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All That I Can Do

1/6/2023

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All that I can do is hold myself.

All that I can do is have compassion for you. For as long as I've known you, you were always someone who tried to do what was best. You were always trying to find a solution. I know that my happiness was something that you considered. It's easy to love you, respect you and understand you through all of this despite my own deep confusion and disagreement.

All that I can do is have compassion for myself. I know my worth. I know I tried my best. I know that I am full of love and joy. I can love myself away from this and through all of this. I am so proud of myself for making moves with as much grace and integrity and authenticity as I can. I love that I always want to grow and learn from my mistakes. I love how I take care of myself and protect myself. I am learning and practicing giving myself validation that I craved from other people for so long and finding that it hits the same if not better.

All that I can do is take responsibility for the part I played - for all the so-called good that I contributed, and all the so-called bad. When I dwell on either too heavily, the side effects of excess rear their heads almost immediately. Pride and then guilt. Confusion and then shame. I tend to be an all or nothing kind of person, I used to jump to conclusions and indulge too easily in the safety of extremes. You see, if you go to the extreme, at least you have a simple and logical answer undisturbed by the gray area or by exceptions or by nuance. Whenever I find myself running to one end of the spectrum, I try to work back to middle so I may begin to accommodate a greater variety of perspectives. I strive for balance and I strive to accept the flow of the universe.

All that I can do is be present. A basic rule of thumb I learned about driving in Taiwan, just focus on not hitting the person or vehicle in front of you. Similarly, I am currently most in tact when I am focusing on what's in front of me. When I dwell on the past, I oftentimes break - not always because it makes me feel sad, although it almost always does - but due to the complexity that's there; an abundance of emotions, energies and experiences to analyze and pull at. When I dwell on the future, I oftentimes panic - not always because it makes me feel scared, although it almost always does - but due to the uncertainty that's there; and abundance of unknowns, challenges and discomfort to overcome and face.

All that I can do is move on with my life. Because time moves and marches on despite how badly I wish it would freeze so that I could spend an eternity grieving the loss of you. If time were no object, I would relive every moment with you over and over and over again - to never be away from your love, to always feel your touch, to feel your adoring gaze peering into my soul, to whisper endless I love yous. I know I speak as though you have died, and that is because that is how it feels to me. In a way, a part of me died that day as well. She too deserves to be mourned. Two people so fully in love, frozen in a time I no longer have access to. Only in memory. But to go there means to dance with ghosts as the living pass me by, unsure where I've gone (just inward). I try a little more each day, to unmesh myself from you - to unstick, to untether. It hurts so incredibly much. Especially when I've made so much progress in doing so and I suddenly look back and see how far back in the past you're becoming. And then I miss you all over again. It doesn't undo all the work, but it's a new kind of pain that comes with being committed to growth and moving forward for the sake of this amazing life that I must keep living. I wonder how many days like this there'll be in my lifetime - days filled with heavy sobs and a heaving chest even when everything else is going right (perhaps especially when it's going right).

All that I can do is hold myself. 

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Rollercoaster.

12/5/2022

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I reached out to a local gallery in May of this year to do a show in December. I had no idea what I wanted to do at the exact time of booking the space, but I had been wanting to do another exhibition since the first one I held back in 2019. A lot has happened since then. A lot has happened in the last three or four months, in fact - so much so that the original ideas I had for this show were completely repurposed to tell a different story. I channeled all of my heartbreak and grief and frustration into this show, and I don't know how or what I would've to process those big feelings otherwise. So shoutout to my higher self for giving me the desire to have this art show at this particular point in my life. The timing of the universe is truly divine.

To be fair, I didn't stray to far from my initial concept which was a reflection on my mental health journey and perspective of self. Some names that I toyed around with a few months back included "Center of Attention", "Stuck in the Middle" and "Everybody Hates Me". Bleak-sounding, I know, but it wasn't intended to be all depressing - I seldom create without an uplifting nugget of hope interwoven somewhere therein (no matter how small). I've struggled a lot with my anxiety this year and feelings of confusion, stagnation and of being stuck. I couldn't figure out where that was coming from or how to get rid of that feeling if it was coming from within. I tried to manage it and I tried to release it. But that feeling of dread, that sense of impending doom just wouldn't leave no matter how much I sought to reassure myself and seek reassurance from others. I kept sinking.

And then came loss - the bottoming out, the dreaded Tower moment (for those of you familiar with Tarot or the major arcana). Along with it came clarity, I guess. I took the opportunity to rise begrudgingly, I must admit. Because I didn't want to admit that what was taken from me was holding me back in some way. I still believe there exists a timeline where it all could exist harmoniously and happily - and I am happy for the version of myself that resides in that dimension, but that's not where I'm conscious unfortunately.

Something that has struck me since has been the way that I've been processing emotions and what I've actually been experiencing. The answer is everything - not so much all at once, but the rapidly cycling and bleeding into and overlapping off emotions has left me absolutely exhausted because of the speed my brain has been operating at. Unforced. I'm not looking for solutions or trying to repress or get rid of anything. For a while, I was looking for answers and understanding to soothe my shock and confusion, but still, there is no singular, clear reason (at least from my perspective) as to why this has happened in this way. I have resigned myself to trust the universe, and just focus on what is in front of me right now. One step at a time.

"Rollercoaster." is just that - the story of my grieving process and the realizations of self and of relationships and of life that I have reached as I've gone/am going through it. Ups and downs on repeat. Ebbs and flows indefinitely. The universe striving for balance and for reclamation where there has been sustained excess or lack. And I am along for the ride - perpetually just trying my best.

