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Tag: loss

Letting Go To Grow

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As much as we all dream of meeting our potential, it will not come without sacrifice.

Photo by Simon Harvey on Unsplash

Sacrifices that we, as people on a mission, could never dream of until we are faced with them. When we think of success, we tend to think of a precise line. Success is anything but linear. When we pray for success, it’s not that our prayers go unheard, it’s just that we are responsible for our next steps.

This is where it gets tricky, though;
Sacrifice, never seems like sacrifice in the moment. I have found that sacrifice usually presents itself as ultimatums, and impossibility.

As an example: In an earlier post, I illustrated the fact that in order to move, I had to do the impossible: I had to choose between my two dogs in order to move to my new apartment. I had to move in order to get a fresh start, mentally as well as financially.

I was unable to make that decision at an earlier time, and as a consequence of my indecision, I was faced with it again.

It was time to decide, would I do the unthinkable in order to get a fresh start, or would I stay where I was, because of my resistance to change?
It was not easy leaving my chihuahua behind.

This pain we are asked to face, I believe is why we sometimes stay where we are, even if change would be good for us – because we aren’t willing to lose. In turn, we also forfeit our right to choose.

Photo by Caleb Jones on Unsplash

I can’t blame or shame anyone for that. Letting go of anything – routine, our children, our parents, our habits, at times even our entire identity, is devastating.

There is no manual for letting go. There are no easy ways; there are no ways to avoid the pain of letting go.

As humans, we are wired to choose pleasure over pain – that’s the way our brains are. Our brains are also geared toward habitual ways of being, like drug addiction. Nobody wants to let go of something that makes our world easier to deal with – even if it causes us pain and ultimately, death.

We know that resistance is futile. We know. We only let go when it’s time to, and it’s never the right time to say goodbye to a friend, lover, or family member.


Success looks nothing like our daydreams.

Photo by Wil Stewart on Unsplash

If I could paint a picture of what the road to my potential looks like, it looks an awful lot like indecision, on top of a mountain of self-reflection.

At best, there is recognition and pats on the back. At worst, it’s a whole lot of facing ourselves – our demons, our loneliness, maybe even the fact that we aren’t as nice and charitable as we see ourselves.

That, my friend, is the cross we must bear. When we are pondering pursuing our potential, when we are thinking of our art being published, when we imagine ourselves on the shelves of our local bookstore, or on our local news, we must then ask ourselves what we are willing to lose in order to make our dreams a reality.

This is my question for you, dear reader,
What are you willing to lose, or choose?




In the comments, you can feel free to tell me about some of the choices you’ve had to make to get where you are. What was the impossible choice, what was the outcome? I’d love to hear from you.

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Welcomehomehealing.com‘s Logo, credit goes to the Author: Esmeralda Marie

I love you.
Welcome Home.
You’re Safe Here.

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On ‘Eating Shit Sandwiches’

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Dust settles…

We packed what we could and left.

Our first venture with an air mattress didn’t go so well. In our first go-round with balloon beds, we slept comfortably enough but would wake up two or three times a night. The air had vacated its dwelling place inside the mattress and decided the floor could hold us up.

We got a new one and saved our backs. For the most part, it’s holding up nicely; I didn’t wake up on the floor as I did with the other one. These past few nights have been kind to us. Both of us are grateful and humbled by the scenery, a good night’s rest, and the gift of the weather’s unpredictability.

I’ve neglected everything in moderation. I now fall asleep at normal hours, and I wake up before noon. Before, I was completely nocturnal. I’d be wired at 4. A.M. – watching the sunrise should never get that old.

We still hold hands, even when we’re asleep. (July 2014)


The water here is different. Showers feel as if you’ve gotten cleaner. Soft water has a tendency to keep your body slick. In contrast, hard water slaps the residue from my outermost organ (if the skin is still considered an organ, anyway). Yes, hard water and soft water is a thing. I didn’t know that until a few years ago.

An address is the furthest thing from my mind, even though the fact that I’m writing about it says otherwise. I’d be lying if I said I was in a rush to get one. I’m not in a hurry, and this town isn’t either.

