Micki's Musings

I just read through a few of my past blog posts. I almost don't recognize that person. She breaks my heart a little bit, and I want to make sure she never has to go back to those spaces again. I have vastly different perspectives and mindsets and coping mechanisms, now. I feel...healthy. I'm so grateful I have documented what I have documented. I'm so grateful for the work I have put into things and the continuing progress I am making. I can be there for other people on a much larger scale, and I can do so in a healthier space than I have ever occupied before. This blesses them and myself much more effectively. Now, I'm in a space where our biggest traumas and trials are teenage angst, battles with grades, and troubles with friendship. I argue with my daughter, get exasperated with my son, and underneath it all--I'm kind of having fun. I've said it before and I'll say it forever: perspective is powerful. Having known how it feels to fear for the safety o

Seven weeks ago, I tore a ligament in my ankle. (I was dancing, of course.) Immediately after I hurt it, I waited for the pain to dissipate as it often does soon after a tug on the muscles. This time, the pain did not go away and my ankle started to swell. Usually, I can shake off the hurt and go about my business. This time, I required crutches. For two days. Then, I had to wear a brace. For three weeks. Even now, my ankle is still tender and many movements are limited. From the outside, I look fine and no one can tell my ankle is hurt. But I can tell. If I try to move it a certain way, it yells at me. If I push it too hard, it swells again. I pay attention to what kind of pain it is and decide if it's something I need to stretch out and work through, or if it's something I need to rest. While it is annoying to have a hurt ankle and not be able to do all the things in all the ways, I also don't expect it to suddenly get all better. Immediately after I injured it, I didn

I attended a friend's birthday celebration today. On Saturday I'll be celebrating with another dear friend. Both of these women are near my age and both of them possess a sort of ageless beauty and energy. It brings to mind how I've told people recently, "I'm getting younger with age." So are they. Age is just a number and does not need to define us. There are a few things I've noticed that have crept upon me as my personal timeline has extended, however: Wounds take twice as long to heal. Sleeping on the floor is no longer comfortable. Sleeping sounds more fun than partying (but still not more fun than dancing.) Junk food sticks more stubbornly (and quickly!) around my midsection and refuses to go away. I can no longer eat chocolate for breakfast (and lunch and dinner) if I want to function very far from a bathroom. I have actually stated the phrase, "Oh, my aching back," and meant it. I cannot rest immediately after exercising...if I wa

Hey beautiful. I see you. Eyes puffy and darkened by the moons of mascara smudged across your lids and into the bags beneath from hours of drenching your pillow with your soul's brine and your spirit's screams. You're beautiful. I see you. The creases and spider-cracks of your face made permanent by the plastic smile molded to your features that if ever allowed to shift for an instant will shatter into a thousand knife shards of pain. You're beautiful. I see you. The rod of self-made steel running through the mind into the heart unflinching, unbending, unyielding...unloving...safe. Because bending is breaking and you will not be broken again. You're beautiful. I see you. Because vulnerability is pain and letting them in is feeling and feeling...hurts.

Pain has become more comfortable than happiness. Even as my body shakes with soul-shattering sobs, there's a sense of relief behind it. A sense of familiarity. I know this space. I understand it; I know how to navigate it; I know how to survive here. Happiness is a coy mistress, flitting about, teasing with sweet caresses and then dashing away again. But pain is solid. It's real. It's inevitable. Pain feels more trustworthy and constant. It almost feels...safe. Inside of pain I am invulnerable. The walls of my pain fortress are sturdy. Even as the spheres of hope I tentatively created shatter--and pieces of my heart along with it--I am also still somehow protected. Pain brings with it a sense of resolve. A sense of determination and steadfastness. It's an old friend that has returned to say hello and let me know that it never really left, just took a back seat to naivete for a little while. I see the best in people. I can't help it. I thought I had become wiser