Writing a blog update whilst in the midst of grieving, the holidays, wrapping up court hearings, a pandemic, and still trying to moonlight(daylight?) as a writer is akin to chewing on a piece of ice immediately following a root canal. It’s not only foolishly painful, but starkly masochistic. So for the month of December, I chose self-preservation.
I sulked and cursed the world when I needed to. I found refuge in my old childhood bed and spent countless hours nestled in the realm of the familiar. I silenced my brain with mindless television. I cried in secret, and I rested.
I struggled with the idea of setting intentions for the new year; but ultimately decided that I did not have the bandwidth to fully commit to any one intention, beyond the scope of waking up each day and surviving it. While others busied themselves writing resolutions, I prepared myself for release. Release just felt right in this season. I knew that in order to move forward and navigate my new normal, I had to let some things go.
Heaviness is a burden. Carrying around stagnancy is tiring. Grief is exhausting. The culmination of twenty-twenty was a lot, so I am taking my time and honoring my process. My process involves patience. It also involves time. Most importantly it involves family. Legacy is on the forefront of my mind. Preserving it, cultivating it, and celebrating it.
I have a story that needs to be told. That is my soul/sole purpose in this moment. I’m not labelling it an intention. It is just something that I will do.
I appreciate all of the love and support I have received in this time. For the most part I am okay, then other times I am not. I will be better though, but I am honoring the process. This time will be purposeful, but it will also be in the moment. I’m taking things one day at a time. Every new day will be seen with a fresh perspective. This year will be better than the last, in time… And I am okay with that.