Week 5 Kindness Story: The Kindness Adventure

 

Children remind us that kindness can be an exciting adventure instead of an awkward chore. Watching them share joy with such authenticity and ease is inspiring especially when they are dealing with their own struggles.

My sister, Laurie, has spent many years volunteering as a counsellor at summer camps for children and teenagers who are struggling with cancer. She shared with me this lovely story of a 10-year-old boy.

The camp had a Carnival Night where children played games to win “bucks” that can be used to buy toys. What stood out about this boy was that he was running from game to game trying to collect as many bucks as possible. After the Carnival ended, the counsellors helped him count his bucks and he bought a beautiful doll. What was so kind about that? The prize he won wasn't for himself but a gift for his younger sister.

Week 4 Kindness Story: A Sister's Love

 

Have you ever met someone who’s so impressive it should be maddening but because they are such a lovely person all you feel is inspired? That’s my sister, Laurie. Although she sent me two kindness stories about other people for this project, I decided she deserves a story just about her.

In my early 20’s I had made an emergency appointment with my psychiatrist because I was starting to feel unsafe living on my own. During that appointment he decided he was going to admit me into the psychiatric ward for the first time because my depression and psychosis were getting out of control. Stunned and terrified, I drove straight to Laurie’s office after my appointment to let her know what was happening. Through tears we decided that she would take me to the hospital that night.

                Although that first night was horrible, what I found out later warmed my heart. Laurie had brought her pajamas to the hospital so that she could sleep on the floor next to me. Imagine volunteering to stay in a place where there were some very mentally ill people just so your little sister wouldn’t be so scared? I’d call that a pretty substantial act of kindness.

Week 3 Kindness Stories: The Art of Listening

I have this knack for creating a safe space for people to open up about their struggles without fear of judgement. When I used to work in hospitality this happened frequently. Strangers would just start telling me about their relationship and work problems or even past childhood trauma and addictions. Often, they would share a lot of personal information and then look at me surprised and say,” I have no idea why I just told you that”.

Although I do have strong active listening skills, I believe strangers share their innermost struggles with me because they don’t feel they have anywhere else to share them. They are looking for people who are willing to put away distractions and hold space for them without judgement or advice. I think an amazing act of kindness is to listen to someone else’s struggles with compassion and curiosity. 

People carry around countless worries about life and they often don’t even realize it until someone actually gives them the time and space to unburden themselves.

Week 2 Kindness Stories: A Kind Word in a Struggling World

 

How many parents reading this feel like they’re failing their children at least once a week? Once a day? Mallory, a mom of 2, believes that a great random act of kindness is taking the time to offer a parent empathy and encouragement. Someone to witness their struggle and tell them what an awesome job they’re doing.

A few weeks ago, Mallory was watching her son’s basketball game and noticed how the coach was trying to balance instructing the team and entertaining her own children. Both children, under 5, were climbing the coach as if she were a tree and asking a spit fire of questions like only preschoolers can. What stood out to Mallory was how this coach didn’t seem to get frustrated but remained “calm, cool, and collected”. At the end of the game Mallory made sure to stop and let the coach know how impressed she was with her parenting skills.

What I find amazing about humans is that we often give to others what we, ourselves, need. We resonate with their struggle and extend the empathy and support that we crave.

My Otherworldly Abilities

 

It was a scary moment when I realized that I could trust someone enough to expose parts of myself that others had judged me for. That I could share things that had made others uncomfortable, and this person would actually support and encourage me in these areas.

For some time, I’ve had some otherworldly abilities that I can’t always explain and for a myriad of reasons I started to hide. They were just one more way to feel weird and unlovable. But I’ve found someone who believes I have these abilities and can do these things and that makes all the difference. We may not come to the same conclusions as to why or how, and honestly the truth is usually a hodge podge of beliefs, but he trusts I am having these experiences.

There are a couple ways these abilities have shown up in my life. I can sense and “communicate” with people who were once alive, like my sister, and sometimes it’s like I can tap into an energy that can’t be seen. This is particularly useful when I want to tap into a greater source of creativity.

I spend so much time feeling uncomfortable and embarrassed by these abilities but really, they are gifts. I want to celebrate them as a useful skill and not something shameful that needs to be kept hidden.

Week 1 Kindness Stories: Small Acts, Big Changes

  (Photograph includes Steph's grandpa and wife.)

