As much as I practice suiting up and showing up there is still a melancholy that follows me like dirt off Charles Schulz’s Pigpen.
Thoughts are just thoughts, feelings are just feelings. Those uncomfortable experiences aren't directives to act. They aren't even real.
Ghost stories are not based on the realities of my actions but simply imaginings of my intentions intended to slave me to the mast of someone else's emotional shipwreck. Letting shame go will cut you from the mast and make you the captain of your own destiny.
Today I recognize my choices for what they were—an unfortunate and unskillful habit of treating how I felt like a directive. I realize how often, in intimate and vulnerable relationships, I responded with a habituated neurological urge to pursue what I considered comfortable feelings while avoiding the discomfort.