Songs are some of the little things to be held onto.
Free with expressions to connect to.
To be heard in.
And revisited whenever desired.
Turns out that music both saves and wounds.
And so, it goes word after word in our own homes.
Where we think too much but then too little as well.
Capture moments to gaze at in silence and loudness.
Wonder how much more there must be.
Feel caught between storms and the colors that bloom because of them.
And cover everything from laughter to mistakes to despair and back again.
So, to avoid repurposing yesterday, we move to leave it behind.
But it turns out we are connected to ourselves in unseen ways, and that it stays despite the direction we face or what we ignore.
Maybe through this or that word, a few of our natural colors, a couple of songs, or a familiar face that appears again in the mirror despite time, but all remain either way.
Because we can't just separate ourselves from the uniqueness that makes seeing red as the right color here and never a good choice over there a truth.
Especially since we have been built by layers upon layers folding into us even when we've needed the sentences to end differently.
Wanting to rescind a moment doesn't mean abandoning ourselves, but that's what's been recycled for far too long.
Hating spaces was never about abhorring the versions with messes, but it's made sense to do so in the growth of confusion.
And grief has never been limited to the loss of others, and yet limping along in sorrow for other reasons has stayed as a shadow topic.
Decisions made in what we knew as yesterday, and they can only poison tomorrow if we play the same character with the same words contained within the very same certainty.
Because it's not about letting go of what our homes hold but releasing the false beliefs that have encouraged us to misunderstand ourselves.
For a flower has its stages but is still loved, and we have ours but are just beginning to learn that love has always been meant for us and not determined by the stages.
Which is why a line, a word or a color have never been enough to tell or decide a story despite the labels that we have been baiting ourselves with.
But each does contribute to setting us up for success and for wounding.
Have the best day, POSSIBLE for you. Love Always, Heavell
A shadowed position that feels safer in a life where reactions are unpredictable.
Whose precise language has factory stamped the pain, and the person who lives with the ache.
The one that carries the experiences, the feelings and the thoughts.
The rigidness that has been kept as a sense of protectiveness despite the unhappiness within it.
The home that trusts more of the same while being scared that the footsteps will make an unfamiliar sound.
Adaptations meant to keep us out of trouble on the outside but do nothing for the inside where misery has the gift of gab.
For the biggest enemy isn't the moments, but the ideas that shuffle in to possess us because of them.
Repetition of the same loudness that has felt so accurate that questioning it doesn't feel right.
Making it so much easier to run away from us while what was assigned in vulnerability and confusion spurs on the separation.
But what if there is more to our gardens than what has been marked for approval?
What if feelings and thoughts capture our attention but not learning to regulate them is why we lose ourselves within them?
And how will change come to find us if we believe that those things are entitled to speak for us?
At some point, that shadowed position of survival began.
And it has continued as our recognition of how best to navigate life.
Imagine then how that awareness has held us captive in scene after scene in our own stories.
Not the moments but us, limited before we have even arrived.
Not the thoughts and feelings but us, simply because predictable has felt safer.
And we have continued to resonate with that wrongly perceived high spot in dealing with our emotions page after page.
That distinction matters when we are stuck in an angle that has never acknowledged that truth.
So, stay honest about the pain but also clearly add to the list that being tired of survival means it's time to open up that word to make it adaptable for today.
Remember that the first step feels as intimidating as the nine that need to follow, but the nine will feel easier only after taking the first and then the next when it feels possible.
And clarity isn't just for what hurts or mistakes but also in learning to trust us after having been unaware of how to provide that kind of support.
What is to be continued isn't some factory stamped identity but words that move us away from the shadow position into showing up for ourselves on the inside.
The very place we've never really known how to be in and that can feel messier than unpredictable has ever been.
Have the best day, POSSIBLE for you. Love Always, Heavell
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