Reflections from a midlife journey
The space of change
A few weeks ago a photo from when my husband and I moved into our new house came up as a memory on Facebook. The picture reminded me of an exchange we had last year when this anniversary rolled around. My husband commented on how many changes we had made to the house in those couple of years. I responded with how much the house had changed us. What I realize now is that the space hasn’t changed me but rather it’s the space I needed to change.
I choose me
Throughout my life I had been pressured to be different than how I was. In one way or another, who I was wasn’t good enough, didn’t measure up, or didn’t fit in. For a long time I resisted, which caused no end of frustration to those who thought I should be different. I fought the good fight for decades but over time, after giving in a little here and giving up a littler there, my battle lines had been severely compromised. I was exhausted from the fight and I gave in.
Piece by piece
I’ve written before about letting go. For me, it’s been a constant and critical part of my journey, shedding that which no longer serve me—people, places, things, and thoughts. It’s something I think about a lot because I’m continually discerning what feels authentic to my essential self. It occurred to me recently, though, that perhaps I make letting go sound like an easy thing to do. It’s not. It’s a slow, unfolding, and sometimes painful process that can take days, weeks, months, even years.