When I Grow Up, I Want to Be Beautiful.

It’s nearly one o’clock, and I can’t sleep.

This sort of thing doesn’t usually happen to me, but this weekend has been far from ordinary.

I’ve opened a sort of Pandora’s box through the piece I published Friday, addressing emotions that have been buried beneath the surface for quite some time, finally feeling through and processing things I did not have the capacity to face as I was experiencing them in real time. I didn’t realize how much any of it still bothered me.

Or, for moments when you feel so beyond lost you don’t even know which way is up or where to turn… you write a letter to God; a prayer, a plea, or something in between, which is what I found myself writing tonight.

My ego has been falling apart.

I can’t say when this unraveling started, but it’s been happening for at least 3 years, finally reaching what I hope will be considered the climax.

I’ve poured my heart and soul into the purpose path unabashedly, withholding nothing.

Trusting the voice in my heart that said it was safe to trust, and safe to believe… feeling so confused when the outcome has proven to be anything but.

“But, ah my dear, this isn’t the outcome.”

After writing my soulful prayer shameless plea, where I begged for direction, begged for the desire to be stripped from my heart if it wasn’t truly for me, wasn’t “of God” or whatever, I received a call from a friend, and we laughed; I meant it, temporarily suspended from the pain I had been working through. Angels come in many forms.

Tonight, I also found myself on the floor, crying, attempting to rip up my planners and screaming at them as loudly as I could between sobs; I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.

(They didn’t rip.. maybe I need update the product description)

Why did you lead me here? Why did you let me do this? Why did you let me ruin my life?

It’s been a weekend of this; sobbing, and bleeding, laughing, and crying. Sleeping off the pain, finally understanding for the first time in my life why my mom spent so much of my adolescence locked away in her room, sleeping. Watching her emerge only once the sun had descended, feeling anxious on nice days because we were locked inside at her house, then forced outside on the days when we were at my Dad’s. Never finding reprieve; existing in a world that was unkind; an existence where I never truly felt like I belonged anywhere.

Even in 7th grade, I only ever found solace in my journal, at one point writing in capital letters as large as I could muster WHY DO I EVEN EXIST? WHY AM I SO UGLY?

What I meant; why was I brought to this planet, when all I seem to bring upon myself is such senseless pain, and endless suffering? Why can’t I find anyone who loves me?

At 14, I thought growing up to be beautiful would solve all of my problems; it was my constant prayer back then: i wanted to grow up to be beautiful, so that I could find someone to love me, and finally, one day, all of that suffering and pain would be a thing of the past; a distant memory of something I wrote down once and forgot about.

Except today, the pain wasn’t gone at all; today, it reared its ugly head, front and center, making me feel like every decision I’ve ever made was a mistake, every musing a failure. Wanting so desperately to burn it all down; wishing it all away, giving anything to go back.

“But that was never the plan.”

Feeling so far astray, not even knowing which voices to believe anymore, blocking everyone else out for a full 24 hours so I could get clear on what was me, or more accurately, who.

Writing wishes on colored notebook paper and folding them up on my windowsill; wishes that felt unanswered.

“I don’t know how; show me. Help me.”

The middle of the night truth is this; the business has felt like such a struggle, that the thought of struggling to sell my book is too much to bear. Through the existence of the planners, I know what it feels like to pour your heart and soul into your creation, and to feel to sting when no one else seems to understand its value, not nearly as much as you do.

Today in mid conversation, I just walked away instead of responding when people said they were “over journaling.”

“I’m not sure, I’ve done it every day for the past 5 years” I responded.

“Do you not find yourself just writing down the same thing every day?” they asked.

“No,” I said and walked away, far too exhausted to even bother giving an explanation. But here I am at midnight, writing away the emotions that lingered beneath the surface, going back some twenty years.

After my pleading to God, I found myself opening a course I never completed, and all but forgot about; Gabby Bernstein’s Bestseller Masterclass.

I found myself feeling drawn to sections I never dared click on before; writing a book proposal, finding an editor, selecting a publishing route.

It can feel disheartening to work towards a dream for what feels like forever, to see what feels like little to no progress. Or worse, to feel like you lost everything along the way.

But what if the process of losing everything you once held dear, is what it takes to truly find yourself? What if there’s more life on the other side of perceived loss?

Right now, it feels like I have none of the answers, but the only thing of which I am sure, is that I’m being called to get my story out into the world.

Princess Uninterrupted… it’s our time.