Being Alone

I realize I blog less when a lot is brewing for me, partly because I know that in words I can't help but be so accurately authentic, and vulnerable that it hurts to face myself in those ways, and partly because I don't necessarily want to be seen in that place.  But for me, the articulation and the being seen in it, is healing, regardless of how uncomfortable it may be.

So today, I want to talk about being alone.

When I look at this photo I see a woman alone, it is the first thought that popped into my mind.

Not alone as in lonely, although that comes and goes, but alone as in finally alone.

I went from the horror of my mother's home into my father's home, into a lifeless and painful, 13 year marriage, and then into a year and half whirlwind of a relationship and finally into living with my daughter in our apartment where the struggle for boundaries continued.

Don't get me wrong, there were plenty of moments of love and light in most of my homes but ultimately I never really knew who I was as I often lost myself in relationships.

 A few months ago my daughter got her own apartment. 

I finally was able to feel what it is like to be on my own.

And most of me loved it.

I loved the freedom, the not having to think about anyone else but myself, the moving about in my underwear, or having loud conversations on the phone, or singing or dancing whenever, where ever. 

It's the simple things, ya know?

My house became the meeting place for my mastermind group and still is. I love that these important and profound conversations are had in the safety and comfort of my home. I love that they feel safe and comfortable there. It matters greatly to me.

Being alone, though, is a mixed bag.

The weight of supporting yourself completely, in New York, no less, is not an easy feat. As an artist there are invariably months you don't do as well as others. Luckily and with a lot hard work, there has always been enough and for that I am grateful, but this isn't about being alone and the burden of that financially really.

It's more about what being alone means right now for me.

When I look at this photo I can feel her alone-ness. It doesn't feel completely scary to me. It feels intriguing, it feels full of potential for digging into the layers of me.

Being alone means going there, facing the tough parts, the parts that keep me alone, as well as the parts of me that want to be alone.

Being alone means untangling myself enough from the story of others, to see myself beyond my dance with those I have loved, and those I still love.

Being alone is part of my healing, reclaiming me and my own power to stand on my own two feet.

It is scary, terrifying even, on some days.

On the scary days it is as if I forget who I am, who I am capable of being, it is like I become the lost wounded self again, helpless, powerless and utterly alone. And my job on those days is to remind myself that I am loved, that I am safe, that nothing can hurt me, not like the old days.

Never again like the old days.

On those days, it is important to just show up, to sing, to write, to paint, to comfort and nurture, to be still and let it pass. I don't have to fight it, it does not have to consume me. I can be gentle and kind because what does a frightened child need most? That is after all what is happening. The scared little girl is "up", "active", feeling helpless and powerless and in need of my loving attention, she is in need of what she never received as a child and I am the only one who can truly give it to her.

Some days it isn't so scary. There is flow, it is electric and beautiful and all the pieces that are coming together are so clear to me. There is hope, and aliveness. Ideas are everywhere. I can see how perfect it all is really. I can see what's coming, what is on its way. I trust it.

I can feel my own power.  I am more in my body.

On these days I am aware that I am never really alone. I am actually guided in such sacred ways even when I am not fully aware of it. On those days I can feel the love inside of me and all around me.

Those are some damn good days.

But I don't want to negate the scary place, or think my way out of it, or and try to force it/her to go away. In fact I want to honor the scary place, to acknowledge it, to see it as true but not true, to give myself and the little girl inside of me, all the compassion I need to rise up, in my own time, in my own way.

Because this state of fear allows me to feel the truth more clearly, it allows me to know my flow more acutely, to honor it, it allows me to rise up with an even deeper understanding of who I am.

And ultimately that allows me to be truer, more authentic in my relationships with others and with myself.

And that is where I want most to be.