I Am Not My Story.

   From head to toe I was riddled with tales of shame, abandonment, and betrayal. Marred by feeling preyed upon, victimized. Each time I survived I would inevitably assign fault onto various nouns outside and inside myself. In turn, the blame game had created resistance from the very truth and feelings I needed to face and live through but instead I made the choice to live with; striving in pity, nobility, and self-righteousness. I was swiftly aging in a cocoon of chronic stress.

   Perhaps I didn’t know any better, but that doesn’t matter. What does is I do now. I understand that the memories I had clung to no longer serve me. Afraid to let go because that meant dealing with a reality of raw emotions that I refused to make time for. “I don’t have time for this” with that said, I would miss my direct opportunity to live through feelings by experience, instead I allowed myself to be left clutching a flaming bag of fear, anger, and guilt. Ultimately leading to dis-ease, by storing the toxicity in hidden pockets throughout my whole being; mind, body and soul. Excess baggage. I had been coping in lieu of surrendering to each feeling moment by moment as it arises and then moving on by letting them go.

   Healing must begin within. There is no magic pill, guru, god, or surgery that will clear away the mind’s own wreckage or restore peace, love, and joy. Our life experiences create a story, but that isn’t who we fundamentally are. I am not my story, and luckily neither are you.

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