 

One of my favourite people is Steph and I’ve been lucky enough to call her my friend for almost 30 years. She is the epitome of kindness so it’s no surprise that her acts of kindness story was the first one I received.

In the 1960’s, Steph’s grandpa was a school janitor in Vancouver. While cleaning the hallways during lunch he started to notice that some children would throw out sandwiches and fruit they didn’t want and then at the end of the day another child would come along and dig them out of the garbage. He soon found out that this child's family didn't have enough money to provide him with lunches.

This thoughtful man was quite poor himself, with a low paying job and 4 kids to feed. He knew what it meant to struggle and wanted to help where he could. He decided that when he saw a child about to throw out food, he’d tell them to put it on a windowsill instead. This meant the hungry child could come pick what they wanted without having to hunt through the garbage.

Over time, like many small acts of kindness, this grew into something much larger. These sandwiches and fruit left on a windowsill inspired the school to adopt its first lunch program. When we can use our own struggles to create empathy and change, that’s a beautiful thing.

Your Stories of Kindness

I don’t know about you, but I’ve been feeling hopeless because of all the challenges we’re facing at the moment. I’ve had this desire to make some grand contribution to create a kinder and more joyful world but all that does is overwhelm me and then I shut down. So, I've decided to try a smaller, more achievable goal. Each week, for 10 weeks, I’m going to share a story about kindness. I believe the world needs to be reminded of and inspired by the random acts of kindness that exist around us each and every day.

 This is where I need YOUR help.

 Do you have any random acts of kindness stories to share? It could be as simple as you giving someone a compliment or picking up trash on your favourite trail. Maybe a stranger bought you a coffee at Starbucks or helped you carry groceries to your car. It’s not the size of the act that’s important, it’s the care put into it.

Please DM or email me your story at brandinixon@hotmail.com.  It can remain anonymous if you like. 

"Your Body, My Choice"

      I mean how can….like who could…why would…this is bonkers!

    Rarely am I at a loss for words but when I first saw this trending slogan, I was unable to grab the nouns and verbs swirling through my brain and settle them into a coherent sentence. But time has passed and now I have a lot of words. Angry, disillusioned, exhausted, ashamed, and disgusted to name just a few. I pride myself in being someone who tries to understand all points of view, but I couldn’t give a flying f*ck what your side is if you declare that you have ownership over my body and choices. Honestly, I don’t even think you have a side. I think you’re just a bitter bastard.

    I grew up in an environment where men were constantly being blamed for trying to control women. I thought this was just an overreaction to unhealthy relationships but maybe I was wrong. There are actually men out there that really, truly, want to control women right down to their ovaries and uterus. And now I can’t unknow this.

    Sadly, at least for now, it colors the way I see men. I know that’s not fair and that these bitter men don’t represent most men but when something hits you so hard that it shakes your belief in the goodness of people this is the outcome. Honestly, with woman’s reproductive rights on the chopping block in the States (and our political leanings are moving closer that way in Canada) fairness is no longer part of the conversation. Now it’s about self-preservation.

    Don't kid yourselves. This slogan isn’t just an absurd trend; this is a movement. And it’s terrifying.

                

                

 

When Success Becomes Scarier Than Failure

I’m finding that fear is starting to paralyze me as I get closer to moving cities and trying to pursue a more creative career. Underneath the fear is a spark of excitement but it’s like trying to find a single flame in a forest fire.

    My main fear in life thus far has been failure. And I really have failed at reaching most of my life goals. It wasn’t my abilities or determination that screwed it up but the inevitable moment when my bipolar symptoms took over and my life either slowed down or stopped entirely. After a few (dozen) crashes I would eventually have to admit that whatever goal I was chasing had been too stressful or intense. My mind can be a fickle bitch.

    However, fear of success is now fanning the forest fire. If failing before I even reached my goals was devastating, imagine the pain of reaching my goals and then being swallowed up into a bipolar nightmare. The fall would be so much more devastating and harder to recover from. I know I can recover from failure because I’ve done it plenty of times but crashing after success, I’m not so sure.

     I feel like I’m moving towards a life where I could spend more time actually feeling fulfilled and happy and less time anxious and angry. Living in a place that feels more like home and following dreams that bring me joy. I don’t know what will happen in the coming months and years of this new life I’m trying to create but at least I’m now scared of success instead of failure. That’s a win, right?