Here's the event description from the exhibition opening:

A constant of life is change. Perhaps that is all that we can be certain of in this life, that and the passing of time. What goes up must most certainly come down, but aren't we also equally blessed that once we hit rock bottom, there's nowhere to go but up.
"Rollercoaster." is a display of emotion through poetry and watercolor - two mediums that have served me well in conveying the chaos and calm that comes with feeling everything all at once and slowly trying to make sense of it all. It is introspection - glimpse at the eternity contained within one's internal reality.

I hope you catch a glimpse of yourself.
​
Love,
Jillian
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jUsT lEt iT gO

11/28/2022

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Picture
This meme encapsulates my frustration rather perfectly.

Of the myriad of emotional phases and stages of my personal grief, this is one of the funnier and far more chaotic and volatile. The justice-seeking, foot-stomping, tantrum-throwing part of myself just can't stand when other people tell her to move on or to let things go or to accept reality. There are other parts of me that feel differently to her as well. She gets mad at them and thinks they're stupid, too... which makes for a very interesting internal dynamic. I love watching her rage and flail and fight, though. She deserves to. I'm trying to find ways to honor her as well as the seemingly calm, kind, rational, and forgiving parts of myself. We strive for balance in this house.

Let me be clear, I am not fixating on my anger or dwelling on the past (it has just barely become the past, ffs). I really appreciated something one of my friends said that stood in pretty stark contrast to the general sentiment of what people have had to say to me recently - "You're allowed to deal with this in whatever way you want." I just loved that someone said that to me instead of telling me what I've always heard throughout my life. The mentality of letting go and acceptance is wonderful and the people who offer that advice are just as supportive and well-meaning as those who would encourage me to lose my fucking shit. But for someone like me, who has spent the majority of her life pandering to the whims, wants and needs of other people (practically willingly and automatically due to excellent socio-cultural behavioral conditioning), "let it go" is yet another abandonment of self.

Throughout all of this, I have come to realize just how much I fucking love myself. I'm busy having out-of-body experiences, watching myself process how the past three years of life have shifted so dramatically so quickly. The gears in my head are constantly turning, whirring, kicked into overdrive not only to try and understand what has happened, but to save myself from becoming a victim to it. Rejection and loss feel different this time around. Or rather, I am reacting to them differently for reasons unplanned and unbeknownst to me. I don't feel numb... In fact, I can feel absolutely everything.

Including fury. Including joy.

The points along the spectrum of emotion have become so distinct and poignant that I would go as far as to say as I feel a little bit unhinged... or in the process of going insane. But with alongside all of that chaotic and heightened energy, there is a deep sense of peace and calm. There is an unexplained and unfamiliar growing absence of something though... and that is fear. I mean, it is still there and it's not like I've forgotten what it feels like, but something tells me that it's not necessary to be fearful of anything right now. And that kind of contributes further to that unhinged sort of feeling... because now, it almost feels as though I have nothing to lose. I don't know if that's entirely or objectively true at all, but it is what I feel with unnerving clarity.

So now, back to my frustration around the 'let it go' movement. It really depends what mood (or phase, or stage) I am in when you throw it at me. Most times, I would agree. Even right now, as I've spent time writing this, I feel more accepting and friendly towards the idea because thus is the dance, the ebb and flow, of severe presence and consciousness. But then, there's the inevitable prickling - an internal growl of sorts - at the idea of justice not being sought after effectively. Because herein lies the problem (and it actually has very little to do with what I'm going through in and of itself)... discomfort and disdain for other people's negative emotions. 

No one loves you when you're sad.

Well, the majority of people anyway. Because the majority of people are sad or insecure themselves, and when other people openly and expressively display negative emotions, it holds up a mirror - a mirror into a part of themselves that they are desperately trying not to face or even acknowledge. They don't do it maliciously, of course - for most, their disassociation and detachment from their own bodies and emotions make it impossible for them to recognize the cause of their annoyance at or resistance to your display of emotion. 

I know that everything is going to be okay. I know that I am strong. I know that everything is working in accordance to divine timing and in my favor. I know that other people have it worse, and that in the "grander scheme of things" this appears unimportant. But hear me out, I'm not sad for the sake of being sad - I am not having a completely normal emotional response for a perfectly appropriate amount of time (and without the expectation for linear, one-time healing) just for the fun of it or because I think that my problems are bigger than anyone else's/that I am more important than other people. I am BEING sad because I have something to be sad about. I am grieving loss. I am disappointed. I am heartbroken. I am angry. (I am also happy. I am excited. I am grateful. I am blessed. But those emotions are not the topic of discussion.) Let me be human.

Stop being dismissive of other people because you constantly dismiss yourself because somebody taught you that you ought to. 

Don't mistake my vulnerability and clarity of self for weakness because you were taught to be ashamed of yourself and to hide. You were just trying to survive then, and I'm proud of you for doing what you needed to do to get yourself through that, but you're not in danger anymore. And neither am I.

Funnily enough, the extreme and severe displays of emotion that you may have such an adverse reaction to come as a result of years and decades and centuries of repression and generational trauma. I refuse to contribute to pile on to that. Because the universe will always reclaim. What goes up must come down, and I would much rather fall from a molehill than a mountain.

So be wary of the advice you dole out and the true intentions behind it. Is it their discomfort or yours that you're trying to quell when you tell them to, "jUsT lEt iT gOo"?
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Last Sunday

11/6/2022

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"I'll never allow someone to make me feel this way ever again. I am over these emotionally unavailable, immature men!" Lauren yelled. If there had been anything made of glass in her vicinity, she could have shattered it with just a glance. Then again, she was oftentimes all bark and no bite - especially now as she raged into nothingness, hoping just to scream the pain way. She was devastated and angry. "How could he waste my time like that?! How can people be so selfish!" Her best friend gave a crackly "mhmm" - she was on loudspeaker, still available for comfort and venting but safely far away from Lauren's necessary path of destruction.

