I haven’t been writing much lately. When asked, I’ve struggled to understand or explain why. Writing has always been my go-to, the place I land when I need to work through feelings. Last year I went under, and many times I thought I might turn to writing to get me through it. I didn’t though because I was weary from hearing myself lament about my myriad demons and why they were there and why I didn’t think I could let them go. In the end, extricating myself from long-term relationships, relationships that had swept me up and held me like remnants of roofing swirling in a tornado, brought me to the peace I had sought for years. Sometimes you have to walk away from people to find yourself. I knew what I needed to do. I wasn’t sure I could do it until I did. Every day since those disentanglements, my world has grown clearer, my heart happier.
I find I am not the person I thought I was. Never thought it was possible, but now I openly cry when I listen to a song that reaches my heart. I dance around and act silly, even when people are watching. I say no when I feel I should. I attempt new things despite knowing I might fail. I’m no longer paralyzed by fear of ridicule or disdain. I’m honest, all the time. I don’t take myself seriously because I’m not worried about being palatable to people. It took me far too long to appreciate that anyone I care about who wants me to be different, smaller, or less isn’t worth keeping, no matter what our relationship is or how long we’ve been in each other’s lives. I have no regrets about cutting those ties, and I don’t care who judges me for walking away to save myself. I see and appreciate my value now. There is nothing that could make me go back.
Last weekend I went with some friends to the symphony for a performance of the soundtrack to Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. The movie played on a screen above the orchestra. During the speaking parts, the orchestra was silent. Then they played John Williams’ moving soundtrack in perfect time to make the movie experience seamless.
One scene has stuck with me since that viewing last weekend, a scene I had long forgotten about. Harry is in Professor Dumbledore’s office and is the only one in the room when a rather scraggly-looking Fawkes, Dumbledore’s phoenix, bursts into flames. Harry is beside himself, wondering what he did to cause the bird’s demise. Dumbledore tells Harry:
“Phoenixes burst into flames when it’s time for them to die and are reborn from the ashes. Fascinating creatures, phoenixes. They can carry immensely heavy burdens. Their tears have healing powers.”
And that is when I realized where I am now and why I haven’t been writing. I’m in my Phoenix Era. I carried immensely heavy burdens in my heart since my childhood. Eventually, I got to the place where I couldn’t shoulder them anymore. Like Fawkes, I was withered and scraggly and needed to die to be reborn again. So I set my life on fire and ended in a pile of ashes full of possibility. My tears fall readily now as I heal myself. I haven’t been writing because I’ve been experiencing my regrowth. I’m rising from the ashes. There will be plenty to write about when I’m whole again and take flight.
“And just as the Phoenix rose from the ashes, she too will rise. Returning from the flames, clothed in nothing but her strength, more beautiful than ever before.” — Shannen Heartzs
