try to be nice

reflection

i’ve been spending a lot of time in bed the last few days. sick. my body finally having enough of the stress i’ve been careful to hide with busyness and beer. i’m scared right now. the phrase on every would be comforter’s lips is “fresh start,” but it’s quite hard to feign excitement when you don’t know where to begin. when everything is covered in ash.

i wish some days it was easier to be kind to myself. i’m prone to kicking myself when i’m down. laying here catching reflections in the mirror above the bed while the voice in my head rages on. unproductive. unoriginal. boring. infertile. i tell my mom. she almost always knows what to say. let four hot, angry tears roll down my cheeks. have to stop. i already can’t breath through my nose.

a new book came in the mail today. woodcut by bryan nash gill. i’ve only taken a peak, but his work. each tree’s story…. i think i’ll shower. make a cup of tea. turn the pages more slowly. try to be nice.

wood rings

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7 thoughts on “try to be nice

  1. Amen to some “self kindness”. I never really did that after we lost our home. And now, 2 and a half years later, I am still struggling. And everyone was so darn positive, talking up our “fresh start” and making “Phoenix rising from the ashes” references. I felt like I wasn’t allowed to grieve, like I “owed” it to them to smile and jump on the “happy train”. I’ve long been a people-pleaser, putting others before myself. And I can honestly say that I harbor a lot of anger and resentment towards those who didn’t understand the gravity of our situation, who made light of our situation, who chided me for being too materialistic for crying about losing everything we had. Don’t rush the process. It hurts now, and it will keep hurting…but less and less over time. Every person is different, everyone grieves differently. But you have to let yourself. Because you can’t make it through by hiding your head in the sand and stuffing everything deep down inside. I’m not trying to tell you how to grieve…just that you must. Let my mistake show how NOT to do things.

    Praying for your heart. For strength in weakness and for the strength to be weak.

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    1. your words have been a comfort to me since the first time you wrote here, thank you and i’m sorry for not responding sooner. this means a lot to me coming from someone who has been through it before. i just find myself being so frustrated with everything right now. some days it’s really hard to look past right now and right now…well frankly it kind of sucks! i can let go of things i suppose, but home is hard to let go of. a place to go. some privacy. some normalcy. some routine. i’m angry and sad and down on myself because i just can’t seem to find my footing yet. thank you for offering me some permission to feel it. permission to be weak. i’m not good at doing that for myself. i hope you can find some healing too, some space to let go. i hate to think of you still hurting and i’m here if you need to talk. ❤

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  2. Those are lies. You ARE original, you’re one of the most interesting people I know, you’re creative, caring, compassionate, hardworking, beautiful, strong, and faithful. You are the one and only Caitlin Meadow and I love YOU.

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    1. and YOU make me cry. i adore you, my friend. thank you for loving me and for always encouraging me. the lies we tell ourselves sure sound like the truth until you say them out loud to a friend don’t they?

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  3. My sweet Caitlin. My sister on the journey! I hope you read my last e-mail. I know this place of despair, of self loathing, of unending self incrimination! Talk with the man who loves you and ask him how he sees you, knows you and loves you. Trust him, trust his wisdom and let your own machine go. We need each other so much!

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  4. I can only imagine how overwhelming it all is.Its ok to cry and its ok to not always be strong, you are grieving and it is all part of the process. but you my dear friend, are amazing and wonderful, even under a blanket of ash your beautiful self shines through. i love you and am here for you.

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  5. A house that burns down isn’t a fresh start, it’s a shitty situation. It’s a fight with insurance agents. It’s cleaning the land of burned memories and having to rebuild. You’re allowed to be mad, and sad. You don’t need to put on a face for anyone, tell them the truth. Watching that fire get closer and closer (and ultimately get stopped on our end) was incredibly scary. I rent my house, but my thoughts kept going back to where will we go, what will we do, what happens if we do lose everything. I love reading your blog, and looking at your beautiful pictures.Stay true to you, and stay strong! 🙂

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