expect sadness.

"If you're afraid to write it, that's a good sign. I suppose you know you're writing the truth when you're terrified." 

It's been a long time since I've written.
I have endless drafts of thoughts and experiences that I wanted to share through writing, but I have been quite afraid. The last few years I have been living a life that has changed me in so many ways. Almost 3 years ago I wrote very honestly and publicly about a man I had met and a love that I was taking a risk on. That was the last time I wrote honestly about my life. It's very difficult for me to write- it's been such a long time and my honesty has become hesitant. "Some people, when they hear your story. Contract. Others upon hearing your story, expand." Phew, that. is. truth. Let's see what comes flowing out if I just type.

My twenties were spent learning how to be true to my most authentic self. Due to my religion and blind faith, I spent the first 20 years of my life pushing down and/or ignoring who I was and how I truly felt. For the next 9 years I worked tirelessly to find my own truth. What did I love? What did I believe? What did I accept as truth? What did I reject? By doing this, I found a joy and a happiness previously unknown! And. I. LOVED. it. For better or worse, I was who I was. Living unapologetically gave me a freedom I had never known. Unfortunately that freedom became something I took for granted. It just became a part of my life. I lived in freedom. I reveled in my freedom. And with the best of intentions, I became enslaved to the thoughts of others. My life changed, and I changed. I did not change for myself, I changed for others.

This is not a rant about the bad and ugly. This is not pointing fingers or placing blame. This is a one-sided account. MY one-sided account of my heart and mind being thrown in a proverbial fire. This is the truth I have feared writing.

Three years ago I changed my life drastically in order to pursue and maintain a relationship. I knew the risk with my heart was real, and I believed I was ready to take that risk. Within weeks of choosing each other, we were faced with a series of VERY unfortunate events. Death came quickly and took a hold of our precious new life together. Our tender new love took a very serious and continuous beating. As we adjusted to our new life, I allowed the Racheal I had become to slowly slip away. I quieted myself. It became apparent that woman I had worked so hard to become was not the woman that people in my new life wanted to see. My past was treated like a contagious disease that we avoided. I was labeled as "liberal" "feminist" "bitch" - to name a few - and not in love or jest. I was labeled as such by others who could not or did not want to, figure me out.

It's very easy to be who you want to be when you are supported and loved. It is not easy to be who you want to be when you are being told that who you are is not what the world wants. I had removed myself from my support system and surrounded myself with those who wanted to extinguish my light. It became very difficult to stand alone and defend myself. Making excuses for others behavior does such a disservice to both yourself and the people you're making excuses for. Some people will contract, others will expand, this is how you know. Instead of standing up for myself, I began shutting down.

The love my heart ached for slipped away a little each day. Traces of who I once was slipped away a little each day as well. I have never lived a particularly easy life. Tragedy and struggle was nothing new to me, so I fought through them. I was so deep in love that I was willing to fight whomever or whatever came at us. If something isn't working, try something new, right? I tried new things. I tried. I tried to meet conflicting expectations and failed. Everyday I woke up, married to someone who always looked past me, instead of directly at me.  I became sad. mad. hurt. scared. unsure. angry. insecure. and medicated. so. heavily. medicated.

And then he left me. Oof. That hurts. I remember where I was standing. I remember that his hair was wet. I remember hearing his words, and knowing that they were changing us forever as they fell out of his mouth. He didn't want to try anymore. I wasn't worth the work. I wasn't worth effort. A year and a half earlier he asked me to choose him. Two months earlier he looked me in the eyes and told me that he was committed to us- that he would be there, that he would fight. But words are simply that, words. And when he spoke the words "I'm leaving" I didn't need an explanation, his eyes were more honest in that moment than they had ever been.

"someone can be madly in love with you. and still not be ready. they can love you in a way you have never been loved. and still not join you on the bridge. and whatever their reasons you must leave. because you never ever have to inspire anyone to meet you on the bridge. you never ever have to convince someone to do the work to be ready."

Reconciliation was attempted, but I knew... "if someone does not want me it not the end of the world. but if i do not want me. the world is nothing but endings." I didn't just not want me, I despised myself. The woman I had worked so tirelessly to become was all but a shadow. I was weak and full of cowardice. I may have been called a lot of things in my life, but "coward" had never been one of them. Until now. And now, my life depended on my courage. Bravery stood before me, summoning me. My best friends (figuratively) stood around me and whispered of their love for me. Bravery summoned me. As time passed, I learned that"love doesn't always mean you should stay." Courage was required, and I finally leaned into it. Leaving our broken marriage was my first act of bravery in far too long.

A permanent damage had been caused within me. Every breath hurt. Every sunrise was a reminder of what I had lost. Every sunset was a relief, as no one questions why you're still in bed when it is dark out.

I am not on the other side of things. yet. I have not concluded anything inspirational or life changing. I have been struggling with a depression so suffocating, that sometimes I am afraid of myself. I still grieve. I grieve so that I can be free to feel something else. I am seeking my own truth again. I am tending to myself. It is slow, but I am remembering my power.

Where I am is not who I am.

I am writing again. That is a start.