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when she finally leaves, you will not want to let her go.
when she finally leaves, you will not be ready.

no matter that you thought you were fine
no matter that you thought you were moving on
and even healing and shit.

sometimes the heart plays tricks like that

when she leaves you’ll know better.

and no matter how much control you like to wield
over the proper folding of the towels
and the direction the toilet paper goes on the roll.

you won’t get to have a say in this one.

you’ll want to think that you’ll handle it with grace
but you won’t.
you’ll ugly cry.
you’ll drink too many whiskeys and not eat near enough food.
you’ll beg. and plead and send ill-advised texts and show up at her doorstep
unannounced and uninvited
your hopeful heart an earthquake, ready to take the house down to the foundations

you will not drive away happy.
you will drive right over your heart, splayed on the hot august pavement.
you will drive away not knowing if you will see her again.

when you get back to your apartment
make yourself some tea. add honey
you need to learn to give sweetness to yourself now
play all the songs that speak her name
sink into the sad like it’s the only home you’ve ever known
you’ll be living here a while
you might as well make friends with it.

don’t try to convince people you are trying to forget
when you are determined to not to let go.
when you’ve got a box tucked beside your bed
filled with two and a half years of love notes
and a hell of a lot of empty space
it’s okay to hold on for a little while
demons are not exorcized overnight.

but just a warning
what comes next is not going to be easy.

soon you’re going to have to forget her phone number
forget her birthday
forget the way she smiled at you first thing in the morning.
the way she said ‘sleep good’ and you bit your lip every time to keep from correcting her.
the way she poured a whole mug of coffee and barely drank any of it.

your memories will play tricks on you anyways
turning ordinary moments into magic.
and right now is no time for magic.

right now is time for hard truth
and tough love.

it will take a few times of ignoring good advice before the hurt is
deep enough for you to listen

please remember to be kind to yourself

listen
i know you don’t want to hear this
but stop texting her.
everyone will agree with this.
they will say that if you need to – you should get a journal and write your love letters there.
where she will never see them.
better yet. write them on your own skin and let them wash away in the shower
somethings were never meant to stay forever.

listen when they tell you that you are romanticizing things
listen when they tell you that it’s all for a reason
listen when they tell you that it’s for the best.

it doesn’t matter if it’s true right now
it just matters if you can believe it long enough to get through the night.

next:
change the playlist
change your favorite coffee shop
change the sheets
you deserve cloth that doesn’t hold the memory of her skin.

bolt the doors
stop waiting for the sound of her knock
it is not coming
she is not coming.

do you hear me – she is not coming.

walk alone at night and remember how safe you used to feel.
make the food she never liked to eat.
don’t go to the grocery store near her unless you know she’s at work
it’s too early to risk a run in with a ghost.
make new memories.
make new friends.
get a tattoo
get another dog
go dancing. go to the ocean. go to sleep earlier.

god knows, our bones could all use a little more rest.

and listen.
for real this time
stop trying to cram your heart into the hands of girls with clenched fists
stop trying to cram your heart into the hands of girls with open palms

there’s safe space somewhere between holding on too tightly and letting things blow away in the breeze.

someday you’ll learn this.

but or now, don’t even think of trying to give yourself to the next girl you see
she deserves better than your heart in pieces
she deserves better than your mouth still shaped into an echo of the past
and anyway, it’s time to stop being afraid of your own company

and cry as much as you need to
it’s okay to be all the way broken.
that’s the only way to let the grief do its holy work
so go ahead
cry so much that the rivers flood the oceans
and the forecasters announce that the drought is over

and then be done crying.
be done.

steady up girl
you are way better than this

_________

The post steady up girl {you are way better than this} appeared first on Jeanette LeBlanc.

back to the mat, no exceptions. fall asleep in savasana. cry in pigeon. laugh out loud in happy baby.

mascara and groomed brows, always.  red lipstick when you need it most. save your highest heels for the days you feel the lowest. wear clothing as costume. match it to your mood. always wear perfume, it helps you remember yourself. 

chin up. best foot forward.

find comfort in words and wine and the women who love you. cuddle sleeping children. leave your comfort zone, at least once a week. dance alone in the living room, at least once a day.

guyatri by candlelight. inhale. exhale. inhale again. do the work. do the work. do the work.

spin your hoop, your hips, your dreams. mountain top church every wednesday – never you mind the unmet dreams, you still can kiss the sky.

feet to pavement, music blasting in ears. forget everything but the run.

remember why you are here. remember yourself. remember yourself. remember yourself.

cultivate presence. become fierce about your autonomy. take long drives with the windows down.

bless everything, even your regrets. accept your regrets and allow them to teach you. welcome admiration but decline the pedestal. make friends with your unmet hope and allow it to guide you. kiss your solitude and allow it to work through you.

be infinitely tender. show up for others. live out loud. live as the personification of wide-open-vulnerable-crazy-free. stick your landings.

live in kindness. keep a prayer candle burning for someone at all times. give thanks, every day. practice intentional, loving touch. om namo guru dev namo.

