I’ve got me

The word sensitive in Hebrew is רגישה (Regisha), the same root of the word ‘to feel’ which is להרגיש (Lehargish). I love this connection, as I’ve always felt that the reason I am sensitive is because I feel things too much. 

A lot has happened since my last entry.

Omri and I broke up, marking the end of a 4-year relationship to a person I thought I would marry.

Iran sent ballistic missiles into Israel for two weeks straight, bringing destruction, fear, and tragedy to an already war-torn nation.

I am searching for apartments and starting a new life. A new beginning.

To say that I have whiplash would be an understatement. But the rate at which I am growing is immeasurable.

29, you pesky minx. Of course I needed to go through this on the buildup to my 30th birthday. It’s my Tikun (my soul’s work).

I’ve been really into Kabbalah lately, most commonly known as ‘Jewish Mysticism,’ but what I have come to understand as the underlying truths of the universe, and how to harness a connection with the divine. The word Kabbalah in Hebrew literally means ‘receiving,’ which is fitting when you understand that the goal of all Kabbalistic teachings is to expand yourself in order to hold more light. This can mean different things to different people. For me, it’s soul work, turning pain and challenges into opportunities for growth and expansion, finding your mission on this Earth, and living so aligned with your unique purpose that you literally glow, shining your light from within.

……

I wrote the beginning part of this entry almost a month ago, when I was doing everything I could to lift myself up, to survive. I realize that I was constantly in motion, just trying to keep it together. I’ll admit, it was probably the hardest month of life I have ever experienced. But it feels different now that I am no longer in the thick of it. I decided not to take any of the apartments I saw, none of them felt right. Instead I am subletting from a friend while she’s abroad, and pausing on everything that has happened, reflecting.

I find myself in a moment of mourning. A mourning for the life I almost led, the loss of a best friend, and the intimacy and love we spent the last 4 years creating. Most of all, I am mourning the part of myself that was broken, that was so disconnected from itself that it needed to shatter, to literally self destruct in order to become whole again.

But I’ve realized that is this is the process of transformation. And it’s a good thing.

I feel very aligned with the Jewish calendar, as we are entering the month of Av, a month of deep pain and spiritual disconnect, since this is the month when the 2nd Temple was destroyed. It marks a time in history when we lost a connection to the divine, and the intensity it holds reverberates every year. And damn, do I feel it. I’ve never felt so completely demolished and drained. It also happens to be summer and the heat is so utterly debilitating that even just standing up takes immense effort. But it’s not about falling into a depression, and crying because we lost something. It’s about alchemizing the pain, and turning it into something else, something that can elevate us.

It seems impossible at first. How can we give up this love? How can we dismantle the home we’ve built? How will I survive here by myself? I’ve never felt more vulnerable. Last month I cried every day and tried to be ok, even when I wasn’t. But I survived. And I am still surviving it, and every day I am stronger, more myself, because I know so clearly that this was the right decision. For the first time in a very long time, I am listening from within.

As I rebuild my life from scratch, the questions I am asking myself are: “How can I build a temple within myself? How can I be the builder of my destiny? How can I channel light and love and faith to push me forward to be better, stronger, and more aligned with my soul than before?”

I’ve become really into plants, and have been propagating leaves I find from all over the country. It’s incredibly rewarding how much they grow. It’s a lesson in patience, and in faith, because once you plant the roots in soil, you don’t see the tiny incremental changes, you only see the big ones, like when a new leaf forms. But the real work is hidden beneath the surface, and this is the part that we cannot forget. The growing pains are an essential part of the process. Although it sucks, pain is the fuel that pushes us to create something new. If only we choose to see it that way.

To transform your life, sometimes you have to shatter. But the process of picking up the pieces, of making a mosaic out of the destruction is the thing that allows more beauty and light to come in. The result is not what gives something its beauty. It’s the process of putting it together. It’s facing the challenges, being patient, and having faith that there is good hiding beneath the surface, waiting to emerge like a seed of possibility.

Good things are coming.