letting go

sometime around late march will mark the two year marker for my little blog.

(the sky the other night. spring is so lovely)

calling it a blog sounds too negative in the way self-indlgent is. my journal. my space for practicing honesty. my corner on the tangled streets of the internet to connect with soul neighbors. those sound like better descriptions.

i started writing a few months into the crazy (on a different blog). the voice sounds constrained, strained. kind of like a little girl trying to fit in.

the voice grew as i grew. evolved in tone, in intensity, mirrored whatever state of being i occupied whilst typing. still, i felt much like a little girl trying to fit in, trying to sew budding consciousness onto the patchwork of the self-love quilt. it never quite stitched in right.

and, as i approach my two year time chip, a solitary thought address me. repeatedly.

i am ready to let go of this blog.

i keep stumbling into rambling valleys of self-discovery and i find i don’t want to share. i want to reflect on experiences, know what they mean to me, before sharing. i am enjoying the solo journey through the ever changing forrest of colors, thoughts, and moods. i am questioning myself, my beliefs. and, in the process, i am releasing.

every day i shed past ways of thinking, acting, and believing that only served to hurt me. writing here is like writing continually of the past, of things i no longer feel so connected to. my eating disorder, my depression, are not my life anymore. they are parts of my life. i can’t keep my focus on them like they matter more than anything else.

additionally, the more i step away from the blog-o-sphere, the happier i am. kind of like how i feel about facebook (i don’t have one). i more organically experience life and its lessons when i am not reading the opinions of others. not sitting in front of a screen for hours some how feels better, too.

so, for now i am disconnecting. it’s the best choice, the one my heart keeps asking of me to make. there are new avenues to be explored. life can’t be directed at a computer screen for me anymore. my passions lie elsewhere. please feel free to e-mail me. i will always offer an open ear.

thank you so much for following me on this crazy, messy, lovely trip. thank you for listening, sharing, and connecting. you’re wonderful, lovebugs. truly.

much, much love.

namaste

zoe

things

i feel empty right now.

(i took a picture of this empty house the other day. the door knocked creeped me out.)

but then, empty isn’t quite the right word for it.

but then it is again.

my brain is confused.

i don’t feel like blogging but i do feel like writing. rambling, really.

i read this earlier.

then laughed because i related on like, all levels. green backpack included.

after that i read this earlier.

wonderful.

so it inspired me to do this.

i’ve been stumbling onto really, really amazing and inspiring and invigorating blogs filled with beautiful writers and even more beautiful words. one wrote a book i bought and she asked her readers to fill a blank page with everything they loved. and, since i feel weird and uncomfortable and tavi mentioned reminding yourself off all the wonderful things in your life when you’re down, this makes sense.

things i love. written in no particular order. the other day. in my notebook. (plus a few added on because why not?)

WORDS. writing. music. nature. trees. hiking. mother earth. yoga. walking. breathing deep. making tea. cooking. reading. connecting. sharing. talking. listening. helping. hugging. kissing. photography. men. women. sam. my parents. my brother. laughing. breakfast. singing. dancing. acid. weed. water. my water bottle. poetry. sunlight. redwoods. nate. victoria. road trips. drug trips. bass lines. my journal. journaling. exploring. moving. chocolate. kale. cake. my hair. my eyes. my eyebrows. my smile. the beatles. animal collective. waking up early. staying up late. tarot readings. traveling. flying. san francisco. the beauty of marin county. orgasms. good food. good company. meeting new people. the night sky. summer. summer nights. mountains beyond mountains. swimming. earring. beautiful lyrics. rings. sunsets. sunrises. spoken word. chuck. old trucks. baking. orange. purple. scarves. indian food. thai food. skirts. brussel sprouts. my sunglasses. gender discussions. this american life. (and subsequently) ira glass.

aaaand i’m done.

what do you love?

namaste

zoe

(p.s: also, i love beauty and the beast. my dad put it on and i’m watching it with him. it’s kind of got a great lesson and as much as i hate on disney, i still like their movies. and belle was always the princess i identified with the most. she loved books. i loved her.)