tidy your space before bed. know it as an act of love. make your bed tightly with the brand new sheets. when your naked skin slides inside them for the first time, know it as a gift to yourself.

let the sadness flatten you. stay in bed until it lifts. do not rush your grief. do not rush your grief. do not rush your grief.

honor the divinity that is everywhere. get down with your inner badass. turn off your phone, and your computer and your mind.  find your heart center and send it compassion. see the holiness in everyone you meet. honor it.

know your worth. know your worth. know your worth. accept no less. become familiar with the space where compromise is unkind. nuture your exquisite loneliness. let it teach you.

light candles at every opportunity. touch your inked ribs lightly when you forget who you are.

let yourself be moved. seek out art. surround yourself with artists, creative, deep thinkers, high divers and earth shakers of all kinds. accept gifts offered with whole heart. even when such acceptance is difficult.  

stop behaving.

eat food that nourishes body and soul. cook with those you love. seek perspective. do not chastise yourself for believing and dreaming and trying. open yourself always to love.

know your body as holy, your want as holy and your shattered heart as whole.

continue to believe in lucky pennies, shooting stars and signs from the universe.

get rid of what does not serve. let go of what no longer feels like you – clothing, decorations, people. holding on just fills up space that could be put to much better use. hold tight to that which brings you to your highest realization of self.

ground your feet to the earth, at least once a day. reach for the sky every night. sit in the quiet darkness and let your mind go wild. find quiet peace in the midst of chaos. drink as many lattes as you want.

own your losses, wear them clean. write the letter. speak the truth. unleash your voice.

let the music be your mourning and your memory. let the music be your celebration and your reclamation. let the music be. let it wind it’s way through you. let it all wind it’s way through you. it will anyway, so don’t try to fight.

it’s okay if you fight.

remember your inherently flawed humanity exists nestled side by side with your inborn divinity.

forgive yourself everything.

and make sure you don’t forget buy a lavender plant. fall asleep with sprigs of it on your chest.  breathe it deeply, all the way inside.

it makes all the difference in the world.

