Celebrating My Circle of Truth
While I always knew my truth, it took 45 years for me to fully live my truth. When I say “live my truth,” I mean fully live in a way that is meaningful and peaceful to me. I mean doing work I’m passionate about, work rooted in my heart, work that inspires others, work not based on making a buck. I mean speaking and writing. Literally saying and writing the things that matter to me. Speaking the words in my mind and my heart, and sharing the hopes and dreams that come to mind. Even when—especially when—my words are different from what people would “expect” from me.
This is a stark contrast to the way I lived the prior 43 years. I previously hid my truth under layers of insulation disguised as people-pleasing, repression, suppression, anxiety, ADHD, and depression. I lived my life for other people at the expense of my self. I did not know who I was, nor did I care to spend the time or attention necessary to get to know myself enough to get well. Quite frankly, I was hiding.
I was “too sensitive,” “too dramatic,” or “not enough,” so I simply didn’t bother taking care of myself. It was much easier to take care of other people instead. When I lost “my people,” and didn’t have anyone to take care of anymore, I had to face the fact that I needed to take care of myself. I got serious and I faced my own bullshit. I formed new friendships and rekindled old friendships. Most importantly, I got serious about self-love and did what was necessary to achieve a Brilliant Transformation. Self-love is the foundation of every “homecoming,” and I truly was coming home to myself.
I also researched and sought out alternative forms of healing, including help with sexual blocks through both a sexologist and a professional tantric facilitator. The most fun part of my recovery journey has been dancing. I started dancing with a group of people I met online. Even after the dancing group fell apart, I came to rely on dancing as a weekly release and started going alone. I’m now addicted. I must dance every week. This Olivia Pope quote is my life: “Now, you can dance with me or you can get off my dance floor. I’m fine dancing alone.”
I determined recently that dancing is a way for me to stay grounded. Because I spent many of my depressed years numb, dancing helps me to “stay in my body,” if that makes sense. You must be present on the dance floor. That is, if you’re not using liquid courage—which I generally don’t. Most times, I simply drink water. That’s thanks to an interesting experiment from one of the chronic illnesses I was suffering during my recovery. An undiagnosed digestive disease caused me to get sick every time I ate. There was a period when I could not drink alcohol because of a medication I was on. I learned during that time that I could have just as much fun without drinks. I continued the practice because I could keep up with the man who was teaching me to swing-dance without stepping on his toes, and I saved money on safe rides home.
As I recovered and felt into my truth, I started telling my story and sharing my truth. People listened. People were inspired. People asked me to write more. Unfortunately, family members became angry and told me I “ruined their memories.” This upsets me—greatly. I write about my memories, not theirs. While my memories may not be as “pretty” as theirs, they are mine. I own them. I will write about them. Particularly when I have others who tell me that my story is their story and my writing gives them courage, hope, inspiration, and/or motivation.
Dare I stop because someone does not like the way I write? I say, “No way! Absolutely not!” I’ve been “tolerated” and put down my whole life. Now, here, I’m doing something I love—and I’m being admired for it. Because you don’t like it, or don’t agree with it, you want me to stop?
Sorry. That’s not going to happen.
How about trying to see my point of view for a change? How about looking beyond the end of your nose? How about seeing the bigger picture? How about seeing the impact my words have on others instead of just the way you may or may not feel about them?
I’m choosing to continue to pursue my truth. That includes speaking it. It also means spending time with people who support me, my vision, and my dream. I want to be in circles where I’m celebrated rather than tolerated. If that means my circle is small, so be it.
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