(p.p.s: adding this p.p.s the day after. this totally worked in helping me feel awesome and reinvigorated, by the way! fell asleep happy.)

self-love sunday: some rambles (it’s been a long week)

sleepy, per usual.

(san francisco at sun down, the other day)

my nocturnal clock is off. (or: i stayed up too late drinking whiskey in honor of st. patrick’s day but mainly in honor of one of my best friend’s birthdays).

this week has been weird. light and heavy in all moments, together. sluggish, too. i’ve spent a lot of time observing my emotions, feeling them out. simply a quiet week, peppered with overwhelming, abundant moments too intricate to explain. the best way to describe it: i am reentering consciousness.

the world looks like ireland outside my window. earlier this week fog ate into the tops of mountains, obscuring them. now clouds mix with blue sky i missed. everything is green. save for the one tree, defiant in holding yellow. i’m contemplating a cup of coffee. i’m thinking, in general.

i miss my friends. i miss sitting around smoking bowls and talking, talking, talking. i miss the closeness. i miss the connection. i miss knowing they’ll always be there. most days i keep the company of an empty house and an over-active mind. often my irrationality tells me i am slipping from friends’ consciousnesses. often i believe it. deep down i question my importance. my therapist tells me i am co-dependant and i can’t disagree. i’m still learning to appreciate my self, still searching for such self-acceptance and self-love in other people. still measuring my self-worth in the number of phone calls and texts and tips-of-the-hat i receive each week. it’s like this: fun things happen and i’ll find out about them later via stories, laugh and wonder why i am not helping tell them instead. wonder where invitations disappear to. wonder why i care.

frequently i wonder, too, “will i ever be settled?”

i think i know the answer. (i know — zoe, stop. we know. weknowweknowweknow. these thoughts are real, though. they’re not arbitrary. they’re as real as your fear of the dark or your fear of heights. let me feel. let me explore. let me process and progress as slowly as i need to. sit on your judgement because i am not judging you and your process.)

my heart feels sealed off. frozen in uncertainty, sadness, self-loathing and overwhelm. there are truths there, buried deep and fully-alive though only half-recognized. the me i want to be, the me i am, the me i see, will not come out. she’s rooted. stuck. available to only one or two people in my life.

i crave intimacy and authenticity like i do chocolate and cake and brussel sprouts (lack of such things in my life are some of the main reasons my eating disorder lives). times exist where i sit in the company of someone i love and we stumble into an opening, an invitation to speak, to pour my self out. words warm in my chest, bubble up to my throat, roll out onto my tongue, ready. i think, “this is it! it’s time! say it, say it, say it!” but i rarely do. instead i’ll swallow those truths back, slide them past my beating heart and into their caves where they’ll strip off their armor and wait for the next moment to be brave. it hurts every time.

someone told me recently, “you can’t hold all of that inside“. oh, but i do. i’m not good at asking for what i need. what i need feels like too much. so my quietness becomes my way of screaming. “i’m fine” is the biggest lie i’ve ever told.

possibly the craziest part of this crazy is this: i know my real friends love me deeply and unconditionally. i am the one who chooses to not understand, to not grasp fully what that type of love means. i am the one who nods in agreement on the outside while simultaneously rejecting any iota of love on the inside. i recognize i am generally the one keeping myself trapped and bound by fear.

my insides are all messed up. i will always be cleaning house.

i’ve frustrated and hurt a lot of people because of this persistant sadness i can’t quite figure out. i’m afraid that’s only helped distance me from my friends and my friends from me. i’ve let it swallow me entirely, isolate me fully. i’ve let it infiltrate all relationships. i feel like i’ve let a lot of people down, myself included. so it’s no surprise, really, that i struggle to talk to people. no one really knows me, truly. i won’t let them. because i fear losing everyone.

