No Brave Man

with an imperfect voiceover, to match

“I am often pulled back from talking about my experiences in this space out of fear of sounding egotistic. But then, I remember, that this space is mine. My vulnerability is my weapon. And with that, I will continue on.

I’ve mentioned before that this collection is my diary — simply an unedited version of my stream of consciousness. Very rarely do I comb over my words here before hitting ‘send’… and you’ll know I’m telling the truth by the spelling errors I so often make.

I’m winding down after a summer of high highs and low lows. Retrospectively, and despite all odds, I think she might be one of my favorite seasons yet. I’m working on reframing the idea that unfortunate circumstances have to inform sour feelings. Unfortunate things happened this summer, and still, I am feeling sweet about it.

I’m learning to welcome a rawer version of myself in to the spotlight more. I feel the most myself when I am the most myself. I am becoming less afraid of being messy and clumsy and odd. I understand that this version of me might not be for everyone and I think that’s just fine. I am working on not being bothered by that.

I’ve always had an air of confidence about me (it is, perhaps, what pushed me into theatre early on!) and I am widely recognized as the friend that will fight someone for you. Lately, though, I’ve been faced with the question of who is fighting for me. Of course, I know the answer is ‘my husband!’, ‘my friends!’, ‘my family!’, and maybe even ‘GOD!’… but what use can they be when I can’t even fight for myself?

And what does my fight for myself look like? Before, it was so angry. I would be inclined to isolate, and scream, and thrash. But, now, I am looking at my hands, wondering how I ever balled them up into fists. I feel so peaceful in my anger and I feel so calm in my hurt. Maybe, it’s because I went to therapy. Maybe, it’s because I’m older.

I worked on embodiment earlier this year. I have spoken to my younger self for months, in my head, and out loud. Through that practice, I’ve learned to speak to my current self, too. I’m reminding her that this limbo can be good. I can feel my core strengthening, I can feel my truth unwinding.

Choosing to let go of a dying version of yourself can feel like the end of the world. In a way, I think it is. But this is the birth of a new song. I can feel myself nodding along. I am no brave man, but I will do it scared. I will do it scared.”

Thank you for listening. Thank you for caring. Thank you for loving me.

I love you too,

HM