Let it Go Project

This blog is the written account of The Let it Go Project, a personal journey of healing, rediscovering my FUNny self, and setting my trapped spirit free, once again.

I set the blog up months ago, but didn't post anything. I'd log in everyday and just stare at the page, the image of the tattoo on my arm, and the blank post underneath the header. And, everyday, I'd log out, thinking, maybe tomorrow, only to come back the next day and repeat the process.

Why? How come my hands are frozen over the keyboard? Is it procrastination? Or maybe the fear that people will say, "Oh, look. Another person who wants to tell her story. Can't she just keep it to herself, deal with it, and let it go?"

So, I kept a journal of my ideas. My thoughts. The things I wanted to write, but couldn't or wouldn't or shouldn't. I went to therapy, exercised, meditated, burned incense and sage, attempted to wear something other than yoga pants, ate healthy foods, wore crystals, hugged trees, rescued two cats, created art, wrote, kept a gratitude journal, read self-help books, visited self-help blogs, listened to self-help podcasts, did online workshops, made deeper connections with my husband, adult children, and my siblings, and worked on forgiveness.

A few things made me feel better. My family connections are great medicine, and I'm not sure where I'd be without them. I adore my therapist (and we're working on something new I'll share later in this blog series). I actually wrote & published my 2nd novel during a deep depression. I guess being in bed, hiding from the world, was good for something. And, I hear it's hilarious. How on earth, I was able to write a funny mystery while wallowing through my own shit, is beyond me.

2018 brought a hurricane of health issues. A breast cancer scare, surgery, the onset of depression, the anxiety, rapid heart rate, panic attacks, and the persistent high blood pressure. I went from no prescription medications to four, yes, in twelve months. This all should have been enough to open my eyes.

But, it wasn't. Not until yesterday.

I had an appointment with my psychologist. I broke down, admitting to her, that if I didn't fix all of this crap, it would eventually kill me. I know somehow, someway, this grief-stricken baggage on my back will be the death of me. Saying the words out loud to another person had a profound effect on me. They were a wake up call, saying, "Hey, dummy, listen up. Heal or you're going to commit suicide by self-sabotaging yourself to death." The harsh reality of the situation sunk in. This shit is real.

I woke this morning, thinking, today is the day. I'm ready. I'm reading through the journal I continued to write over the course of the past year, and will share the ideas/thoughts/entries here. My hope for writing this blog? It certainly isn't to gain popularity. Lol. My goal is to share my experiences, help raise awareness, connect with others who may be going through similar situations, and break the freaking cycle. My family cycle of mental illness, which I'll touch upon in my next post.

To anyone out there needing to read this for your own healing journey, follow along.
To the naysayers out there, the Judgy-McJudgy-Pants, move along now, nobody needs your negativity.

Heal, rise, & shine ~C.