Sundays with Maggie - Vol. 1
And I walked off you,
And I walked off an old me.
Sometimes I wonder if I will ever be able to separate the Elora I was with the one I am becoming. I think about her often — the one who got me here.
She kept me safe for so long - behind my mother's clothes in her closet where I could smell her scent, behind a smile so I wouldn't be seen as trouble, behind a list of rules so I wouldn't fall into rebellion and sin, behind a fear of expanding into anything other than what was expected of me.
She wanted nothing more than to just be good.
And then suddenly, it wasn't enough. Nothing was enough. One day I knew from the core of my being that if I checked all of these boxes everything would be nice and neat and perfect and easy I would fit the mold. I would fit. I would belong. But it didn't work. Everything fell apart. The entire story I constructed for myself felt like an ill-fitting jacket, suffocating me.
What was once my lifejacket had become the tightest straight jacket, impaling my senses and leaving me frozen and paralyzed, unable to remember anything about who I was in my core.
Hey now, breathe deep
I'm inhaling.
You and I, there's air in between.
Leave me be, I'm exhaling.
You and I, there's air in between.
The other day my therapist told me, "breathe through this," and it startled me into awareness. I closed my eyes and let my body feel oxygen in every square inch of her and when I released, the tears did too. I had no idea I had forgotten to breathe, but she saw my shoulders clench, my eyes lose focus, my jaw tense.
Once again, I found myself holding my breath - waiting, anticipating, fearing the next thing to fall away.
I hold my breath without realizing it. I've done it about two or three times while writing this. Suddenly, my chest constricts and it feels like I can't get enough air in and I can't remember the last time I felt breath fill my lungs and so I have to throw my arms back above my head and reach for the sky while reminding myself how to breathe — in and out, in and out, expand - expand - expand.
I learned to not breathe by learning to fly under the radar.