"Get over your hill and see what you find there, with grace in your heart and flowers in your hair." - After the Storm by Mumford & Sons
I mentioned in my initial “comeback” post,that it was others’ feedback that ultimately convinced me to give this blog another go, but I failed to mention that that same feedback also led to my own revisiting of previous posts,taking the time to reread what had been shared. My all too frequent tendency to criticize my work after the fact – as many of you fellow creative souls out there know all too well – admittedly led to an almost involuntary mental note of everything I disliked about my own writing,everything I “should have” written instead. But the interesting thing was that that persona of critic in overdrive started to lose its power as I began to really hear, really take in, what so many of my friends and acquaintances had been honest and brave enough to say out loud. To be perfectly frank, it was a very moving experience for me. I initially began this project in the hopes of trying to help a few people who had perhaps endured the same battling of oneself as I did. Yet several years later,here I was, at the true rock-bottom of my life thus far, and they were helping me . Though laden with emotionalism and inner turmoil,there was no denying that it felt extraordinary.
As I read, I became aware of some similar themes among those interviewed. One in particular hit me in a way that rivaled a reaction to any great literary or cinematic reveal that seems to stir every cell in my body when I finally “get” it. Each person had, in their own way, expressed the belief that beauty is truth. Beauty is truth. I repeated this to myself over and over again,not understanding why that simple statement would elicit such deep thought. It had taken hold of my mind, stirred something deep down inside, and was not about to let go simply because I acknowledged its presence. I had to face it head on. And then, just like that,there it was -the big reveal. The orchestral accompaniment of my imagination swelled, the goose bumps covered my arms, the tears began to sting my eyes, and I realized what it meant to me, what that simple phrase was so blatantly teaching me.
Over the past year and a half I have lost so much - seemingly everything that I had come to know as my life. One thing after another; It seemed endless. If you have been through any type of health difficulty– whether chronic or acute – you surely understand the devastation that can stem from the simple fact that your body can no longer function properly. Everyone’s struggle is personal and unique, and I certainly don’t want to compare wounds or measure anyone’s pain against my own. But change can be very difficult, and when that change is so painful and out of one’s control, I can’t help but imagine that feelings similar to my own would arise. The more I lost, the more the effect on my emotional life and self-worth became indescribably unbearable. Being unable to spend quality time with family or simply have fun – real fun - with friends, losing the ability to work and support myself, being unable to live in the space I called my own, having to fully rely on others because I literally couldn’t do much on my own– how could I help but feel I was losing myself? It must sound fairly simple, as in, “of course that would happen, Sara!”, but having deemed myself a strong,independent young woman,courageously following the lifestyle of a weeble*- metaphorically speaking - this realization was earth shattering. (* in case you’re wondering, “weebles wobble, but they don’t fall down”) The self proclaimed tough cookie had crumbled, and there was nothing I could do about it. I had not only lost seemingly everything - most of all, I lost that unique person, the real me that I had finally allowed myself to become after so many years of struggling . So that’s health, job, apartment, presumed friends, the amazing city I had called home for over 9 years - gone. And that’s just scratching the surface. To share any more specific details about it in this format would, I feel, be an injustice to its significance and unfair to myself, given how very personal and sensitive an issue it is to find yourself questioning your identity and worth as a person. But the lesson is not in the details, it’s in that simple phrase that I couldn’t shake.
