The ashes of old story.

What would happen if I decided not to write about my struggles.  How things were unfair, how people hurt me, how I would often find my self in situations or relationships where hurt happened.  

What would happen if I decided not to continue the stories?  My history unfolded over and over.  Spread across so that I can see what and how I did it wrong.  How I'll never be enough.  And how my real, slightly wounded self is the problem.  Even, how that exposed wounded-ness made others leave me.

How would it feel if I changed the story and stopped blaming myself.  I could.  I could try by refusing to take on the blame for others too. And how quick and willing I've been to take the blame or the fall just to keep the peace.

What if I just changed that story? 

I think I might even be strong enough to admit that my part in this is that I haven't quite fully grasped myself worthy.  

What would it be like if I just crossed off my list as "done" the constant need to make sure people are okay with me.  

What if I left these things out of the life script this time around.

What would it feel like if I started a new story?

A new story is emerging.  The need to be seen, accepted, "liked" are fading off into the distant past...to some place where only dust and ash remain.

That fire has burned.  I have put flame to it too many times, letting go in small handfuls because it was so damn hard to change my ways.  
No more resurrecting the fragments.  They want renewal.

Let what has been released be released for good.  

No more.  

No more.  

I am worthy.  I am worthy for this moment.  

I am worthy of this possibility.  I am worthy of so many possibilities.

And so are you.  New stories are worth your breath for life, rebirth.