365 Days in the Bay: Weeks 3&4:The day I broke.

That day was today. Well it was Friday Feb 10th. A complete and utter break. The lowest of lows. The bottom of the barrel. I knew it was a new low because I cried soft tears. Then loud ones. Then no tears. Just numbness.

Today (Friday) was the day my heart gave in to giving up. And then I found my ID.

It was that kind of day. The day where slowly but surely, every decision I made had some type of fall out. The day where you spent the evening before dreaming about being at home and woke up to remember you have no idea where the nearest Target is.

 The kind of day where I went to the post office without my wallet, I couldn’t find work letterhead for official documents, people are continuing to ask me questions that I don’t know the answer to, I can’t get a hold of my best friend…and then I lose my work ID. 
Cue the waterworks. Snot bubbles.

I mean honestly…  I reread this now for edits and all I can think is “What makes those collective things feel so big? So overwhelming? So defeating? 

I hear this inner record playing. Reminding me that I chose this. That God presented this blessing of a west coast opportunity and I opted in. I hear people talk through their own situations and I think about how blessed I am. How dare I allow a lost ID to derial me?! The shaming starts, the depression rolls in, and I get that “it could be worse, and here you are, complaining” feeling and verbal confirmation in the pit of my stomach. 

The reality of this moment is that I have been battling me vs. me. No one else. At this point I have a decision to make. Are you going to embrace the severely challenging  work required of living a great life or are you going to freeze and go home? 

I see why people give in to giving up. I see why people take their lives. If you aren’t mentally prepared  or if you haven’t spent any time or been forced to build your resilience, life can seemingly have these moments of aggressive carpet pulling from beneath your feet… my feet. 

It’s the collection of the little things that make for the big meltdown moments. For me it’s the scale creeping up, or another failed housing search, or another email task as soon as you’ve completed one. Or crockpot meal failures that turn into pizza night that turn into food guilt, that turn into financial panic. WTH! Does anyone else’s brain seemingly kick into overdrive analysis out of no where?! I literally have to say STOP out loud sometimes to bring the spiraling to a halt. 

It’s these little things that pile up, and then you (I) lose your (my) ID and somehow that equates to I am a total failure. #lies

I shared this because these are the days I am in the boxing ring fighting with myself, no one else. 

It’s in these moments that I have learned that if I get still enough, stop sobbing enough, and listen close enough, Life seemingly and suddenly turns a new leaf.

I am able to think clearly and remember who I truly am.

I officially started my own business. I am a business owner and have an opportunity to build on something I absolutely love. Believe in the Journey is a real dream that I have actualized. It’s been my dream since I was 13 y/o. 

Dreams take time…commitment…and patience, Cierra.

I have a support system. All over this great world I have friends calling to check on me, friends and distant family in the area making sure I know I’m not alone. 

My Columbus pastor texted with information on a church family to reach out to. God stirs my spirit with hope…. right when the wheels fall flat off the wagon.

You are not alone, Cierra.

I have a chance to read these books I keep moving with me every time I move. I have a chance to practice everything I tell everyone else. I have a chance to dig my feet into this earth and breathe.

I am growing you, Cierra–helping you find your roots so that when the real storms come, I know you are planted firmly in who you are, and who I created you to be.

Today would’ve been my grandmothers 84th birthday. She cleaned floors on her hands and knees at my age so that my mom and her siblings could have a shot at more.

She fought, at 82 and a full 95lbs, for me to hear how much she loved me, how proud of me she is, and how much pride and joy I brought into her life.

Life is a choice. My grandmother chose to keep fighting for as long as she could; she was in awe of how life evolved from her scrubbing floors for a living to watching her granddaughter walk this earth with two degrees. From how her life  transitioned from barely getting by,  graced into her peacefully passing away in the comforts of her own home.

  My grandmother chose to keep fighting through addiction and through pain, and through lost. She fought for 82 years. How dare I think about letting go now. 

My mom misses her mother every single day. She keeps fighting because she believes in me and she believes that despite current struggles, her greatest battle is the one she is facing with herself. The one I am facing with myself. 

We are not alone, mom.

Mama would poop her pants to know I had the courage to move across the country; I hear her voice in every moment along the way…..You can do this, Cierra.

It’s time for me to fight for myself. So that at 82, or 92 or 102, I can reread this blog and remember that I didn’t give up. I fell hard. I busted up quite a bit of broken skin in some tough places…

But I didn’t give in to giving up. Not today. Not ever.

Rest easy Mama. I’m going to be okay…we’re going to be okay. 



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