Writing through heartache

When your words are your gift to yourself.

I have friends whom I call “lifelines.” One of them is Stacey. After a conversation the other day, she mailed me a book called 13 Things Mentally Strong People Don’t Do Workbook: A Guide to Building Resilience, Embracing Change and Practicing Self-Compassion. Self-doubt, that pesky enemy, has snuck back into my life, forcing me to divert my energy to fighting its destabilizing grip. The book has helped me steady myself. (Thanks, Stacey ❤️)

My heart has taken a beating over the past several months. I resigned from a job I loved in hopes of saving the jobs of two people on my team; only one stayed. I finished the fifth and final draft of my memoir, a task that forced me to read, re-read and rewrite my past; assess with distance and surgical precision the need for every scene and interiority shared; remember, forgive and forget. I also met a person who isn’t as ready as I am to open himself up to someone else. I’d forgotten how tough that is.

Through it all, I have written. I’ve shared some of my feelings with you, mostly through the lens of positivity because that’s the lens I’ve chosen to frame and focus my life. I hope my words have inspired you or, at the very least, affirmed that you’re definitely not alone when the world within and around you is in turmoil. I have also written in the Notes app on my phone and poured my thoughts and feelings into journals, a practice that kept me from losing myself after I lost my husband.

The ability to externalize and articulate my feelings without fear or shame: This is my gift to myself.

I’ve grown to love those Instagram accounts that post inspirational messages, as cheesy as they might be. Recently, I started saving the best ones I’ve come across into a private folder I named “self-confidence boosts.” Reading them hurts sometimes because they remind me that I know what to do, though can’t find the emotional fortitude to do it. So I’ve leaned on my lifelines, the friends who listen to me, love me for who I am and aren’t afraid (because they know they have my permission and trust) to speak their minds.

I’ve stuck to my daily meditation practice, the hot yoga classes, the heavy lifting at the gym. I’ve made it a habit to pour myself and my daughter a hot cup of chamomile tea before bed and use the time it takes for us to drink it to talk. Last night, we cried together, laughed together and hugged each other tightly. She’s a constant reminder that I’ve created someone amazing and that alone is all the reason I need to be I’m immensely proud of myself.

We all struggle. We all cry — and laugh, sometimes while crying. We all question ourselves. We all give up sometimes and, sometimes, we fall and don't feel like we can get up. Yes, we can. Yes, you can. Yes, I can.

Writing is my power. What is yours?

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Reach out to me if anything I’ve written moves you.

Share your story with me. I’m listening.

With love and purpose, always.

Fernanda.