So yeah. I haven’t blogged. Wedding season is kicking into high gear which means it’s a touch cray around here … and then there was that bit of an emotional crisis that involved me running on a treadmill while listening to Tool cranked as loud as possible. Tears streaming down my face. Gulping air in big, sobbing, laughing, bursts while also managing to cry-sing Lateralus as if my life depended on it.
“Wtf is wrong with me?!”
I’m at a place in my life that is so good. I have everything I want.. yes? A fulfilling business with clients I love; a mind-blowingly kick-ass 8 year old; a partner that get’s me but at the same time doesn’t define me -nor I him; a little house that I bought myself, birthed my child in and that I adore; I am healthy and happy and working on my shit…
So.. what the fuck is making me so sad? Why am I crying? Why am I afraid? What am I afraid of? Am I afraid?
Am I crazy?
Okay, for real… could I be a little crazy?
Maybe I’m hormonal…
I can feel this bubbling, dark stuff wanting to come out.
Push down. Distract myself. Let’s check out Vestaire and see if we can find that obscure vintage Celine bag we’ve been dreaming about…
Let’s make coffee.
A salty tear hits the grinds which will save me from having to put a pinch of salt in –which btw is a secret to an amazing pot of coffee #silverlinings
It seemed I couldn’t escape this weird, homunculus/golem thing that was wanting to come out… so eff it, I put on my sneakers and hit the treadmill.
The tears kept coming.. the music pulling out even more.
This isn’t like me. I’m not a fan of feelings. I’m not a wallower. I don’t like sad music.. not even after a breakup. Cuz.. feelings. Cringe. I don’t like reliving my past or even talking about it for that matter. It’s just not a thing I do. I fall down, dust myself off and move forward. As if the past never existed. As if that other Shauna never existed. Just a very dim memory. I compartmentalize. I become a new me.
Well, it seemed a particular old me was knocking at my door. More like, she had her hands wrapped around my heart and was squeezing as hard as she bloody well could. YOU’RE GOING TO FEEL SOMETHING, BITCH! LOOK AT ME.
And in that moment, I decided I would.
I got off the treadmill and headed into the nether regions of my basement while wiping snot from my face. Where old bins and boxes are stacked with all sorts of treasures and oddities. Aleister Crowley books mixed in with Nikon lens boxes and broken fans and old cans of paint and the snowboard that was an interesting idea but that nearly killed me.. and two, ripped plastic shopping bags filled with an old version of Shauna that I don’t think about very often anymore.
I’ve somehow managed to keep her perfectly separated from my current self. Or so I thought. This other life of mine involved drug addictions, living on the street, physical and mental abuse and isolation so extreme that I found myself living on another continent for 12 years with little to no communication with my family… or well, anyone for that matter, save a few random junkies and doctors. I even spoke a different language. She is so different from who I am now that most people wouldn’t even believe it if I told them… What my life was. Where I came from. Who I was. Who I am.
But.. it’s still me, isn’t it? I’ve always said, that as painful as those years were, I wouldn’t change them. They made me who I am. It was an adventure. But, if this were true… wouldn’t people know? Wouldn’t I talk about it? Wouldn’t I share that part of me? If for no other reason than to help someone else that might be in a similar dark place?
I got out. I survived. I didn’t die. And I made something beautiful of my life.
I did that.
But save for my family and closest friend (singular)… no one knows. Even those that think they know.. don’t really know. Maybe I don’t even know.
I realized I needed to face her. Not just face her I needed to bring her in and put my arms around her and not be separate from her anymore. Because by doing this, I’ve been denying a part of myself. An important part. I’ve been hiding from not only the rest of the world, but ultimately, my self.
Maybe this is the key to figuring out what’s next. In exploring the reoccurring themes and patterns in my life, one thing that keeps coming up as the source of most joy and happiness for me, is sharing with people, connecting.. making people feel something. It’s why I take photographs… it’s how I built my business. Sharing. Making people feel something. So, why is it that connecting is the one thing in my personal life that I avoid more than anything else? That I’m afraid of.
I isolate myself to the extreme. I shut myself off save for my most immediate family. I say it’s because I don’t want to disappoint people… that I won’t be the friend they expect. That I won’t remember their birthday or to return their calls so they’ll end up losing interest anyway… I will disappear for big stretches and they won’t understand. They don’t understand me. I don’t belong.
Push away. Hide. Flake-out.
Being alone so much can make you feel a little crazy. It’s time to reconnect.
So, I’m going to start sharing here. With you. It’s a start. I’ll tell you about what I found in those plastic bags soon.
Maybe this blog won’t be about fashion after all.. or maybe fashion is tied in with what I’m doing now. It’s all about expression, right? I’m not sure. But for now, I’m just going to write.
see you next time