If you don’t have anything nice to say, then don’t say anything at all.
I don’t really have anything nice-as in rainbows and sunshine- to say. That’s not totally true, but I feel like if I start talking, the not nice stuff is going to spill out.
I’m in a low, of the highs-and-lows, of “life transitions.” And I don’t want anyone to tell me it will get better. And that I should be doing “XY&Z… it will really help.” I know and I know.
I’m making a new place my home. As time goes on, I am forced to dig deeper roots here, and by consequence, pull up deep roots in other places. So this “low” is more of a mourning. Mourning of leaving some of my favorite places that were home, and making a new, as of now, slightly less favorite place home. So, I just want to let myself mourn and be sad. There is no making it better. It’s a bummer thing to have to do. Good things will come, blah blah blah. I know, as in I believe that deep within my soul, and I am so thankful for those precious treasures birthed by pain. But that comes after this.
I am breaking the silence… my life-is-hard-and-weepy silence. It doesn’t mean I’m over it. But at least now I don’t have to worry about it spilling out, catching you off guard in a horrifying manner. It’s spilled.