 

 

An Artist's Job

 

 I believe an artist’s job is to bravely traverse their inner world so they can help lead others through theirs. Often underpaid and underappreciated, artists give words and sights and sounds to the feeling's others have but can’t always name. Art can be disregarded as a luxury until someone crashes into love or loss and then it becomes imperative that they find a story or picture or song that they can point to and say that’s what I’m feeling.

As a writer, I don’t tend to see how my work affects others very often but as a reader I know it does. There’s this moment in writing before I spell check and search for synonyms where it’s just me and my voice. The rest of the world stands still, and my fingers just start dancing across the keys until I’m reading what I didn’t know I thought or felt. Sometimes painful and sometimes amazing, when I start to let my fingers tell my story I’m able to create a portrait that others can see themselves in. This may help them understand themselves, those around them, and their place in the world. When I’m open and vulnerable I give others permission to do the same.

Domestic Goddess?

I don’t own an apron, I think a “dash of salt” is a ridiculous and confusing measurement, and fancy ass pots and pans are wasted on me. Martha Stewart I am not. However, early on in the relationship with my husband, Kevin, I decided to fry him a steak. I tend to only cook meat in the oven because cooking on the stove top makes the smoke alarm go off but we all do crazy things when we first fall in love.

I arrived at Kevin’s place with the steak and he provided me with cooking instructions, a fancy ass pan, and a splatter screen. The recipe seemed simple enough. Oil and warm fancy ass pan, rub meat spices on the steak (gross!), and cook each side in 5-minute increments until done. Cool, I could do this. 

About 15 minutes later I went to find Kevin and told him the steak didn’t appear to be frying properly. He walked into the kitchen, froze, and then covered his mouth to try and hide his laughter. “Oh, honey”, was all he could get out.

Everything had started off fine. I had oiled and warmed the fancy ass pan correctly and rubbed the meat as needed but that’s where I fell off the correct cooking path. Sitting on the stove was the fancy ass pan, splatter screen, and steak but in the wrong order. For some reason it seemed reasonable to me that the correct order was fancy ass pan on the stove top, splatter screen sitting on top of said pan, and the steak sitting on top of the splatter screen. Basically, I was steaming the steak with oil.

I am actually quite intelligent but in some areas of life it’s like I’m new to the party. I once knew this guy who was incredibly intelligent. He read Nietzsche and studied Latin and Greek but sometimes went to his university classes with his shirt on backwards and inside out. That’s me in the kitchen. All backwards and inside out.

It's Not Really About the Milk

FADE IN:

SUBURBAN HOME – NIGHT

 

WE OPEN on a modern suburban kitchen. We see Molly (partner 1) stirring a pot on the stove with a toddler in a highchair and infant bouncing in her arms and Sylvia (partner 2) comes in wearing a dishevelled shirt carrying a briefcase.

 

Molly

Did you get the milk I asked you to pick up?

 

Sylvia

I forgot.

 

 What do you think an effective response to this would be:

 

a)Molly: What do you mean you forgot the milk? I rushed home from work to get dinner ready and you couldn’t even pick up milk?!

 

b)Molly: You never do anything I ask you to do. Remember last week when you said you’d fold the clothes and I found them 2 days later still in the dryer?

 

c)Molly: Ok. Is there a reason you couldn’t pick it up?

 

(Hint, it’s not a or b.)

 

I get it. It’s the end of a long day and both of you are exhausted trying to be the employee, partner, and parent so it’s easy to fall into the habit of anger and defensiveness. But honestly that’s a needlessly exhausting way to deal with conflict that usually ends up with no one feeling heard and everyone cranky as f*ck.

In my experience being able to answer with choice C is a lot easier if you come into conflict, or possible conflict, trusting that your partner is not trying to hurt you or make your life harder. (And if they truly are trying to do those things, the issue is much bigger than forgotten milk.)

 

For me it’s all about intent. My husband and I both share the belief that neither of us would intentionally try and hurt the other person so there’s a lot of leeway given. When you start to show up to murky emotional situations with empathy and curiosity instead of judgement and accusations an interesting thing may happen. You may realize that a lot of their emotions and behaviour aren't really about you. It’s about how they were in traffic for an hour, had a disagreement with their boss, and they’re worried about how to keep paying the mortgage.  A lot of conflict seems to be about wanting to really feel seen, heard, and cared for. 

