I Swear I'm Moving Forward

I swore a lot today. While talking to Father Charlie. When f bombs start coming out of my mouth with ease it's because my emotions are bubbling to the surface and scaring the bejezuz out of me. My tears, anger and swearing meld together at times like that.

It's much easier being an impostor than it is being me. Being committed to being in the moment, to feeling the feelings is hard work. But I know there is no going back. Oh, I could. But as hard as it may be, I am going forward. In fact, after Father Charlie sifted through my mine field of cuss words today, he told me all he heard was forward movement going on within me.

A while ago I got this picture in my head of letting go of all that ensnares me, watching it fall away, each bit a brilliantly coloured layer of cloth, settling around my feet. I stood in the center, the me that God sees, strong and free and completely myself. I have carried this picture around with me ever since and then last week the words, pathetic and power came into my head, too. And I saw the word pathetic fall like another piece of cloth to my feet and I stood there laying claim to myself. I've had so few examples of people who walk with a power that is God given and good; that tramples on no one, but empowers others to become who they are created to be as well.

I've found myself saying no a lot lately. And it's coming out of my mouth with a clarity and force that has me thinking it is coming from somewhere deep inside. A no that is speaking up for the past 44 years of being unable to say no without feeling fear, guilt, or shame. A no that is really saying yes to what is true within me.

I told Father Charlie I was still walking around with this gaping hole inside, trying to keep it free of addictive behaviour and soothing side trips. I'm at the point of turning those directions much less often because they have become illuminated to some extent; shown for the impostors they are. And besides, they do nothing to fill the hole and it's pissing me off. I mean, what's the point, when they've lost their anesthetizing effect and afterwards I have guilt and shame on top of it? He asked what I was going to fill the gaping hole with instead. I told him I had no idea, that the only things that came to me were what I thought were supposed to fill it, and they didn't feel authentic. I expected him to tell me what to fill it with. I don't know when I am going to get used to a pastor not giving out answers. He told me I got to choose what I filled the hole with. And in my head I saw layers of cloth, building on one another of all that is good, all that I celebrate, filling the hole, layer by layer, the colours overflowing.