Sudden silence... "Laurie?" Shay called out, "Where'd you go?"
"I'm tired of wasting energy on him," Lauren replied, now speaking in barely a whisper. She'd sunk to the kitchen floor, propping herself up against the refrigerator. "He doesn't deserve you, girl," Shay said melodically. Lauren scoffed and shook her head. That's not what this was about. She couldn't understand why people felt okay treating her like this. She'd come a long way with healing and loving herself. She was now at a place where at the very least she knew what she was worth - the very best. "I've gotta come up with some kind of strategy, Shay," she began. "Like, ground rules; rules of engagement or something?"
"What, like boundaries?" Shay answered. "That certainly sounds healthy, my friend."

She fell in love again. And this one was different. Real is the wrong word to use... because the others were very much real (if they hadn't been, they surely wouldn't have taken so much time to heal from), they just came nowhere close to this. Pure, beautiful, healthy, balanced love. Lauren maintained that she needed a strategy to protect herself from pain, especially since there seemed to be so much more to lose this time around.

They were holding hands as they ate lunch. Lauren looked up at him and said, "Do you love me?". She knew the answer, she felt the answer, lived the answer. The most tender smile spread across his face. He took her face in his hands and whispered, "Yes." He gently pulled her into a deep kiss, then he gazed into her eyes. "I love you."

On the last Sunday of every month, Lauren vowed to ask him the very same question. An easy question, she thought, with an easy answer.

The first many months were a no-brainer. Answers like "Of course" and "Always, baby" were more common than a simple yes. The question was sometimes answered without words, a burning gaze of equal parts desire and devotion or being swept up in each others arms. At times that were harder, it was given as kisses upon tear-stained cheeks and gentle reassurances that they were in this together.

Life, and time, progressed and the energy and answers began to change. Even when the words remained the same, "Of course" came with an air of annoyance. There were no kisses after the "Yes", just tightly pursed lips and clenched teeth because he didn't know how to tell her that it was starting to hurt him that it seemed like she couldn't take him at him his word. He didn't know that she was checking in to save herself, to do better than the last time. All that he began to feel was that his love was not good enough because she couldn't feel it. After all if she could in fact feel it, why would she ask so often?

He began to pull away to tend to his bruises... and to seek situations and people where it took less to be appreciated for his love and kindness. In truth, there was never any doubt that she knew he loved her, but her seemingly constant questioning became misinterpreted as her stating his inadequacy. And so he subconsciously became it, slowly giving up because it was easier than feeling and addressing his pain around what he perceived as her message to him. He hated the idea that she was not happy. Her happiness was the only thing he once wanted. But it scared him to know that he wouldn't be able to give her what she deserved.

Lauren could feel him pulling away and she started to panic internally. She tried to contain her anxieties, but they always got the better of her in some way. If it wasn't blurting out a misconception she had built up in her head for days or weeks, it was her energy shifting too. Slowly withering away from the inside out as her fear drained her. Her bubbly and bright nature became more and more staged and hollow as she desperately tried to maintain control and stability within. She couldn't hide her fear, although there were times when she thought she'd been able to as it was a poison that informed her thoughts and her actions. Her desperation affected so much more than she was able to realize. She tried to reassure him of her love, "I love you so much, you know" multiple times a day. She didn't realize how it was making him feel guiltier - that all he heard was "Why can't you love me as much as I love you? I am so good at loving you, why aren't you capable of this?". She didn't mean (or say or think or feel) any of that in the slightest. She wanted him to know that "I love being loved by you", "I feel your love in the depths of my soul", "it is because of your love and the way that you love me that I am able to love you so much in return", "you make me so happy".

Constructive conversations became repetitive and redundant... because they weren't conversations about the right thing. Words were exchanged tenderly and honestly and sincerely, but the actions that were being taken thereafter weren't addressing their underlying misalignment. They were both constantly misunderstanding each other. So blinded and overwhelmed by the thought of being deficient in some way despite their intense love for one another that they couldn't see straight.

The last Sunday of October came around... but even though the answer to the question was the same. "Yes, yes, yes - undoubtedly, unequivocally YES, I LOVE YOU." It suddenly wasn't enough. They were hurting each other unintentionally and hurting further at that realization. There was too much pain. And what hurt the most is that it was no one's fault, there was no one to blame, there was no malicious intent. When he ended things, Lauren couldn't understand. She didn't know how it was possible that she hadn't done enough. She couldn't make sense of the fact that she had dived so deeply and bravely into love yet here she was on the other side feeling like she had been simultaneously not enough/too much. There was so much that she had left to say, so many Sundays she had wanted to spend loving and being loved by him.

There was nothing that she could have done to prepare herself this time around, she had not been preparing for an end. That was a lesson that she had to learn, too. It was not on her to fix, it was not on her to convince other people that she was deserving. All she needed to do was be and feel loved.

For she IS love. And so is he.
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In This Body

5/11/2022

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I don't like that I have to write this. I have very mixed feelings talking about this in my current mental state because it might be too soon to be putting a spotlight on my biggest source of insecurity - my body. That being said, I feel like I'm being called to write so as to release something and I won't be able to write anything else until I've done so.

Have you ever heard of love languages? My primary one is most definitely physical touch. The irony and synergy between the joy and bane of my existence has, for a long time, been infuriating, but I've begun to find it more and more amusing because OF COURSE it's that way - we have to learn life lessons and break cycles and generational trauma somehow, right?

In a conversation with my parents a while back, they recalled how physically forward I was from such an early age - going up to people and hugging and kissing them and touching EVERYTHING. It's not as if I remember the really early moments, but it always makes me smile to hear about because I immediately find myself thinking, "YUP, that definitely sounds like me." Ironically, I have seldom had the opportunity to be so brazenly physical and affectionate with the people around me in my adult life yet I deeply relate to that little girl I've heard so many funny stories about.

