I Almost Strangled Myself

I was not suicidal.

I was a caretaker — it was urgent, it was immediate, and there was no end in sight—

Of course, I stepped up!

And I was good at it —

The lullaby of self-abandonment — The addiction of living outside of myself and not at home in my soul.

Who taught us this bullshit? I thought I had outgrown it, but I felt guilty that I wanted my Life back.

The siren song of pushing on, the familiar old tune of just a little more, just a little longer and a bit extra. You go, girl!

You can do it, they say! We’re the heroes, they say. We’re the helpers.

We wear the Superman cape made of depletion, but we’re pressing on.

While drinking the aphrodisiac of being needed and wanted, I lost myself.

It was exhausting and oh-so gratifying, like a badge of honor—the need to be needed.

Until I collapsed —

Bone tired, I picked myself up from the bottomless pit of fatigue and got angry, mad, and resentful.

Why. Did. I. Do. This. To. Me.

Because Life had gotten so Good

That Fear crept in

Fear of the Goodness

Fear of My Power

Fear of My Joy

So, I almost strangled myself

until I woke up from this version of hell

And found myself again

This time

I can see

Joy is my natural state

My Birthright