Are You Mad at Me?

Are you mad at me? Are you SURE?

I must have asked this question of those closest to me a DOZEN f’n times over the last 48-hours.

Probably waaay more, honestly.

‘Cause, remember the part about “barring divine intervention, I’m going to work tomorrow” I mentioned the other day?

Well…

The Divine? Intervened.

Most of you don’t know anything about this, but a few years back – when I was married to my ex – I got sick.

Like reeeeeally sick.

Like bed-ridden, unable to walk to the bathroom, maybe-she’s-not-going-to-make-it sick.

This was the state of my life for YEARS.

In fact, it was during this time – this time of “am I about to die?” – that I decided to write my book.

Decided I MUST write my book.

I mean, I had ALWAYS known I was supposed to write it, but facing death head on makes one unable to hide from the truth of one’s purpose very successfully.

For me, anyway.

So, write I did.

And, over the course of writing – once again – divine intervention occurred; this time in the shape of my mother paying for the emergency, specialist surgery I needed to continue existing on this plane.

I began to improve.

A lot.

Leaps & bounds, actually.

So much so that in the last year-and-a-half (or is it 2-years now? I think it’s 2) since publication, I have physically transformed SO much, that if you & I were just introduced, you might think me a regular, healthy, normal individual.

Ha

I am none of those things.

As I seem to have forgotten.

Or more aptly, chosen to DENY.

But denial, as we who have struggled with trauma & substance abuse know full-well, is more than just a river in Egypt.

It is – at best – a defense mechanism. At worst, a hiding place from truth, reality, & – maybe most importantly – ACCEPTANCE.

And to quote an idiom from the recovery rooms: “Acceptance is the answer to all of my problems today.”

What is it I need to accept?

Well, that I am not fully healed. That I may never be.

That working in an office, pushing myself to be what I once was – professional Rachel – isn’t realistic.

Not only isn’t realistic: isn’t my calling. Isn’t my purpose. Isn’t why I am here.

So, there’s that divine intervention again.

I’ve known for a hot minute I am supposed to write. A second book, more on this page, all the things.

But like Jonah avoiding Nineveh, I’ve chosen the belly of whale over my passion. I’ve chosen fear over faith. I’ve chosen socially palatable under the guise of being “work appropriate” online.

No more.

So, “are you mad at me”?

Doesn’t matter.

Isn’t a question I’ll choose to pose again, externally OR internally.

Someone – everyone even – being mad shouldn’t matter in the slightest. What SHOULD is me speaking my truth, accepting my path, & living out loud.

So, here’s to embracing acceptance – & all my foibles & imperfections – just for today.

We do recover, y’all. Maybe not always physically, but the inside stuff? We so f’n DO 🖤🙏🖤