The truth is, I’m afraid to entirely fall apart.
I think most of us are, and that’s part of the reason we are stuck and unhappy. We think that if we fall apart, we’ll never come back together. We will lose ourselves in some abyss of misery and despair and no one will ever love or respect us again. Because we submit to this fear, we do our best to “keep it all together”.
I fucking hate that phrase.
What’s the point of keeping it together at the expense of your own happiness, health and truth? There are so many societally projected notions of how we “should” behave, think, and live – and I want nothing more than to blow them apart. We let them keep us unhappy, small, and perpetually exhausted.
I, just as much as anyone, give my power away on the daily. I’m now aware of that fact, but shifting my perceptions and patterns feels overwhelming – often impossible. I am also aware that believing I can’t do something ensures that I can’t … but I’m human, and I get frustrated. I am someone who has difficulty finding balance in life, even in this particular journey. I jump in wholeheartedly, only to remember later that I can burn out on self-improvement just like anything else.
Look – there’s nothing wrong with you if you can’t seem to let yourself fall apart. I really mean that. We are conditioned to think that we shouldn’t, and if we weren’t, you might witness more people melting down on the daily. Wouldn’t that be lovely, if we normalized our own humanity? But no, we judge it, we run away from it, because we get uncomfortable when confronted with the mirror of someone else’s vulnerability.
Crumbling doesn’t mean you are weak. Actually, it doesn’t mean a damn thing about you at all. It’s not a reflection of your strength or your worth. In truth, letting yourself fall apart is perhaps one of the most frightening, vulnerable and brave gifts you can give yourself. The work is in letting go of the stories we have around what it means to fall apart. My own stories are strong as fuck, and I have never felt like I’m allowed to fall apart, or like I’ll be able to put myself back together after.
Perhaps what I actually want to release is the idea that being “put together” means anything.
Perhaps I can trust myself enough to know that falling apart does not mean I am permanently broken or will never recover.
Perhaps if we all found some compassion for ourselves and others, we could support ourselves and each other in our incredibly valiant unraveling of our own imperfection by leading with love and acceptance.
I won’t lie to you – I’m not there right now. I’m doing my best, just like you are. I don’t want to feel this pressure anymore, the force of my shattering pushing from inside, begging me to release it and discover my freedom. I’m tired of bearing the weight, and I bet you are too. When can you (and I) find willingness to let go of the familiar – which we cling to despite its suffocating burden – and embrace the exhilarating uncertainty of falling apart?
We are in this together. We have the power to free ourselves. It’s only scary because it’s new to us. I got you, and I know you have my back too. I’m here for you, and I love you. Keep on going, one step at a time. Breathe.