Hot Buttered Toast – Clear + Appear

Something happened the day I turned 40, which I have spent the last three years trying to make sense of...

Without a creative outlet, a creative person withers.
There’s a reason we scrawl on walls. Or begin to climb them.

Photo by Annabel Rose on Unsplash

Today’s letter, another rough and tumble stone, from my heart to the page.

Navigating painful shifts in my personal life, though they feel as natural as growing… a long time coming… decades in the making.

The day I turned 40, I awoke with a fire in my belly. Desire. Hunger. A primal gnawing, wanting to be free. In the quiet of my closed-door room, I rocked myself to release… a flood of heat, bursting banks, that ended in a sob, unstymied. I cried for an hour. Sodden sheets, streaked cheeks.

I cried not because I’d turned 40. I love growing older – love the process of watching my children shift and stretch and shimmer, for as long as the goddess grants me a place by their sides.

I cried because I felt so utterly, achingly, deeply lonely.