Full Moon

under the harvest moon

when the soft silver

drips shimmering

over the garden nights,

death, the gray mocker

comes and whispers to you

as a beautiful friend 

who remembers.  

~carl sandberg

A transformation has been taking place within me… just as the moon has been filling and growing, so have I.

I left therapy with anxiety. I knew EMDR was the right choice for me… but I questioned who I would be without the pain, without the trauma to cling to? I felt as though my comfy hiding place was suddenly in jeopardy of being taken away from me. I had had that pain for as long as I could remember… how am I supposed to live without it.?  But as I contemplated, and wrote in my journal that night I realized I was at peace with that, I didn’t understand why exactly until I talked with my best friend about it… and I suddenly realized my peace was coming from a place of excitement and adventure.

I have always had “itchy feet”.  I’ve dreamed my whole life of running away and inventing a whole other life.  Recreate myself, change, be who I really want to be…  In a way, this is my body giving me permission to clean out the old ways, the old traumas, the old phobias, the old ways of thinking and reacting… and creating the Robyn I have always wanted to be.

This doesn’t mean I will change my personality and my likes and dislikes of regular things.. it just means I will be working to create a BETTER VERSION of me.  The one that should have started forming and showing when I was a child, a teen, a young mother.  I’m retraining the trauma brain to not be the main brain… and I’m excited.  Terrified, yes, but excited.

I need to first start working on anxiety and how I talk to myself and how I respond so negatively to stress. THAT’S going to be a hard one.

So tonight I will sit and watch the harvest moon.  I will put all my energy into letting it wash over me, drawing its power and strength into me. I will be that strong woman of nature, of power, of light and of love. I will start my journey towards healing, and I will begin the work towards allowing myself to love me.



Trust the Process

“Trust the process”, “Feel the feelings and don’t escape”,  most of all… “Be Honest, with yourself.”

That’s the words I came away from my therapy session with today.

I poured my soul out last night on the couch. Told him so many, many horrible and dirty things. I cleansed my soul but burdened his.

I woke up with a terrible emotional hangover. All the emotions I should have felt last night… poured forth this morning.

What about him? What did he feel like this morning? I don’t know… I didn’t even ask.

I have made this all about me, I am so wrapped up in my own guilt, my own self-discovery, that I didn’t even think about what he would go home feeling like.

He keeps saying he’s ok, that he’s fine, that we are fine.  But WHAT HAVE I DONE?

I broke an agreement, I betrayed his trust, I shattered his belief that I am this strong, amazing woman that will never hurt him. I did that, and I take full responsibility for that. But how do I earn his trust back and work through this so I don’t continue on a path of destruction without constantly bringing it up and constantly reminding him of the pain?

I want to trust the process. I want to work through this baggage once and for all so I can live my best life and not be weighted down with the pain of the past.

I want to be free of the feelings of unworthiness. I want to be the strong, beautiful, faithful, survivor that he thought I was before…

I want to trust the process, but I don’t want to fail.  I don’t want to fail him. I don’t want to fail myself.

I never did this or acted out with intentions to hurt him… It was never about that. It was not me being a shitty person doing shitty things to hurt anyone. It was an unwell person doing a shitty thing to try to feel better. And I hope you know I hate that unwell person so much right now.






Perhaps my purging of horrible stories is my way of cleansing

Perhaps I’m not really such a bad girl… just a hurt girl, a damaged girl, an in pain girl.

Perhaps I need to feel this pain in order to grow… to learn.

Perhaps I am to the point my growth can no longer be contained and this is why it hurts so very bad?

Perhaps it was the very love, the unconditional, healthy love I’ve always needed… the love I’ve been longing for my whole life.. that really scared me so much?

Perhaps… I don’t feel worthy.

Perhaps my ugly tales tonight… were me pushing him again… to see if he reacts, recoils, sees me for the ugly person I feel I am right now…

Perhaps, he still loves me…. perhaps he always will.

Please don’t give up on me

I’ve been cooled from this terrible fire

Calmed by the love you wash over me

Fresh from the waterfall within you

I’ll stay the path baby

My promise to you is this

I’ve tasted the fear of losing you

And I never want to swallow that pill

Please don’t give up on me baby

I know I can be too much

I know you hate the demons inside my head

But your love holds me closer to earth

Please don’t give up on me.


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For Women Who Are Difficult to Love
by Warsan Shire

you are a horse running alone
and he tries to tame you
compares you to an impossible highway
to a burning house
says you are blinding him
that he could never leave you
forget you
want anything but you
you dizzy him, you are unbearable
every woman before or after you
is doused in your name
you fill his mouth
his teeth ache with memory of taste
his body just a long shadow seeking yours
but you are always too intense
frightening in the way you want him
unashamed and sacrificial
he tells you that no man can live up to the one who
lives in your head
and you tried to change didn’t you?
closed your mouth more
tried to be softer
less volatile, less awake
but even when sleeping you could feel
him travelling away from you in his dreams
so what did you want to do love
split his head open?
you can’t make homes out of human beings
someone should have already told you that
and if he wants to leave
then let him leave
you are terrifying
and strange and beautiful
something not everyone knows how to love.


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