what mornings mean to me now.

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my favourite part of the day was usually the morning, right at dawn, watching the sunrise grow in colour. now, it is the hardest part of my day, which I tend to almost always sleep through trying to escape it.

my mornings make me anxious. I feel the weight of bearing the responsibility to live my day right when I still have so much to learn about being a free human being. my gratitude practise worries me with how much of the blessings of my life I do not give conscious thanks to. my prayers remind me that I do not remember God much often and forget to breathe in remembrance. I am reminded, every morning, of all the mistakes I must make in order to get through and learn.


I feel the loneliness settle at times, the solitude of struggle petrifying me. too many choices to make: do I have my coffee? do I pray first? do I go for a run? do I work? those choices leave me overthinking and I find myself in bed, exhausted by the freedom which is meant to heal me.


however, the most beautiful thing about all of it is that this is what healing looks like. for the first time, I am allowed to feel like a human being with human struggles. after so many years of trying to bypass being human, it is right in my face, the reality of making ordinary choices, living an ordinary life with petty responsibilities that at times waste the very time I used to worship. healing, I thought, would be a linear, known path. but it is very much like destiny: a cryptic, divine signature that you accept each day without resistance.


I am giving myself the allowance to feel now. most of the time, I feel the repressed anger, sadness and immobility I had to swallow. I feel the discomfort, fear and panic of leading my life and making the most idiotic choices. I used to fight those feelings before, but now I give them space to be and accept them. I accept that these few months, I might find it difficult to work, difficult to meet people and take on new hobbies. I accept that I am still building my capacity to include more of life.


isn’t this compassion? I didn’t feel that for so many years of my life. I never had the chance to be compassionate. I was never the one to allow myself weakness or uncertainty. I would panic and try something else. I would never settle for something lower than pretending to thrive upon the shackles of a broken home.


the price of learning how to love oneself and being compassionate is a complex situation. it is not something you learn in a book or an article. it is a journey of experiencing the pain of blundering and experiencing your own shadow and darkness, yet still believe that you are worthy of being given another chance to find a way through.

my depression and anxiety are slowly lifting, but the breakthrough is not something I experience in the present moment. an active practice of sitting myself down, reminding myself of where I was six months ago gives me peace. it allows me to reconnect the dots and see progress. it allows me to see what changes only with commitment, tears and allowing time to pass and feelings to be felt. 


I still have a long way to go. I still have a lot to feel. I am not sure if tomorrow is going to be one of those bad days or not, but I have given myself time to experience it and hide myself in the shadows of healing. it will never be easy. the only way is through.


i am grateful for being given a second life to build with free will. the sacrifices hurt, but are ever so sweet when seen from a greater perspective.


I can’t wait to see how much changes.

going with grace in an inscrutable world.

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