I am the blood of the dragon. I must be strong. I must have fire in my eyes when I face them; not tears. -George R.R. Martin, A Storm of Swords

 I’m sure every good and worthwhile influencer has said this already, and far me for me to be a cliché, but we are living in strange times. It’s terrifying out there with things like racism and the Coronavirus running wild on the streets. The contamination and contagion is overwhelming enough without our safety being threatened by the proceeding riots and the average crime and break-ins that already existed (at least in my neck of the woods). The world is scary right now and it’s nothing like I’ve ever experienced. Just the other day, my aunt was telling me that even our 5g phones are harmful to our health.

Is there no longer anything sacred? Is there anything out there that won’t hurt us? Can we really guarantee safety in any regard these days?

My mask, ever present Lysol bottle, and hand sanitizer say: probably not.

As most of you probably know, I suffer from pretty severe anxiety and while it’s typically relatively cyclical, it has obviously been through the rood lately. And while I know that everyone has been feeling what I’m sure is a wide range of emotions lately, things got a bit more anxiety inducing for me when a bunch of stuff started happening in my personal life.

Suddenly, I felt all consumed. I started avoiding and ignoring people (which is something I do when this happens because I don’t feel like I’m good for anyone) because I didn’t know where to begin with how I was feeling. I started getting angry and short tempered because I felt like things were out of my control. I started snapping at the [innocent] people I cared about because I was literally full to the brim.

In one really important conversation, I said to the person I was speaking to, “I am literally to my neck and I feel like I can’t breathe.”

“Journal,” she told me. “Talk to the people who care about you. They want to hear your voice; hear that you’re alright.” Then she said something that struck me. “You’re not so strong. And that’s okay.”

Is that what people thought? Do emotions make you weak? Is feeling the pressure an Achilles heel? Is the inability to cuss people out part of an ever growing problem within me? Is anxiety over a normal life crisis my deficiency?

Was this how I was presenting? A weakling? A fragile, broken women? A “delicate flower”, as I’ve been called? That couldn’t be me.

But part of me got really defensive because: was she right?

Give me ground to stand on and I will move the earth. –Archimedes

I’ve always made this joke that if I didn’t have bad luck, I’d have no luck at all. But I started to realize that everyone has a story and I didn’t like who I was becoming. I didn’t like being so anxious that it was hard to function. I didn’t like that what I was feeling was affecting other people. I didn’t like that I wasn’t fun to be around and felt the need to hide from my friends and family. And I didn’t like being viewed as weak because life just happening stressed me out.

Wasn’t that normal? And what was normal anyway? Apparently masking it up and hiding inside was the “New Normal”. How was anyone to really know or say what was normal or right for anyone?

I felt like I was self-destructing for a long time. But from all this destruction, I wanted to rebuild. I had never seen a better moment for it. I wanted to run away and start over.

I wanted to destroy it all and begin again. Set fire to myself and emerge anew. Because quite frankly, the old me annoyed me. And I was growing tired of being called dramatic.

All my life, I’ve wanted to be something. I wanted to be someone. I’ve wanted to change the world and change myself. I’m so passionate that sometimes I feel like I just ooze creativity but there are also moments that I’m not sure what I’ve done with it. I want to be strong; stronger than my fears and anxiety.

I want to be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. I want to be Super Mom. I want to be a gym rat and an awesome, super hot wife. I want to advocate for the things that really matter to me. I want to overcome my habitual anxiety and actually enjoy my life, rather than just worry it away.

I want to keep climbing.

I want to be strong. I want to be so strong. I want it so much I can taste it.

Moral of the Crazy: So what does this mean? Am I going to move away and pursue my long awaited singing career? No. Am I going to go back to school and get my Masters in something so I can do more than I’m doing now? Probably one day. Am I going to finish some of the novels I’ve started that really excite my passionate intellect? I hope so, eventually.

… like when my daughter goes to school.

Am I going [to try] to best my fears and anxiety? Yes. Am I going to take better care of myself? Yes. Am I going to let things and people go that don’t serve me? Absolutely yes.

Maybe strength is about more than just being strong. Maybe it’s about knowing that this too shall pass. Maybe it’s about knowing the difference between toxic and healthy people. Maybe it’s about letting go of what worries you and just trusting the universe. Maybe it’s about understanding that if you don’t take care of yourself first, you can’t take care of anyone. Maybe it’s being able to hold your tongue when you really want to cuss someone out.

Because sometimes, silence is more deafening.

I want to be stronger. And smarter, better, and brighter. I want to soar past my potential. I want to be someone that elevates other people; I want to be a joy to be around, not a hindrance. And while I’ve long since learned that what other people think about me is their business, I don’t want to be viewed as someone who is easily manipulated. I don’t want to be viewed as someone who can’t stand up for herself.

Remember in the end of that movie Brave when the mom, who is still a bear, sees the bad bear attacking her daughter? And she breaks free from her restraints and attacks the bad bear like it’s nothing? (I’m sorry not sorry in advance but I’m a MOM and I watch A LOT of kid’s movies.)

That’s who I want to be.

And I’m learning that sometimes it takes a village. It takes a tribe of women to help remind you who you are and what you’re capable of. I’ve never shared such closeness with anyone as I do now with some of the women in my life. And I’m not discounting my marriage but with women, it’s just different.

Sometimes you just need to confide in someone who gets you. Gets you in a way that no one else possibly could unless they have actually literally been there.

For awhile, I haven’t been in the headspace to do the things I want to do. But I’m pulling myself out of the slump with the help of my tribe. Some of it has been tough love, some of it has been a listening ear, and some of it has been an emotional hug in my driveway. And if I’m honest, some of it has been me standing firm with myself.

If it doesn’t serve you, let that shit go. Let your vibes attract your tribe; and remember yours is the only heart you’ll have for life. So take care of it and be gentle with yourself.

She is free in her wildness; she is a wanderess, a drop of free water. She belonged to no man and no city. –Roman Payne