This is the second time I’ve archived my blog posts.
The first time, it was a returning.
This time, it’s a letting go.
A week before I archived my blog posts, I threw away all of my journals. All of them. Everything from 2011 on — which felt apropos, given that the energy I was so desperate to rid myself happened within the last seven years.
Here is a truth: for the past four years, I’ve been carrying around shit other people told me as though it were truth. And that’s okay, because for a while, it was how I survived and understood certain things that happened — both to me and to people I love.
But I’m done with that now. I’m done with holding other people’s shit just so they can breathe easier.
Why? Because when you do this — when you burden yourself with the thoughts and perspectives and expectations of other people — you’re choosing to refuse your own story.
When this happens, your life takes on this murky overlay. It’s like you’re living, but not really. You’re looking through a mirrored glass and can’t quite get the clarity you need to really see. And who wants to live like that?
So I threw the journals away, the pages chronicling the hardest days of my life. I threw away the stories of betrayal and revelation. I threw away the notes from coaching countless women. I threw away class ideas and ways to grow my business into an empire, as suggested by a faulty business coach. I threw it all away, and made space in my breath for the story that’s been begging for release. Bit by bit, I’m listening to her. I’m remembering what it feels like to know your story so intimately that no one else can speak over it.
It’s a powerful feeling, knowing the alchemy in your bones is no longer hindered by someone else’s expectation. It feels a lot like freedom.