Clawing My Way Back To Life

I will raise you up, place you on my altar, and worship you. I will cradle your heart in my hands and remind it to beat, if I must.

I jam the pencil into this paper much harder than I must.
Pulling, clawing at these pages, these words, these truths—
stuck, buried, lost within me.

I ransack this place, tearing open and turning over everything I see...

They aren’t kidding when they say you have to lose yourself to find yourself.

I have lost myself a thousand times in search of myself.
I’ve asked many along the way if they have seen her,
if they could tell me who she was—
each handed me back a version they wished me to be:
quieter, louder, more spiritual, less spiritual, more feminine.

A version that dresses differently, acts differently, believes differently—
each one a version that made someone else comfortable,
a version they could accept.

While my hands bled from holding all the broken shards they handed me,
my heart broke again and again,
and the child within cried out in agony
as I continued to abandon her.

“You said you’d have our back.”
“You lied.”
“You left us. Why do you keep leaving us?”

Oh my love, I am so sorry.
Please know that everything I have done has been in search of you.

I have been so lost. So afraid.
I didn’t trust myself at all—
so I stopped looking within.

I stopped asking what you needed
because I didn’t believe I held the answers.

I thought you needed more guidance, more knowledge, more skills.
I thought you needed to be more... to be better.
I thought there was something wrong with you—
that’s what they all told me.

I forgot you had wisdom.
I forgot that what matters most is your truth—what you need.
I forgot you know me best.
I forgot again and again to trust our intuition, our body, our mind.
We’ve been told not to for so long.

I always come back to paper and ink...

Within words and pages, I have found myself again and again—
remembering.
Writing until I pull her forth from the brink of death,
until my chest literally leaps toward the page
as I am pulled into truth
and the pace of my pen quickens as she comes forth,
pouring onto the page—
and it is like taking that first breath of air after being underwater.

There she is.
She is alive.

My hands release the broken shards—
the fears, the doubts, the expectations—
and I reach for her.

Bloodied, but not broken,
I grasp onto her with both hands
and pull her forth from the grave I unknowingly put her in.

Buried alive...

I pull her into my arms, and we embrace—
covered in dirt, blood, and tears.

My love, I have found you.

Breathe in...

I make a promise and a prayer.

My love, I promise I will never stop fighting for you.
Even as I continue to mess up, make the wrong choices—
I will be gentle, kind, and forgiving.

Even when I forget to listen to you, to trust you—
I promise I will never stop trying.
I will never stop showing up for you.

Even when I falter—
you, my love, are my guide.

I will hold onto you as all else fades away.
I will wear my hands down to the bone if I must to find you...

I will raise you up, place you on my altar, and worship you.
I will cradle your heart in my hands
and remind it to beat, if I must.

And we will live, my love.
We will continue to sink into life
and we will dance, pray, sing, fuck, create, cry, laugh—
and we will live:
free, bravely, boldly,
with no one’s permission but our own.

This is your life, my love.

Much Love, Jamie Marie

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