Someone once asked me, “What does it feel like?”
It feels like lost hope. Because it is. It’s the admittance that you failed, that your hope for something great has been diminished. That you, that he, that she, that we altogether failed in our pursuit.
It feels like disappointment. Because you wanted it, and then suddenly you didn’t, or suddenly they didn’t, or suddenly we didn’t. Because expectations weren’t met. Because promises went unfulfilled. Because it just didn’t play out how you hoped it would.
It feels like an oxymoron. Because you want it, but you don’t. Because you’re in it, but you’re not. Because you’re constantly shaking it off while continuously tightening your hold. Because you’re walking away while standing perfectly still.
It feels like being out-of-body. Because you hardly recognize yourself anymore. You aren’t sure when you became this person, and you aren’t sure when all these feelings hit. You aren’t sure how you let it get to this, come to this, morph to this, because this isn’t you, and this isn’t what you wanted.
It feels like fear. Because it was safety, it was home, it was comfort, and suddenly it’s gone. Suddenly life changes, and you’re scared of possibilities. Because life may be better, but it may be worse, and the devil you know was always better, right? …. right?
But also …
It feels like strength. Because it’s power. Because you’ve chosen yourself. You’ve chosen your health, your sanity, your beauty. Because at last you finally believe in the intuition you’ve been ignoring for so long.
It feels like freedom. Because you’re no longer a slave to what bound you. You no longer hurt. You no longer worry. You no longer toss and turn, no longer regret. You move free, think free, smile free, love free.
It feels like peace. Because you’ve released the chaos. You’ve departed from the hurt. You’ve bid farewell to disappointment. You’ve stepped back into yourself.
Honestly? It feels like coming home.