Pieces of Me

Don’t Wish Me a Happy Birthday

In a dark, quiet part of the world, I sit alone. A cold chill sits heavy in the air. The light of day shifts towards night. In the dusk the light diffuses through the trees and settles, never quite reaching the ground. An ambience of colour, orange, yellow and green, hangs in the air. I sit on the edge of the park bench. Head cast low. Shoulders forward. My eyes stare blankly at my small feet. My hands press together, and then twist on themselves. In the silence I ask the world to look away. I whisper, and then yell, for the world to leave me alone. I have nothing right now. I do not exist in this body. I barely exist in this mind. I bear the brunt of my own disappointment. I wear the shame of my own failure. I sulk in the defeat of my own ego.

The days filter into one another. I exist amongst beings that feel and breathe and ache. Yet, I am capable of nothing. I stay silent. I feel empty. Inside I am hollow, dark and sullen. The echo of my life vibrates. I walk in the emptiness of the life I have created. I follow the motions of the day. I trail the shadows of others. I dread tomorrow. Hope has made way for guilt, fear and a vile taste I can’t shake. In that dark, quiet part of the world I don’t want anyone to wish me a happy birthday. I don’t want messages. I don’t want cards.

As I stand up from the park bench, the dampness in the air catches me by surprise. I wrap my arms a little tighter around my jacket; hold on a little tighter to my scarf. In that dark, quiet part of the world I think. Think about the choices and decisions that have led me to this place. In that dark, quiet part of the world I ask myself: are you listening? And I shake my head, overwhelmed by the answer. The truth is I haven’t been. I haven’t listened to me in a long time. So long, that I don’t remember what I sound like anymore. As I walk away from that park bench, I realise that I must stop coming here so often. I must learn to find another place. A place where it’s not always winter. In a whisper, I ask the world: please take away your words. In a whisper, I need to find mine.

Don't Wish Me a Happy Birthday

I wrote these words a year ago. A whole year has passed and so much has changed. I am learning to listen to me. The words are coming. The stories are being told. For the first time, even with winter approaching, it does not feel damp or cold. For the first time, I look forward to the change of seasons – knowing that I am going to be ok.

Do you listen to your voice?

 

 

  • Rhianna

    What beautiful words Josefa, thank you for sharing. So glad that you are feeling better this winter. fairy wishes and butterfly kisses #teamIBOT

  • bodyandfeetretreat

    What a powerful post. So glad you are feeling better than you did 12 months ago.
    Love, hugs and positive energy !
    Me

  • Leanne Shea Langdown

    Such beautiful words Josefa!
    I do listen to myself. But it took quite a bit of training to get me there.
    Happy Tuesday (filled with warmth and love and self nurturing)
    Leanne @ Deep Fried Fruit

  • Josefa you have a beautiful way with words, so powerful. I am glad that you are listening to you, it takes us a long time to realise that we know best, because usually it goes against how the world perceives us. It’s funny. I wrote a similar post today about listening to myself and no longer fighting who I am. I feel you. x

    • I think we often see things in the same way – I love the idea of how the world perceives us – I have so much to say about this – one day I will flind clarity and post about it xx

  • Wow Josefa, that was so powerful.
    I’m so glad that this year the winter does not look so bleak for you. xxx

    • it is such a difference – for the first time in a very long time, I am looking forward to winter xx

  • Amazing writing, Josefa. I was right there with you, feeling your loneliness and pain. I’m glad you’ve learnt to listen to your voice again. It can be hard to hear it over the noise that is life.

    • the noise that is life can be deafening – I am so glad you could move through this post with my words – means a lot to me xx

  • I’m very glad to read that you feel so much better, I can’t imagine feeling that way, thankfully! And I am slowly learning to listen to my voice, sort of!

  • Beautifully written. I have been through a similar time and am learning to listen to my own voice too.

  • Beautiful words and post Josefa. I have lost sight of listening to myself. I have in the past, I’ve listened to my words and not liked what I heard. So I changed what I was saying. It is very powerful. xo

    • Changing what you say is a powerful step to take – I read this week that we are in charge of our story – so if we don’t like the story – we should change it – such powerful wisdom in that xx

  • Robyn (Mrs D)

    I absolutely love the way you write – so powerful, so real! You have a true talent. I am so pleased that you are listening to you and I hope it’s making you smile. Is it your birthday? If so, happy happy birthday to you and I hope this next year is fabulous xx

    • Thank you so much Mrs D xx
      My birthday was last week – thank you for the birthday wishes xx

  • Sophie Allen

    Wow Josefa, so powerful. Thank you for sharing, this was a really personal post.

  • Relieved to know you are are in a much better place now 🙂

  • bachelormum

    time is an amazing healer if we let it be isn’t it. Very poignant josefa

  • Kathy www.yinyangmother.com

    Wow I love this Josefa – so raw and honest and obviously cathartic. Your writing is so evocative. Glad things are better and I believe the words help so much. I am writing my way out of my the lingering pain of infertility (well I hope I am). One word at a time I guess.

  • Rita

    So beautifully written and powerful.

  • Amazing. I don’t listen to myself enough but am learning to. I’ve been writing for two years now and it’s helped me so much, to find that voice and be open enough to share it. Thank you for your raw truth shared.

  • Josefa, I am always absolutely astounded by the beauty of your words, even when writing about some of the shittier things in life. Writing such as yours is why I love blogging so much!

  • Loree

    Your writing is beautiful Josefa. Sometimes, listening to yourself is the hardest thing that you can ever do.

  • Grace

    It’s refreshing to find someone who sees winter for other than its bleakness and cold. Hearing your own voice is a powerful thing. One of the reasons why I love getting older. I wouldn’t have done it in my youth.

  • Such powerful writing Josefa. Bravo. I felt as though I was sitting beside you holding your hand. X

  • Michaela Fox

    WOW!!!!! xxx

  • Beautiful Josefa, so powerful and raw x

  • Brilliant.

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