The memories that do push themselves to the surface in regards to my body and physical touch are mostly all negative. It is unsurprising that negative or even traumatic experiences would most lastingly affect me when in relation to the primary way that I show love and feel loved. I don't remember hating my body inherently, I still don't think that I do, however I learned to hate how other people viewed my body and I resent(ed) myself for not having a body that could move through this world without being impacted by other people's scrutiny. I've spoken to a number of people with deep-seated insecurity or a lack of self-confidence in terms of their bodies, and what's most interesting is the fact that we don't actually hate our bodies until we try to change them for the sake of appeasing a societal standard norm or expectation. 

I don't think I've ever gotten the balance quite right - body confidence VS body goals. The times that I've lived the most healthily (holistically) and with the most self-awareness and compassion, are usually times when I am heavier. I look back on high school where I thought I was positively obese (and I viewed that to be the absolute for a human to be for some reason), but I was the smallest I've ever been. Shortly after, in university, it hadn't really gotten much better - I think I was so incredibly mean and unforgiving of myself which caused my weight to fluctuate quite a bit (while remaining on the lighter side).  At the time, I wasn't really able to see myself and my worth beyond my worth because that seemed to be the only thing that people cared about or judged your character on - thinking back on it, it might've seemed that way due to being so severely hurt through the channel by which people were meant to love me. It's always been mildly irritating that I couldn't just ignore what people said about my body (which was always the advice given to me, along with "just love and accept yourself" - just about the most vague, most unhelpful, non-instructive bullshit ever). 

Society is gross. Other people's opinions are gross. Fatphobia is so rampant and insiduous in our daily lives with most people being completely unaware of the ridiculous standards that they subconsciously hold others to. One of the first things that comes to mind is the use of "fat" as an insult. (Rolls eyes). I'm currently an English teacher, so I've seen how students acquire the word "fat" and use it as a weapon... along with lumping it with words such as "bad", "gross", "ugly", "dirty".  This isn't the fault of English language acquisition (but the way that textbooks and other teaching resources are designed certainly exacerbate the problem) as it's clear, even with a very basic understanding of Mandarin that fatphobia permeates South East Asian culture just as severely.

You've probably heard the phrase "burst someone's bubble" or some variation of it. I remember multiple instances in primary school when I was just minding my own business and just, you know, partaking in life when someone would call me "fat". I was always so taken aback by the venom that accompanied that word, the intention to shatter whatever joy I was experiencing for probably no significant reason. People suck. The fact that human beings have learned how to hate and weaponize just about anything sucks.

I've been thinking a lot recently about how I'd like to proceed in the next phase of my life as I have made it a goal to be healthier and to take better care of myself. Weight loss is a part of that but not a primary focus. Even so, eating healthier and exercising consistently still regularly trigger that little girl who was teased for no reason who now thinks I'm turning against her too. I used to be so mean to myself, so I don't blame her for not trusting me. That younger version of me was so good at loving and she was fearless... until people told her that her body - her source of power and love - wasn't worthy of love and loved in a way that no one would want.

Yeah, so that's where I am with that. Being so overworked has me at wits end with the shit that people give other people just for existing. 

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The Monthly: June 2021

7/5/2021

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While chatting to my lovely friend Zoe, I came across a few gems that have helped me to articulate what I've been feeling and what's been stirred up in the month of June.

There was a lot going on in June, the madness of May seemed to spill over quite seamlessly much to my dismay because I am, as most people are at the moment, in desperate need of a vacation. As I mentioned last month, Taiwan is under level 3 and my work situation, while very thankfully stable, is requiring a lot of me at the moment. The end and shadow period of Mercury retrograde, a new moon solar eclipse in Gemini, the June solstice and the beginning of Cancer season all took place this month. My mind has been raging.

I don't think I've had intrusive thoughts such as what I experienced in the first half of June. At one point it felt like I was developing some kind of complex or a paranoid episode. It is at time like these  I find myself grateful toward myself for being dedicated to my own personal growth and development. At least this time around, I was able to dismantle destructive and untrue thoughts instead of conflating them with my reality. It just took constant and consistent effort. During my chat with Zoe she brought up the metaphor of doing weeding in a garden. That's exactly what it felt like - being constantly hunched over in the heat of the late morning sun, clutching at the overgrowth that keeps appearing as fast as one is able to dispose of it.

Weeds. Weeds of the mind. 

Gardening has always been a beloved pastime on my mother's side of the family. My grandmother built a nursery in his back garden. My mother and her siblings are undoubtedly blessed with the green thumb as well... which leads me to believe that I have the skills to overcome these negative thoughts woven into my DNA. Now I know why my mother loves her garden so much, in the same way that I love my own mind. We must take regular care and watch what grows (and where and when and most importantly, why).

By the way, Zoe had me on her podcast (A Somewhat Mystical Podcast) as a co-host for season two where we spoke about eclipses, crystals, astrology and tarot. Episodes 1 - 3 are out at the moment if you'd like to check it out. If you happen to be here after listening to the podcast, thank you very much for the support.

Links to thiiiiiings:

Instagram: jilliannatalie / zoelarimar
www.zoelarimar.com/podcast
www.patreon.com/ZoeLarimar (ALL THE GEMS!)
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The Monthly: May 2021

5/23/2021

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It has been a wild month.

When I started jotting down points to write about at the beginning of this month, the theme that sprung up was the difficulty of self-care and the maintenance of one's health and well-being. I've recently faced a myriad issues that have affected my overall health. As I began overcoming and dealing with the challenges one by one, I resolved to write something inspired by my experiences. This month is officially the first and last with a pre-set theme. It feels as if by choosing something to commit to working on and thinking about, the universe thought it would only be right to test me.

