I have a great deal to say about my time at Starwood. I promise, but I’m still processing much of that. And since it has been some time since I’ve posted anything, and since I have words today, here is what I have.

I feel small. Terribly terribly small. Like I’ve taken on burdens far beyond what I can reasonably sustain. I feel as though the city is crushing me. Like I haven’t had time for myself, for my own healing, my owh thoughts, my own processes. I feel little and crowded. The introvert in me is positively screaming and begging to escape.

I feel weak. I feel like my will is not anywhere near strong enough to sustain the person I’m trying to become. I feel naive, like my dreams, like my love, like my compassion are foolish fantasies that are best put away with other childish romances. I feel as though the world is full of wisdom and almost all of it is laughing at me.

I feel alone.

I feel as though whatever grace I may have shared has left me bereft, that I am diminished by the world around me. I feel tainted and impure.

I feel afraid. I feel afraid that I have nothing to offer of any worth. I feel afraid that these feelings are the reality, and that I am delusional. I feel as though the faith I have in myself is crumbling and I am standing precariously upon a collapsing cliff.

These are my feelings. They are not new feelings. They have not ruled me in a long time, but neither have they been as present as they are today.

There are many things we can do when we are feeling like this. When the world is too much for us. T. Thorn Coyle recommends we breathe. I agree with her. Breathing is perhaps the best thing I can do right now, the best thing any of us can do.

These feelings are part of me. They are part of where I come from and where I am going. They are part of who I am, and what I am. My battle with them is one of the struggles of my life.

We all have demons, and this is one of mine. I am susceptible to self-doubt, to the spiral of my fears of inadequacy. To the belief that I must fail.

So right now, I am breathing and I am writing. Later, after I have breathed, after I have written I will open my eyes and see the truth. I will cry a little. I will see the faces of those I love, of those who love me. I will see the good I’m doing. I will see the lives I touch. I will hear the voices of spirit lifting me up. I will embrace my feelings of smallness, of weakness, of lonliness, of taint, of fear. I will hold them to myself and I will let me wash through me. I will see them for what they are, and I will give myself permission to feel them. I will see that they are my demon, part of me, but not the whole.

I will see that they are the truth, but not the whole truth nor the only truth. My fear is fear and my weakness is weakness. But this does not make me fearful or weak. It means only that I contain these things. These things and multitudes of others.