I am lonely.

I’m finally at an adult place in my life where I can recognize when I’m avoiding my emotions. This feels like a big step. It’s usually accompanied by a lot of circular activities, where I’m doing a lot but nothing is happening. The noise in my mind containments my physical space through messy, cluttered, abstract actions, through over committing, then undercommitting, disjointed tasks, doing, planning, searching, seeking, seeking, seeking, and more seeking for something I don’t even know what. But eventually I ask the right combination of questions and I find myself in stillness. Today’s revelation included the phrase: I am very lonely.

I can say this without self-pity because often these kinds of moments feel like a home coming. And also, usually once I acknowledge the feeling, it quiets down or vanishes completely. It feels like part of my emotional self is out to sea and flailing about trying to get my attention. But I keep mentally powering through, looking 20 steps ahead like my life is an epic game of chess. In this particular moment, I can see how I have been constantly trying to fill myself with obstacles to fill the emptiness, but once I can name the pain--I am lonely--, in an instant all the insanity stops and my body has some reprieve.

The older I get the more I recognize that my mind is in constant, chaotic motion, as if I’m trying to “maximize” my time on earth, only I’m not getting anywhere because the chaos is so uncomfortable and counterintuitive. The more I try to cram into a day the less of a day I feel like I have because the actions are an inch deep, they don’t satisfy my soul, I feel barely alive.

Once again I’m just reminded how our emotions are like ghosts following us through life. When we don’t spend time getting acquainted with them they speed up to catch our attention, trip us in the grocery store, tie our shoes together, take up all the space on the bed so we are sleeping on the floor. They want to be heard. And when I can’t hear, I also can’t breath. I could finally catch my breath when I heard the words “I am lonely” flash through my head. The question I finally had to ask myself to get here was, “Why is it so difficult for me to stay present?” I don’t want to stay present because then I have to recognize that the thing I want most in my life is to feel close to people and that is the thing that feels the most difficult sometimes. I’m skittish like a cat. I jump at loud noises. I run away if I’m unclear of your intentions. It’s not my fault, I came to this honestly, but it is my responsibility to stabilize the harm and course correct to where I really want to go. I only know how to do this with the breath, often via dance and movement. Sometimes sitting and meditating quietly settles me, but sometimes my breath needs loud impossible wails, guttural expression of deep, deep sorrow. Grief work is not for the faint of heart but it is rewarding.

I wish I knew what this was all for, but I don’t. I have no idea why we have to heal from things that maybe “shouldn’t” have happened in the first place. But I do know that each conscious breath digs holes into my heart and expands my capacity to feel, think, and connect. I do know that each time I wail for the past, I get closer to the present. I do know that my capacity for compassion increases every time I turn to my shadow and “Ask what’s wrong?”, then allow my heart to answer.

Xx