What do you wish to reclaim?
I wish to reclaim my body. My brain and ego hijack this precious space, they won’t shut up and let it breathe, they push it around, drag it from project to project, won’t let it rest, force it to hang out with Fear, Shame, Time Monster and Shadow Comfort. They shove muffins the size of a human head in my mouth, won’t let my body speak or be heard. I wish to reclaim my body, to care for it, tend to it, be with it, listen to it as it tells me what’s true.
I wish to reclaim my time. I am occupied by should and have to, busy with pleasing and performing and being perfect, trying to prove myself, earn love–and there never feels like there is enough time. I want to do what I love, what nourishes me, even if that is doing nothing at all.
I wish to reclaim a sense of ease. No more clinging and hanging on to worry and anger and grief, overwhelmed and tense. I wish to reclaim a sense of gentle attention and well-being, feeling like I can let go and be free.
I wish to reclaim joy. No more numbing or dulling what hurts and, in doing so, sacrificing happiness. No more hiding my light, silencing the silliness, skipping the fun because there is too much work to be done and we need to be serious. I wish to be known again as Silly Jilly, to remember that freedom and light.
I wish to reclaim balance. The swing between the intense, harsh pushing and utter exhaustion can’t be maintained. It’s giving my soul vertigo, making my heart dizzy, and my body sick. I wish to still my center, to stay steady on the middle path.
I wish to reclaim my will. I not longer want to do what others need, what pleases them only. I won’t perform or change in order to please them, trick them into loving me. I will be who l am, and if they can’t accept that, it will at least be true. I can sink into my real power, be myself.
I wish to reclaim my power. I won’t wait for permission, won’t feign weakness, wallow in jealousy or poverty mentality, won’t mute myself for the sake of anyone’s ego, won’t roll over and play dead, be a doormat or a pushover or a wimp. I will no longer be bullied, be anyone’s victim. I will embody my true and full power, gentleness and all.
I wish to reclaim my truth. No longer will I rewrite my story to fit someone else’s narrative. I won’t edit out the messy bits. I will own my suffering and my joy, and learn also to release it, let it go.