Anger and frustration rose to the surface. Bubbles of rage. Blanketing over a simmering pot of disappointment, sadness, and grief.
We are human.
Our pain, our glory, our achievements and disappointments, our anguish, our dreams and aspirations, our joy and our sadness – they tell the story of us. And they matter. Because we matter.
Realising again that my emotionality is both a strength and a crutch – being able to feel so much more has enabled me to potentially get hijacked and blinded by my emotions.
Breathe. I am still here. Life is still here. And letting the spun story go…
Awareness Question: who are you, if you knew you are not the story?