"Let the F*cking Plates Drop!"

    On my first post, I mentioned that I had suicidal ideations on my 42nd birthday. I was devasted to experience such loss because I am a trained counselor and I should've "known better."

I sat on the shore looking onto the lake contemplating how I would leave this world and those I love behind. This experience felt real and doable and how I came to this point was a culmination of events which shaped my experience.

I lived in a box. I subscribed to fear-based love that tells us we are loved by how well we do in school, how we shine on the job, and who we are connected to. My worth was based on my outstanding works and this, in turn, determined whether or not I was enough.

In early October, I received the news that my father's health was declining due to cancer. I knew this part of his journey was certain but lived in denial for years. Thankfully, I was able to spend time with him before his departure and these moments were simply divine. I understood my father loved me, but I always felt I needed his approval to be awarded as being enough. And so I strived for perfection.

In this time period, I was also in school for my Master's and heading into an internship related to domestic violence; a subject I am passionate about. Additionally, I was also hired to write a paper related to trauma by a reputable organization. Further, I was acting as a mother and a wife; a role I created years before.

When the news sunk in about my father's health, I started to decompensate. It wasn't easy to see because I function well when under stress. Previously, I was astute in my work - always on top of what was needed to be done. However, I started to miss deadlines because sleep was an inviting escape.

My first loss was dropping the paper I was contracted to write. My second loss was the death of my father, and although I completed my Master's program with flying colors, I had fuck-it moments too where papers were turned in late or never written. While I was losing my shit, my family had to make it without my presence. I could barely function.

Fast forward to my birthday, I was living in quiet desperation. No one could see or hear my screams because I smiled and helped others when needed. I was the good girl everyone wanted to see. I was the good counselor that selflessly helped others find their truth . . . I was the loving wife and mother. I was drowning and no one could see.

The saving grace? Love.

I wish I could tell you when it swooped in and picked me up. I wish I could recall when it saved me, but I cannot.

Love simply happened.

What am I learning from Love? It's okay to have fuck-it moments because these can alter one's course for the better. It's okay to let the plates drop and shatter - sometimes the balancing act requires a re-start. And the box we find ourselves defined by is just an illusion. We are not the box and the labels cannot define our greatness. Further, our worth is not defined by our acts . . . our worth cannot be measured because it simply is.