Some people will gain from your silence. Others will suffer from it.
What’s The Pointe?
Early bird. Windows down. Cigarettes and hairspray hang out and sink deep into the seats of my 2007 Nissan Altima. Another sunny side up morning; tight bun, clean tights, and skinny-skinny legs take me all the way to Atlanta Ballet from West Midtown. Those mornings with Carol are vivid memories. I see it very clearly :my place at the barre next to a very sassy man we will call Charles. Charles was on the older side of middle-aged with one hand on his hip, and an eternal eye roll. Every ballerina in that class came for different reasons. Most of us were instructors or company members brushing up on technique, but a lot were there for something else completely. Heartaches. Longings. All ages 18 and older (*heavy on the middle aged). Passions.
Big questions: Are older women allowed to wear pointe shoes? What is the age cut off for women wearing their hair long and dancing in pointe shoes?
Unwritten rules I guess because pointe shoes were tied at every age from what I remember in our class. And like the cat that got the cream, Charles would swing his hips and gawk at the older women saying, ” What’s the Pointe?”. He would literally hang his body over the barre laughing. Hah. Over and over, “What’s the Pointe?” One time one of the ladies shot him a glare and said “It’s about confidence and proving something to ourselves. Leave it alone Charles!” Because being an older woman in ballet was something to laugh at, but being an older man in ballet is okay? Oh Charles. What’s the pointe?
Our tragedies will seem like comedies to those who fail to see our worth. We need to find a community of caring people to stay strong and help us continue sharing stories of hope.
I found out that someone I trusted was making fun of my blog, this blog, this blog about RECOVERY and exposing the most vulnerable parts of life. I know that once we scream into the void, opinions are beyond our control, but I thought that this person was my friend.
One thing that caught me off guard about this is that they said I am not a real blogger. What does it even mean to say that someone is not a real blogger? If you have a blog, you are a blogger.
Sometimes people do not think before they speak, and it reminded me that some people strive to remain at surface level. It reminded me that some people put just as much effort into covering up their imperfections as we do into embracing them.
I am anything but surface.
Not everyone is going to get on our level. Some people just do not see the value in revealing themselves. Some people have a completely different agenda in life, and this is fine. We all have different ways of going about things. I am steady.
“Washing my hands
I cleanse my mind
of the same old thinking…
and offer to lend a hand to each new task.”
-Ed Brown ( mindfulness meditation)
Go take a f*cking seat, Mara.
It does not have to matter to you because it matters to me.
After hearing all about this, I went up to the 24th floor and cried the hardest I’ve cried in a while. Good sober tears. Bleed it out all the way. This was hardly the first time I’ve been made fun of, so I swear I morphed through all of my ages in an instant. An autobiography on the stage of my mind in the blink of an eye. I could hear times from younger years where someone was laughing and saying NO Jacqui step back down. No Jacqui, you are actually not good enough. What do you think you are doing? PACK it up. It’s not for you. Who do you think you are? Good sober tears. Oh my god I realized that I actually love myself. I am there for all of those times because I am right here. This is freedom from that voice. I am allowed to witness my pain and BE THERE FOR MYSELF. We are capable of doing this you guys. I genuinely was not upset at myself or embarrassed because I was there for myself for the first time instead of listening to the contributing negative voice. My worth does not depend on how someone else views me because I am allowed to say no thank you. I am finding true acceptance. The entire me is lovable. Oh my god. I am lovable.
I am Really Real
There are just some things you cannot fake, and vulnerability is one of them.
Can’t. Fake. It.
Real is real, and I am a really real.
I went to bed and sat with the me that I did not know was there. I sat with the me behind the one that has always tried to hide her. I let her out finally after all of this time. I imagined a black crayon scribble with eyeballs. That’s me, I think to myself. That’s the me underneath what I have always held myself together as. This is the little thing in the corner that has almost escaped a million times. This is the big ugly thumbed innocent who… never did anything but exist.
It was just us, and I spent my whole life running from her. I sat with the black scribble with eyeballs in my mind all night. Hi. I am so sorry. I forgot you were there. I was so busy trying to hide you that I forgot you existed. You will be okay. I promise. We know who we are. We will always be okay.
Tiny Beautiful Things
Someone sent this to my husband today. This is why I write on this blog. Thank you ❤ this is everything.
“please pass this on to your beautiful wife that I love her blog and she has inspired me to remain sober for almost 90 days. She has amazing writing talent. Even my daughter and a few of her friends are following her blog at college. I consider your friendship a blessing in my life. Thank you 🙂”
Closing ThoughtsSometimes we are lucky enough to witness our own progression. Sometimes we get to see ourselves actively changing and pat our own damn backs. Once I started being true to myself, I learned how to sit with myself. Once I learned how to be still with myself, I was more tolerant of the people that love me the most in this world. I learned how to be with the world and the people in it. I am looking at me because I am looking at you, and we are beautiful. ❤
For more on the sobriety, yoga, and travel journey, please follow @the_oam on Instagram, and like The OAM facebook page for updates & inspiration. ❤