Pulling Apart and Pulling Together (Over And Over And Over Again)

Photo credit: Cristian Escobar

Here I am. Whole. Complete. Me.

And here I am, being pulled apart. By some unseen force.

And then this is me, being put back together again, although somehow subtly different.

And then pulled apart again …

This is my cycle recently. Sometimes I am pulled apart and pieced back together in the space of a week. Sometimes it’s in just one day. Sometimes it even feels like it’s happening in just an hour. All over, again, and again, and again.

Sometimes it feels like I’m whirling in the same mad whirlpool. But every time that the unseen hands piece me back together I am somewhat different. And somehow I will never be the same.

I don’t know how many times I’m going to spin and whirl and shatter within these cycles, I don’t know how many more pieces of me are left, I don’t know what I’ll look like by the end, I just know that already, somehow, in both the smallest and the most profound of ways, I am utterly, utterly different. And also, I now know that I can never go back.

Who I was is ash.

Who I was no longer serves this new existence we are birthing into. I am both asleep and awake. I am both tormented and honoured. I am both here, and here again.

I was pouring all this out to a friend the other day, and when she told me that it totally summed up her space too, I had that sense again of needing to share this weird story of being with you … just in case you might feel like you’re the only one.

Because you are so not the only one.

My friend is deeply grateful for this journey of repeatedly becoming and unbecoming and then becoming again, no matter how uncomfortable it is for her. I, on the other hand, have no such grace. I’ve been kicking and screaming, protesting and sulking, and rolling my eyes like the rebellious teen human that’s never really left me.

But however we meet this in our own individual ways, whatever ‘this’ is, at the end of it all, when the maddening cycles eventually fade into the stillest of waters, who will we be?

Maybe our craziest, wildest, freest selves.

And OMG wouldn’t that be fucking beautiful?

Keep cycling darlings. Love you.

Read next: Brokenness Taught Me This