I had a dream where I was standing over my body that laid sprawled at my feet. Its shape was contorted with my limbs twisted and bones gnarled. My edges were frayed and in many places threadbare. It's been a long time since I've been asked to bare witness the skin that I've shed, and if I hadn't done this once before I imagine the tears now brimming in my eyes would be in fear instead of relief.
In the dream, I took a deep breath and looked at the body of my new self. Slowly following the line of my bare hip to my knee, my knee to my calf, and calf to my ankle, I allowed my eyes to trace my body to the edge of my heel. As I bent down, I began to tug lightly on the few rogue threads that still bound me to a mess of old skin that lay crumpled on the floor. The strings were surprising— they were tight but elastic, like the root of a child's tooth that's not entirely ready to be free.
I asked these few threads why they won't let go. Is it because they need me to survive? Surely this decrepit version of myself would need a lifeline to continue existing, but what could it possibly offer to anyone or anything as it is?
No, it is I who chose to keep it attached. Despite its brokenness and shame, its weaknesses and flaws, I recognized this skin. It was familiar. It was comfortable. I knew from experience how it would wear and the weight it could hold, but I noticed at how small it looked. I began to think about all the times I wanted to stretch myself into something bigger and better in my life only to be met with resistance. I wondered if these limitations were for safety or a hindrance.
Freedom is painful, this I know for certain. Don't let anyone fool you otherwise. The true release from habits and patterns can only be shed if you have the courage and desire to let them go for yourself. As I gazed over the tangled skin of limbs upon my floor, I was forced to witness the damage caused by dismissing warnings and alarm bells, for ignoring my intuition and knowing. I could see all the parts of me that grew at a different pace, and with that had to acknowledge which parts of me I didn't allow to change at all.
Recently I have experienced events that took me to depths so low I wondered if I would ever look at the heavens in the same way again. And when I thought I couldn't do this for a single moment longer, I would be rewarded with new breath in my lungs and a conviction in my heart that all is just as it should be. As exhausting, and frightening, and exhilarating as it all seemed, it served a great purpose—it reminded me that all choices were mine to make.
There were times I chose to go of my dreams and others I let the bullies win. I chose to stay beside my well of infinite sadness and drink from its waters from a swollen paper cup. But there are many times where I have chosen to act with bravery, and that bravery demands a celebration for what I let grow in love and goodness.
Isn't that what this journey is all about? To let go of the mistakes we learn from and to celebrate ourselves as we are?
Recognition and responsibility: perhaps the alternative R&R. If you have come into awareness recently about what you've been doing to hold yourself back, whether that's by not celebrating the good bits or choosing to nurture what keeps you stagnant and weighted, questions you may want to ask yourself are:
If I were to view my ego/body/spirit/ just as it is, what would it look like?
Which parts would be tattered? Which parts would be well-loved? Which parts have not been used at all?
What am I hanging on to, or what is hanging on to me? Does it serve my dreams and my growth to keep it attached?
Moving forward from this moment today, what can I do to help grow the parts ignored? What small steps can I make this week and acknowledge that they are important to me, even if I can't understand why?
How do I celebrate my goodness? How do I reward myself for showing up when I really want to lay down?
May the truth shed us free.
Jamie Homeister
