My line between burnout and thrive can feel so delicate. One minute I’m inundated with adrenaline and inspiration and the next I’m empty and listless. It can feel like a sudden flush or rush or it can trickle in slowly like a stream meticulously carving a new path.
Energy is a precious commodity so part of my work is to constantly remind myself to gather light, and attempt to harvest some beams, even if I’m currently simmering with the shadows.
Not one to fear the shadows as it’s strangely comforting there, it feels like healing to me. Even if that healing is slow and painful. It, like everything, needs its own time and will integrate when it’s found its place. Not in a straight line, not in a circle, but in a dance – an ebb and flow over time.
I’m feeling nostalgic and therefore grateful. Grateful for rebellious spirit. I feel the path less ordinary has always been something I have chosen to attach too. I’ve become aware of how that attachment has changed over the years, yet fundamentally stayed true to the roots it formed in me so early on.
I muse about radical self love and celebratory acceptance as rebellion. About how the defiance of patriarchy and colonialism is a battle we didn’t know we signed up to fight, yet is our inherent war to win – scars and all.
Contemplating deeply as of late, this last decade, as I shift into anew. Simmering in what was cultivated, learned and integrated while simultaneously ripped open, spilled and elusive. Seeing with both more fascination and frustration how deep the rabbit hole goes and how it can feel I am only just beginning over and over with some pieces solved and some forever perplexing.
And so the balance – never achieved, only maintained – dances on with as much grace as I can muster.
Feeling strong and invincible yet tender and fragile.
Feeling perfectly imperfect.
Feeling duality at its intrinsic nature.