Juggling taking care of mother is unpleasant. Those feelings of guilt. As I wince at the pain one more time, I hear Harley snore at my feet. He hasn't left my side.
Crohns is unpleasant and deserves a lot of respect. I know this. Nothing new here to see. Yet this time feels different, rather like how i felt when i was first diagnosed. Stunned and vulnerable.
Knowing that feeling of being reminded so very strongly that I must listen. I must.
Before today, I was feeling I was being pulled in a direction where there was no choice but to listen to the powers that be. i was being taken to the place of dreams, yet fighting and screaming at every corner as this simply wasn't what I was raised to believe. Dreams don't come true. Not for the likes of me. You can't possibly live your passions and that be enough. No way. It was all about misery and sweat and toil. This is precisely what I was taught. Could I seriously think for a minute that I might be able to do exactly what I'm doing now for my job? I'm sitting here, totally concentrating on my words which I might add are flowing beautifully as i write my next piece in the novel I have neglected for at least two years - respecting my chronic illness while still being an achiever.
Always i have wanted to write. Always I have written. Either letters to the grandparents, love letters to less deserving other half or simply in the journal. Of course now we have this digital world and what was once a skill of typing is now a necessity we all must learn for this online society we now enjoy. Could my writing be improved upon? Probably. Yet I have stories which simply must be told. Living with zero regret is an aim in my life. An aim I currently have achieved. Yet if I were to pass into the next life with these books still inside me, there is the regret. As Wayne Dyer said, "Don't die with the music still in you."
For once, the strongest feeling is within me. A feeling that I am going to write and write some more. Allowing myself the indulgence of putting fingers to keys in bed, in the coffee shop, at my desk. All while taking care of mum and the twins, walking Harley when the mood takes me and being able to spend a day nursing my poorly gut. I could do this. It's the thing.
Tomorrow I see myself getting up and out early. Taking a drive somewhere like the sea front and setting up the tripod. Filming my story of this transition into a writer. The story of how miserable I have been while trying to fit in with the world which I find way too hard to deal with. The people who are so nasty and negative, the clothes you have to wear to look corporate, the schedules of commuting which costs a pretty penny to watch others looking miserably into their coffee cups while rocking their head against the beat of the music within their headphones yet in synch with the rocking of the train.
It's not me.
Me is the girl with curly hair. T shirt and shorts. Maybe a fleece or hoodie. The girl who wants a tan and make up but when she wants it. Being a little bit of a hippy. Living within the trees or taking time out to put my feet in the sand while letting the energy of grounding in nature help me with the flow. Could this happy life be possible? The life that sees me able to love my day writing, wherever and whatever. Enough that people sense the passion and want to know more, buying into my stories, my books, my online videos telling the life story of what is going on. Could this be that i might possibly earn a little money to pay the bills?
For the first time ever I sense a shift. It's different to before when I wanted to believe it. This is almost like there is simply no choice but to make things work. Without giving everything I've got to my writing I will have failed at my own life, my own path, my own blessings and talents.
It's time to step into my truth and my hearts desire and see what happens. Are you with me?
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