So, there are lots of things that make up one's personal health - so much more than the physical which is what often comes to mind when the topic of either health or self-care is mentioned. Almost begrudgingly, I'm talking about EVERYTHING. Even compiling a list for my own note-taking and self-awareness seemed surprisingly arduous.

Perhaps the simplest part of this process of reflection was divvying up health & well-being into  four commonly-known spheres: physical, mental, emotional, spiritual A.K.A body, mind, heart and soul. I remember being filled with excitement when I wrote down those categories and began listing their components. That quickly changed as I was reminded that any one component of one category could and would affect any or all of the other categories. I stopped adding or thinking on this blog post for a while after that as it suddenly became an insurmountable task to detangle the human condition within the timeframe I had given myself with any success. Although I post extremely irregularly on this blog, my desire for my shared writing has remained pretty much the same - I want to be able to put the human experience and condition into relatable terms in a way that the reader never thought possible (a bit of a grand ask of oneself, I know - hence the irregularity of my posts because WOW, the pressure). I'm trying my best to move away from that toxic pursuit of perfectionism, so that I'll actually do what I love to do (uhm, writing and creating art, if you were not aware) with some sort of consistency.

In fact, the decision to start a monthly blog post series came from a desire to write more which is definitely deeply connected to my health in the following ways:
Physical - stress levels are lowered; body is both energized and relaxed
Mental - writing skills become sharpened; practice and apply previously learned/stored knowledge; writing that requires research (most, if not all) allows the learning of new information; increased reading speed; improved mental efficiency
Emotional - guaranteed happiness after getting into the flow of writing; channel for release of negative emotions and thoughts; sense of pride in one's work
Spiritual - often acts as a grounding practice (even when that is not the primary purpose for writing); opportunity for expressions of gratitude; connection with the many facets of self

I've been trying to frame the things in my life in this way to help determine whether or not they serve me. It's been a great way to tell where there is imbalance and toxicity brewing in certain areas of my life. The hardest thing about health, at least for me, is being proactive about maintaining it... followed closely by determining how to prioritize what you ought to be proactive about. 

I am pretty much perpetually oscillating between a state of awe and despair when it comes to the management of my own health. Terrifyingly, as I get older (eww) there seems more and more to consider. I've officially outgrown the invincibility phase of my life where I thought my physical health was superior to that of my fellow human. I think I've also done a lot of personal work to the point where I actually care a lot more about myself and I am aware of the things that are no longer serving me and that may have a negative affect on me. It unfortunately doesn't make it easy to resolve one's issues, but I suppose the first step to solving any problem is recognizing that there is one.

Once I committed to writing more on the topic of health, the universe thought it'd do me a solid and give me so much more to write about than just my perception of personal health and well-being (or maybe my intuition is far more heightened than I realize). We've just recently had a total lunar eclipse and are due for another one in June. There's a lot of intense energy hanging around thanks to that. For most people, that would probably mean that there are things bubbling up to their conscious mind that they've previously repressed or showing patterns or cycles of toxic behavior that need to be released or ended. Even for those who have been actively working on themselves and are aware of eclipse energy, this can be a tough time for us emotionally/mentally/spiritually/physically. 

Then as an added bonus from personal experience, Taiwan has been going through the most this month. We've spent the majority of the pandemic relatively unscathed and unaffected by the virus due to the tireless effort of the Taiwan CDC and accompanying health sectors. Before May, I can't remember the last time we had a local case and now we're at over 5,000 just before the month's end. The surge in cases has put the entire country on Level 3 alert which has meant the closure of schools and after school and day care programs (but the continuation of work and online teaching). On top of fear for the virus, we're also facing a drought and accompanying water shortages, energy shortages and the ominous cloud of political tensions. Not only do we have to show up for ourselves, we need to show up for each other now, too.

Going forward, I'd like to post here at least once a month. The universe is utterly bemusing and has ways of inserting ideas into our heads exactly when they need to be. I have thoroughly enjoyed shaping and writing this monthly despite the craziness I/we find ourselves in (as individuals and as a global community). I'm rather nervous for the month ahead, a lot of uncertainty and intense energy seems to be looming. Hopefully, you'll be back here at the end of June to see if I've managed to make it through it all.

Fingers crossed.
​


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Swept Out to Sea

8/9/2020

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I’ve spent the past month (edit: couple of months; edit: 6 months; edit: 8 months) trying to write this - trying to write about the monster that is depression. I started by recording myself and transcribing thoughts as they came to me, and then sifted through and edited them later. The conclusion of that process was that my mind's a mess. There’s a reason why I write around my depression and not explicitly about it. I’m enveloped by it yet I am still no closer to explaining it plainly. I’ve reread the pages of first drafts, old journal entries and notes on my phone I’ve amassed over the past four or five years hoping to have seen enough progress to say that it is all a part of my past, but it has only made it clearer that depression will always be something I have to deal with and there’s no guarantee or indication that it will get any easier. The most frustrating part of all of this is that I don’t know why I feel this intense need to write this or why I feel the need to make it make sense to other people. I can’t seem to write anything else because my mind has been filled with this for months… filled with this overwhelming sense of guilt and shame that I want so badly to explain away. 

