An Open Letter To The Tired and Triggered

Reading Time: 2 minutes

By: Jacqueline Gates   – Confluence Daily is your daily news source for women in the know.

Dear one,

I’m usually so good with words.

And yet (again) I’ve found myself battling to articulate anything useful,
anything soothing,
anything
at all.

There used to be gaps of years between events that made me mute with rage/sorrow/empathy.

These days, there’s something every month.
Sometimes, every week.

This past week, it’s been every day.

Words have failed me.
Stuck in my throat, and at the end of my fingers on the keyboard.

Even my silver fountain pen refused to form the squiggles that mean something, and instead, vomited blobs of turquoise ink onto a blank expectant page.

I feel like I’ve let y’all down somehow by not speaking up/out/over-the-noise.

There’s just been soooo. many. words. y’know?

I know there’s a time and place for words. I know their power.
And I know that there always comes a time where we have to stop talking the words, and start living them.

That’s where I am today.

I wish I could hug you – literally. Not virtually.

I wish I could pop over to your home,
and sit with you,
so you don’t feel so alone.

I wish I could putter round your home with you,
curating the things that salve your heart and feed your soul,
creating together a nest feathered with what you love,
boundaried and safe,
and then I’d quietly leave you to soak in the healing.

I wish I could stand with you while you rage at the sky,
pass you tissues while you sob,
and remind
you over and over again
that you matter,
that I believe you,
till you believe it,
and me.

I wish I could help you scrub the kitchen floor,
letting the anger dissipate in the work and the bubbles,
to wipe clean the very foundations of your world.

I wish I could help you carry the residue of Who-You-Were out to the curb or the trash can,
so that when you go back inside,
you can see the magnificence of Who-You-Are-Now.

I wish I could cook something decadent and delicious for you,
that fills your belly with satisfaction,
and your cells with deep comfort.

And I wish I could stand with you while we did the dishes,
laughing gently at the toughness of being human,
relishing the humanity we share.

I wish all of this.
So much.

But till I get a whole lot more masterful at this goddessy be-everywhere-at-the-same-time thing,
we’ll have to do our house-healing separately.

You do yours in your nest.
I’ll do mine over here.

Deal?

And through the glorious magics of quantum entanglement,
we’ll be doing it together,
and together,
we will heal,
to rise again tomorrow.