Sometimes I Forget Who I Am

Sometimes I forget who I am.

This forgetting is like an open trap door in the floor of a gorgeous, cheery, naturally lit home that I slip through when I get careless.

Careless with my thoughts.

Careless with my people.

Careless with my goals.

Careless with my self-care.

Careless with my sovereignty.

When I forget who I am, then I forget what I need to care about.

I forget what I’m capable of, along with the types of thoughts, people, and practices I am dedicated to in the quest to always be MORE myself. (NOT more other people’s expectations of me.)

It’s like an abrupt emotional crash followed by a hit of searing pain before I land with a familiar THUD on the cold basement cement and look around, startled.

“What the . . .AGAIN? REALLY!?” I silently scream to myself. Judging the fall and stomping to my feet.

My basement is filled with creepy crawly things created to scare me into believing I’m not _____________.

“You’re not enough.”

“You’re not worthy.”

“You’re not good.”

And the most sneaky: “You are responsible.”

Luckily I’ve been flexing this muscle of mental and emotional resilience since I was 18 and I walked into my first therapist’s office. Since that moment I’ve racked up thousands of hours and dollars in people, certifications, programs, mentors, practices and books to move me from painful basements back home. Back to myself. Back to my most empowered place. The place from which I affect the most change in my life and the lives of my people - my partner, my girls’, my family and friends, my clients and tribe.

The silver lining of racking up frequent flier miles in one’s own personal hell of a mental basement - is a mere bad day or negative thought no longer holds power over me. I am less afraid. Less anxious. Less panicked. Less likely to lose myself in the dark and more likely to find the dangling chain and snap the light back on.

I am an expert at turning on lights when I accidentally find myself in dimly lit spaces.

And what I’ve found there in my brightly lit basement? None of my fears are real. No one is my enemy. I’m more than okay, and I’ve simply forgotten who I am.

I am enough.

I am worthy.

I am good.

And I never have been and never will be responsible for the mental and emotional well-being of anyone but myself.

I switch on that light, take a deep breath and ground into the present moment.

I am no longer available for the fears, limiting beliefs and projections of my childhood.

I am responsible for my own thoughts, beliefs, actions and projections.

And so onward I adventure.

Back to the staircare.

Up and up.

Popping out the trap door, dusting myself off and taking a moment to focus inward. To anchor into my heart. My power source.

“The most common way people give up their power is by thinking they don't have any.” Alice Walker

“Silly, G,” I laugh to myself. “You forgot how powerful you are again! Oops.”

I resist the urge to give the fall any context.

I resist the temptation to make it MEAN something.

I allow my human-ness to exist without the judgment of it.

I take my power back as I remember who I am.

And then I’m back. Back in my own lane. Creating my life with every thought, belief and action to reflect on the outside exactly what I’ve made true on the inside.

And when I ask myself what feels true from that empowered place?

I remember I got this.

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