talk about irrational fears.

the good news (yes, there is some) is this: despite my negative rambling, i am getting better. i am opening up. i am slowly, slowly, shedding my fear of abandonment. the more i talk, the more i release. it’s a practice. kind of like strengthening a muscle. work it a little bit, watch it grow stronger.

i’m not sure when i will be able to separate my self-worth from my friendships but i am hopeful one day it will happen. i am hopeful one day i will see myself as my friends see me — as a whole person, not only flaws. i am hopeful one day i will freely ask for what i need without fearing judgement and complete rejection. i am hopeful one day i will be myself without apology, without wanting to be anyone else. i am hopeful that, one day, i will be okay.

this is my process.

namaste

zoe

(p.s: i wrote this in pieces this week, while floating in a weird, weird mood. today i woke up in much brighter spirits. i blame the whiskey fest and the company of one of my best friends, one i never feel shaky or questionable in front of. that and the sun is back after a week of straight rain. and i’m going on a hike!!)

self-love sunday: explain yourself

i lost my shit on friday.

(source)
i woke up light and lovey. calm and steady. i am due for a new pair of pants so i hauled my butt to the mall (mistake one). before i tried anything on i took a few deep breaths. i spoke to myself sweetly, said, “zoe, it doesn’t matter what size you pick up. it doesn’t mean anything.” then i picked out two pants and two dresses and took them to the dressing room (mistake two). and promptly lost my shit.

my restless, egocentric mind went insane. stole the moment to unleash hurtful thoughts. i cried and cried. i cried myself all the way to my friend’s house, where i held it together for, oh, three minutes before unravelling all over. tears did not stop. neither did the questions, the “zoe-what’s-wrong’s”. i got a lot of “it’s just clothes” type comments too. those types of comments set my anger off. because no, it’s not “just about clothes”.

i sat on that frustration for a while. until i realized:

if i ever expect anyone to understand what i am dealing with, i need to open up my mouth and my heart and explain the details.

i cannot keep complaining about how alone i am when i make no effort to let anyone understand.

friends who do not grapple with body-image issues as deeply as i do simply do not understand how clothes shopping can spark a melt-down. it’s like trying to have someone who doesn’t understand drug addiction try and understand it. to them it seems simple. “just stay away from the drugs! just don’t do it!” is the answer to them. when, obviously, it goes much deeper than a physical addition.

while we cooked dinner i brought it up. i said, “i need you to understand this isn’t just about clothes. this isn’t trivial, this isn’t superficial.” i filled her in. i opened up. i explained myself. and, you know, it turned out to be relatively easy, asking for what i needed: understanding.

i know sharing the inner workings of your mind and heart serves up vulnerability you might not think you can swallow. but know this too: your friends love you. they want to help you. there is no judgement there. just another heart wanting to know what makes yours beat, in all the best ways and all the worst ways. responses like, “it’s just about clothes” are your friends ways of not lessening your situation, but of trying to understand. if friends show frustration, know it comes out of exasperated love for you, because they don’t understand how you don’t see the beautiful, amazing person standing in front of them.

after we spoke, i felt lighter. less scared. not embarrassed. everyone deals with issues. these just happen to be mine. they’re weird, they don’t make sense, but.

there is no reason i need to hide in their shadows, trembling with shame.

namaste

zoe

so i watched demi lovato’s documentary (this one is long)

and, surprisingly, i almost cried a few times.

(source)

girl was honest. at the end i wanted to like, sit down with her and talk and talk and talk. i know MTV showed her in a specific slant but she talked candidly about issues not widely discussed (see the post before last).

she said things i related to. brought up questions i asked and continue to ask all.the.time.

her honesty tapped mine on the shoulder, said, “come on, man, just let it out.”

so.

here it goes.

