Fool Moon

It is full moon and I am journaling, swirly chicken scratch on a piece of paper that I will burn.

I’m on an island, physically and mentally, and I’m okay with it. My soul has been craving isolation, some extreme inward reflection and silence.

I wrote about what I want to release, and I’ve got a whole list. The one that stood out to me the most was the last thing I wrote:

“I release the compulsion to pretend I am anything other than what I am.”

I’ve been trained in the art of people pleasing and placating and pretending and protecting since I was young, and old habits die hard.

I would throw my soul into the fire if I thought it would spare someone else’s feelings. I smile when I know I should glare, when my eyes want to cry. I say the thing I think I am supposed to say. I’d let a pit of resentment grow like cancer in my gut before I tell someone they’ve wounded me. I will say it’s okay, I’m okay. No really, I promise. I’m fine.

This part of me has created so much scar tissue. I can never get rid of it completely, in truth I don’t want to. You see, it’s also my superpower, my badge of honor, my favorite thing about myself. I am strong, and I want those I care about to be happy and I will do almost anything to make it so.

I want to bring balance to this thing, to channel it properly.

I want to take care of others full-heartedly, and accept care from those that love me. I want to allow my joy and my pain to be witnessed as much as I witness the joy and pain of others. I want to lay bare the rawness of my inner world to anyone that asks to see it. I want to show anger when anger is due. I want to stand against the things I am not okay with. I want to believe that one day I’ll feel safe enough to take off my mask and lay it down for good. Maybe I’ll even burn it.

Hard wood grows slowly, and I will show the same kindness and patience to myself that I’ve shown to others. Through these uncharted waters, I wade.

full moon over an island