What a change.

As for me and my family, we were only able to leave with one of our animals. Letting go was hard, but we made the right choice as far as those kinds of painful choices go. It’s funny when we first moved into those duplexes, we were asked to choose which dog we would keep.

In the past, I was unable to make such a decision. It’s like picking a child, and though we all have those we gravitate toward, letting go of the one you don’t think could get their shit together always seems wrong. At the time, we could afford to pay to keep both, and it was the right choice for that timeframe.

This time we were faced with that choice again.

Banjo (left) Annie (right)

(It’s too cold here for him, too noisy, and we decided it wouldn’t be in his best interest to live with us). If there’s such a thing as a good parent, or parents, I believe it would look like the parent who puts the interests of the child before their own wants and anxieties. We wished we could take him with us, and we were going to, but our judgment stepped in, and everything worked out.

We opted to have an older couple adopt him, and they were more than happy to oblige; they said they needed his energy around.

We couldn’t prevent our pain and we couldn’t hold our back our tears. Before that day, I hadn’t touched a cigarette in years, let alone smoke one. Yet, when we brought him to his new parents, I took the one I was offered without so much as a second thought. I said goodnight to him, though nothing would quell the sharp pain we both felt.

My heart kept pulling me to his new home. I could say nothing; it was in the middle of the night. I gently tapped the part of the house where his room was and tried to ignore the fact that I probably looked as if I’d gone mad standing outside of the duplex. I told him goodbye and reminded him (and myself) that I wouldn’t bring him somewhere I thought he would come to harm, and that this decision, though devastating was the best I could do at this time.

My wife still misses him fiercely, but now that we’ve arrived we both agree that this would not be a sufficient place to house him, he’s nervous enough already. I hope he’s well. He never liked the rain, and so far, it has rained more often than not.

Me and Banjo at Bedtime – 2018

As I write this, I realize that this blog has become more about the conscious art of letting go than anything else I had intended. I’m okay with this. I hope you are too. I’m not the type of person that can write a niche blog, though it is wiser and perhaps more lucrative to do so. (I don’t care if you do, do your thing)!

It is true, isn’t it? We teach what we need to learn. I have never been great at goodbyes or letting go. I have trouble processing them, but the more I realize they are often inevitable, the less I suffer.

Pain can’t be avoided. Choices have consequences. Thinking through our fears and shielding our eyes from the terrors of a life lived well only works for a short while.

Letting go of my dog, Banjo, taught me everything about the pain of goodbye and marching forward after a decision has been made. Sometimes, there is no choice less shitty than the other.

Sometimes choice demands you to shed skin, to lose everything to gain something better. Sometimes you need to decide what part of the shit sandwich you’d rather eat, knowing that whatever side you choose will undoubtedly rip your heart out.

We do the best with what we have in the shed, and the tools we are given are all we have, so we might as well learn to build a home when the first house gets burned to the ground.

I love you.
Welcome Home.
You’re Safe Here
.

Happy Birthday, Mommy.

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Hey there. Today is April 17th, 2019. Today is mom’s birthday. Today is also the sixteenth anniversary of her passing on April 17th, 2003. Some folks are kind of shocked to realize that she died on her birthday. Like… almost as if it was a bad omen, or as if it was unfortunate. I’ve always thought it was a matter of perspective.

These are some heavy times for the lovers, the introverts, and the givers.

At the risk of coming across as blasphemous, I am personally glad my mother is not here to bear the burden of these polarizing trials life has handed to us.

Perhaps I may have had a rough decade or so and maybe my view’s a bit skewed. I digress.

As time goes on, the blindfolds come off; allowing my worldview to grow exponentially. I am grateful for growing pains. I hope to experience as many as I can.

My mother only lived to be twenty-seven.
I am currently twenty-six.

Admittedly, I have recently been plagued by the hope that I will not die at twenty-seven like my mother. This phenomenon is not uncommon; though I do find it odd how it hit me so suddenly, so heavily.

