It has been over a year. I am settled into a new job. A new city. Being divorced.
I never thought that I would be here. Physically. Mentally. Spiritually. In fact I vowed that I wouldn’t. Yet here I am. 42. In my mid-life. Divorced. Living in up-state New York. And I feel more at ease, this feels more comfortable… than marriage.
My skin is beginning to feel my own again. I finally feel at home in my space. I am settling into and falling in love with Troy. The routine is mine and mine alone. I wake. I coffee. I listen. I dance. Lately it has been Galactic, bringing my funk. I missed the funk. I missed the free spirit. The determination. The vivacious, take-life-by-the-balls, Terra.
The Hudson and Mohawk River valleys are relatively new soil to tread, but still it feels like coming home. The mountains my soul and family are tied to are less than 2 hours away. The shore that pulls the heart strings of my Soul Sisters, is less than 3 hours away. This is a place and a space I can call home. And perhaps, just perhaps, grow roots.
finally at home, I am beginning to dig deep. To unearth who I am, and most importantly who I am becoming…. I am tapping into the power within. To dance in ecstasy. To cry. To fuck. To love. To laugh. To find freedom. To feel crazy powerful in my own being. To feel light. To feel dark. To run with the wolves. To pull the pieces of my puzzle together.
I am Attorney. I used to hate this label. I’ve never actually liked my job. I wore that hate like a badge of honor. For the first time in my life, I’m an attorney and I like my job. I am analytical. I am demanding. My expectations are high. I am a creative problem-solver. I am dependable. I am goal driven. I am powerful. I am a woman of substance, character and influence. Empowered.
I am Mentor. I am the one that gently and forcefully urges young women to make brash, courageous mistakes. To fuck up with fervor. To learn from that fuck up, to make the mistake two more times and finally learn. To grow. And to learn to love yourself with wild abandon, while you’re still in your 20s. Not after you turn 40. I am impatient. My expectations are high. But I love fiercely like a momma bear. Nurturing.
I am Yogini. I fall off of and on to my yoga mat. I practice. I stop. I waiver. I teach how to fall in love with yoga. With your spirit. To develop compassion first for self, and then to care beyond. Beyond yourself. I sing. I chant. I meditate. I am bad at meditating. I yearn for spirit. For Goddess. Connection. Divine.
I am Single. I am an only child and a rebel. I demand attention. I am independent. I am lonely. I crave both connection and solitude. I am searching. Longing. Craving. I want to get drunk and jump in the water naked. I want to drink whiskey all night and smoke cigarettes and connect until the sun comes up. I dance to my own song. Audacious.
I am Sexual. I am tired of denying that aspect of myself. I fuck. I love to fuck. I love to be fucked. I am sensual and passionate. I am intimate and connected. I am erotic and sexy. I AM SEXY. I am UNapologetically woman. I have enormous, amazing, soft, round breasts. My legs are strong and fierce. I have passion and desire. I am deviant. I am submissive. I crave to serve. I am awake. I am wild. Turned on. Sensual.
I am Sensitive. I feel all the feels. I cry. I wear a mask. No one knows. I am fierce in the public eye. Inside everything is loud and raging. I swallow and taste emotion. My feelings get hurt. I am insecure. I want to love love. I am terrified of love. I might not be lovable. I numb the feelings with busy-ness. I start new projects. Businesses. Ventures. I do trainings and add degrees, certifications, letters to my name. I fill the void to push out the feeling. The Highly Sensitive Person label scares me Emotional.
Empowered. Nurturing. Divine. Audacious. Sensual. Emotional.