The Changes: A New Starting Over

I’ve been swallowed up. I am in the beast and the beast is me.

Change is all around me, once again and as always. But this time it all feels different. I am not digging out, not anymore. I am moving forward.

It appears I have filled in the blanks, the blanks that were torn open in my life in 2010, and that kept tearing open for the next few years. Those blanks have been filled, painstakingly, slowly, carefully, with great intent and attention on my part—only to be met with more blanks. We know this is how life works, and yet it is a humbling—and galvanizing—realization all the same.

These are some of the answers that go inside the original blanks from when I started this blog:

I am now and have always been fine.

I do really intimately know the person I am and the person I aim to become.

I am both an individual ego, searching for instant pleasures and solutions, as well as a larger being, engaged in the act of coming to terms with consciousness. This is okay. This feels good. I know most people don’t reside here, but it is where I feel the most capacious and the most safe.

Loss is a brutal kind of beauty. I still pause and feel my mind reel a bit when I gaze backwards at the terrible storms that turned my life completely inside out for two years, but I am more whole, more clear and more loving toward myself than I have ever been, and perhaps more than I ever even dreamed possible. The loss did that. I know it did.

And so I am clearing the deck. I have incorporated the wounds and the terror and the fury.  I am still imperfect and imprecise and purely human: fallible, egotistical at times, easily seduced by my own ideas of how things should go.

But I am clear, and whole, and ready to rocket through this next round of changes and transformations, to take them on and become ever more who I am, to find new boundaries to flirt with, new fears to push past, and work to stay ever-connected to the naked me I brought to this blog, when I had been stripped of everything I thought I ever knew about myself.

In the next few weeks, I will announce my new job. (A huge and deep thank you to BlogHer for being a place where I could grow and heal, be both public and hidden, and learn the ways in which I was still full of my own bullshit.) I have started dating again. I am starting another internal journey, based around falling into my trust of myself. I am once again doing the work of reconnecting to my body, which is always the last piece of me becoming whole and healed. Someday I’ll understand where, exactly, it is I am hiding when I disappear from myself in that way… but not today, or next week. I don’t need all the answers.

There is always time to keep becoming.

. . . . . . . . . . . . .

Oddly this post feels like some kind of end, and I guess in some ways I am defining an endpoint. So I am going to take a moment to get down on my knees, with my head bowed, and my palms directed up at the sky to thank Every.Single.One.Of.You. who read this blog, who commented on it, who emailed me to check in on me, who shared your own stories of confusion and loss and fear, who shared my links and wrote about my posts in your own posts. Being able to be so weak out loud was an experiment for me, a crucial passage in leaving behind the coping devices I built for myself as a little girl (which are much detailed in this blog). You loved me while I ached, and sometimes you loved me because I ached. Which blew my mind. And allowed me to keep being brave and open, to dare myself not to make up stories, to challenge myself to stare down every single thing that terrified me in an effort to hear the whisper of my intuition, the voice inside me who knows—and has always known—who I really am.

A deep namaste to all of you. I will forever be buoyed by the way it is we humans really, truly, do want to lift others up.

And from that easy, familiar desire, we learn how to fall in love with the harder work of lifting ourselves up as well.

About stacy

I am a writer, author, mother, former magazine editor (last at Redbook), optimist, and, above all, a searcher. I'm still searching for whom I'm really meant to be, after a series of very jarring losses: a divorce and house disaster that led to a book (Falling Apart In One Piece); a week after the book came out, my parents suddenly fell gravely ill, I resigned from my job (and, apparently, my career), my son went into crisis, my parents then rapidly died four weeks apart, and my boyfriend (who had moved in with me and my son just weeks before the book came out) began the painful journey of realizing we couldn't make our relationship work (that story unfolded on this blog). Since then I've been trying to figure out what's next. Or, in other words, how to fill in the blanks.
This entry was posted in flux, gratitude, starting over, Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

11 Responses to The Changes: A New Starting Over

  1. Julie Ross Godar says:

    It’s funny, because this is the way I’ve ALWAYS known you, a pillar of honesty + vulnerability = strength. I can’t wait to see what’s next. xoxoxxoxo

  2. Much love to you, my friend. You have taught me so much. I miss you in my daily life, but I feel excited to see what awaits you now.

  3. Ann says:

    I always enjoy your writing–the way you put together words and the messages you discover and share while doing so. I’m so glad to know you and wish you happiness and success as you begin this new page. xo

  4. Lindsey says:

    Sending you so much love, and I can’t wait to hear your news. xox

  5. So grateful for the ways you have lifted me up in my own place of pain.

  6. Inspiring. Go forward with strength and beauty – both what was in you always and what is ever growing.

  7. alexandra says:

    Loss is a brutal kind of beauty.

    How that sentence sums it all up. YES, Stacy, it devastates and lifts and focuses in brilliance.

    I love this post.

    I am grateful for your words and how they fill me with the sense of being understood. Thank you.

    Here’s to you, friend. Here’s TO YOU.

  8. Rita says:

    Ah, Stacy. I hope your new venture might bring you to Portland some time. I would so love to meet you in person. I don’t quite know what to say. Will have to think more on that.

  9. Arnebya says:

    I find it easier to lift myself up when lifting up others. I care about you and your well being. It’s easy. I am genuinely excited for all the future holds for you.

  10. Susan says:

    love. And so grateful for your courage/vulnerability. Xo

  11. Trish Sammer says:

    Apparently I’m a month late to this party. But I brought some really excellent imaginary snacks so I hope that makes up for it.

    I just wanted to send some warm hugs and say that I am shooting up a flare to the Universe on your behalf with the intention that your next venture is lovely and fulfilling. Looking forward to hearing your observations and realizations on the next phase of life. 🙂

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