Just, Hello and Stuff

Hi, friends!

Wow. I haven't written a single post this month. Sorry about that! Except, not really. Sorry, not sorry, because a shift has been underfoot as I approached my 34th birthday on the fourteenth of June; a shift that required me to be silent and observe.

Three months ago, the only thing that soothed my heartbreak and grief was to write — to expel and capture how I felt, and to try to make some sense of it. Right now, what feels right is to be quiet because so much is quickly changing for the better. I'm doing only what I am called to do, while observing my thoughts and motivations. I haven't felt like writing, but I did not necessarily know why.

I thought it might have been reaction. See, I write this blog for myself and for other women. Specifically, other women who have or will experience(d) a similar situation. I don't write it for my lifelong friends, family, ex, ex-in-laws or ex's new female friends' curiosities about the current inner workings of my mind. I don't write this blog to provide a window for inquiring minds to peek through, nor to spill the backstory they've been licking their chops to hear. I'm not bothered in the slightest if my lifelong friends, family, ex or ex-in-laws or ex's new female friends' choose to read my blog, but I do not write for those audiences.

I write Phoenix Mom Rising because sadly, my story is not all that unique. For a woman in a situation like mine, it feels like the most unimaginable story ever told... let alone lived. And living it under a veil of silence and secrecy allows that feeling of unique loneliness to grow and takes over one's life, eating away at both her emotional and physical health. However, the simple act of acknowledging that she, or I, or you are not alone changes everything. Maybe not right away, but over time. Knowing others share in your pain makes your own a little easier to bear. Likewise, simply offering to share in others' pain, makes their own a little easier to bear.

I write my honest story exclusively from my point of view and have done so uber-authentically for only about six months. I'm always clear about that. A disclaimer here even speaks specifically to that

So, when I get feedback and reactions from my lifelong friends, family, ex or ex-in-laws — anything from, "man, I didn't know that!" with the desire to dig in and discuss further, to "I wish you didn't write that," to not actually speaking to me, but speaking to my ex about my blog — I am usually taken aback that they feel I would, could or should write any differently.

I own my story. Just like you own yours, and your sister/ brother/ uncle/ aunt/ mom/ dad/ friend owns his or hers. The blessing and the curse therein is the accompanying responsibility for our story, which no one else can re-write for us — do we tell it truthfully, or do we morph it to suit another's opinions, wishes or desires? I choose the former.

But despite the fact that I write and own my story, I still get reactions from the audiences I am not writing for. And while I don't mind reactions any more than I mind curious readers, I still think each time, "Of course, you didn't know that, I never told you," or "I don't need your permission," or "If the content bothers you, please don't read this blog."

After a heavy dose of reaction last month I went silent, and I thought perhaps the two were related. But having observed myself for a few weeks now, that's not why at all.

I'm quiet for great reasons, actually: because I'm doing other things that I really need to do to heal. Which is why I'm sorry, not sorry.

I haven't been thinking about my ex and what I lost. In fact, I changed his contact in my phone to "Amalia's Dad" — an ever-so-slight perception change that reflects who he is to me now, which has made a big difference in how I think about and react to him. I'm now positively distracted by and focused on what I've gained to explore and experience, after making the choice to look through the lens of abundance.

I took on some exciting new clients, I found a therapist I enjoy speaking with, I started learning Spanish, I began a summer-long photography class, and I'm teaching two dance classes, one for kids and one for women. All things I've been thankful for on Thursday's.

Writing is my greatest passion. But it's an output passion. And in order to be able to put out, I have to fill the tank of inspiration and motivation with other things that light me on fire. So I'm grateful to myself for listening to this need. I feel the pendulum swinging back around to a more steady flow of thoughts and observations again soon. So, please hang with me. We'll be back to our regularly scheduled program soon enough.