15 Years...

    His love feels like a calico purring on my chest in the late afternoon and tastes like chocolates wrapped in gold foil. He is soft with his words and firm with his forgiveness. Slow with judgement and quick with compassion. His hugs make me feel heard and his kisses can make everything blurry. He taught me to soften my gaze when looking inward and has helped me rewrite so many of the painful stories I’ve built my life around.

        

    My love looks like true north on his internal compass and sounds like the soulful rendering of an R&B ballad. I am soft with my guidance and firm with my honesty. Slow with disapproval and quick with tenderness. My hugs make him feel safe and my kisses make him unravel. I taught him how to create a safe place for vulnerability and inspired him with my strength.

    Our love sometimes feels like the moment between the end of an amazing performance and a standing ovation and once in awhile it feels more like the sporadic clapping after an awkward performance but mostly it feels like home. The best and worst parts of us fumbling together trying to create a life that is more than we thought it could be. We’ve created a love with the space to fall apart and rebuild over and over, each time coming out a truer version of ourselves. 

 

         Happy anniversary, my love.

A Love Letter To My Female Posse

About once a month I get together with some lovely ladies for dinner. Sometimes we’re with our spouses but more often it’s just us. There’s something almost magical about having a posse of ladies behind you no matter what. When we’re together we don’t need to be the caretaker or organizer. We don’t need to be mom or wife or daughter. More and more I’m seeing the enormous mental and emotional load woman carry around and how heavy and lonely it can be. The responsibility we’ve taken on to keep those we love as happy and comfortable as possible, no matter the cost to us, can seem enormous at times. I feel like a bit of a fan girl to be honest. So, this is a love letter to all the amazing ladies that fill my life.

 

I cherish your ability to create genuine connection. Whether it’s over coffee or cocktails there’s no moments of awkward silence. Often there’s laughter and silliness but sometimes there’s tears and angry rants. There’s no competition, jealousy, or pettiness. Just a warm space to be raw, honest, and ourselves.

 

I’m amazed by how much sh*t you can fit into one day. Your color-coded iPhone calendars with everyone's (EVERYONE’S) activities filling up the days looks daunting. Dropping off kids at school, dance, band, hockey, all the doctors and dentist appointments plus work schedules. There are literally no days without a dot to remind you which roles you need to fulfill that day. Wife, mom, daughter, employee, sister, friend and sometimes all of the above. Even my calendar has a lot of dots without any kids so I can’t even imagine how utterly exhausted you must get and yet you keep going because the sh*t needs to get done.

 

I’m honored to be a witness to your messiness. The imperfections you may try and hide from most of the world provides the richness and flavor to our relationship. I’m humbled when you share all that makes you feel broken knowing that we’ve created a space safe enough to hold all that shame, pain, and heaviness. 

 

What I wish for those ladies I love, and those I don’t know, is that you can see how spectacular you are. How you are often the foundation of your families, sometimes even the extended ones, and how you carry that with grace, patience, and even a little humor. If I could come to each of your houses and celebrate how wonderful you are I would, but honestly there’s just not enough days in our calendars without dots. 

Greetings From a "Selfish", Child-Free Woman

 

    Controversial topic I know. Let me add some more formula to that reproductive fire. I’m not really a kid person. I know, I know. How could I, someone with ovaries and a uterus, not enjoy being around children?! It’s not that I find anything inherently wrong with children. I happen to care a lot about a select number of children. It’s that for a number of reasons I just didn’t want to spend my life surrounded by kids and for that reason some parts of society have deemed me as selfish. Talk about a loaded description for a woman. We’ve been socialized to see selfish as one of the worst judgments that can flung upon us. Martyrdom seems to be the gold standard.

     

    I’m going to share a few reasons I chose not to have kids. And yes, to some people they’ll seem selfish and trivial and maybe, just maybe that’s ok. Perhaps other people’s judgements aren’t my business because in the end they’re not really about me.

 

1)I find a lot of children to be very overstimulating and exhausting. These are two of the biggest triggers for my bipolar disorder, which is not particularly well controlled even with meds, meditation, yoga, walking…all the things. So, not being triggered in the first place is the best way for me to manage my bipolar symptoms. 

 

2)I spend a large chunk of my time focused on what I want and need and I’m not ashamed of that. Because of this I’ve done a lot of things that I may not have had time or space to do if I had children. So far, I’ve birthed a brewery with my husband, self-published a book, and learned so very much about myself. It’s 1pm on a Thursday and I’m in a café drinking a caramel frappe, listening to 90’s hip hop, and writing about why I don't want kids. Tonight I'll spend an hour or so practicing piano which is my newest creative focus. I love the freedom to focus on myself and what I want to accomplish in life.

