Tag: Memories

Anger

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Some of us are raised having to justify our anger. We are raised to think that emotion of anger is “bad” and that we are bad people for experiencing that feeling.

Anger is not inherently a negative emotion. It is an emotion that calls for acknowledgement + action. Perhaps what you do with it could be categorised as a negative or positive action.

We need to raise our kids to understand that feeling angry is as natural as feeling happy and emphasize fully experiencing anger and then responding accordingly. Not reacting. Responding.

Really asking, “what is my anger telling me?” instead of distracting the moment you experience the very first sign of anger.
We need to teach our kids to find productive ways of processing anger without feeling afraid of it or feeling guilty for having that emotion.

We need to teach them to sit with it.

Write and share it in a safe space.

Maybe go for a run.

Channel it into a creative project.

Anger and passion are two sides of the same coin. Suppressing one means suppressing the other and consequences of both aren’t healthy.

Growing up in a dysfunctional family, I’ve seen both extremes. One side acted out, the other preferred to suppress and I’ve personally seen how damaging damaging both can be. One can damage your relationship with others, the other can easily damage your relationship with yourself, which then ultimately affects the first.

I’m not advocating reacting in a way that’s hurtful or acting out because that’s giving in to anger and nor am I suggesting holding on to it till it crushes your insides.

We don’t want either.

We want to try to tap into our wisdom and awareness, knowing when to take some time out to ourselves to feel the anger, where to speak about it and most importantly, what to do with it.

Last few years of spending a lot of time alone, I got a chance to work on and let go of the trauma and pain from my past which needed to be looked at. Thankfully, I’ve healed from most of it but I still remember how that emotion has always caused me more pain than it needed to.

I didn’t know what to do with that anger because of what I saw around me as a kid — how was I supposed to experience and overcome anger if I either wasn’t allowed to speak about it OR was surrounded by angry people, yelling and screaming at one another? How was I, as a child, supposed to gauge what is right and what isn’t? So I naturally grew up confused around that emotion — feeling like utter shit about myself for even having that feeling. I held on to it until one day I figured it was eating me up from inside. It took me a while to find productive ways of dealing with my anger and it started with naming it. Being okay with it. Letting myself have that emotion without generating more drama around it.

Sometimes anger just wants to be heard. And I wish someone told me that 20 years ago.

These days I write about it until I can’t write anymore. I cry it out. I call my close friends and request them to be my sounding board. I take a bath. I go for a walk alone. I even speak with my spiritual guidance teacher. If I feel like it, I draw out my feelings and then tear out those papers. Sometimes I keep them to look back. Then I meditate. Take deep breaths throughout the day and sleep over it too. I give myself all the time and space I need to fully experience that emotion before I decide how I want to respond to the situation or the person who triggered the anger in me. At times this looks like having a word with them and at times, it looks like never going back.

Next time you experience anger,give yourself the full permission to feel it without any form of guilt. Remember, it’s both natural and okay to experience “negative” emotions. You’re don’t have to beat yourself up for feeling them. Instead, lean in to those emotions. Listen in.

Be kind with yourself. Find your safe space where you can feel your feelings without being judged and remain there for as long as needed.

<3

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Not quite home

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An old post which was left unpublished for a while

————

This place still reminds me of pain and suffering. A pain that held me back for years and has taken me years to let go.

This place isn’t quite home. It never felt like home and I’m not afraid to say so anymore.

This place was more of a refuge from another place claiming to be home but all it did was caused more suffering.

I searched everywhere for a place I’d want to come back to and only found places I wanted to run away from. Farther and father, every year.

Soon I realised I had to create a home for myself and that this process had to begin from within. That safe space I so terribly craved and needed had to be created with love, first towards myself.

I had to learn to be my own pillar of support and for that I had to unlearn the idea of constantly supporting and accommodating for everyone else.

To create a home for myself, I  had to first be willing to accept my story; one that is way more than what I speak about.

Today, I am thankful to have a safe space for myself. A sanctuary of my own where I get to take care of myself mentally, physically, emotionally and spiritually.

A space that allows me to hear my own voice and follow my heart. A space where my creativity runs wild. A space where I get to build new relationships and tend to those that matter. A space that protects me because I have learned to protect it with healthy boundaries.

I am thankful to have found silence. That stillness, which some would run away from because it’s just too much to handle. I am so thankful to have realised that once you do truly come home, there is never any need to seek it else where.

And if ever I need to rebuild a home for myself all over again, I know exactly where to start.

-not quite home

A box from the past

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#rarediseaseweek #2018

Just yesterday, I found a box filled with all my design stuff which I hadn’t seen in many years. It seems I had forgotten about it and left it with my dad because I wasn’t ready to accept my new reality (and discard anything) and nor was I able resist it. I was experiencing the most horrible internal conflict of all time

To hold on or to let go.

My heart knew well that I needed to let go because I had fought enough and my body was changing. But my mind wouldn’t let me.

Holding on would mean disrespecting and dishonouring the one and only vessel I had for the rest of my life. I had to learn to accept it for what it is but how could I let go of all the things I loved, planned and wanted so much? I was suffering in every way possible.

I knew I had to pause but it was hard to put away my dreams and aspirations for a long period of uncertainty, of not knowing and having answers. And that was scary. But I did it any way because I could no longer neglect the messages from my body.

So when I decided I was ready to jump off the cliff, leave my full-time job, learn to live on my own and put my body first, I told myself I’d deal with this box when I am able to see my past as just one part of my life and not a reflection of my worth . Leaving the box behind, I remember feeling as if a burden of expectation to be the “perfect one” was lifted off my shoulder and at the same time, a heavy sense of grief towards my old self engulfed me.

