I've carried so much shame for all the things I don't finish in my life.

I’ve finished so many things because I was so ashamed of not finishing them.

I’ve judged others for not finishing things.

Placing myself on a high horse. Up high. Safely away from from those not good enough to finish things.

But you know what?

And to think I was worried that after a big emotional process, a deep healing of some wounding, and the nurturing to care for myself in the days that followed, that I then wouldn’t be able to write with emotion again.

Coming to believe that writing with emotion was only reserved for those deep, intense wounds.

And of course, as I got closer, things shut up: I was just scrolling socials for 5 min.

I hear the voice…

I see her. Standing at the window. Looking out. A deep longing in her heart.

Confusion.

Hope.

She doesn’t understand. She doesn’t even know.

I don’t know this until years later.

I don’t really have this memory. This a memory that has been given to me on the journey to understand. To fill in the blanks.

If I run faster, be better, will you love me? Will you look at me like that?

IFS prioritises us speaking for a part not from it.

Maybe this isn’t that. Maybe it is. But I think it’s possible to SOUND like I’m speaking from a part but be speaking for a part.

By making the choice to embody that part. Let it live. Let it say what it has to say then I can hear more from that part.

I will (no longer) force my parts to only speak in the way I determine is appropriate. Because that is just another part that has internalised a belief that there is a right way to do things. That to be valid and to be heard it must conform.

So with that…