The Last Shoe

I waited for it to drop—
for years. 
Take a breath and leap. Breathe in the freedom, the excitement, the thrill, the anticipative joy in the air all around you. You escaped! You left! You’re making your own choices for your own life and you don’t want or need opinions. You’re healing, you’re expanding, you’re taking risks!  You Got This!
I felt that. I felt all of those and more when I left. I also felt fear, panic, worry, doubt, helpless and knowingly happy because I knew I’d be ok. 
There were two experiences happening simultaneously. My soul felt a sense of being alive, being seen, and being real while my body and Ego felt like they were defying authority.
It was like an escape, like fleeing; fleeing confinement. I went in hiding. I eliminated anything that would shame me, convince me to go back, or remind me of the hell that was once my prison.
But now I wait.
Now I wait for the shoe to drop.
Now I sit and wait for the punishment.
I sit here and wait on God to punish me. I wait for the Universe to validate that I have never been equal. That my purpose in life was for other’s pleasure and purpose… not my own.
I wait, taking short shallow breaths as to not stir anything or bother someone else. 
I watch life like a shoe dangling from a wire. Knowing that the string could snap with all the pressure from the shoe. Shaking, praying, crying, begging, breathing.
Each day I try to do a split screen so I’m not just staring at the shoe. I make candles; I play with recipes; I work on ways to sell them. I just do it with panic in my veins. I do it despite the fear. 
When you’re trained to believe that defiance will cause painful and ongoing terror, you learn to settle. You learn to grasp at the bits and pieces of life that are handed to you like a beggar. Telling yourself that you should feel grateful that they gave you anything at all.
So risk for me is like walking through a sea of “walkers” with blood and skin dropped over you hoping for dear life to make it out of the pack alive. (little Walking Dead reference there)
I have problems, worries, troubles… Every time it gets overwhelming and I’m seeking a solution or something to help the panic subside I hear the word “meditate”. It’s been whispered in my ears for over a decade. It’s been the gasoline in the car I took on this journey in 2011.
If you have panic attacks or experience PTSD, reach out. Let’s talk about meditation. Drop a comment