Letting go and touching grass

A personal essay

The sky seems a little brighter lately.

Maybe it’s because I decided to deactivate my cesspool of a Facebook account and purge myself of its incessant advertisements, artificially “intelligent” video slop, people I no longer wish to keep up with, ardent fascist and CEO (and certified lizard person) Mark Zuckerburg, and the sense of FOMO the social media site evokes for (most) likely all of its users. I also deleted Snapchat, and plan to simplify my life in other ways.

Maybe it’s because in the wake of recent relationship woes, I have finally found the courage to embrace the stillness within. My body still quakes with terror at the notion of reaching my arms out at night to embrace nothing but air, and (maybe) my cat, but this perceived lack of safety can be undone. The brain is more plastic than we give it credit for. If anything can be trusted, it’s physics:

Every action has an equal an opposite reaction. The universe is a mirror. What I seek is seeking me. What is no longer in my life no longer serves a purpose. It was merely a lesson to be learned. It is now time to let go and embrace the uncertainty of both the present ant the future.

That is why I titled this essay “Letting go and touching grass.” Put down the black mirror and see what happens.

What I already know is that I find stillness in the color green. I find it in the sun. I find it in the warmth of an embrace from a loved one. I find it at concerts and in sad songs. I find it in the midst of deep conversation with friends. I find it when I plant my feet in the sand at beaches, and let the water hug my toes whether its cold or warm. I had the opportunity to do this on a recent trip to California. The Pacific Ocean, that primordial soup, reminded me of what’s really important, and why I should keep going despite my inevitable decay.

Now, my journey is finding stillness inside my own body, and without external reassurance or stimuli.

This has been the life-long journey and challenge of monks and the most whimsical of philosophers. But that doesn’t intimidate me. There’s not much that does anymore. This is because of trauma and grief that would take 500 posts on this app to explain.

Here’s what I will reveal: I have always thought of “Emilie” as an abstraction. There is a “self” that exists, but it does so in the image of others. It performs, appeases, people-pleases, and eases. What has dwelt inside is a shadow; a perceived void absent of any light, soul, or heart. It’s a demon that acts like an angel.

My therapy practitioner has invited me to start questioning what this shadow wants. How does it manifest? When does it emerge? What does it feel? What purpose does it believe it serves?

Without trauma-dumping, the shadow emerges when it feels invalidated or dismissed. It’s purely angry, and wants justice for how the body it inhabits has been wronged. For most of body’s life, shadow has existed as a protector. It has grown to become suspicious of new connections, even if they are objectively good for body.

But shadow can put itself to bed now, because it’s time for Emilie to take the helm.

Shadow can let go while Emilie touches grass.