

I haven't been prepared to be honest.  And I am ashamed. And this makes me anxious.  I have an anxiety disorder.  I let anxiety creep into all my tiny cracks.  Once in, its spreads with poisonous ease.  I am anxious, not just about falling short, but also for not admitting that I may be have fallen short.  I have been anxious for simply being alive.  I feel anxious about taking things personally and for feeling deeply.  My anxiety completely disempoweres me and leaves me completely vulnerable to what my anxiety is telling me.  It is a loveless loudmouth sending messages of self-deprecation, not healthy criticism.

Today, I am screaming back at my anxiety,


I will not avoid or be ashamed of my less flattering qualities or my less than perfect family.  My anxiety often results in escapist tendencies, which only gives my anxiety more power.  I know that real freedom is not about getting away from what is troubling us but rather about going into and through it.

I want to fill those cracks with a fierce, unconditioned love for my self.

I want to write again.

I am taking back my life, you stupid anxiety.

"We are Light and we are Darkness
And we are the flesh, be it of mud or stars
Torn between the two
Yet already the One
Inseparable from the broken Many"
Robert Augustus Masters
I am not what I think I am
I am not even what I can hope and imagine myself to be
I just am.  
And thats ok.  
So I will write about just being