Having an extremely critical analytical nature, I frequently have questioned my status as a writer –
Until I accepted that it is not because I am “successful” because I’m not overall best selling anything except the truth as my body compels me to communicate it – often in writing because I love to emote through words, to create some kind of new experience, to be an author of something beyond a paragraph – I want to author something that moves and shifts a situation to be the better version of it.
When it comes to using the skill of writing to accomplish those kinds of things – like reframing a wicked problem, or communicating a difficult (emotional or complex) idea, that’s the kind of writing that my heart leaps to.
Then the Empath thing. Lots of #empathy talk going on, so I think people know about that – but the Empaths, you know the real versions of Star Trek’s Deanna Troy, what a whirlwind of feels it can be, and those all must come out somehow – and they will.
Maybe if I had danced more in my heart instead of pushing myself to some way of being that met other people’s standards and left me feeling invisible and neglected on a soul level, maybe then I wouldn’t have had so many struggles.
But what are struggles besides a path in which to carve one’s own mastery of life and experience in the physical body of the soul? So I dance enough I think, and that makes me happy enough.
I am thinking about the things I hear and read about breast cancer survivors. I laugh a little inside now and then that the type of cancer I got was Her2+ or Her Too Positive. I think being too positive can kill a person, I have felt myself race a few steps closer to what felt like death and I have contemplated the face of death deeply a few times, and there is no “positive” there – it is that bridge to oneness, the union of all that is and all that it can be, in one big long slow, beautiful, rhythmic, cyclic dance.
And whenever I start dancing it seems, oh but the Devil tries to hop on my back.
#afterthecancer #reflections #survivor