This is a midsummer night dreams meets a lucid one that makes you sweat. That kinda sweat that wakes you up. Or that breathing that implies your subconscious peeped something you didn't see in your waking state. 

I ran into a friend from another life and I almost didn't hear her because she said my whole name. The same thing happened with a new friend in Puerto Rico. I've been getting better at traveling outside of myself after being engrossed in challenging waves that were saltier than the ocean. 

I haven't written intentionally like this is a bit. I mean, I've been writing - getting published and having my words on wax and print, but this practice of alchemizing and weaving that I've done here in my little slice of the internet is special. When I see lessons across all the forms of my life, something says "share it and see if it resonates. If not, it's off of your heartspace."

Well, across said avatars of my life, I've died. Ego deaths and molting skins happened in every facet of Veronica. The college counselor, the curator, the community educator, the writer, the family member, the friend, the lover, and everywhere in between. 

It's only just now that I've been able to articulate my feelings of growth and shedding. When my Saturn Return started, I thought I'd be busy writing that book that everyone in my spiritual/sacred corner tells me to do. But I was at odds with myself and competing expectations of the avatars or simulated versions of me should have been received by folks. 

I know that I've been focusing on the home and Cancerian energy. I know I've also been centering joy and pleasure. But in this second quarter I had to dig up some versions of myself when presented with cyclical energies. Romantic patterns under the guise of exploration and being open began to bore me because I realized I still fear exposing myself again. Which is comical at best since every single avatar in question offers empathy and shows up from a place of creative vulnerability. Non-committal relations that everyone seemingly knows about, to the point where the associations are never quite clipped despite your best efforts. Yet, my best efforts didn't prepare me for my own internal review. The pattern is found in a spiral. Like a shell that washed up on the beach, miraculously whole, but still with a story to tell. 

Spirals can provide moments of clarity if your open enough with yourself to acknowledge them. My spirals of the summer have been having a phone that used to buzz, but is now filled with memes and kikis. Platonic loves and deepening friendships. Gliding by the vicarious trauma of passive aggression while shedding Veronicas that would of replied or gone tit for tat. 

My present learning curve that I can see plain as day on the spiral is that I'm still shelled from healthier dynamics of care because of the unhealthy dynamics that have jaded me. Those relations that weren't fully committed, nor publicly recognized me when a part of me wanted it, have appeared in my phone. Some aspect of me is used to this version of Veronica that is presented that I don't know how to hold the forms of myself that want to break free from those paradigms. I have been presented with moments to say I told you so and I've let it rock. There's moments I could of shot a shot or too but I didn't. But I fear that my silence has been coded as acceptance because my subconscious thoughts about love are that I'm scared to be received in the same way that I wholeheartedly give.  

So used to the transactional that I analyze the reciprocal. I've carried my bag lady self into moments that I could only fully appreciate after the fact and not during because I was too in my head as opposed to my heart. I question whether or not I shared too much with someone who was actually just holding space for me the same way that I am known for holding space for others. I look at my curves across my body and on my face and know that they only provide the icing to my personality and character. But as I said to a friend, I don't really think I've had, nor have I allowed myself to be physically held in some time because of the trauma of the last times.

Some of my folks understood this before I sat up and typed this out. My parents respectively get it and don't rush me. I place (un)communicated expectations of motherhood and families on myself better than the folks who tell me that I should try harder to get a partner. I respond with data around intergenerational trauma and healing, and how I need to be sure that whoever I'm relating with on a level of meeting my family is walking in their truths.

I lose most of them at this point. I think of men who I'm attracted to and then choke when near them because I fear rejection - not on a surface level - but on the level that I'll respond by spiraling into noncommittal, fleeing, predictable experiences with people I know that I shouldn't be. Because at least in that scenario, I can trust in the outcome - they will leave and I won't be as emotionally invested (read: I leave them before they leave me). I'm realizing that I have to surrender to merely influencing and praying on the outcome. To stop letting expectations go uncommunicated and to ask for what I want. 

To be a braveheart at the levels that got exposed with my latest emotional growth spurt. Then to the core because we all have to practice until it's a process. The same forms of me that sang, danced, and played across stages, fields and hardwood floors are still trying to integrate with the woman who is reconsidering her future.

If what we allow is what continues, then I hope that this admissions allows my healing to continue. If the only way through grief is to grieve, then I have to mourn the forms I've buried and not allow gravediggers to attempt necromancy. If this midsummer night's dream, I  can't wait to continue waking up to another chance to be kinder to myself. 

More companions as in walking along side, less company as in making space to mourn and heal. 

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