 

3)My husband and I are my top priority. Because we don’t have children there is a lot of space for us to explore ourselves and all aspects of our relationship. Space for growth, change, and creative endeavours are important parts of who we are. 

 

I am by no means saying that not having kids is somehow better than having them but for some of us what we need and want in life just doesn’t jive with prams and playdates.  

3 Things I've Learned From Being Married To A Sensitive Man

                 You know those fairy tales that present the optimal male partner as a man who can cry, hold intense eye contact, and make you feel really seen and understood? Well, what those movies don’t talk about is the emotional healing and growth you need to do on yourself to be able to hold space for all of that raw emotion, sensitivity, and vulnerability. 

 

                  My husband and I have had many conversations about how people say they want a man who is sensitive and vulnerable but we’re not so sure that they would enjoy, or even be able to handle, the reality of a partner like that. I think it’s important that society has a conversation about this. If we keep telling men that we want them to show up a certain way and then for whatever reason we reject them because of that, that’s unfair and could shut those wonderful parts of them down.  

 

                  So, my small contribution is sharing my reality of living with and loving an emotional, sensitive, and vulnerable man. Here are 3 things that may shed some light on what it can take to create a safe space for a sensitive man.

 

1)Can you sit with your partner while they sob and not feel scared or out of control? Can you watch them fall apart and just hold space without trying to fix it? My husband, just like me, doesn’t always have convenient, tempered, and beautiful feelings. Sometimes he feels hopelessness, despair, and rage. In order for me to be able to sit calmly and in a supportive role while my husband shows up extremely vulnerable I need to be ok with my own hopelessness, despair, and rage. If I hadn’t dealt with a lot of my own sh*t then I would probably either reject his vulnerability because I’m uncomfortable or always end up making his pain about me.

 

2)Open and honest communication is key. Luckily I love talking, but some of our conversations are super uncomfortable because he’s able to show up quite emotionally exposed. It can hard to watch someone I love so deeply hurt so much and feel helpless to make anything better or knowing that I have hurt him in some way. I need to be able to stay open and vulnerable even in the hard moments when all I want to do is shut down because he deserves a safe space to fall apart just like I do. This, again, is about doing my own healing and growth work.

 

3)Maybe this is just me but I actually find it harder to stay in an emotional and vulnerable moment if my husband is expressing how much he cares about me. Especially when paired with intense eye contact.  I’m not sure I really believe in unconditional love but if it’s real my husband is the closest person I’ve ever personally known to reach it. I’ve had to do some deep healing around my abandonment issues to be able to stay at least somewhat open to a type of love that I still have a hard time recognizing. A love that is deep, grounded, and unselfish. I would say this area still needs work on my part. 

 

I can’t imagine being with someone who wasn’t as sensitive, emotional, and vulnerable as my husband because it has been the most amazing gift but I also know that some people probably couldn’t (or wouldn’t want to) create a relationship that could safely hold all that raw emotion. And that’s perfectly fine because we all need and want different things from a partner. What’s important is understanding what that is and how you want it to present itself so that you aren’t sending mixed messages about wanting a Disney prince but when they show up needing Kleenex you shut them down.

What Doesn't Kill You Makes You...

  

  I understand that the end of this saying is supposed to be stronger. However, I highly disagree that this is always the outcome of long and/or extreme struggles. I think what doesn’t kill you can make you too exhausted to live the life you want, shut you down, make you resentful and sarcastic, and a whole host of other not so positive consequences.

 

            From my experience, and what I’ve witnessed in others, there is a point at which pain does lead to strength but once the struggle becomes too intense or lasts too long it’s not strength and resilience that are the prominent outcomes. It can be much more destructive and change the person at a fundamental level.

 

            My hardest struggle, bipolar disorder, has not killed me but it has made me resentful and exhausted. I’m resentful that no matter how hard I try to make forward momentum in my career and finances I’m always being pulled back into bipolar’s seemingly endless and horrible symptoms. It’s exhausting to constantly be starting all over again.

 

            But I think the worst outcome of my bipolar struggle is how much time I spend hating myself because of how broken I feel. Is it as bad as it was twenty years or even five years ago? Probably not, but I spend too much time feeling like I’m a failure and worthless. 

