Something happens when I look at myself.
As an empath, a trauma survivor, and a high detailed creative ----> I feel DEEP sadness when I see the look in my own eyes. It has taken me I suppose 29 years of life to step into self awareness. To fully process who I have become because of TRAUMA. I tell my stories weekly here on Facebook and also on my blog because I want to give you the puzzle pieces of what I am comprised of. I might tell the same story a few times from different angles and analyze them in different ways ----> but my stories are important. These pieces of who I am, when translated onto paper or screen are given life. Validity. Power. I grew up without those things. No power. No control. No stability. No life of my own. That was until I stepped up and starting making the hard choices. And the hard choices were not always the right ones, but they were the ones I MADE HAPPEN with autonomy and bravery as I overthrew abusive situations and tyrants in my life. The mistakes were mine to make. The truth is I love public speaking. I love the energy of other people. I walk around town, malls, stores, libraries, even parks just to be near other people. I am fed by the energies + moods + expressions of others. And while it can sometimes be draining, I am still made happy by connection. So I will take little breaks and then step back in fully ready to bask in the beautiful of collective human interaction. What I do not like and what has brought me a great deal of PAIN -----> is sitting with myself. Gosh. I just hate my own energy. I have felt like a wilted plant. I can see the brokenness in my own eyes. I can hear the fear in my throat. I know she is deeply hurting. And quite possibly, It all goes undetected bu everyone around me. I wonder often if my husband fell in love with a girl with sad eyes, so he would never even know what my happiness potential looks like. I wonder if my children mistake my expression for disinterest, even though they are my pride and joy. I always hated selfies and made sure I was the one to take the holiday photos. This fall season, I began to take photos of myself weekly. When I felt depressed or shitty or stressed out. When I was having a panic attack. When I felt shame. And I would study my face. What emotions surfaced when I looked at myself in those states of emotions. Something really beautiful began to happen. Instead of anger or embarrassment, I would see myself and feel love for myself. For this girl who is F*CKING BROKEN. IN PAIN. LOST. And yet, still getting up each day to figure it all out. To figure out who I am and love me through the process. I walk around heavy, tired, longing. I walk around jaded, fragile, shaky. But each time I see myself, I also see a change. As I SPEAK MY TRUTHS and embrace the broken parts of myself -------> I ache. But them muscle forms. Like leg day, I share the gory and disturbing as f*ck details of what events made me. But then I realize I am not "those stories". And when I release my stories into the world, my eyes gain a little more sparkle each time. J.S. Jaded Savior Published by Jean Soto JS Jaded Savior blog: jadedsaviorblog@gmail.com
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AuthorJean Soto, mother of 3 and wife, is a writer + artist in the Hudson Valley, NY community. Archives
December 2019
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