(THIS IS VERY OPEN)

friends relate to the thoughts. not the extremes. explaining thought processes to their fruition (e.g: ending up over the toilet) never happens. i keep a lot under wraps for a variety of reasons. mainly because no one i know is a bi-polar bulimic with anorexic tendencies. at least outwardly, anyway. additionally, a lot of friends dismiss my worries as needing to get laid or needing to reap more gratitude. not that i disagree entirely but. that hurts. that makes me think and believe my feelings are overly dramatic and childish and not worth discussing or believing. after a while you give up on honest connection and just fucking agree, you know?

i know a lot of what i experience emotionally everyone experiences emotionally. yet, not everyone chooses to hurt themselves. not every ends up acting out those creepy things lurking around in the darkness of your self. and i really don’t want to keep pretending i am not genuinely troubled.

if i survey my twenty-two years, i can tell you this sadness did not start a mere two and a half years ago. it started in my childhood. i remember being called a cry-baby at age seven. i remember friends distancing themselves from the overly-emotional and very sensitive child, whose contradictory bouts of wild energy caused teachers to speak privately with my mom and a friend’s mom to say something like “i don’t think you should hang out with zoe”. i remember feeling awkward and uncomfortable and worthless by age nine.

i remember friends in middle school telling me i was too sad too often. one girl told me i was depressed and wanted to drag everyone down with me. which was not true. not true. i just felt a lot and was confused and wanted someone to tell me it would eventually be okay. that i would eventually be okay. after that i shut myself up. stopped spilling the secrets buried in my heart. i stopped thinking i was special enough to be heard. i sealed myself off and learned to play the role of “helpful” despite crying myself to sleep frequently. by the end of middle school, my mom asked me one day if i wanted to “see someone” (a therapist, namely). i ignored the request because there was nothing wrong.

but i remember being angry all the time. i remember crying, hating myself so much. once, i jokingly played with scissors and my wrist. i was only half-joking. (i’ve never said that to anyone)

i cried myself through the first two and a half years of high school. the self-hatred formed in my childhood carried into my teens, multiplied and manifested. i mellowed out a lot my senior year. found a group of friends who loved and accepted me. the next surge electrified me my freshman year of college (makes sense). the crying started up again. the depression.

when i read through old journals, i am struck by the deep sadness written in the pages. part adolescent angst, part deep emotion children don’t regularly feel. the words hurt me now, years later.

of course, i’ve experienced happiness, too. i’ve had numerous happy days. i’ve had a lot of people in my life who love the person i am. i cannot discount any of that. however, the heaviness of my sadness often feels extraordinary.

and totally mystifying.

because i know the extent of beauty in my life. of privledge, of love, of abundance. i want to stress too that i never asked to feel the things i feel. i never asked for the thoughts that make no sense in conjunction with the elements that make up my life.

i understand the saying “you are what you think” but, sometimes, my thoughts do not feel like my own. they creep out of shadows. become a loud sound i can’t drown out with happiness or gratitude or a good fuck. even when life goes right, i still struggle. the heaviness never lifts entirely. sadder still is how well i’ve learned to numb it out, to shrug it off and pretend like all is fine (being vulnerable is hard).

i’ve been trying not to overthink. i’ve been trying to talk myself down. but, you know, it’s like, how long can you pretend you’re okay? i can’t do that to myself anymore, deny reality.

example:

one of the syptoms of bi-polar (II) is racing thoughts, ones that make you keep late hours and develop insomnia (because the brain won’t shut up).

and right now my mind is goinggoingoing. i can’t keep my focus on one thought for very long. my heart is racing, too. i’m all panicky. jittery. i feel like i have so much energy but i haven’t slept properly in three weeks (6 am bedtime last night though i got into bed at 1) and wake up heavy and slow. i don’t really feel like i can breathe well. i’m crying, not crying. yet, i started the day over the moon happy. i wentwentwent all day. i laughed a lot. felt light.

yet.

here i am.

inching closer to midnight, exhausted in theory, but feeling incapable of sleeping.

i wrote this for a variety of reasons.

i wrote this for myself.

i wrote this because it’s okay to own your emotions and thoughts, to acknowledge them as real and worthy of discussing and i needed to prove that to myself.

i wrote this for you, sitting there, lost, unable to explain anything you think or do to anyone, even yourself.

i wrote this to show you’re never alone, even if you think you are.

namaste

zoe

(p.s: now i feel naked. metaphorically speaking.)

