It’s no secret that life is tidal.
Up and down, back and forth.
Always moving, sometimes crashing.
Some of us handle it better than others.
Some are riding bigger waves.
But we’ve all had to learn to ride them.
Some are natural born wave-riders.
Others are swallowing buckets of salt water and barely reaching the surface for air.
Magnificents were born deep under the water but found their way out and won life over.
Then there were those of us who were born wave-riders but trauma set us back.
That is me. I was born upright, skimming those waves on fearless feet.
But I got hit.
By a car.
When I was ten.
I left my body.
I came back into it.
Fearful. With a hole inside of me.
When I recovered, I built myself a ship. So I could ride the waves of life, protected.
Although I was protected behind this hard steel shell. I was dry.
This ship floated from destination to destination,
I stayed dry while I watched others surf, and fall.
Then surf and thrive.
Inspired, I might have dived back in again.
Only to quickly swim back to ship because I’ve forgotten how.
Then after a while, you realise your life is stuck.
There you are, sitting on your empty ship, listening to the ominous creeks,
trying to remember,
when you used to be wet,
So you work on a way to dive back in.
You tie a rope around your waist and dive in, only to pull yourself back up.
You keep trying. Waiting.
Waiting for the clouds to lift.
You experiment with chemistry to see if they’ll go away.
All kinds of tricks.
Everything. You try everything.
Sometimes, if you are lucky, you find the formula.
Sometimes there is no formula but you have to find a way to just ride the storms.
Bring your crazy to the ocean because those clouds are going nowhere.
When the depression lifts and you feel like your real self again…
I’m ready to cut that rope and dive in.
To clear, fresh moments and cloudy aspirations.
Coming up for simple, deep breaths, for no reason.
Not to relax or unwind or to become mindful.
Just me right there, breathing that air, with no need for a reason.
Or an explanation.
Or a purpose.
Of course, I have to start from the beginning.
I have to relearn everything- joy, peace, survival.
There I am, in the deep with unborn souls, babies, kids and the plenty of adults who,
For whatever reason.
My arms are weak but they keep going. Once I get afloat I’ll find it.
And I’ll f*cking own it.
You will see me soon, at the shore, and we will ride alongside one another.
And I’ll realise that there is room for me on this Earth.
I have a place.
Then we’ll meet on the beach, light a fire, laugh.
We’ll look at the stars,
and I will feel the universe in my belly,
And for the first time, in a long time,
I will want to be alive.
Radical Face: Welcome Home