That most vulnerable moment

There is a moment each night that is the most raw time in my day.

It is the moment that I slow down and am nice to myself, without exception.

Seattle winters and springs are cold and rainy times. The weather is grey. The people are grey. The deep long breaths are grey.

When all is done in my day and work has wrapped, friends have shared hugs and wine and the door is locked behind me, I stop.

My bra is flung in the clothes hamper. My shoes are shoved under my bed. Then. Then, I peel off my tights.

Everything that happened in the day is replayed. Dashing to a friend in need; Listening patiently to some very mediocre male mansplaining my obvious mistakes in executing my job; Applying compassion when I don't quite understand why someone is melting down; Laughing until I snort coffee through my nose; and Getting shit done at work.

Was a I good person?
Did I treat everyone decently?
Can I be strong yet gentle?
Would my parents be proud of me?
Do I like myself?

I'm not sure how other people do it but I like this moment. It is my rawest moment. It is my kindest moment. It is how I plan to be better tomorrow.

I often wonder how others end their days.

Dear Diary

Years ago, I started blogging to share via broadcast to those opting in to hear what was going on in my life. It was also a way of practising writing, articulating my thoughts and ultimately documenting my life.

The audience wasn't supposed to be huge. I never really expected anyone but my parents and a few close friends to read. I even turned on comment moderation so that this became my pedestal and a place I could share my thoughts without hearing everyone else respond. That may sound like a control thing but it fitted the idea that this was a log. A captain's log for me going boldly where no Mana had gone before.

As my separation and divorce saw me tumble in to three years of severe clinical depression, this was a place to put the sadness so it was outside of myself. To write down and negate the negative thoughts. To explain the pain and why I coped the way I did. To remember moments that would not be concreted in memory due to the way depression screws with your head.

When I healed and went back out in to the world to try again, this was still a place for me to post the good and bad things that happened in life. Slowly, that migrated to Facebook and rapidly I stopped talking about what it was that shaped me.

Some of this came from any weakness feeling like a failure. Some of it came from people saying I was too high disclosure. A lot of it came from being happier and taking time to bask in the light rather than right it down.

It is no surprise that I return to talk to the ether when my head is in a confused state and my soul is in pain.

So, my dear diary, how do we get through this moment of darkness in to the light again?

I like the idea that this Gala Darling suggests to end the year on a high note. Might get on that.

Writing Again

The writing stopped when the reading started. The chaotic reading that consumed every alternative hour. The balance was lost. The loss was missed.

And so it paused and was parked and was mute. I was mute.

It is odd that we have a finite amount of time. Some days that hits me and other days it feels like we have forever. It seems only to be a hard limit when the wall appears in my face while I'm moving at light speed.

It is time for more balance. For some damn balance. For a semblance of balance at the very least.

Lets do that then.

Love, only love