(p.p.s: and much lighter. talk about needing to let some stuff out, huh?)

(p.p.p.s: i really need to work on talking to people in my life i can physically touch.)

badvertisements (i’m so clever)

critical thinking comes to me naturally.

(source)
(also: TRUTH.)

if you couldn’t tell.

i ask ‘why’ all the time. i always have. sometimes it gets me in trouble. sometimes it winds up hurting me. sometimes though, it helps in sorting through the bullshit.

like advertising. i am okay with judging the shit out of advertisements. especially those aimed at men, women, weight and appearance. my heart goes fluttery fast whenever i watch television commercials in particular.

like the progresso commercial where a woman calls and speaks with a male chef who, because he is male clearly (clearly) doesn’t care about the customer’s weight loss and the joy she expels. so she asks for a woman, instead. because, obviously, all women turn into dithering piles of giggles and claps whenever one of us loses weight.

or the nutrisystem commercials claiming prepackaged, processed, gnarly foods covered in plastic will help you shed the weight you so-desperately-need-to-lose. maybe it will. but nutrisystem won’t help you develop tools to build a foundation with food not in little boxes. it won’t teach you how to view food as nourishment and as enjoyable. because, for real, boxed food rarely compares to homemade, hand crafted deliciousness.

or how about the workout programs we see in between our shows? the ones showcasing dramatic body transformations? yes, i do believe discovering a healthy weight will increase a person’s confidence as well as health. but no, i don’t think focusing solely on physical appearance as a means to happiness and wholeness is good. it’s superficial. it leaves out the person inside, the one who believes her outsides matter more than the solidity of her character. additionally, what happens when and if you stop the work out regiment? what happens when you lose that “ideal” body and gain your natural one?

or what about proactive commercials? zits are unseemly. be smooth. be clear. be perfect. hide your flaws because they’re offensive.

or, man, the over-the-counter speed pills playing dress up as diet pills?

what the fuck are we selling here?

according to american media, our outsides matter over any other piece of our selves. the size of your waist directly affects the number of friends you have. no one will like you if you’re not thin, wearing straight hair, and a white smile proving your happiness. there is always something to fix. there is always something to improve. we’re never enough.

we’re selling unobtainable ideals. we’re selling body-consciouness and food obsession. we’re selling guilt and shame and depression. we’re selling inauthentic, pitting fake against real.

i am so angry. so frustrated.

because it doesn’t matter how smart you are (i’m pretty smart and i fell for this shit). this type of advertising weasels into all lives. it catches people unguarded. there is a reason western culture breeds eating disorders and self-esteem issues. there is a reason women trade dieting tips like old family recipes and don’t bat an eyelash when a friend complains about her thighs.

what kills me the most is the apathy, the blind acceptance, of the culture we live in. i know people fight against the negativity brought by american media. i know of body acceptance movements and women’s empowerment organizations. but i know intimately the shrugging, the “it is what it is” statements.

during the oscars my aunt kept referring to the “fat lady in the background”. pointing at the screen, at her, like some displaced wild animal in the zoo of perfection. my dad joined in eventually. i simmered. i bubbled. until, eventually, i boiled over, almost yelling as i spilled, “can we not call her fat? she’s a person, in a dress. she’s a person.”

it kills me how easily we attack one another and ourselves. how we judge without reason. how we build self-worth from the surface and stop there.