Who am I without my dreams, I thought.

I know nothing off this path I have carved and imagined. I will be lost. I am lost. And what if I am never found again? What if, despite all my effort and desire to leave my old self behind, I can’t do it? How will I live from here, with the burden of having and wanting to be perfect and knowing that I was born in an imperfect body?

Does honouring my body, which feels like the right thing to do, equate to failure?

Will I be a failure in everyone’s eyes?

Am I a failure in my own eyes?

Here I am now, all set to let go of this box and its contents because they don’t serve the present me.

Maybe it all made sense to some extent then, at the age of 20 and in that once healthy body. I knew nothing more. All I knew came from old, expired programming that I grew up with and around. Today, I believe I am a better version of myself and I’m proud of how far I’ve come.

Of course, my past has served a purpose; it lead me to this day. It taught me the importance of tapping into my inner strength, finding courage to do what is right for the sake of my body, mind and soul without letting the external factors lead me into believing that what I knew was the only truth.

Today, I understand that those around me need not understand me, and that it doesn’t matter if one thinks of me as less but it can be disastrous if I ever let myself think I am not enough. Because I am. And while my path is new and least travelled, it reflects a truer version of myself. It is taking me to a place of peace with my body. I believe and I’ve noticed that this internal shift brings me closer to a life of joy and purpose, one where I wake up everyday knowing I’m making a difference whether or not it is visible to whole wide world and where I live each day as gracefully as possible.

Here I am now,

ready to let go of this box,

both literally and figuratively,

and make space for the new.

With a heart full of gratitude and a lightness, I am ready to give this part of my life a complete closure because I had already said goodbye a long, long time ago.

#chronicillness #ehlersdanlos rarediseaseweek #ehlerdanlossyndrome #hypermobility #EDS #rare #illness #2018 #awareness #pain #suffering #fatigue #brainfog #past #lettinggo #memories #interiorarchitecture #goals #dreams #aspirations#acceptance #health #mind #body #soul #purpose #healing #love

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Twenty years

Manasi Dalvi1 Comment

I am filled with so much love and gratitude for this place, it’s hard to even express. And despite the fact that the positive emotions I feel for this place almost equal the negative memories I am still working on letting go, my heart aches knowing that I am leaving a place I called home for the last twenty years.

I made mistakes here.

I experienced pain and suffering here. I was young and naive.

I made friends here. Real friends I’m so grateful to have come across.

I fell in love here.

I spent sleepless nights here. Crying, laughing, secretly believing in fairytales.

I made promises here.

I saw dreams here.

I set goals and achieved them here.

I was betrayed here. By near and dear ones, and by strangers.

I learned to protect myself here.

I was diagnosed here.

I fell apart here. Completely shattered into tiny pieces, I couldn’t myself anymore anymore.

I put back myself back together here.

I faced my very own demons, alone, right here.

I learned to trust again here. Myself and people.

I found my medical team here. My support system, without whom I couldn’t have come this far.

I dared to recreate dreams here.

I learned the art of letting go, here.

I finally found my true voice here.

I learned to speak my truth here and encouraged others to do the same.

I learned to be of support and service to the world, right here too.

I came across my tribe, people like me, right here.

I felt safe here.

This is where I wilted and learned to bloom again. This is where I learned to own my story, fully and wholly.

While I can’t lie that recreating a similar lifestyle and routine else where is going to take time and more patience than ever before, I do genuinely believe that it’s not entirely impossible. Somewhere I trust that the process of wilting and blooming over and over again has equipped me with the ability to deal with uncertainties of all kinds and be okay with not knowing.

You know that feeling when you look back and think perhaps everything happened to prepare you for something that is yet to happen? That’s kind of how I feel right now. As if I have levelled up in this game called life and now need to put my skills and tools to use in order to handle the next level; the next phase. There’s a lot I still don’t know but perhaps I am able to find peace in knowing that I have made it through incredibly painful times before and probably can do so in the future too.

Singapore, thank you for all the blessings and lessons.

#marathimuli

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After more than two weeks of thinking through whether I wanted to or if I was even in the mood to host a mini Ganesh Chaturthi dinner, I finally figured I had to do it this time. I got a couple of messages from friends who were looking forward to it and I knew it wasn’t going to be like last year. This time round,  everything was going to be different.

Because it is different.

Things change, times change.

What remained the same as last year was the feeling of love and joy, dressing up & being around a few people and knowing that no matter where life is heading, you’d always have some memories to look back upon and smile. To feel grateful for.

Ultimately, that’s really all I care about when it comes to festivals. If you’re like me, spiritual enough to respect that people get to have their own set of religious beliefs and, you’d agree that if any festival is celebrated with the people who love you and people you love, people who have been there for you and people you’ve been there for, and if you’re present in that moment, do a small ritual and feel immense gratitude, it is more than enough. You get to choose how you want to live your experience.

Amongst all the amazing photos captured that day, these three will always remind me that despite everything,

you have a choice.

To pick a family,

To dream freely,

To hope without fear,

To laugh without guilt,

To cry with your heart,

To love with your mind,

To sing your very own song,

To live with what you have and make the best out of it.

P.S. if you’re wondering what’s happening up there… you know, we were just trying to dance on “raat ke dhaaii baje” and “pinga” for very obvious reasons. Also, did you notice my freakishly bendy fingers?