My therapists encourage me to be fully present, to immerse myself in those fleeting flashes of brilliance. Yet, I’ve learned that for every radiant spark, there’s an equally profound shadow waiting in its wake. This past week has been a test of my ability to navigate both. Moments of pure bliss are often followed by the heaviest darkness, and I’ve come to realize that my spark, which once ignited warmth and light, now feels like it’s fighting to survive in the depths of the shadow it leaves behind.
I’ve been struggling to find my footing in this timeline, feeling out of sync with the rhythm of life for weeks now. It’s as though I’m moving at a slower pace than those around me, a bear trudging through a world that expects the speed of light. Or is it just me, an old soul wandering through a forest of timelines, searching for meaning?
This week, the weight of isolation has been suffocating. I dread the sound of incoming messages or calls. I know they come with good intentions, wanting the best of me. But what they seek is a version of me that feels distant, unreachable. When I am lost in my darkest moments, there is no hand reaches back to pull me up. Instead, I’m reminded that my choices have led me here, as if the weight of my own spark is to blame for the explosion of emotions around me.
My spark is both a gift and a curse. I can light up a room but I can also ignite a toxic kaboom when it meets their toxic gunpowder. They see the aftermath and point to the fire as the cause, forgetting that they, too, played a part in the combustion. In this lucid moment of reflection, I’m learning restraint, learning to hold back, to conserve my energy for when the flame needs to be rekindled. Not every moment requires me to burn at full intensity, and not every spark needs to ignite a wildfire. For now, I sit with the embers, letting them glow softly as I recalibrate. This journey is mine, and I’m slowly finding my rhythm in this dance of light and shadow.