Old Skins I

Eurgh, I feel the invisible skins of my past peeling away, shedding.

I know it’s always for the best, but this feeling is so uncomfortable. So frustrating. It makes me irritable and huffy.

But it makes me nostalgic and weepy, too. I’m stomping about the kitchen one moment, then sobbing into the dishes the next.

I shudder and jerk as my inner and outer lives grind towards closer alignment. I grieve as my self-perception must update, as my old self fades out; I’m not looking at the new version, new vision yet…. Not more than a peep anyway. I’m not ready.

I’m not ready and I don’t want it! I huff angrily.

There was more of the old me, that I could still be, I sob quietly.

I listen some more to the playlist I’m wearing thin. I fantasise about what if, what if, what if I just slammed the door and leapt out the back window instead. I rage, I cry, I cycle again.

… ahh, it’s okay.

I know it will all be fine. Wonderful, bright as the sun. Once I move through, once I can fully accept, embrace, surrender.

It’s okay.

I’ve been feeling this one building for some months now. I’m talking to people, I’m talking to myself, I’m leaning in to the process to make it as smooth and conscious as can be. It’ll happen.

If I had to guess (and it gives me some small relief to imagine a boundary), I’d say I’ll take two months more to really break through.

To look myself in the eye, to accept who I was, who I’m not anymore, who I am, and whoever I will become after that.

It is okay.

When I’m ready.