In flight

I’ve been on the run for a while and during most of that time I used anything outside of myself as a scapegoat for why I was running.

I’d place the blame on the aftermath of a “broken” family unit or the relentless Florida heat, and made many attempts to move out of the sunshine state which led me to South Carolina, Southern California, and Oregon in search of “home”.

I was running from grief and pain, and as it turns out, I was trying to avoid myself. 

Facing the truth, in relation to traumatic wounds, felt heavier than any pain I was ready to take on. And in place of recognition, I often found poor coping mechanisms, manipulative circumstances, and personal toxic behaviors.

I had been trying to distract myself from internal reflection by claiming that I live “too much” in the present moment to dissect (and process) my past. And while I believe that the present moment is a very conscious space to exist in, it also became an easy/trendy way to wiggle my way out from doing the actual (and important) shadow work.

My hopes were that maybe if I ran hard and fast enough into this wild and free lifestyle, that nothing would be able to catch up with me.

I was seeking thrill, adrenaline, attention, and praise. I was working tirelessly to cultivate this perfect image of a perfect life, when the reality of that was far from true. Overtime I had learned the right words to say, the proper angles to capture through a lens, and the perfect disguise in which I could make myself appear invincible, strong, and happy.

That approach pushed me much further away from myself and straight into the hands of situations that worked against my physical, emotional, and spiritual well-being.

I was looking for a home outside of myself.

And perhaps it was the true present moment emotions that I had been running from.

Becoming a mother brought me back to the level-headed playing field where I realized that the further I ran, the harder this was going to get.

Digging up old wounds to process dark feelings is far from pleasant, but I am willing to unravel in order to rebuild.

In hindsight I realize it was never my family or the place in which I call home that was ever my reason for needing to escape. It was my inability to stare deep into the eyes that look back at me in a mirror and say, “You are safe to grieve, process, feel, express, release, and come home to yourself.”

I have finally arrived back home, now it’s time to unpack.

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