It's that time of year when I get extremely honest. Most of the time I like for this blog to be an escape, a sylvan haven, a place to dream. But, in this world of constant comparison with others leading to most of us feeling like we are living "less than" everyone else and never measuring up, I think it's important to peek behind the curtain now and then and reveal that we're all just people. We all have flaws, and troubles, nothing is perfect, and we are all broken and lost. That sounds rather bleak, I suppose, and that may not be you, maybe not at this moment, but in the past and again in the future, we all face "the worst." I have faced mine.
I thought I would curl up and die, sitting in wreckage of everything I loved and all my dreams. I didn't die and that seemed like the cruelest fate of all at the time. I had no idea how I could ever carry on. But, I did. Imperfectly. At times unwillingly. And I still am. One day at a time; one step at a time. Sometimes, it's two steps forward and one step back, some days it's sliding all the way down to the bottom of a hill I just climbed and having to start over. Sometimes, I sit and wallow in the mud at the bottom of that hill, but then I get back up and start climbing again, and this time I find myself stronger than before and able to climb that hill slightly faster than before.
I'm still just a loose collection of shattered bits and finely ground dust. I won't ever be the same. But, I am beginning to be ok. That does't sound like much, but to me it's a small sign of hope, and that's everything. A year ago, there were changes others noticed and told me "you sound more like yourself" and "I can tell you're doing better." But, I didn't see it. At some point, maybe it was only a few months ago, I began to see that things were changing too. I could see that I am healing. If I had my wish, I wouldn't be going through any of this, but since that can't be, I may as well find as many positive things to focus on as possible like the wisteria blooming.
You may have seen my wisteria posts a few weeks ago and if you're a longtime reader, you may also remember that I wrote a post four years ago about visiting the famous Wisteria Gardens in Japan. They were lovely and worth the trip. It was one year later, during wisteria season that a terrible thing happened that would cause me more pain than I've ever known before. Since then, each spring, seeing wisteria in bloom has served as a painful trigger for that event. This is my second spring at my hilltop home, but it's the first time I noticed that a large portion of my drive into the city is wreathed in wisteria growing wild all along the road. Maybe I chose not to see it last year. Maybe I just didn't have the right mindset to see it last year since my thoughts were constantly...elsewhere. This year I do see them and they're beautiful.
Yes, they still remind me of that person I was a few years ago, happy and innocent, and totally unaware of what was about to slam into my life and heart like a mac truck on meth. I can't forget it. So, maybe it's time to start remembering around that part. I love reading about the symbolism given to flowers by various cultures throughout history and as I was doing a little research about wisteria for this post, I came across this description from whatsyoursign.com wanted to share it with you.
"The wisteria meaning and symbolism speaks of love lost, but also of the ability for the heart to endure in spite of loss. How so? Because the drooping blooms are symbolic of sorrow in many cultures. However, its willingness to live regardless of sorrow is a testimony for hope. In other words, the weeping wisteria expresses sorrow, but it is also an incredibly durable vine, able to live (even flourish) through mistreatment and harsh conditions."
How perfect. How fitting that this flower--a flower I'd only seen once before and never really thought much about--should come into my life in a lasting way before the worst pain and sorrow I've ever known, and now instead of a trigger that forces me down a spiral of remembering and grieving, it can (if I choose to let it) be a symbol of endurance and hope in the midst of sorrow. And that is what I choose this spring, and the next, and the next, as long as it takes. I choose to keep moving forward, keep climbing back up those hills, keep getting up when I fall, keep enduring through the sorrow until hope breaks through.
Shopping info: Top from Shein, Love Me More Skirt from ChicWish
I can't remember a time when I didn't love Pre-Raphaelite art.John William Waterhouse has always been my favorite artist of the movement even though he wasn't really part of the core brotherhood. What I haven't always been a fan of is velvet. In fact, I have only owned one velvet dress up to now and that was given to me as a Christmas dress, handmade by a family member so I didn't really have a choice in the matter. I didn't mind, but I also didn't have any desire to own anything else velvet....until I saw this dress. As soon as I saw it, my love of the PRB trumped my apathy for velvet. This dress looks like it came dancing out of one of Waterhouse's or Rossetti's paintings and from now on, it may be my go-to dress for the Renaissance faire, but for the moment it was fun to play dress-up under these wild plum blossoms and pretend to be one of those ladies of Shakespearean plays or Arthurian legends that were so often the subject of my PRB favorites which fostered in me a curiosity to go out and read the stories behind the beautiful paintings.
