(Monday. Tuesday.) I shed my true self. I am thrown to the side like an old coat. I hit a wall. I cry. I weep. I scream. I bleed.
(Wednesday. Thursday.) I fall. I fall, I fall, I fall. I hit the walls some more on my way down. And then, the bottom.
(Friday.) I feel the rocks beneath my feet. They are solid. I stand up. I use my tears to wash away the blood on my scraped knees.
(Saturday. Sunday.) I dance. I climb back up.
Weekends are for reconciliation. At Saturday’s first light, I come back. I forgive myself for the week’s numbing work. For abandoning my true self. I open up like a morning glory in the damp blue air of dawn.
I hike. I cuddle. I bathe in words—mine and others’. I breathe in and out, in and out. The air is different when I am me.
Traci Post is a copy editor by week. But by weekend, a good wife, a loyal dog companion, a hiker, a yogi, a meditator, and a writer. She has just begun blogging. You can also find her on instagram under the handle @lovelymess.