I find myself at a crossroads, rambling to you, the unknown. I want this note to be so perfect, so insightful, but I’m struggling to shift from the pursuit of perfection to just allowing my mind to take the wheel. My ego tells me I can’t start writing or speaking until I know it will make an impact. Until I know what I’m saying makes sense, and is as good, if not better, than what the influencers are saying.
But I’m tired of waiting. I’m tired of idling, waiting for the “right moment,” when really, all I want to do is be a part of the road and the landscapes that take my breath away. As I write this, I’m freezing. My body, getting excited about what I’m saying, then says, “Boring.” So I idle. I idle because I’m afraid of being wrong—of being too much, not enough, and worst of all, of upsetting my people. I don’t want to embarrass anyone. There’s a young part of me that fears feeling shame, yet I’m so bored of idling. So done with worrying about others. I can’t protect them anymore, I’ve tried for 57 years and that energy turned to resentment so no one gained from my survival techniques.
I have so much to say. So many thoughts to share, and I’m ready. I wonder what it would look like to go slowly. I wonder if I just take my foot off the brake, could I ease into the road without triggering the backseat chatter that leads to a case of the “fuck-its”?
I want to be more than this moment. I feel like I’d be doing myself a disservice if I just sit here waiting for a sign to point me in the right direction. But even as I say that, the anxiety resurfaces. Who am I? Why won’t you let me live?
With my stomach in my throat, I keep writing, breathing into my throat where the energy is heavy. My body flares with heat, up through my shoulders and down to my palms. I no longer feel like I’m in a car, but a boat that’s now rocking and making me feel uneasy. My thoughts fog over with uncertainty, and I find myself needing to centre myself again. Where the fucks that beacon?
The anxiety is so overwhelming, I’m losing sight of what once brought me joy to begin this journey—my faith in myself, diminishing. “What you have to say has been said a thousand times by a thousand different people who are far more knowledgeable and credible than you,” a know-it-all barks. And I cower. How did you find your way into my space?
I breathe. I find my breath and inhale into my throat, grounding myself there, just breathing. “Stay with me,” I plead. “I won’t hurt you. I’m here with you, to hold you, to comfort you, and to just be with you. Stay with me until you feel the safety you need—the confidence for the journey ahead.”
I breathe again, and I rock. There’s no sweeter moment than this rocking, the acknowledgment, and the love I feel in these moments where I am called back to myself—to tune into the pain and bring awareness, not shame, for not being ready. Just being with the fear, connecting with it and knowing it has a right to exist as much as happiness and joy.
“You’re going to be okay,” I tell myself. “Wait until you’re steady, and we can try this again✨”