…god created the heaven and earth, and the earth was without form, and void.

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We all start as blank slates. Like clay we are ready to be molded. Some people were born like Adam, from thin air so perfectly manifested and adored. While others will always be the spare rib, forever indebted, and blamed. It hurts me to think that no one really has a choice. It is truly luck of the draw. Rich or poor. Sick or healthy. Good or evil.

However, there are days where I think there is a deeper meaning to life. And on days like that I can attribute my traumatic experiences to some intricate celestial web of reasoning. “I must’ve gone through this because one day it will help me get here”. That’s when the adults tell you with a patronizing smile, “have some faith kid, it’ll all work out one day”. 

I think I’ve spent most of my life thinking this way. “Everything happens for a reason” is my saving grace. It is such a lovely way to package up all the horrible parts of me and make them feel so shiny and well-placed. 

But now I’m older and I’m starting to think there is no reason to this same old rhyme. A repetitive and droning melody that has infiltrated every minute of my life. Endure. Overcome. Shatter. Endure. Overcome. Shatter. Endure. Overcome. Shatter. 

It started when I was young. Like most of you I never got the chance to mold myself, that was always in the hands of someone else. If it were up to me I would’ve been so careful…so gentle. I would’ve taken my time to prepare a sturdy foundation. I would have never rushed. Small strokes to smooth each of my edges. A warm towel to clean up the messes. And if I became off kilter I would have been excessively considerate. Never angry with the process, just grateful to be experiencing it.

Unfortunately that isn’t the reality for a lot of us. Most of the time as soon as we exit the womb we are poked and prodded and pushed and pulled and told of all the things we are supposed to be and live up to. There is no time for stumbling or learning how to tie your shoes, you just go and make sure to do better than anyone else before you ever did.

so as i said… I’ve spent the majority of my life having things thrown at me, enduring, overcoming, and shattering, until around 21. I decided to start understanding why I am the way I am and began to shed all of the things that were never mine to begin with. Cue The Four Agreements by Miguel Ruiz.

It is only now in these past couple of years that I finally feel like I have fresh clay to dig my hands into. I thought when I cleansed myself of filth and finally got to this place, that I would know what to do. And I’m here to tell you, not only do I not know what to do, I am terrified of where I’m at. 

I don’t know if I am capable of moving forward. 

If you have been following my story for a while, the main thing I’ve been focusing on is ridding my life of the negative, introducing more positive coping mechanisms, and letting yall have a peek into the healing journey, tears and all. 

Now I am at a place where I get to decide what I want to do, and I don’t think I’ve been making the right decisions. It makes me sick to my stomach. It keeps me up at night. 

That’s what they don’t tell you. If you’ve spent the majority of your life with someone else controlling it, someone else molding you, once your hands finally grasp the wheel it’s not going to feel good. In fact it might feel even worse than before. 

So I want to take a moment to pause and say the following:

‘1144’ a journey of faith through poems, entries, stories… is not a self help book. It will not focus on the part of my life that I spent healing, and freeing myself of my trauma. ‘1144’ will not give you the answers. But I hope it gives you comfort in knowing that it’s okay to still have so many fucking questions. It’s okay to not know. It’s okay to be exactly where you’re at right now, because I’m there too.

‘1144’ is for all of the women (and of course people) who have done the work. Who have created the good habits. Who have gone to therapy. Who have let go of their toxic partners. Who have decentered men. Maybe you’ve dabbled in celibacy? Maybe you’re in the middle of reading Women Who Run With Wolves? You have a good group of friends. You’ve mended your relationship with your family, or you’ve finally decided to let them go. You are healthy and taking care of your body. You theoretically have it all figured out. 

But then another bad thing happens. And another. And you wake up one day and still feel like something is deeply missing? Actually what you realize is that, just because you got through all the bad stuff doesn’t mean that life owes you anything. Life can, in fact, just keep being bad.

So, I ask you in this moment to sober up and hear this: as much as people tell you the bad things won’t last forever, please know the good things won’t either. All the clay you perfectly molded and tended to over all these years doesn’t mean much if some random guy you messaged on instagram decides to come and knock your masterpiece to the ground, or if your dad died, or if you lost your job, or if you become terminally ill.

Who are you then? Does it matter if you worked out twice today and went to bed by 10? Does it matter if your new partner gets you flowers? Does it matter that you finally have a job you love? Or that people like the music you make?

God looked at an empty Earth and willed it to be a creation of his likeness. But I think when the earth sat there floating and void and surrounded by darkness, that she was just as beautiful. Just as worthy as the earth that came to be filled with lush forests, and clumsy humans who favor apples.

What I am trying to say is…You are not just the clay. You are the creator. You are the mud and water combining, You are the table it is placed upon, You are the hands that move it, You are the fire that hardens it, You are the dust particles that settle a top it. You are the people that pass by and look at it in awe or even judgement, and when someone knocks it over you are not broken because there is no such thing. You came from nothing, yet you fear returning to it?

Your existence and worthiness needs no proof or physical form. No self-help book, no god telling you your skirt is too short, no weight goal, no perfect hair day, no kiss on the forehead, no metaphor on how you’re not a fucking clay pot. Because when that all goes away…there is just you.

Do you have faith that, that is enough? That YOU are enough.

I don’t know if I do…