Death will not come for me. I will not allow it. Give me another five years at the very least and then we’ll talk. 😉

I’m kidding. Pretending is something I am atrocious at. Therefore, I won’t pretend that I plan to evade the reaper. On the other hand, I do not intend to go down without a fight. I have always struck out only to come back swinging.

Ask about me. 😉

My destiny does not have to align with my mother’s, and I don’t think she wants that for me. I will not allow her passing to override the joy of my own aging. (Honestly, I think I get more attractive the older I get). I’ll be a hot old lady.

I love the confidence that comes with aging.
I wish I was able to witness more people embracing the passage of time.

My mother was so young. She was just starting out. She had such love and light to give to others. She was hurt easily. She loved easily. The classic blessing begets the classic curse.

I have definitely followed in her shoes when it comes to being a lover. I love, and love, and love. These days, it’s called codependence. If love is my affliction, I think I’m doing pretty good for myself.

I didn’t love my mother as I should have. Who knows love at ten? Though, I love her now, every day, fully. There is not a day that goes by that she does not cross my mind. It is a feeling that cannot be grasped.

Yet, I can think of no one who deserved the freedom of the afterlife as much as my warrior of a mother.

I love you, Ma. I love you with all of my heart. I think of you daily. I know you don’t like to see me agonize over life the way I often do. So, I’m trying to get my shit together, Ma. I’m writing again. I try to be a good wife. I talk about you a lot. I wish I could see films about you. But, that wouldn’t suffice. Take care of your granddaughter for me. I miss her every day since I lost her. Though, I sure am glad she got to meet you on her own. My stories of you wouldn’t do you justice. I love you. I’ll be alright. I’ll be alright, Ma. Sleep good, beautiful. How lucky I am to have my daughter and my mother as guides.

Happy Birthday Mom ♥





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Bruised Loser

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Dissecting the frogs in my throat,
Viral disease transmission,
Unloading the chamber,
Confessing sins to my friends,
All Sunday morning - easy.


I already know
that money can't buy hope.
Witnessed the devil in me,
Honey, even that ain't scary.


But, Sweetheart,
I did more than hope for you.
I prayed to any Lord that would listen.


I'd been so tired of singing the blues;
So, I prayed for you.
Promised I'd never ask for anything else;
I put old hopes up on the shelf.


And there you stood.


Finally, I believed
Without the need for proof.

Now,

The only thing painful
About loving you is knowing
That one day
It's your life I've got to learn to lose.



Toothless Grace

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Losing everything is devastating.

teeth

Losing everything when your resources are already quite limited can feel as if life’s just shoving you in a locker for fun. The times that we feel as though we’ve had our teeth kicked in seem to go on and on with no end in sight. No matter how pretty the lights are or how slow the carousel spins, we’re bound to get dizzy.

We’re stripped bare, with our egos exposed, ashamed of what we find; forgetting that our insides are beautiful. We forget that we were born naked, vulnerable, and helpless. This did not make us any less valuable. In fact, our innocence was embraced. 

carousel

Maybe you’re experiencing this season of toothlessness at this moment. If you are, I’d like to gently remind you that dentures exist for a reason, and I’m more than happy to pop those bad boys right in there for you until your adult teeth feel safe enough to push their way through your cotton candy gums.  Let us not forget that toothless grins are innocent and beautiful.

45973289664_be5d4bcae8_n
If life is kicking your ass and leaving your smile bloody, grin as wide as the Cheshire cat. A little blood won’t scare love off. Love after loss is the building block to rebirth. Love cultivates that which has been untended and overlooked. Love is stronger than the vines that grew over the soul. 

Love is the foundation that makes starting over worth it. If the pain of life and the loss that will inevitably reach all of us is the price we pay for strengthening the love that surrounds us, then with all sincerity I say to you: grow, my friend. Grow and pay no mind to the dirt. 

growth

You may have been buried alive for a long time. You may have eaten dirt and mistaken it for fudge, simply because you desired it.

truth

You may have packed your truth so deep down inside because you loved them. You loved them so much that you’d devour the soil that was meant for your growth just so they could heal. You tried to heal them. That is why you are worthy. That is why I know you’ll grow just as you were meant to, and now you’ll have more love left for you.

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