 

            So, why is this saying so popular and why can it be problematic? Perhaps because people are trying to come up with reasons for why they are facing certain challenges in life but I think that sometimes horrible things just happen and trying to convince ourselves or other people that our only choice is to become stronger can make everything harder and heavier. Maybe for your harder struggles, you can allow yourself the space and grace to feel all the negative feelings without the expectation that you also need to somehow create more strength and resiliance within yourself.

What's My Life Purpose?

Whenever I see an article or video about how to find my life purpose my tummy gets all wound up, my breathing gets shallow, and I have this sense of impending doom. Like somehow, I’m just wasting away my life waiting for the next Netflix murder mystery series to drop and on my death bed I’ll still be writing about how I’m basically a mess but hey, aren’t we all. I’ve taken all the What is Your Purpose quizzes and read all the 5 Ways to Realize Your Purpose articles. Heck, I’ve even tried on other people’s purposes and somehow, they’re never the right fit or color.

 

Maybe I just don’t understand how this whole life purpose deal works. Do you have just one or does it change over time? How big a dent does it have to make in the world for it to count? And for the love of all that’s confusing, what does it feel like when you finally figure it out? There’s often that one liner in romantic movies when someone asks how you know you’re with the right person and the already confused character gets told, “You just know.” Like how is that helpful?! If they knew then they wouldn’t be asking.

 

When I was younger it seemed much more clear what my purpose was but it turned out I was wrong. Oh, so very wrong. I was sure I was supposed to be a counsellor. However, my bipolar disorder made it VERY clear that this was not the path for me. When I tried to help others, or even go to school to learn how to help others, my symptoms would get infinitely worse and I’d end up crying and hiding in my closet until eventually I’d have my medication increased. Incidentally, my dear readers, it only took me 25 years to learn that lesson so I’m definitely winning at life. 

 

So, if you’re like me and struggling with this whole purpose of my life question you are not alone. And if you’ve figured out how to definitively know what you’re supposed to bring to the world let me know. I need a better answer than, “You’ll just know”.

The Hard Work

As we fumble our way through the painful parts of life, we often leave bits and pieces of our aching selves by the side of the road. Sometimes it’s because we don’t have the tools to work through the pain or we don’t have the space in our lives to face the hurt, but sometimes we just don’t want to. Slogging through pain, shame, guilt, fear, or whatever lovely gifts are left over from our time of suffering sucks. Like sucks hard. But sadly, when we abandon parts of ourselves to live a life that is “enough” we eventually hit a wall called “but I want more”. I want more love, trust, abundance, faith, courage, fill in whatever word you like but the more is found in the pieces of yourself you left behind.

 

I’ve left a lot of Brandi pieces along the side of the road. It’s been easier to abandon her then feel all the shame and hurt that are left over from a childhood where my father left too soon and my stepfather stayed too long. But I’m starting to break a little. Maybe more than a little. Break down or break open I’m not quite sure but I have a sneaky suspicion they’re really the same thing. I need to become whole again because I want a life where I can really trust in love. Feel the excitement of love. Show up to love with a heart full of hope. And the only place I’m going to find that trust, excitement, and hope is in the pieces of me I left behind. The younger me who isn’t battle weary but can see love as the gift it really is and not just a way to be hurt and abandoned.

 

I have an amazing love in my life who is doing his very best to show up as vulnerable as he can and all I do is keep raising the bar of what I “need”. Unfortunately, reaching this bar is unachievable because I’ve designed it that way. I’m figuring out that I’ve never been able to fully trust in our love and that I keep raising that bar so that at some point he’ll say screw it and give up (which is doubtful) and it’ll prove to me that no love is safe. That I was right all along and even the most incredible men will hurt me and leave me in the end. Then I can continue to abandon my younger self and never have to feel all the awful, unresolved feelings. 

 

So here I am hoping I’ll be able to gather all those pieces of young Brandi I’ve scattered on my path and that when I find them, I’ll know what to do with them. That young Brandi can forgive me and teach me how to show up to love with hope and not with my runners on. Somewhere inside of me I already know that my love is the kind of person I can trust wholeheartedly; it’s me I’m not so sure of. I need to stop trying to control every movement of our love because I’m scared of being hurt and abandoned. The truth is that I abandoned myself long before he came along and no one can hurt me as much as I’ve hurt myself.

 

So lovely readers, here’s to hoping we can give ourselves enough grace to sit in our own pain with an open heart and become whole again.