I had an eating disorder, for thirteen years. I had crooked teeth. I lost a baby at almost sixteen weeks into the pregnancy and, even though I didn't ever get to hold her, losing her broke me. I got married because I thought it was the practical thing to do. I got divorced nine months later. I tried to end that marriage in the ugliest way possible, trying to force my then husband's hand because I didn't have the courage to end our life together. Spoiler alert: he forgave me and I broke his heart and still had to make the call to end our marriage. My biological dad struggled with alcohol and drugs my entire life with him. I didn't fit in in the corporate world but faked it and faked it and faked it, all for that illustrious six figure income. I had Post Partum Depression and wanted to die. I didn't go see my Grandpa before he died. I struggle with Imposter Syndrome. I had a boyfriend who treated me like shit; I let him, for four years, because at least someone was paying attention to me. I have the deepest, most intense anger and grief at the way my mom mothered me, even though I know she did the best with what she had. I am a yoga teacher but I have boobs and a belly, upper arms and thighs that are soft. I have always known things about people and energy and the unseen but was taught it wasn't polite to stare or assume or ask so many questions, and so I shut down my innate gifts, one by one.
There. The skeletons in my closet.
The shame, guilt and isolation I have imposed upon my self.
These teachings are my base. They are the roots that anchor me and nourish me so that I will continue to grow towards the light.
I see you. shifting and dodging and trying to hide from your skeletons; not fully home in your own being.
I hear you. the way your words catch and your voice tremors, unsteady in what you already know and how much you feel safe to say.
I feel you. I feel the way you ache and yearn to simply, authentically, truly, be.
Your life is no accident. Your shame is home to your most gorgeous lessons.
So dance with your skeletons.
Haul them out into plain sight.Run your hands over their bones. sing meaning from their hollow spaces. Hold them tenderly under the starry night sky.
They are not your boogie men, they are your beautiful light posts on your path back to your self.