We change our internal story mega. When we look back on the reasons why we did things, we can lay blame on ourselves and layer it up with regret. We can forget the real reason why we did what we did. When we were in that situation, in the heat of all that was going on in our life, leaving our partner was maybe the only thing that made sense at that time. Turning down that job was the best thing you could have done. We lose the basis of our then decision by our change of perspective that comes with the now. We over analyze with what ifs, the I should haves, the guilt.
By changing the story we become less connected with self and more connected to the story we created.
In accepting you made the choice you did and trusting that at that time it was the one to make, you let go of worry and stress and the tension those two things inevitably bring to the present.
We can’t be where we want to be if we are continually rereading the story that’s already
written on the pages of our Past.
Kids will gravitate towards the parent that doesn’t overreact.
If I broke a dish, I would most always go to my Mom to tell her instead of my Dad.
If I crashed the four wheeler into a tree, I would hope my Dad wouldn’t see it and pretend it didn’t happen. The sneaking around and lying became a way just because I was too afraid to admit the truth to someone that would yell at me and make me feel awful for whatever happened. Things that were just accidents. As a child the answer was easy. I didn’t need to put myself through something bad when I could just avoid it by not revealing.
I make mistakes okay. My son knows if he spills a box of nuts on the ground, he doesn’t need to hide it from me. He tells me when he’s ripped his pants or broke his remote control car. When he gets older, I’ll want him to feel he can come to me with problems or issues that maybe I won’t be too happy about, but I won’t flare up and put up walls where embrace and compassion are all he needs.
Your beliefs come concrete on clouds with no closed current to open your mind. I get where your beliefs come from. I really do.But coming from Italy doesn’t mean you know how to make a gourmet pizza and coming from France doesn’t mean your taste buds enjoy wine. And just because you grew up in a country that gave you classes and instructions on learning how to spell, doesn’t mean you spell well.
So just because your beliefs came from some actual occurrence or event in your life, or from people telling you that is the way that it is, doesn’t mean they are untouchable or unchangeable. That they are even real, true or connected to anything but your inability to see it any other way.
You can believe in changing what you believe.
My tears that slope the curved hills are salted with joy and spiced with purpose. They water the songs of my skin with notes of ranged oblivion. My breath tends my internal city, cooking to perfection. Oxygen steams the veintables;my bones saturate in flavored fat
The world spun me backwards, that afternoon in the shade.
It whittled it’s way into my grass bones and slowed down everything.
Until I felt life and things, sliding away from me.
I didn’t want that. I really didn’t.
And that’s when the speed disoriented me; like a feather in a hurricane.
I dug into my pockets in a calm frantic for a feeling and I pulled it out and
held it close to my confused heart.
I just felt it and felt it and felt it and accepted that I was and
I was letting that feeling be and realized it meant I was dealing and when I dealt
that’s then the world launched forward.
And I was ever always, going to be okay.
As long as I let myself feel what I was,
I was always ever, going to be okay.