i encourage you to start asking questions. to start seeing the not-so-subtle messages tucked between dippy dialogue and uppity commercial jingles. further more, i encourage you to share your opinion, even if others think you’re nuts (e.g: my parents think i’m crazy every time i spout off at the t.v.). because, whether american would like to acknowledge it or not, some malicious force is sinking into our conscious. this isn’t okay anymore. this wasn’t okay, ever.

imagine a world in which depression, anxiety, body-shame, and self-esteem were not the biggest personal issues our culture faced. imagine if we started to consider our character, if we started to measure our worth in how much we loved, how much kindness we shared? what would we look like, then?

we have more power than we think. this doesn’t have to be forever “it is what it is”.

this doesn’t have to be shrugged off anymore if we don’t want it to be.

namaste

zoe

(p.s: ironically, i post this the week after nation eating disorder week. yeah. i would)

(p.p.s: i know it’s music monday but i wrote this last night and am still pretty fired up so. music later. and really, does anyone care? eh.).

self-love sunday

the right words to start this ramble are not at my fingertips.

(me and daises yesterday in san francisco sunshine)

this week was weird, right?

filled with heavy energy. i slept in weird cycles, experienced insomnia for the better part of the week, woke up foggy every day. an underlying sadness tinted the week.

i spent hours unloading into my journal. honest thoughts. confused thoughts. too many thoughts.

and saw my truth:
i am only honest in words, in writing.

i have so much to say to so many people. so many thoughts and feelings and conversations i want to vocalize. not necessarily pleasant ones, either. but each time i gather the strength and steadiness to open my mouth, it stays closed. those inflated words deflate, fall back to their homes in my chest, and i implode silently.

i am as emotionally developed as my seventeen-year-old self.

i’m too busy being nice, good, easy, to speak my truth, to find my voice and use it. as i explained to a friend the other day: “i am going through the teenage rebellion i never had.“

(although, ironically, i was very quick to share my opinion when i was a teenager)

or, maybe, more accurately, i am going through the quarter life crisis no one talks about. either way, i am a big ball of feelings with no outlet other than my pen and paper. everything inside me is screaming for release. i can’t be afraid of how other people react anymore. it’s not a burden i need to carry. it’s not one i want to carry. this lack of sense of self has me floating int a weird, uncomfortable, shaky place. i’m running around trying to find my self in other people.

i gotta get over this. i’m not as fragile as i keep telling myself.

this week, i’m shooting for honesty.

off the page.

namaste

zoe

(p.s: remember when i mentioned phantogram the other music monday? well, give the phantogram pandora station a listen. hot damn.)

(p.p.s: i haven’t felt like blogging at all this week.)

to be real

that last post felt and sounded nothing like me.

(source)

for real.

like, really, in retrospect…what?

doling out skin care advice doesn’t sound like me. it’s not what i want to write, what my heart asks me to bare.

i continuously move away from the true nature of this blog: a means for me to cope (and, i guess, technically, an open journal for the anonymous).

to be honest, this blog is more for me than for anyone else. call it self-ish, it’s okay. i don’t feel self-ish. the internet offers virtual communities. so. this is a way for me to connect and start dialogues until, eventually, i can start ones with the people in my life face to face. call it practice.

you may wonder why i chose to post so candidly. i’d hoped by now you’d have picked up on the openness of my nature. i like to talk, discuss and, occasionally just kidding like all the time, to the dismay of friends and family, over analyze. sorry. that’s in my DNA make-up, too. i have always been interested in the answers behind the questions, in investigating. i like the nitty gritty in life. the shadowy details. some people don’t.

i am here for those who do. i am here to share this journey alongside yours, to connect to other humans experiencing the experience of life and living. because you know, it’s not easy. this whole living business.

skin care just isn’t on the agenda, kids.

i can’t wish away the feelings i feel. no matter how i try to avoid them, ultimately they’ll round a street corner on some tuesday afternoon and link arms with me again. talking about them talks me through them, before, finally, talking me out of them.

