Last day
Resistance
Why is it so hard to just work with our own potential?
Why do I end up cleaning instead, even though I don’t even enjoy it?
Why do I skate across the frozen Instagram reels pond?
Why do I feel resistance to writing, when I love it so much?
Each night, we generate a set dose of energy for the day ahead.
I like to imagine the bed as a charging dock — my favorite place on Earth — wirelessly syncing with my body, until by morning the red light turns green again.
The body gets up.
It works, as always, without any great effort on our part.
Can you see the mystical miracle in the background?
I have no clue what’s going on beneath my fifth left rib.
When was the last time I even felt for it?
The mind.
It gets angry. It overthinks.
It tries to control the uncontrollable.
It worries, thinks about people, about places, runs endless dialogues with itself.
And it wastes energy up the chimney.
Because it knows no bill will ever arrive.
Let this little fable now rest in peace. In one of the cozy little rooms in our mind, where from time to time it can call out. With a friendly reminder :-)
The last day in darkness.
Guys, what a ride. If this has motivated any of you (and I know it has), then brace yourselves. I think it’s like a baby. Or at least, I think the fun only begins once it’s born.
Well, I started to feel afraid.
Because for the first time I realized the responsibility.
For the first time in my life I truly saw how often I do things based on what I think my family, friends, and clients want.
How I try to fit in, instead of listening to myself and doing what Tereza wants.
What I want.
(But what is it that I actually want?)
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I started to get scared because there’s no way back.
Can I handle it?
Can they handle it?
I knew the world I’d run from had changed. And that once I returned to it, nothing would be the same again.
It couldn’t — because I’m not the same anymore.
The return is a slow one.
It can’t be rushed.
You can’t just burst through the door and pour out like a flood. The eyes wouldn’t survive it.
The door must be opened centimetre by centimetre.
Even the twilight stings.
Eva said it would take at least an hour.
Slow opening of the door to another world.
The vision isn’t sharp.
But what you do see is divine beauty.
The first light breeze that brushes past your ear sweeps away all the fear.
A very bearable lightness of being.
Colors, scents.
Like I’m seeing it all for the very first time.
Like I’d never noticed the beauty of existence before.
(My vision really was blurry for a few hours after I came out.)
I decided to do something differently, right away.
I’d been hesitating for a while.
And then, for the first time in a long time (maybe for the first time ever), I called my dad and asked him to come pick me up.
He only told me recently how much it hurt him back then that he couldn’t come.
I think right now — in the present — I’m finally healing my relationship to men, to the masculine principle, and to the masculine energy within myself.
Thank you, Dad, for waiting. For waiting, even though I don’t have your blood.
It’s your time I carry in my veins.
Thank you for waiting until I was ready to ask for help, to open up, to cry in front of you.
Thank you for running toward me when I need you, for listening, and for your big bear hug.
…
My mom picked me up.
And she said she’d never seen me look weirder.
But that would take us back to where it all began ;)