Depression, when you become aware of it, feels like you’ve been swept out to sea. I recall slowly coming to the realization that I had been slowly pulled out further from stability long after the first of many depressive episodes. I can’t quite remember when I became aware of the fact that I’d been pulled so far out by its strong current - all I know for certain is that I didn’t simply come out the other side where everything was good again. I don’t think it’s possible for depression to work that way - for things to be fine when you finally stir and awaken from the numbness of an episode. You just realize how far away from yourself you’ve gotten, how far away from the shore you’ve drifted. Depression is devious and so easy to fall back into. Whenever you come to, you’re faced with a choice - swim back to shore, or drift further still. Guess which one is easier? In fact, when you’ve just come back to reality to find your life and yourself nothing at all how you remember, it hardly seems possible that you’ll ever get back - so you drift, you let yourself go further. It hurts to admit that you’ve failed yourself, it hurts to not recognize the person that you see in the mirror… it hurts to swim back to shore.

This time around it’s been particularly difficult for me despite experiencing my fair share of highs and lows. This isn’t my first reawakening to consciousness, but perhaps it is the first time I’ve yearned for the shore so resolutely. I think I’ve spent all of my life (at least all of my adult life) in the water. Despite this deep desire to be on land, I don’t know how possible it would be to be completely free from the salty illusion of reprieve.

I’ve had a certain person on my mind quite a lot recently, and it seems that they show up in my head in varying ways, in vastly different ways than they used to. Time is both a curious and cruel mistress - its only guaranteed outcome being change. I have found myself triggered and faced with my past traumas more frequently over the past few months than ever before in my adult life. I suppose I’ve been overdue for a karmic awakening. I’ve been pushing off breaking toxic cycles and patterns out of fear and self-doubt, but the universe has its own timeline. I found myself in a deep bout of depression for the last few months of 2019. I’ve spent every day of the new year recovering from that episode, and it has dawned on me (my present self in April 2020; edit: June 2020; edit: late July 2020) just how real and difficult my depression is and how I’ve come to underestimate it. 

I worked with a life/career coach from June to the end of September. I gained so much from the experience, but most importantly I learned to prioritize myself and my personal pursuits outside of my current full-time job. I was in a very productive space and actively focusing on more consistent content creation and my writing. I was in an excellent mental space, I was so much more physically healthy. My relationship with myself and with my body was probably in the best place it’s been. Everything was on the up and up. Until it wasn’t.
 
I met someone who appeared to check all of the boxes of what I looked for in a partner. I wasn’t looking for a relationship at the time nor was I interested in dating in the slightest because I had far too much on my plate career-wise, and since arriving in Taiwan I had actively chosen against making that a priority or even an option a lot of the time. Yet here I was, riding the high vibration, and I caught a glimpse of my future. For the first time in a heinously long time, I allowed myself to think about building a future with someone or at least, being with someone and allowing them in. I realized that with all of the work I had been doing on myself, that I was finally ready to address my fear of relationships and my fear of my own feelings. I had worked so hard for years to release the pain and trauma of the past, and I finally felt ready and safe enough to lean in. Long story short, it didn’t work out. Throughout my experience with this person, I had to come to terms with the fact that although I was ready to be with someone, I had much too easily fallen for the idea of him - attractive, ambitious, artistic, adventurous, etc. There were so many wonderful things in theory, and the fantasy I built around him was even more wonderful still. It is perhaps having had a taste of an ideal, passionate and healthy partnership that hurt the most when things didn’t go as I originally hoped they would. The universe being the universe though, I now know why and how that person wasn’t for me and I have been lucky enough to find the people who are for me since then and to be in a healthy relationship that is not based on hopes and fantasy, but on action and reality… and so much real love that I almost can’t believe it’s real.

Despite what I know now, I was devastated at the time. Not just by this “heartbreak” (for lack of a more fitting term), but by all that I experienced around the same time. Like I mentioned before, I was working really hard on myself and working really hard to be productive in terms of my art and writing. I spent all of September working on my first ever art show that I wanted to coincide with my 25th birthday weekend. I put together a show of 18 pieces in total - five series paintings with their own accompanying poetry. At the same time I was juggling my full-time job, taking care of my dog and following a fairly strict eating and exercise plan as well as consistently creating other content for my blog or working on larger writing projects. I was working feverishly all the way up to the weekend of the art show, and the more excited (and nervous) I got about the art show and about my productivity, the more doubtful I became about the person I had gotten attached to. There were multiple instances where I could’ve woken up to the fact that he wasn’t it, but our lives and spaces were so heavily intertwined at the time that I found it difficult to get away (there was a period of time where I thought that meant there was a reason to stay).

I completely crashed come mid-October. I had stopped working with my life/career coach as she and I both thought I had built up sufficient skills and established a routine that I didn’t need constant monitoring or hand-holding anymore. Little did I know I would be plunged into the deep, dark, icy waters of a particularly intense depressive episode shortly after. It was an episode greatly spurred on and aggravated by burnout. I stopped painting, and for the most part I stopped posting my written work, too. Along with my productivity went my drive and confidence.  I stopped exercising, I went back to old, bad habits to cope with stress and guilt and numbness. As my mental health rapidly declined, so did my desire to take care of myself. In one fell swoop, I had been swept out to sea - cleanly knocked from the wave I had been riding months, even mere weeks or days prior. 

My situation with the aforementioned person meant that I was experiencing some of the worst anxiety of my life, and panic attacks like never before where just hearing his name or the suggestion of seeing him or the space and people he was associated with would be enough to send me spiraling. There were parallels between my depression and his treatment of me which made it difficult to not just immediately and reflexively conflate them. It was so sudden how he changed his mind, not just about anything romantic or physical, but about being my friend and about being a constructive part of my life. That’s what ultimately hurt the most - knowing that I was effectively nothing to him. He didn’t care, and for a while I kept going back despite how much it devastated me and hurt me to do so because I kept on thinking it was a mistake, that I had just misinterpreted what he had said or done, that it’d be better or at least bearable the next time. I had convinced myself that I ought to be patient with him until I realized that he was in no way intending to make up the distance he had created. It felt as though I had been treading water for months, and at this point I could barely keep my head above the waves that coaxed me further away from sanity. He wasn’t coming back, he had swum so far out of sight so long ago that he could have gone right over the edge of the earth for all I knew.

