What happened here?

One of my favourite authors Glennon Doyle Melton posted on her Facebook page, “there is this moment when every warrior woman looks at herself in the mirror and says: “what happened? Where am I??? Who am I?? OH HELL NO.”

Yup, I definitely had the “What happened?” thought. And I had the,  “How did I get here? Do I even like it here?” thought. And, of course the thought that hits us most like a sucker punch to the low gut, “Who am I now?”

Yup. I had those. Welcome to the club, right?

I, however, didn’t have an outstanding “OH HELL NO” follow and explode from my voice box after those thoughts surfaced. There was no confident loud, “enough!” from my soul or my spirit. There was no fit of passionate furry in the moment, where I picked myself up and just went to town on my situation, to figure shit out.

It was more like, me peering into my own tired and sad eyes in the mirror and quietly thinking, “I dont want it this way anymore. I’m tired. I’m tired of this being my life. I want to go back and reset. Reset and erase.”

Wimpy. Sad. Quiet. Not very powerful and no real massive earthquake of emotion. Just kind of there.

It was tiny, but that, that was still my moment.

My shift.

A tiny shift in awareness where I begin to accept I was not living a full life. This tiny shift in power and position was enough to put me in the line of thought which had a voice. A voice that suggested I could go back to being who I was before I got lost. I could go back to doing the things I use to like to do before society and tasks and hurts and struggle of life slowed me down. Just because I stopped existing intensely for awhile didn’t mean I couldn’t start over and relight my light.

I guess, thats all it takes sometimes. A whispering voice that is willing. The volume might be turned down on the powerfulness of the yes but willingness is there still, just the same.


It’s like back in elementary school, remember? When the teacher calls on the class to raise their hands to share the answer. The little girl in me, her hand hesitates. It goes up a few inches, before it creeps back down a few inches… up and down, up and down… until eventually its slightly inline with her face. There is no waving and bouncing to be called on. Her eyes look down, because she isn’t sure if having her arm up to answer the call is something thing she wants to commit to. But she knows that she knows the answer.

I feel like thats me.

I am seeing that I have a call to answer to.

Do I raise my arm to tell my teacher, I am here and I am ready to answer?

Yes. Yes, I do.

*raises arm*



I’m back.

With love, hugs, and butt slaps…



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