The post Buy A Lavender Plant: 115 Ways to Heal Your Own Broken Heart. appeared first on Jeanette LeBlanc.

~~~~~~~

You wake up.  The sky is blue. The children laugh.  You forget to clear the breakfast dishes and the honey dries into sticky lacquer on the cover of the library book.  There are only hours separating you from the implosion.  You do not yet know this.  You may sense the approaching tempest, the remnant of some primitive instinct whispering losslossloss in the spaces just below the wind.  But you do not predict that this is the day.  You do not know to savor the aching sweetness of the final moments.  We never do.  Ignorance is not protection; this is the way of things.

But with a sharp crystal shatter it is done.  It’s a harsh slice, a vacuum of undoing.  Reality settles cold in the vastness of newly empty spaces. There you stand, dead center, eye of storm.  Face lifts to the heavens. Tender kneecaps find solid earth.  The body bends in a supplication that is the exact opposite of prayer.  Shrapnel of unwritten love letters spins the room round.  Scattered shards catch light and glitter with the fierce tenacity of things that will never be. It’s all slow motion now. There is a reckless beauty in the breakdown; this is the way of things.

You have stood here before.   You will stand here again.  In goodbye there is no first time or last time.  There is only this time, and the wrenching ache of it.   We are born with the knowing that this will come and come and come again.  The muscle memory of heartache holds no comfort.  Preparation is futile. Practice does not make perfect.  It is still – it will always be – gasping breath and primal howl and bleeding out from the places we hold most sacred.  The force of it will flatten, guaranteed.  Heartbreak has its own agenda; this is the way of things.

You pick up the pen, a desperate purge of words. You bleed letters now.  You always do when it comes to this. It’s a bitter end scrawl on neat lined paper.  You look down. Thick black ink seeps from pen, covering the soft pad of fingers, the raised veins, the curve of bone.  Darkness spreads across the page.  Your hand and just-written words are obliterated by stain.  It is fitting that truth flow has left body marked and words concealed.  It will eventually wash away.  The visible stain and the slow fade to forgetting; this is the way of things.

You stand later that night, on a street wet from rain.  Arms wrap around frail body, a desperate attempt to hold yourself whole.  Hazy streetlights glow, bone truth echoes in the damp night air. You look up into windows containing lives that could have been yours. But things fall apart.  Lives continue their trajectories without you. The heart gains new fault lines with each loss.  They slip against each other, and things fall down.   When the ground stops moving we patch things together as best we can. We are all earthquakes waiting to happen.  Parallel lives and the aftermath of disaster; this is the way of things.

And it finally comes, as it must.  That cry from your deep, ancient center.  The gash of loss. The frantic exile from skin and want and home. The full moon calls forth your grief song now.  Tear off your clothes, light fire to dreams.  It’s just you and the wolves and the unseen wild things.  The world spins on, – it always has and always will. But you belong right now to the exquisite otherness of loss. Give yourself over to it.  It is the only choice.   There is no place for you amongst the tame, pretty things. You must follow the spiral down.  The inevitable descent into the underworld; this is the way of things.

But dawn comes. Shadows lift.  You are shivering.  Naked.  Alone.  As alone as you have ever been.  The sun rises.   The earth’s waking rhythms are a call to rebirth.  From the ashes you emerge.  There is a tender ferocity about you now.  A solid core of strength at the center of grief’s deep well.  It is true, you think, that freedom is the only language our hearts know how to speak.

It is true that there are things in life that can never be explained to those who have not lived them.  It is true that loss is sometimes the only way to become more of yourself.    It is true that survival sometimes only comes from inviting a million different deaths. It is true that the first notes of that song will always transport you to a state of breathless worship.  It is true that you can be loved in a way that changes everything, and find that everything has remained exactly the same.   Layers of truth are always hidden in the folds of great loss; this is the way of things.

Your skin is a glorious road map of scars gifted by love and by devastation.   Your heart is inked with the essence of unspoken words and stories yet to find life.   Your breath will always remember what it was to love without translation. Your bones are the only things that know the whole truth.

The horizon calls to you now, speaks your true name. The name you were given by the universe the day you were born and the name that is whispered by the wind with every rebirth.   The name your spirit recognizes as belonging only to you. You walk forward as if compelled.

You walk eternally, hopefully forward.   This, always, is the way of things.

The post This is the way of things appeared first on Jeanette LeBlanc.

Oh, sweet girl. Come here and sit with me for a minute. Right here, this chair has room for two. Rest your head. Let me wrap you in my arms.  Close your eyes. Take a breath. Now another.

Let it go. Let the tears fall. Relax your shoulders. Relax your face. Let your heart unwind, just for this moment.

“Let us not forget, that we never stop loving silently those we once loved out loud.”

~Oriah Mountain Dreamer

You’d like me to tell you it’s just a matter of time, and then you’ll get over her and she’ll cease to occupy this space in your mind,  in your heart, in your life. And that might be true. It really might.

But there are some people we never really get over. It does get better, or at least it gets different. But there are certain loves that remain with us always. Places that ache for the things we left behind, all that won’t ever be ours again. And it ebbs and flows and changes and sometimes it helps to accept that some love really is eternal.

“When the karma of a relationship is done, only love remains. It’s safe. Let go.”

 ~ Elizabeth Gilbert, Eat, Pray, Love

As for your girl, the one who has your heart, nobody can tell you to stop loving her. And you cannot tell yourself to stop loving her. The heart loves what it loves. It cannot always have what it wants, but it loves what it loves. See if you can’t hold that close and steady and dance with it for a while until the ease finds you.

Yes, you love her. Yes, you might always love her.  And no, you can’t have her. Not right now and maybe not ever again. These things are all true and real and solid.  And there’s a sweet spot somewhere in the center of those truths where you can find peace.

Trust this. Know this.

That does not mean it won’t hurt and you won’t long and ache and cry for what you’ve lost. No, it doesn’t mean you can turn your back on the very real grief that lives inside of you. But if you find your way to living in that sweet spot – between grief and acceptance – welcoming the ache but not nurturing it, holding the angst but not feeding it – you’ll come to a different place. A place where you can find the path of opening your heart to another, or better yet – to yourself.

To be your own lover, in all the ways that you can be.

To be exceedingly kind to your heart, and your soul and your body and your spirit.

To know and hold all the ways and people and things that you love, all the loves that feed and sustain you.

To recognize what is toxic to you without judgment, to set aside what does not serve.

To know you can love, deep and long and hard and true, and still walk away to save yourself.

These are all tremendously difficult things. But worthwhile. Necessary.

Loving yourself first is the path to wholeness.  And from wholeness, we can open to loving others in fullness – even those who are not ours to have.  This I know to be true. And that this is good. You are good.  And yes, even this love you still have for her, it is good.

A beloved of mine once said this:

“Whatever you long for, even if it has no name, I would trust that. As you wind down and through this spiral may that longing inside you be guide and companion. And the only thing that can be said for reaching the bottom is that then you know where your solid ground resides”

~ Isabel Abbot

Trust in your longing. Even the part that longs for her. Because that is a longing for her, but also a longing for love. For that spirit or energy or spark that you shared that is about her, but not really about her at all. It is it’s own thing, and it exists in many different ways inside of many different people you will meet. And it will not be the same – no – it will be infinitely, excitingly, thrillingly different each time.

So let the floor fall out from under you. Nothing big ever happens, good or bad, unless the floor falls out first.

Let your longing wind you down through that spiral. And know that falling can be the most wickedly awesome and totally safe thing you’ve ever done. Down, down, down – and when you hit that solid ground you’ll know. And you might touch down softly, or you might land in an ungraceful thud. But land you will.

And then, when you’re ready, you can stretch your shaky legs, stand up, dust yourself off, raise your hands open, toss your head back to the heavens and say ‘Here I am. All that I am, and all that I will be.”

And your heart will still love what it loves.  And you will remember that was good in you, and in her.  And these memories will comfort and will serve you as you move through life, open to love – wherever and whenever it finds you.

The post Uncommon Sense: The heart loves what it loves appeared first on Jeanette LeBlanc.