The best decision I ever made was letting go. Despite it being what was best for me, that certainly doesn’t mean it was at all an easy decision to make. I felt guilty, I felt like I was giving up. I didn’t have the strength to confront the people who had hurt me, and the last thing I wanted was for them to think that their behavior was by any means acceptable… but my priority was me. I gazed upon the shore and wanted to return to it and that desire and goal had nothing to do with the people who had placed themselves so firmly in my past. Once you commit to your recovery, it arguably becomes even harder. The amount of work it requires can look so overwhelming and insurmountable that the benefits hardly seem worth it at times. That being said, the fear of regret snaps me out of those moments of self-doubt. There is already so much frustration and anger I feel at myself for the time I feel I’ve wasted being depressed - a reaction I am desperately trying to reprogram as it only contributes to the certainty and severity of my relapses. The sentiment of not wanting to waste anymore time is important to hold onto though. I don’t want to wake up one day and regret having missed out on my life because it was easier to be numb than to actively seek to manage my mental health. While it is frustrating that it seemingly requires so much for me to be functional and healthy and productive and happy, it would be more frustrating to have not gotten any closer to my goals or to not have learned anything from my mistakes. I have a better idea of what I want and of who I want to have in my life… and for the sake of those things and those people, the version of me that gives up on herself needs to be left in the past. 

As hard as it is certainly going to be, at least for a while longer, I have to actively and continuously choose to fight the rip current that is depression and swim for my damn life.
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Water Boy

3/29/2020

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I met him out at sea. He was adrift, and I had a boat that I eagerly wanted to share for I had, quite mysteriously and inconveniently, forgotten how to steer and how I had gotten that far out upon the open water all by myself. His relief at the sight of me made me feverishly curious about him. And although the way he had eagerly approached upon noticing me had flattered and excited me then, I realized later that he wasn’t so much attracted to me as he was to the boat in my possession. Once I helped him aboard, he quickly took control - not even stopping long enough to dry himself off... or learn my name - and as I watched him, I began remembering. 

I began to awaken from my seabound amnesia. I had fallen in love with waves that had appeared to me as a woman. As to how I acquired the boat, she inspired an urgency within me to create, to build, to manifest. The details remain fuzzy, but I so clearly remember the sight of my bloodied, splintered hands - surely the evidence of my personal labor. I had built for her a boat made of wood, cloth and innocence. I recall the backs of my friends, the men who helped me to build the purgatory-bound vessel as I yelled my thanks through heaving but contented breaths and they hung their heads, I thought in jealousy, but more likely pity. Thinking back, perhaps she was a siren - luring me into her current, waiting to drown me. Everyone watching from the shore had known it but me. It had been a beautiful day to sail, and the wind seemed to be on my side until... I was no longer in her good favor. Although... she didn’t care enough to kill me, she just left me out in open water and took all of the movement of the ocean with her. I had watched it happen - the moment she left, the moment her eyes turned cold along with the waters she commanded, the moment I saw her decide she was done with me.  I don’t know how long I waited there, somehow unable to think or feel or do. My consciousness had been put on pause as an act of self-preservation. At least I had a boat. 

He came out of nowhere. Or... my awareness of his presence did. Once I saw him, I couldn’t take my eyes off him. He was certainly beautiful to look at, but there was something more to him than that. There was something peculiar about him and I found that intriguing, and there began a growing hunger to know all that I could about him and what he was doing in the water. We stayed in the boat and spoke for an eternity that ended far too soon. I wanted him all to myself, and that, I suppose, made him long to be back in the water. I was selfish, but sadly couldn’t do anything about it. I couldn’t convince myself not to want him so desperately. That was something I learned from the woman of the waves - every story ends, everything hurts, everyone leaves. I was terrified of being alone again, of having my consciousness stripped from me after just having reclaimed it. I wondered whether it would feel the same - whether it would feel like death again.

I spoke to him as gently as I could, yet my voice still trembled with my own fear. I tried to paw at his past in an attempt to make sense of him, in an attempt to justify his treatment of me with his previous pains. I begged for transparency from him, but that all too familiar lack of care meant that he saw no benefit in being honest with me. There is nothing that he wanted from me so there was no reason, in his mind, for him to treat me with any sort of common decency or dignity. Someone had burned him once, so he thought it best to drown me because there was no way he would ever trust air again. The last time he had, it fed her fire and his world went up in flames. Hence his affinity for water, the only place he was safe from her and the only place where he felt he had control. The more I tried to hold on, the more he pulled away from me. We were locked in a cruel tug of war until finally, we fell overboard. We were tossed back and forth, the sea had found itself again. I realized that the woman of the waves hadn’t been the only determinant of the water’s movements - it was my brokenness as much as her callousness that had caused the eerie calm for I was of the water just as she was… just as he was. 

While I was thrashed about beneath the surface of the angry, stormborn waves, he appeared unphased. He eased through the chaos with such grace that I thought myself weak and strange for struggling to do more than just swallow sharp mouthfuls of seawater made saltier by my own shameful amount of tears. I thought myself on the verge of demise, so I thought it best to relinquish my struggle - I decided I’d much rather spend my final moments in attempted-peace than in peril. I succumbed to the darkness as he drifted away from me, undoubtedly off to find another boat he’d be welcomed to steer towards jagged rocks of nonclosure. 

