The woman I was…

Chronic Illness, featured, inspiration, Uncategorized

I am grieving every single day for the loss of the woman I was and the woman I had wanted to become.

I don’t want to live in a place of loss, but it’s so hard not to be overwhelmed by it. I have done nothing but loose things and little is reminding me of what still remains.

I feel as if I have almost been stripped of everything I was, or thought I was.
But sometimes in a rare moment I see the girl, the woman I was… as if from a distance.

I see her at the waters edge, kneeling down, staring at her reflection. So full of hope, and dreams, lost in her thoughts, in the promise of tomorrow and what is to come. She thought nothing could stop her…. it could try, but it would fail.

She was full of light, of magic.

Sure she had fears and worries, but her faith in herself and her dreams outweighed it. She was so sure everything would be OK, and if it wasn’t – she’d make it so.
And now here is that same girl, stripped bare of those things.

I am at the waters edge, naked.

My reflection in the water is a stranger to me and tears stream down her cheeks.

My body is thin, and frail, and I look like…

I look like….

A ghost.

And I feel like one too.

But the closer I look at this tired, changing, woman starring back at me, the more I see.

I see the sadness in her eyes.

The terrible, terrible, sadness.

But the sparkle, it’s still there.

It’s dimmer than before, but it’s not gone.

The lines in her face are not all from all worry.

Or pain.

Some are from laughing.

Some are from loving.

I realize then, that all women go through this… this grieving of the woman they once were, at some stage of their life… maybe more than once. And it doesn’t really matter if it’s illness they are faced or are facing. We have so many things that change us, take from us, give to us, shape us… all of it changing us into new women, stronger women… more damaged, with sharper edges maybe, and not put together so well. But all the very finest art in the world is based on broken people, and on broken things, painted by often by broken hearts.

This new woman isn’t a complete shell of the woman I used to be. This woman has her strengths, and her own charms… they are just new to me, and some still unknown. And change… change is scary. Letting go of things you always thought you would be able to do, or letting go of people you always thought would be in your life, or a place you always thought would be your home… they are no small battles to fight. But we all fight them, in our own ways, in our own time.

This new woman, she’s not the woman I intended to be.

She’s not the woman I dreamt I’d be.

I don’t want to be sick.

I do not want to be afraid.

But I realize, maybe this woman looking back at me,
maybe she is in a transition phase, maybe she is still changing,
maybe there is more to her than meets the eye.

Maybe the woman I am becoming, will be so much more than the woman I am grieving.

Maybe I had it wrong.

And maybe this new woman,
maybe she’ll also be full of magic, and light,
and maybe she’ll show me my dreams are not gone,
they are just… different.

Just like her.

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