The authentic voice

So, sometimes you can be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

In can be something small. The slow cue in the supermarket. The route where there are roadworks. The lane where the car breaks down.

Or it can be something big. The bump in the road. The room of a diagnosis – and it’s yours. The room where there’s no diagnosis – and you have to walk through a bigger, scarier door.

It’s the time of the “if only.”

If only you had left 5 minutes earlier. If only you had breathed deeper. If only you had time to swerve.

But you didn’t.

And you ended up here.

We’ve all been in the wrong place at the wrong time sometime. It’s when your eyes open wider to what life presents.

Because they’re forced to.

And sometimes we try to close our eyes really tight against it.
Because we want to.
Because we need to.

Because sometimes life is shit and just not fair.

They say be open to life as it presents itself. Accepting and grateful for all the twists and turns.

Do these people work in the trauma ward? Do these people have any mates? Have these people held the hand of a sick child? A very sick child?

I’ve cried a lot today. For my beautiful friend who lost her boobs and her hair. For my beautiful friend who held his child’s hand through so many doors. And for my beautiful friend who has already had so much to deal with – and fell off her bike.

I’ve cried loud. And long. And allowed the deepest sounds of my rawest soul to be heard.

Think screaming. And shouting. And melting into the sea.

The exhausted silence that followed my screams was so still. So quiet. There was so much space to move into. It feels quiet. And gentle. And kind.

It sounds like the ocean.

There is a place to heal. A place to grow. A place to soften our loud voice. And strengthen our soft voice. To maybe find our voice for the first time.

An authentic voice can come from being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Forgive and surrender to find it.

That’s what people who work in trauma do. it’s what people who grow back their hair do. It’s what people who hold their child’s hand do. It’s what my beautiful friend who fell off her bike will do.

Big love and healing light to all of you who have been ( or are still in ) this shit place. This wrong place. For whatever reason, I’m told is right.

I’m off to hug some random.
Hard.

X

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