Meeting Me Now: Long Format Girl

It's not that I'm that different, but I am.

It's that I used to instinctively, truly without thought, tell my story as a direct extension of what had just happened in my life. My brain effortless veered toward the words and the screen, and the ease of the spill-over was not something that I stopped to measure. When that changed, I became fixated on how to recapture that Me back. That brain back.

One fluid motion - action, grab phone, tell story, post. Instagram was where I lived. That's how easy it was. I didn't think, I did.

Longer stories would start to emerge in my heart, or I could feel them rustling quietly in the back of my mind, full of potential for blog posts, or podcast ideas. I would write, and post. Those that didn't make it out of the ether took up tons of carelessly scribbled note pads for future content. It was easy and real to call myself a writer, a host, a content creator, a producer. It was what I was and what I did.

One fluid motion - I was not that person.

And no it wasn't that dramatic, but it feels like that. The constant hemiplegic migraines, the medications, the exacerbations of my other conditions- it took a toll. It changed me and that's ok. On some levels I'm now thriving, and on some, I'm still getting to know the person I am now, while seeing echoes of who I was, trying to gently understand that I don't have to recreate the life I once had.

One day I tell myself, that I am still a writer, still a host. I just haven't put anything out there in a long while. Another day, I tell myself, I am a complete phoney for still having that up on my bio as what I do.

It doesn’t sound like it, but I'm giving myself a lot of self-compassion. I'm just also doing a lot of self-comparison. Sometimes my dead-reckoning wisely navigates the future using the past as a guidepost. I step gingerly ahead remembering what I did before, filled with deep knowing that every moment beckons fresh. Other times I just get lost, thinking I have to replicate a formula that worked once; wistful for abilities I used to have; shaken and nostalgic for something that can not come back. This has been me over the last few years.

I've become more reserved, quieter. I tend to get overwhelmed or depleted in large social situations. I second guess everything now. I don't share as easily. I focus on my children a lot. I stay to the tasks directly ahead. Safety and security matter to me so much more, and there is always a current of tender tears close to my surface. I think life has become more about post-pandemic rebuilding and healing and mine is an incredibly slow burn. If I was writing myself as a character in a book or movie I would be ‘pre-montage’.

This is not to say that I haven't reclaimed my creativity. In the last four years I've come such a long way. I've been active in my real life community, and I've gone back to my corporate roots. I have managed social media strategies, produced tons of content, and executed high level corporate marketing initiatives. It's not that my brain isn't working. It's that the seamless and whimsical action of 'my joyful life is happening and I am sharing it' is missing, and I am still looking for how to do it. I have a giant block.

"You may not be the same... you may not be able to do exactly the same kinds of things as before... but let's work on loving you now." Bless therapy. I heard these words after my first serious hemiplegic episode in 2018. That landed me in a stroke/neuro ward for a month. But I could still tweet and post on Insta without a problem. I was still engaging and connecting with all my friends and replying to every text. That's not the case now.

It’s definitely improving from the days where I had no ability to respond. Where I would just stare at my phone. I still forget to hit send, or have forgotten who people are, or still at times face a kind of mental freeze when it comes to texts and messages. Then there’s the sheer anxiety and trepidation that hits when I open Instagram or even think about posting. Currently it’s just the fact of yet another app to relearn, and the overwhelm of creating content for it. I still want to try and post though, as much as it weighs on me. I think about it a lot.

Occupational therapy, CBT, ACT, MBSR, I've done it all over the years, and I will keep at it. At some point something will break through to me. Most often the advice is to release the past; accept the present. But as of yet I still don't know how to let go of this person deep inside me saying 'hey, I think there's more to you...you used to do this...want to just log in and post a picture of your feet or something? You know, let people know you're alive?'

The truth is I don’t want to let got of her. In my heart I know she is a guidepost, showing me the way forward. In my heart my story is ticking, looking for a key.

And maybe I will never have that 'one fluid motion' again. Maybe it will be sticky and awkward and nerve wracking. Maybe, I will stick to long format posting for a while until my energy is up and I'm ready to take that picture of my feet.

And maybe there's something that I need to add to qualify that I am working on all of this because I am.

A 'yet' or another magic word that gives homage to resilience or grit.

Because I am sure I am not the only one who has stepped back, or away, or hasn't posted yet or even at all. I am sure I am not the only one who has changed; who has crashed; who is frozen or waiting and is not quite sure for what.

Let me hold your hand now and let's say together:

I love me. I love the story that I am. I love the story now, whatever it is. And I will not give up finding a voice for it when it wants to come out.

I will not give up.

I will not give up.