Tag: England

Its just me sitting under the tree

Just let me be.

Let me be the girl with low self-esteem, the anxious, the overthinker. Let me be careful, let me be slow. Let me sit under the tree. 

Go, you confident Super-succeeder. Go, have your fun. I won’t steel your show in the front row. Go, enjoy your old-fashioned hero mentality. 

Let me sit and watch you win.

Let me be careful, let me be anxious, let me be slow. Don’t bother me, enjoy your bravery, your high self-esteem.

Just let me be the girl I want to be, the dreamer not the achiever. You can have it all, the money, the system, and success. 

I no longer even try to be part of it. 

Just give me my time, give me my space. I need my time and my space, to cry over the pain I caused in my body by trying to keep up with your measurements. I cry over the pain caused by all the years of not following my own slow, careful, deep thinking, imaginative, dreamy way of being. For the years I tried to rush to do things. To work, to achieve, to survive. The pain of this endless trying sits deep in my stiff neck and has closed my heart. 

But you, go, run, do. Have your money, enjoy your success. 

But let me be, let me cry. Let me cry out all the pressure built up in my body out of that childish need to fit in and to be loved, to be accepted. 

I don’t even want that anymore. And I certainly don’t want your advice – for how I must live, to fit in somewhere no one wants to live anymore. 

Let me be and try to do the impossible. Let me try to be authentic, true and honestly me.

The shadow of poverty, failure and cold toilets are hunting me. But still, let me try to be me. Not a product, nothing to sell. Just a bare soul to show. 

Just give me my space. I no longer want your recognition or your admiration. Just the space I never had. I need that space to fight against the ghosts from my past which still whispers in your goal-oriented, success-driven, old fashioned, deadly dangerous language into my ear. 

Just let me be, let me cry out, let me not manifest anything. Let me be the failure I choose to be because I didn’t manage to fit in anywhere. 

I am sorry for the pain I cause when you see me suffering. I am sorry for your pride being damaged. I am sorry for disappointing you. 

I am sorry I wasted my talents. I am sorry for the hours spent utterly unproductively, for the time I watched the sunset and sat under the oak tree. The hours in which nothing was sold, nothing produced only hours filled with tearful healing. 

I never thought I needed all my time, my strength, my talents just to create a space in which I can be and breathe. I never thought that half of my life is just cleaning up, is just fixing, just transforming trauma. I never thought my life would end up like this. It’s a shocker.

But don’t be shocked, let me show you the real work I do that nobody sees. Let me praise all these hours of endurance, let me enjoy the hours of loneliness. Let me enjoy the breathing into my pain and the reordering of my left shoulder. 

Let me be, let me be mad, let me scream, let me breathe, let me feel, let me express all the pain I endure in pretending to be normal. Let me express my truth. Let me talk about the uncomfortable, about my back pain, my neck, my closed heart, my disappointment. Let me be real. I safe my goddam sweet smile for later. 

Let me be me. Let me be powerful. Let me say it out loud that I don’t agree. Let me remind you that in being a non-productive being I honour myself and I create: I create a space for the future. 

I create a new way of living. Let me be; I am birthing new realities. 

Let me be a failure of the old, let me be a failure of a system no one truly loves.  Let me fail to have space and time to birth the new thing we are all hoping for. 

Give me my time to transform the pain of the old into the new. I do it for free, I do it for you and for me.

That’s success on another level, it’s purposeful beyond imagination. 

There is no master’s degree, no certificate, no timeline, and no budget plan. It’s just me sitting under the tree.

As long as I am alive, and I am breathing; I am transforming. Let me do my job, let me do the unseen, the unspoken, the deep woven. 

Get out of my space, let me create! 

my muddy, dark green freedom

What was I looking for when I decided to move to the land of wet, cold, and rainy Sundays? What was I hoping to achieve when I packed my suitcases with determination and flew here in a pre-pandemic easiness? But more importantly, what was I trying to escape from? 

I count myself very privileged to have the audacity to make life-decisions simply based on dreams and hopes.  Some years later, I am now walking the dogs through very wet and muddy, dark green park scenery: Isn’t this the freedom I wanted, only a little colder? 

It certainly feels like I am experiencing British life at its best. After the walks, I come home to an old-fashioned high-pitched tone of a boiling kettle; doesn’t it sound like my new definition of success?

Feeling the warmth of the oven, sipping on my de-caff while looking into a wonderful winter garden; isn’t this my goal? Isn’t it here in the stronghold of cosiness where my heart can heal, and I can stubbornly ignore my financial situation to allow myself to live a life of illusion? The illusion I created smells of fresh coffee, biscuits, and a hint of freedom. Which is, considering that we are living in a time where freedom has become debatable and reconstructed, quite a big achievement. 

Didn’t I manage to escape the world of predefined values, a world where opinions are needed and fired at each other as though on a battlefield? 

My sweet little rebellious life has a newly added sound of a snoring dog in the background and a view onto a winter garden. I marvel at my illusion – for a little while at least.  I wallow in the false feeling of freedom until I get reminded that money is still required in this world.

A love letter in times of crisis

My dear, dear beloved one!
I am writing to you in times of troubles, in times of big uncertainty and in a time of fear for so many.
Even for me, it’s difficult to keep on laughing. And I am the last optimist on the boat, described once by an astrologer as “you are still laughing even when the Titanic is sinking”. Believe me, the ship is sinking, we just don’t know on what ground we will hit.
But I am not here to tell you about my sorrows; I am here to tell you how much my love for you really means to me. The singing of your birds gives me hope, the blossom of the trees touches my heart, seeing your flowers bloom gives my joy and all the colours are lifting my spirit. And your fruits, oh god, your fruits they taste like heaven!
You, wonderful, strong and everlasting Earth. You are still standing and turning, continuing to be, watching our lives shattering and our little concepts of daily life falling apart. You, you do your big job keeping on turning in your own rythmen, you send us more sunshine than ever, you give us fresh air to breath. And trust me on this, everyone is now grateful for the air their breathing.
Your love is solid, our love in return is a bit immature. Or toxic, if you ask me. I am not sure if you are familiar with the concept of toxic relationships patterns; it simply means you hurt that what you love. And that’s exactly what we did, the last hundred years or so. I sincerely want to apologize for how we treated you, in such horrible ways. Honestly, I think you have every right to be angry. We are already sitting in our rooms, thinking of what we have done to you, to us, to your global community.
Dear beloved one, your power and beauty are undeniable; you can send us storms and viruses. You could just slightly change your speed, or the degree of your axes and we would either drop off like flies or burn like dust. Please don’t do that, give us a second chance and let us live her a little longer. I love you, we are loving you and we are ready to change, we are capable of learning new behaviours. We are even ready to go to therapy because we understand this relationship matters. It’s existential for us because we need you. Your fresh air, your sun, your fruits.
I know, it’s not very sexy to be soo needy, it might be a huge turn-off for you. But please, be patient with us, we are going through a crisis, we will adapt, we will learn, we want to make it right this time. We will cooperate and work it out, so we can have a healthy relationship in which both of us are thriving!
Thank you so much for your love, your existence then without you, we wouldn’t be.
Love of my life! I will love you until the rest of my days and not even death can tire us apart.
My biggest efforts, my deepest gratitude and my everlasting love will go to you!
Forever yours,
Therese
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written for the Earth day on the 22 of April 2020. #letterstotheEarth