Over the last year, amidst a pandemic, I kept quiet on social media as I waged a battle within— for reasons that I won’t delve into unless you’re incredibly nosy, I lost my job due to my own actions and subsequently fell into an abyss of shame. I gained more than 20 pounds, which hindered any progress I was making on my already fragile body image. And despite all this, I had a relationship with an incredible person with whom I recently ended things, so he could flourish on his own.
While I have a knack for self-sabotage, my intentions and motives were pure. I learned so much in my first go at a healthy, committed relationship. I hope I taught him as much as he taught me— never having been on this side of heartbreak, it has been tough to navigate my feelings. There’s never a “good” time to end things. But seasons change, and so too do I. There is no comparable feeling to having your quirks not only tolerated, but embraced. For that, my Bug, I am forever grateful.
Now, I feel more lost than I ever have, but with that comes a sense of freedom. Of course, I still have high aspirations for myself, even if they seem illogical, out of reach, or impractical. I feel everywhere and nowhere, all at once, conflicted and content all the same. Like a phoenix rising from the ashes, I am but a scraggly, singed pigeon, making a renewed debut.
I share this not to sound pitiful— know that I’ve had my fair share of pity parties to which absolutely no one was invited— but to illuminate that we all, bluntly, have our shit.
For now, I’m healthy, still flying (on an albeit crazier side of aviation than the airlines), and happy enough to keep on keeping on, despite *gestures at the world*. I could never have come out the other side of a continuing saga if it weren’t for my saint of a mother, my always present shoulders of my best friends, and the spark deep, deep within me that can never be extinguished.