I wanted to have this planned out in advance, to not be writing it day of.
I wanted to write it when I was feeling good, strong, hopeful.
I wanted to have it ready and scheduled out.
I wanted to write it with a voice of encouragement.
I wanted to have it be something different.
I wanted to write it while I was wearing purple lipstick.
But reality is a little bit different.
I am poured out.
I am broken open.
I am lacking.
I am exhausted.
My expectation was that this weekend would be a chance for me to breathe; that I would be with friends, translate a little Spanish, laugh a little or a lot, catch up on reading, be out in nature, rejuvenate - or something. Instead it has been nonstop translating and editing, trying to get out in front of the seminars, focused entirely on my computer, alone and inside, and breakdowns.
Not exactly what I would consider a retreat.
There is no one to blame. It was a culmination of miscommunications and the state of where I am personally in life. And there have been good things: hearing from a darling friend who lives far away, listening to her story and pain and uncertainty; being immersed in Spanish again; walking in the dark under the stars, watching them shoot across the sky; wandering through the woods on my way to and from the cabin, being with the bunnies and the bats and the birds; listening to my fierce and strong friend share her story of abuse and give courage to so many other voices.
When I think of all the good parts, it makes me feel guilty about how tired I feel, about how depleted I am. As if it makes me ungrateful to be this beaten down. But with every deep breath or tear, I push that out of my mind. I just am exhausted and don't need to let guilt press in on top of that.
I am facing the future in small increments. This moment first, the rest can wait. I need to slow everything down and focus on this moment.
And that has to be enough.