Hey there.
It’s been a minute…
Yeah, I know. Hearing me saying the same thing every time I come back with a post after crickets for 2 months it’s getting old…
Wait, how long has it been?
6 MONTHS!!?
… Oh umm, OK. My bad.
But hey, there’s been a good reason for my absence —or, at least, one that satiated my inner critic.
I fell out of love with writing.
It feels wrong to see those words in my screen. Heck, it feels wrong to write them! I can’t help but have a visceral painful reaction to the idea of loosing a part of who I am—that my thoughts and experiences won’t be jotted into paper and shared with you. But that’s where I am at the moment, and that’s OK. I don’t think raging a war in my mind and self-flagellate is productive or helpful.
That being said, this adverse reaction is to me a strong indicator that I can’t stay as I am. I understand now that I left behind something that is core to my identity and wellbeing. That writing is to me not just a form of self-expression but a lifeline, a form of nutrition to my soul.
Believe it or not, I didn’t realize I was slowly dying inside —or maybe I did know, but I didn’t understand why. These past months I felt my thoughts loosing coherence, and my emotions flare in unexpected ways, completely upending my efforts to heal. It was the closest I’ve felt to being lobotomized.
Even though on my best days I’m barely capable of escaping the gravitational pull of life’s demands and responsibilities, I have to start taking action and push back. Regardless of the pain, I must reengage in the creative effort and rewire my brain; Because without its nutrition, my soul will die. And we can’t have that.
So, here I am, once again, taking that first step towards that dark alley, in a decisive effort to rekindle my love for writing and nurture my soul, as I have my body.
Sharing some healing
Today I want to share with you two pieces. One is a beautiful reflection I found on an Instagram post from the account @late.night.healing and the other one is a journal entry of my recovery diary.
The title of the post is “sorry to all my exs“.
sorry to all my exs
People who didn’t receive enough emotional safety from their primary caregivers, intimate relationships later in life are often mistaken for an exit.
We grow up feeling rushed. Rushed to find love. Rushed to be in a relationship. Rushed to build a “family” of our own.
Not because we are obsessed with romance, but because our nervous system is still searching for a state it never fully experienced —being held, being cared for, being able to rest.
So during that period of my life, I moved quickly from relationship to relationship.
I tried to become an easy partner —pleasant, emotionally contained, reliable, someone their families would feel comfortable with.
Looking back now, I wasn’t loving those men.
I was projecting the role of “mother” onto their families.
What I wanted wasn’t the relationship itself, but an environment where I didn’t have to hold everything together, didn’t have to regulate other people’s emotions, didn’t have to be the strong one.
That wasn’t love. It was a trauma-based survival strategy.
When a child is forced to grow up too early —to be responsible, emotionally aware, and stabilizing —adult relationships often become a search for a secure base.
Until real safety is built, love can easily turn into a temporary refuge rather than a true connection.
The words in this reflection felt like a blinding spotlight suddenly focused to my naked heart. Disclosing and yet warm. It made me feel understood in a way I have seldom felt ever before while showing me exactly how my nervous system operates in uncomfortable detail.
You can find the Instagram account here. I highly recommend you follow her and check out her content.
A glimpse
The following is an extract from one of the many entries in my healing journal. It’s brief, and raw. I won’t be polishing my writing much from now on. I want to make sure to reduce as much friction as possible from the act of writing and getting ideas out there. And, to be honest. I don’t want to pretend I’m some enlightened know-it-all that writes only elegantly and poops rainbows. I’m here to heal, not to impress. Sorry if I disappointed you.
I think every single moment in my life where I found myself defeated and paralyzed was a question. Every time I found myself humiliated, defeated, frustrated, lost, or just devastated and frustrated by an event or situation life was asking of me “Who are you?” The universe was demanding that I assert myself. It was asking me to rise and fight back. Not as an aggression or vindictive action, but as a man.
Life was testing my character and integrity. As if to say “what are you going to do now?”, “Who is Juan?” And every time I have come short.
I have let my emotions and trauma hijack my confidence and character. Fear and anxiety has hold too much power over me. And worse, I have learned to dwell and find comfort in my melancholy. Accepting my role as a victim and not taking action until it’s too late.
No more.
Today I make an oath to myself to be that parent I needed for myself, that hero I deserved, and friend I looked for. I will assert myself to life and the universe.
I will not fold. I will not back down.
Life is hard and full of uncertainty. Discomfort is part of every moment of it. The tough ones and the beautiful ones as well. I will stand strong for myself, because I deserve it.
I want to live this life proud, for me.
And when death finds me, I will welcome it with a smile.
Throughout our lives we will hear the same wisdom countless times. Each and every time it will come to us in a different form, be uttered by a different mouth and have its unique tone. Most times we will ignore it. Many of those times we will recognize it, and some it will resonate with us, staying in our heart for a bit. Only if we are lucky, build a humble character and heart does wisdom become part of us, forever. This is not a failure of our character, it’s life. The human condition is to learn, over and over.
I will leave you with that thought.
Until next week.
You are loved.