I assumed that my self-worth had sunk to uncharted depths due to the continuous cycle of trying and failing – to be healthy, content, just plain okay. I felt forced to resign myself to survival mode. The road ahead seemed never ending,every minute that passed, another piece of me going with it. I was nothing more than a defective body, a shell of what used to be. Nothing, where a vibrant, passionate, heart, mind,and whole person used to reside. At least that’s what I believed. But as a seeker of truth, how was I so blindly accepting this as fact? Where was I getting all the evidence to prove my theory? It wasn’t until that moment of hitting the bottom - when I knew I had lost what I thought was just about everything I had to lose - that I finally came to see the truth. The truth that I didn’t realize I had stopped seeking long ago. I thought I had lost myself because I didn’t have the same outward identity I once did;on the exterior I wasn’t the same. But the only real failures with regard to being myself came from seeking what wasn’t true and trying to become what I am not. I had stopped trying to get myself back, instead trying desperately to measure up to some imaginary idea of perfection that seemed to belong to everyone but me. The more I lost,the more “beautiful” every other young female looked to me. I ached for every absurd societal standard of what makes a person “ pretty”,intelligent, interesting, unique - even lovable, and I never once questioned my allowance of that longing to hurt me so. The more I hurt, the more I lost, and the more I lost, the more value I placed on those things I wasn’t. Sadly, I never once bothered to take a look at who I was. Oh, I heard those around me who claimed to see me despite the hell surrounding me, but even turning to trusted friends faded until seeking only those who hadn’t learned the beauty and worth of what is real became the norm. I looked to those who could confirm that I was worthless. I can’t pinpoint what led me back to the truth in exactness, but I have felt it. The grieving, the pain, the loss – it’s still there too. But for the first time in a very long time, so am I. Me. Sara.
I can’t tell you how often I feel as if I’ve been dropped headfirst into a whirlpool , struggling to keep my head above the water all by myself. But it’s me flailing about and barely treading water. And I am being completely, 100% honest when I say that realization feels incredible. I’ve also come to realize another truth by seeking just that ; I am not nearly as alone as I thought. Once I caught a glimpse of the real me, those fellow truth seekers who really valued that person, were right by my side, filled with joy at the sight of someone they hadn’t seen in quite some time. As I set off on my last trip to the city to pack up my “life” and say goodbye, I was panicked, terrified of losing what I had only just begun to rediscover. But something really fascinating occurred in its place. Because I knew who I was – in spite of my ever ready doubts and insecurities – all that I had longed for, all those absurd ideals and standards I had used as fuel for my self-loathing fire, no longer seemed desirable to me. Was Brooklyn still full of extremely attractive young people in ultra hip clothing? You bet. Were there perfectly healthy,successful people all over the city having extravagant nights out with their “friends” ? Absolutely. Did it change the value of knowing who I am? Astonishingly – no. At least not when I remembered what was true. I honestly couldn’t describe one other person that passed me on the street or in the local coffee shops, aside from those who, like me, sought what is real,and found it to be beautiful. And for that week, it was.
Since then it has been immensely difficult to keep that feeling ,as I’m still in the depths of dealing with all that loss, and the struggle to find what is essentially a new life in many aspects. But through it all - every tear, every sleepless night, every time it feels like I’ll never truly get there- I’m grateful. I‘m grateful because in losing everything, I found myself. It may take excruciating effort to notice at first, and it may take quite some time for the dust to settle enough to see it even half clearly, but I can say without giving it a second thought, that I can look at what has happened to me and find so much that is extraordinarily beautiful - because it’s rooted in truth.
Many friends will likely recognize the photo below from my former “existence” on Facebook, and though I’ve received kindhearted compliments on its” beauty” since posting it, I don’t know that I’ve shared the story behind it with many people. That photo was taken on the single most disgustingly hot and humid night I have ever experienced - hands down. I had worked all day, staggered through the barely breathable air of my easily 110 degree Fahrenheit subway route, gone all the way home to go to the trouble of putting on a dress, and was now just trying to look “pretty” while my legs were nearly glued together with sweat. Being on the Brooklyn Bridge that night felt admittedly magical on a certain level , but truth be told, I was feeling pretty miserable and in desperate need of some AC. Bet you couldn’t tell, could you? Never would’ve guessed by appearance alone, huh? Want to know why? Because in that moment, that exact moment, I was very much me. The way I was dressed, the way I studied the stunning architectural structure with earnest awe, the wistful places that simply looking up led my imagination to wander through – that was all truth. There absolutely is beauty in truth, no matter how bad things may seem. With that in mind and heart, I’m looking forward to all that beauty that is yet to be found. And I definitely plan to wear a flower in my hair very soon.
