“waiting to live” I often remarked – until I was thin enough, had enough money, moved… I always felt like life was on hold, breath bated, waiting for something…
But I never knew what exactly.
The next thing? The moment? The next item checked off the bucket list? What was I always waiting for? When I lived in an isolated northern town it was easy to blame lack of living on being there.
But it wasn’t the problem. Because even when I left there and moved due south I still didn’t live. Always waiting… waiting for something, for everything to feel like it was “there” or I was “here” or it was “done” I suppose.
Sometimes I look back on who I was and I wonder how was I so distracted, so lost, so mechanical and methodical? I don’t really remember what it feels like, it seems so long ago but in reality it was just a few years since I walked around in a cocoon, layered from the world, a thin gauze between me and life.
I don’t know how I was functioning. I wasn’t really. I did know I wasn’t living. I think a part of me always knew that and I was always waiting for the veil to lift, waiting for life to begin.
But it never did.
I simply floated. Waiting for something to change and going through the motions of half living. I think it’s why I so desperately squeeze every drop from life now – because I didn’t live for so long. There was a nothingness, an emptiness in my life for so long that now that I can breath, now that I live, I want to experience everything I can!
I was waiting for permission. I was waiting on others to tell me what to do and when to do it. It was like I was suspended in time – existing only. Lost to a time and space where I couldn’t be hurt. But that space of protection also meant I couldn’t fully live.
See we can’t have both – we can’t hide who we are and cocoon ourselves and also expect to live a wild and alive life. It doesn’t work that way. The way to what we want – the more living, the more alive, the more vibrancy is through the pain that has held us captive.
I was waiting to live because some part of me had died and was too scared to live fully, too scared to be vulnerable and passionate and to show people who I was. So I let that part die. But we can’t be fully alive when part of us is dead.
It goes necrotic. And it spreads, eventually taking all of our light, all of our living, with it. And we spend our lives feeling half alive, wandering parched, waiting for a light to be turned on, confused and going through the motions, checking off the boxes of what we’re supposed to do to be happy.
And with each box we wait to see if we’ll feel alive now? Nope. Next. Maybe this one? Nope. Next… and the cycle continues. Waiting for permission to live, waiting for everything to come together, to check all the boxes but still nothing happens, nothing changes.
But if you’re lucky enough, like I was, then tragedy strikes, the past comes back to haunt you, the veil gets lifted so you cannot ignore it anymore, until your numbness begins to fade.
Like a frozen piece of skin after frostbite, when life comes back, it hurts. It hurts like hurt has never hurt before. Years, decades of stuff tumbling around you, making you remember why you didn’t feel, why you shut it down, why you pretended for so long.
But eventually, the sting goes away too and it’s replaces with vibrant, healthy skin again.There might be scar tissue. There might be missing pieces and holes in you from the wounds and the cracks and the breaks… but giving yourself permission to feel, to experience the pain, to move through the gauze and eventually, into the light and truly living.
Permission is an illusion. We can think we’re “supposed to” do this, that, and all of these things in order for us to find that peace, that happiness, that elusiveness that’s been sneaking away from us our whole lives.
But permission is for you. It’s for me. It’s not for someone or something else to give us. Nothing and no one can give us permission to live. We must give ourselves that permission. Working through a checklist thinking when we check the next box we’ll feel alive, that everything will be ok, that we’ll fully live, is only a story that keeps us stuck playing it safe in the waiting game.
When we’re waiting we don’t have to feel, we don’t have to sit in the uncomfortableness of our fears, our insecurities, our not enoughness. We hide in waiting, waiting for permission to live, to love, to be ourselves, to stand in our power, to own who we are and why we are here.
But there is a place of peace within you, a place where the crumbling down of the walls you’ve built and the rebuilding of the real you – the you that is ready embrace life, embrace yourself, embrace your gifts and stand in the power of who you are and live fully.
There is a place inside of you where this exists. Your work is to clear out what’s in the way of you being in that space more often. The poison we believe that we aren’t enough, that we are broken or damaged. The seeds of hate and fear and uncertainty that tells us it’s safer to hide and not fully live. The experiences that taught us to trade who we are in order to be something else.
Innocence lost. Life can be brutal. But you didn’t come here to choose the easy way. A warrioress is made from the life experiences that have shaped her, that have groomed her, that tried to break her. And to find and embody that warrior, that wild one, you must become the fire, not fear it, but take your seat at the fire and allow it to burn up what you no longer need, what holds you back.
Allow the fire to baptize you, to bring you anew into this world, of the warrior, of the wild one. She’s the one who knows the way, the right next move for you. She’s the one who knows who you really are and what you are here to do.
And she’s the only one who can bring you there.
Stop waiting for boxes to be checked off, stop waiting for it to show up, stop waiting to live and allow yourself to burn away what no longer serves you, what you no longer need, what has held you back and step fully into the fire to become who you really are.
PS… download my 7 Steps To Living A Wild Souled Life here.