A heart full of fuck yous

I woke up yesterday to annoyance

frustration

blah-ness

fuck yous.

I could sort of identify where it was coming from.

But I could feel it more.

I could feel more of the suffocation,

the fuckedness,

more than I could think about it.

The past decade has been spent going inward,

leaning into my heart,

the unseen story of my journey.

And the more and more I allowed the inner workings to be more real and true than that outer,

I knew I was walking into what felt like dangerous territory.

Territory no one told me about growing up,

territory I was taught to disregard

for outer peace,

cultural acknowledgement,

social acceptance.

Territory that looked more like rebellion than peace,

more like friction than harmony.

Territory that honored, prized, celebrated the heart,

the soul,

the unseen.

And I could feel, yesterday morning, a culmination of those learnings.

A culmination of fuck yous.

Fuck yous to my parents.

Fuck yous to my teachers.

Fuck yous to anywhere and anyone and anything that taught me to forget about me.

And a huge massive fuck you to myself for believing those things.

That last fuck you was reserved for every time I gave anyone the benefit of the doubt because they didn’t see what I saw.

For every time I forewent my happiness for another’s peace.

For every time I considered another’s feelings first, above, ahead of my inner workings.

For every time I stifled my desires with a smile,

giving, so giving to everyone freely space to be themselves,

have what they want,

do what they please,

whilst murdering the voice within.

I wouldn’t say I was a doormat.

But I would say I’ve been hyper-sensitive to things that have nothing to do with me.

Things like how others might feel.

Things like how others might react.

Things like how offensive I might seem.

All, not my problem.

And then allowing those things to guide me,

teach me how to be,

mold me.

The truth is, I give a shit.

I give a shit about this world,

about connection,

about humanity,

community.

And I still do.

It’s just, the voice could not be murdered.

The voice has come back,

murderous.

Murderous for what’s mine,

for the space and time to breathe,

to speak,

to claim,

to bless,

to honor,

to delight in

me.

As I am.

I allowed those fuck yous to rise,

giving way,

in silent respect,

reverence.

The burning

smoldering

ruthless

curses

exhausted themselves,

dissipating like smoke,

quietly as they had emerged.

All that was left was a big black gaping hole,

vacant of judgement,

empty of malice,

injustice,

annoyance,

frustration.

Just empty.

Nothingness.

Sweet,

lonely,

tired

nothingness.

I could feel my insides cave,

the guard and protection against the years of self-negligence and unknowing self-loathing slipping away,

the fear of not being accepted,

or okay in others’ eyes.

The hardness softened,

melting into the abyss of warmth of being so human,

so God-like,

so me.

I could feel,

feel what, I’m not sure.

Just feel me,

all of me.

Every one of those fuck yous,

disintegrating into the walls of my heart,

transforming into incredible compassion,

understanding,

kindness,

gentleness.

I simply watched,

observed,

let.

It was not time to do anything,

be anything,

say anything.

It was time to let,

let truth run its course,

let love revive the tiredness,

let hope breathe into me.

I felt like I could see myself,

so clearly,

from within.

I could see me in my innocence,

in my search for truth,

for how to live this life,

how to be me.

I could see myself doing my best,

wanting the best for myself,

and for others.

I could see myself so perfect,

so good,

so complete,

so worthy,

so full.

I could see myself.

And there was nothing but love in that place,

in that moment,

in me.

There was so much appreciation,

no, more than appreciation.

There was so much…

embrace,

acceptance.

There was so much…

forgiveness.

Forgiveness of myself for misbelieving,

for discarding what is already true.

Forgiveness of myself for thinking any of that was lame,

stupid,

useless.

I knew, from that place,

I did everything right.

Every time I ignored the voice,

every time I sought another’s approval,

every time I asked for permission for what’s mine,

every time I played the role of a beggar in my own kingdom.

I did everything right.

To have arrived in this place of wholeness,

forgiveness,

knowing,

freedom,

how could I have not?

Damn, I’m good.

Ha.

Who would have known all this was underneath a heart full of fuck yous?

Not me.