point a to point b

wake up so softly that you can’t tell when sleeping ceased and consciousness seeped in. don’t be surprised that you are okay. do be surprised to find a message from him on your phone asking where he can buy kale. realise maybe he needed you more than you needed him. he needed to realise he wanted kale in his life. write back. then let it go. don’t tell him you’re letting him go. don’t tell him it’s not because he’s not worth holding onto. that confessional urge has dissolved. you know that this is part of being a woman. you do not need to prove that you are okay.  tell him without telling him that you’re sorry you’re okay. it’s not him. he is good and beautiful and you could have loved him deeply, but you’ve explored every back alley of the alphabet and you know your way from point a to point z off by heart. you get where you’re going much faster if you know where you’re going and you’ve got no space in your life for someone who doesn’t want you.

you are the sofia. accept it. this is an excruciating role but it is crucial. excruciation is crucial (look at the letters). you are the one that makes them need kale. you are the teacher. you are the one that dies. and this is a gift. you wouldn’t be this person if you couldn’t take it.

GENDER: Feminine
OTHER SCRIPTS: Σοφια (Greek)
PRONOUNCED: so-FEE-ə (English), so-FIE-ə (British English), zo-FEE-ah (German)  
Sofia is a female name derived from σοφία, the Greek word for “Wisdom”. The name was used to represent the personification of wisdom.

this is what happened.

he came and the two of you stayed in bed for twenty-four hours. somewhere near the beginning you started talking and somehow you broke up. but still, you both stayed in bed for the whole twenty-four hours, fused, even when you cried, and when your bodies unravelled in sleep, he grabbed you. you watched a movie that rattled both of you in different ways. you kept saying, i’m the sofia. i’m the one that dies. in the morning he said, i don’t want to stop holding you. and you were confused again because this isn’t the first time a man has held you with one arm and pushed with the other.

you called a friend (those lifelines are unconditional and infinite) because you were wild with hurt and you were worried you’d start weeping on the tram. you said i’m not even tired of this happening. that’s how many times it’s happened. you saidbut i am so tired of falling in love, always soclose but never really in it. always allowed to dip my feet into lakes of love, just enough to remind me what it’s like to be drenched with intimacy, and then i’m back on dry land, alone, with all these holes where people used to be. 

you wanted to have a tantrum. you wanted to say, but you told me i had a reason to stand still! don’t. instead you said, how was your flight? oh you made a new friend? how lovely. you didn’t say, i took a shower but i still smell like you. i brushed my teeth but i can still taste you. i’ve stripped the bed, but making it overwhelms me and the notion of a naked mattress doesn’t horrify me right now (there is almost a perverted pleasure in sinking to such despair).

but maybe he is too young to know about the frenzied kind of grief that has you crying until you throw up. i know you, he said. you will try to find a way to blame yourself for this, the way you’ve done with everything else. but i won’t let you this time. this isn’t happening because of you. you hated him for saying the right thing when you were trying so hard to hate him. you said, i hate you so softly that it sounded like love. you didn’t ask him if he knew what it’s like not to want to exist. you didn’t admit you know why people want to kill themselves and it’s not because they want to die but because they don’t want to exist and you know that dying and not existing are not the same thing. he knows this about you.

you stood in front of the mirror and burst into tears, your eyes bulging slits, your cheeks pink and hard, your mouth bending ugly, saying again and again, i don’t deserve this. later, you wailed under the naked duvet, grateful that tears aren’t countable because the number would scare you.

you didn’t turn off anything, the laptop, the light, because you were afraid of being engulfed by grief in the dark. you tried not to try not to think about it because the trying gets you thinking about it. remember telling him, there is not a single consistent man in my life; only the women stay.

then you reminded yourself to trust the universe. you didn’t hate yourself when that trust didn’t make it hurt any less. you didn’t hate yourself at all. remember him saying, it’s difficult to like someone who doesn’t like themselves, and you were confused (maybe you’re not quite there yet).

the thing is, you do trust that you can handle everything life gives you. trust life. acceptance eases much suffering. yesterday the shock bred pain. but if you trust life, if you trust that every disappointment is a necessary pebble in the mosaic of you life, then you don’t need to suffer. everything that happens to you is for the better. pain is inevitable. accept. let go. flow.

hold on tightly, let go lightly.

obstacles are just pebbles for your mosaic. every x is  pebble. wisdom is seeing someone as a pebble instead of the whole mosaic. you are the mosaic. you are the sofia.



Everything is always the same and yet everything is always changing in thousands of ways: obvious and obscure, giant and invisible. Like drifting on a lilo at sea, looking up at some point and realising you’re actually pretty far away from your umbrella. I’m tuning in to this flow. I can feel the energy gush inside and around me. Is this what it feels like to be alive? I can’t believe I didn’t realise (again) that I was depressed. It’s such a sneaky little fucker. But I’m okay now. I’m something better than okay. I’m strong again. I’ve been talking to my mother and she thinks I’m hilarious. I work with women who appreciate my gentleness, who think I’m wise. I have been pulling up courage to smile at  strangers on the street, and it’s beautiful. I tell myself I’m sexy even if my body’s not ‘perfect’, I say thank you for fucking everything.

Editing Student Alert.
Thats sounds as if Im grateful for having sex with everything.
Actually, at the moment, I am not sleeping with anything. See, I’ve been getting shit together since November but my boyfriend was away and he didn’t see it. He snapped and let me go and that’s a shame but it’s okay. This is a lucid heartbreak. Sometimes the grief rumbles through me so hard I can’t breathe. Most of the time, I tuck him away and go to work and laugh and play and meditate. I love him and this sucks but what’s a girl to do? I’ve come home to myself after a long spell away and the furniture’s all different. I can either wish for the old stuff back or I can sit down and see how I like my new goddamn chair. I have been suffering for over a decade and I kept wondering why, wondering how much more. I don’t want to be in pain anymore. The conspiracy theorist in me suspects that The Universe is trying to challenge me. Happy? Here’s a break-up, kid. It hurts, sure. But the truth is, I know that he left my life because he taught me what he needed to teach me. I don’t need him anymore. He wanted me to toughen up. But I am tough even when I’m fragile. Sometimes, I need to be taken care and I’m okay with that. I understand the power of vulnerability. I understand that it’s my sensitivity that makes me strong. “It’s easy to be strong from a distance.”

The word this year is OPEN. Since practicing openness, I have been flooded with love and by it. It is so important to surround yourself with people that connect you to who you are. The truth is that he didn’t make me feel good and since he left my life, all these butterflies have flown in

This is not a post about a break-up. This is a post about flow, about letting go. This is a post about faith. I have the foresight that everything makes sense in hindsight. I cannot steer everything in my life, and one of those things is love. What I can do, is choose how to view life’s unfoldings. It would be easy to see the obstacle; it would be easy to pretend that he just doesn’t love me anymore, that maybe he never loved me, instead of realising that love is complicated, that sometimes you need to be patient. But I choose to see the opportunity: his withdrawal from my life will leave me open to unforseeable opportunities. I choose to understand that sometimes it’s the wrong time and all you can do is hope that you’ll get your shit together at the same time in the future.

And so it goes with everything: red lights remind me to be patient. When I’m grumpy at work, I remember that I’m lucky to have a job. When I feel fat, I run my hands over my scars and I apologise for being unappreciative of its endurance. When I watch Law and Order instead of writing my thesis, I forgive myself and try harder the next day. Everything is an opportunity, regardless of whether it was our choice to begin with. And, you know, Rainer Maria Rilke. Always.