When I awoke he was nowhere to be seen. The boat I’d built no doubt sinking ever further into the ocean depths. How fitting it was that the vessel of my over-giving and tainted pursuit of love had finally met its end as he had brought me to mine. I heard the faint and gentle crashing of waves lapping against the shore  as I lifted my hand to shield my tired eyes from the scorching sun that had come to envelope me. I sat up suddenly, sputtering water that had been forcibly housed in my lungs. My throat burned from the salt that I heaved in exchange for air. It all seemed like a terrible dream at that point. It very well could have been if it hadn’t been for the physical effects of the sea and sun. I was relieved to be done with him. Or at least that is what I muttered to myself as I rocked back and forth upon the burning sands of harsh reality as I openly wept for him and for the version of myself that had loved him, the version of myself lost to the sea… endlessly calling out to be found again by the water boy. 

Picture

Picture

Picture
I wonder if you think you’re broken
Your pain left unspoken
But it’s still so visible
That someone made you miserable
And made you scared. 
Frightened of newness,
Of openness. 
Horrified by me
Or a version of me
That could be like her,
That could hurt you
While she still haunts you. 
Do your memories of her
Sit enshrined
Upon the walls of your mind?
Or do they lay as ashes
Beside the fire she set in your subconscious
Where you tried your utmost to let her go?
You spent an age in front of the flames 
Relinquishing her name
Trying to disguise the redness
In your eyes
And the smell of smoke and sadness
Still clinging
To your skin. 

Dear Water Boy,
Tell me
Did I do anything to you 
Other than terrify you? 
Might I offer
My sincerest of apologies
For having run
Full-force into you. 
Would you believe me
If I said 
I’d rather feel nothing. 
I’d rather be back where I started, 
Believing that I was no longer
Capable of feeling this way. 
I’m drowning in your energy
My rational mind
Overthrown by what you mean to me. 
Water,
What have you done to me?
I could have sworn that you wanted me
Until you didn’t. 
I couldn’t
I still can’t 
Understand 
How I came to be washed up
On the sand
Chest heaving,
Barely breathing…
Yet,
Thanking the universe
That as much as I am 
Of water…
I am air. 
​
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The Owl & The Otter

3/29/2020

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“What you say?” Otter yelled skyward. Owl landed with a heavy sigh as his talons gripped tightly around a wayward branch that stretched out above the water. Otter, who had been lounging and wading on his back, quickly turned and slipped under the water, later emerging closer to the riverbank. “What did I tell you about mumbling?” he mused, running his paws over his face.
“What did I tell you about listening?” Owl retorted.
“What you say?” Otter said again, gently tapping the side of his head. “No, really. I have water in my ears.”
“I can’t help that my voice is carried off in the wind,” Owl said somewhat exasperatedly.
“Why not just wait to speak once you’ve landed?” Otter paused. “Stupid.”
“Between the wind and the water that is permanently in your ears, it really doesn’t make much of a difference.”
“So are you about to tell me what’s up, cause I’m about to swim off if you’ve got nothing important to say.”
“Why are you so snippy today, Otter?” Owl stretched and flapped his wings. “Did someone steal your rock again?”
“Nah,” Otter said, his face suddenly brightening as he reached into the pocket under his forearm. “Got it right here. No way I’m letting that happen ever again.” He proudly held up a uniquely shaped rock – one side expertly sharpened.
“Be careful now,” Owl warned playfully. “Don’t drop it.”
A look of panic flashed across Otter’s face and he hurriedly stowed his rock away.
“Anyway, I came to tell you that there are new animals in the forest,” Owl said more sternly.
“What do you mean new animals? Like babies?” Otter rolled his eyes. “You know I don’t care about them kids, Owl.”
“I know. Not babies, new animals. The forest is at work again.”
“Why’d I have to end up in an enchanted forest? It’s exhausting.”
“Funny thing to say coming from an animal that takes so many naps,” Owl chortled.
“Hey, that’s not fair,” Otter said, lightly splashing Owl. “You know I don’t get enough good quality sleep.”
“Because you’re the only otter to ever exist that cannot float,” Owl said, his voice muffled as he preened his feathers.
“I can float, just not for extended periods of time. How many times do I need to tell you?” cried Otter, splashing again.
“I’m dense,” they yelled in unison – Otter indignantly, Owl mockingly.
“You suck,” Otter said before rolling over into the water to swim to a large moss-covered rock under the tree where Owl was perched.
“Love you, too,” teased Owl.
“Now about these newbies,” Otter said grumpily. “What kind of animals are we talking about? And don’t waste my time if they’re insects – they don’t count.”
“Huh? Okay, whatever. I didn’t see them, I just heard them as I was flying over the canopy,” Owl said as he fluttered down to the embankment.
“Why didn’t you go and see?”
“I was already well on my way here and didn’t feel like stopping,” Owl paused. “Plus, I knew you’d be grumpy if I went to meet them without you.”
Otter watched Owl and felt his heart warm with pride. Owl was always pondering something, carefully calculating what he would do or say next.
“I want them to have a space where they feel welcome,” Owl said slowly. “A safe place…” A breeze picked up and blew gently through owl’s beautiful, dappled feathers. Otter shivered. “A haven.”
“You look like you’ve been thinking about this for some time, Owl,” Otter said almost half seriously. Owl chuckled at his playful friend.
“I certainly have, Otter,” he replied sagely.
Otter snorted and leaped back into the water, “Let’s go then.” Otter swam off, gracefully gliding through the water. He’d reach the north end of the river in no time.
Owl watched him for a moment with pride – his best friend – and was thankful for someone who understood him and backed him so fully. He knew there was nothing that he couldn’t accomplish with Otter in his corner… even if it was only as someone to say that they believed in him.
What a pair they made.
 
 

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    Jillian Lawrence

    South African. 20-something. Hopeless Over-Thinker.

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