i did not ask for the life i landed. something or someone somewhere put me in the ‘really, really ridiculously lucky pile‘ and threw in some baggage for good measure. no one can be ‘really, really, really ridiculously lucky’.

every person carries sadness. did i not say that earlier this month? well. it’s time i start believing it. it’s time i start allowing that sadness, that anger, that nitty gritty, to be felt instead of covering it up with a superficial, poorly concocted happiness/gratitude blend. i can’t guilt myself out of experiencing authentic emotion anymore.

i’m done apologizing for what bubbles up, for being ashamed every time i sigh.

starting.

now.

namaste

zoe

music monday + monday lessons

mmm monday.

(san francisco on saturday on random street walks with my friend)

a light breeze, fat clouds, sunshine kind of monday.

i woke up intending to work out the whole day because i ate cake last night and militant, dictator zoe ordered it to be done. under strict authority, i laced up tennis shoes after i slipped out of my sheets and dreamy early morning haze. i skipped breakfast too for good measure. funny how plans figure their way out, though.

because the television spazzed out. and my brother came home sick from school. and my stomach grumbled loudly. and i picked up a pen and undid my tennis shoes. and i wrote into my journal. and i realized: “i still think my weight matters in the measure of happiness. so i still chase it as being the problem of all my problems” (journal quotes). silly anxious and negative self. it’s just cake, not the devil. calm yourself.

so i ate some breakfast, ate some more cake, laced up my tennis shoes, and took the walk i actually wanted. i listened to two pod-casts, did some yoga in the park under the sun, felt the grass beneath my feet. three or so hours later i am home, rested and happy and not thinking about that cake from last night or the cake from earlier. just how awesome my legs feel and how settled my heart is in my chest.

and how awesome this song is.

because i am in love with bon iver.

and mondays, for that matter.

namaste

zoe

(p.s: please don’t steal my photos. thanks!)

self-love sunday

before i start a recap of sorts:

(flowers on a walk the other day)

today my little brother turns eighteen.

kind of like cinderella pulling her whole transformation, my brother is an adult now (though not in a dress and carriage-made-from-pumpkin), suddenly. an adult. like, legal. which is weird because i remember when he was born, how little he was in my own little arms.

to commemorate the occasion, i am making chili bread bowls, per his request. and cake. because birthdays are not birthdays without cake in my eyes.

yup.

anyway.

so, i am working on friendships. on connecting and reconnecting with people who truly, deeply matter. often times we chase friendships or people who clearly show no interest in slowing their retreat. we wonder, “why am i left behind?” while the solids in our lives trail us, wondering “why doesn’t she turn around?”.

confession: i am a die-hard chaser.

i pour attention and affection into friendships my intuition chirps are “one sided”. i did it in early friendships. i did it in high school. i did it in college. i do it now. worrying about how i stand in the lives of part-time friends prompts the burn of anxiety. of loneliness. of depression. it also hurts the real friendships i have, as those true sources of joy distance themselves, shaking their heads at my breathless game of catch and release.

slowly i am understanding the need to balance the energy i put into relationships, including the one i hold with myself. i cannot give away my reserves so quickly, so willingly, so entirely to people.

i spent a lot of time with old friends this week (ones from college and one from high school). i noticed the goofy ultra-dork reemerging. easily and naturally. there was never a sense of “am i good enough?“, only “god i missed this”. i did not experience a need to be anyone other than the person i am, to prove something my mind made up. there was no judgement. no anxiety. just a lot of laughter.

i know i am never alone. i know a lot of the time i think myself into a space for one and tell myself no one cares (not true). i am getting there, though. realizing i make myself alone when i concentrate on those part-time friends, when i forget all those beautiful people in my life who are, always, open and willing to embrace me when i need it the most, not when it suits their schedules.

do you ever find yourself worrying over relationships that bring you more unease than ease?

namaste

zoe

(p.s: did any of that make sense? i feel like that was a bunch of word-vomit.)