fulfillment.

I had a plan. It certainly didn’t include being single in my late forties. If I knew this future 10 years ago, I would have thrown a temper tantrum at the angels. 

I am single. I’m 49. And I am happier today, yesterday, and the day before. I cannot remember feeling this free as a girl, as a woman, in every part of my life. 

These days, being single does not feel like being alone. It used to, though. And I’d hunt down a soul just to patch the hole.

I feel finally complete as I continue to untame myself, to drop my guard, my masks, my potions.

I am giddy and wild again like a curious child playing with the toys in her chest.

I whisper sweet thanks to experience. And Spirit responds to this exchange.

The boys who once broke my heart, came to apologize when they became men. The threads that tied me to many hearts over many cities and hopes are slipping out of my hands. I bless each one as they float like balloons on a slow breeze.

This story of my completeness I wish to share with my sisters who cry out to be loved by another as a sign of life, and worth.

I wish to tell them:

First set your Self free. Let her thrive in realness.

I would tell her to listen to the opening note of the song you always wanted to sing. This tune will enliven you. Sing it.

 

I would tell her Wave Your Magic over miles of dreams and fears, and follow every hunch that brushes your cheek.

I would tell her love is an unwrapped present you carry with you all the time. It’s been with you during all those misshapen relationships and solo Friday night dinners. 

Once you realize this, open it. Open your gift. It’s wild and untamed inside, made pure and rare, so don’t change it.

When you do–open it–you will have opened the love of your life.

You will have opened your full Self, and she’s exactly who you’ve been looking for all this time.

Version 6

shedding

who you be?

if the noise inside gets too loud, you’ll never hear

yourself.

better to write her

draw her

scribble her onto an unused napkin and stick her in your purse.

carry her with you everyday.

she needs to be defined.

she needs to be with you every moment

not crumpled in a pile of mess or jumbled under layers of judgment

and fear.

 

let her loose.

let the WiLD breathe.

 

Michelle Bernard: WiLD journaling

to be unleashed January 2018

 

 

unknown.

spend a morning in the wilderness,

the mind.

your journal can get you there.

the wilderness,

where first is revealed  

the dense and chaotic terrain

that threatens to lose you to your feelings.

tangled and constricting feelings are vines squeezed between your lips

around your ankles

binding you still

suffocating you quiet.

wild writing upsets the stillness

rattles the quiet 

wreaks injurious blows into the familiar.

makes you flail for a gulp of air

for loudness to rush wind through your throat

a burst of bravery

breaking you from your past

the familiar knowledge of the past has controlled you

the familiar past, a protector of harm

has kept you safe from being able to grow wild

or daring

or free.

 

so go there

with a pen

into

the unknown

and write yourself wild

again.

——–unknown

I’m clicking away at another book.

About journaling. It’s been my morning thing. For years. Through many cities, jobs, dates, lovers, goals–I’ve written it all down in mini capsules. My journals.

The wisest advice has come to me through journaling, because, seriously, there exists some sage that shows up on the page. She directs my hard-head to let go of old sh#t and dares me to step hard right on up to life’s counter to take what I’m worth. She, the voice, also listens to me ruminate over and over and over about the same ole worn-out story, till she can’t take it anymore. What better-a-friend than she?

Have you got one? A journal. Any kind of bound paper thingy will do. Just start. Same time of day or night, 5-7 days a week. Twenty+ minutes.

Write your dreams, your doubts, your highs, your trials, your irritations, your storms, your possibilities, your realness.

After just 30 days of journaling, notice how it rattles your tamed mind, makes you ask wild questions of yourself, tells you what you’ve been dying to know, stirs you to cut the vines away from your throat so you can breathe.