Merged with Jealousy

Table of Contents

• Essay; owning jealousy and Finding deeper meaning

  • YouTube; the source 'The Florence Given Show

  • REMINDER OF MORE WRITTEN MAGIC:

Owning Jealousy And Finding Deeper Meaning

So I just finished the first episode of the new podcast of Florence Given; ‘The Florence Given Show,’ and I loved it. Most of all I loved it because I immediately recognized being jealous. Fuck, she answers a few questions of when she herself realized that she was free to be herself, and I'm not stating here that Florence Given didn't go through any trauma or dark episodes in her fucking life. Because we are women… we all go through our own dark, messed-up periods, especially the women that are brave enough to call themselves out after being a period in the dark.

But I remember her telling us on the show a big reason for her to be free is how her mom was, that she was brought up in a house with leopard-print sofas, pink walls, and 1920s picture art of half-naked women hanging all over the house. And I noticed that I was crying. The jealousy hit so hard. There was a second that I thought: it's so fucking unfair!

I had this also last week when I was scrolling around Instagram (very dangerous by the fucking way). I was scrolling around Instagram and saw a family that is raising now three children on a free farm where also the animals live inside the house, the all look happy, and the house looked clean and it was a strange magic for me that I dream about of having as a childhood.
I noticed that I was crying there too, thinking how unfair it was that I had the soul contract of pain and misunderstanding and misalignment and emotional abuse, physical abuse, drama bonding, PTSD — and that was all before my car accident and my brain injury and chronic pain issues.

So I feel my life from a point of pain. I write essays about it, how you can make pain your lover, because I cannot escape the experience of pain. Wherever I go in the world, there will be pain in my body and the fucked-up brain that got broken by a car accident, and under that all the layers of my childhood traumas.

And it's very dangerous to — what is the word — compare yourself with whomever on this fucking planet. Because I have, of course, the knowledge of the fact that their inner world can be — not can be, is — completely different than I perceive their lives.

For example: I know a great guy in the city where I live in Italy. And in my opinion he has literally everything: a healthy body, work in the sector that he really enjoys, money from the family so he doesn't really need to work, a terrific house with a view on the mountains. And every time I see him and I ask him “How are you?” — he’s miserable as fuck and complaining about everything that is going on in his life.

So how you perceive somebody's life is obviously not how he or she perceives their own lives. So comparison is not the point that I want to point out.

It is more that you find in yourself — I find in myself now, after the podcast of Florence and what I recognized also last week — the part of darkness that I now move through is really letting go of the feeling of unjust… injustice.

Because let's also fucking face it: if other people look at my life, I have a dream life for so fucking many people (even my former self). I am privileged as fuck. I am fucking aware of this. And I celebrate it almost every day. (I cry a lot, but really; from grieve and aliveness)

I'm getting even now a ‘little bit’ emotional (snot). In this moment I'm sitting in a very tiny park that is in the square where I live. I moved to Italy three years ago and I have a coffee by my side, I have Django by my side, and I woke up without any alarm, free to write this essay and to listen to the podcast.

Yes, of course, I have very difficult body boundaries. I am not going with my car happily through Italy — I don't have a car. I can drive, but it's very difficult for me with my brain, fuck some days I can’t even walk. I will just get a lot of attacks. I have attacks on daily basis, some terrible, some small. It’s energy stealing and still: I had the possibility to move to a town that I love in the country that I really love, so that I do not have to go on holiday, because I am recently sitting within my holiday.

Even after three years, I'm still in awe about the fact that I am able to live here.

This lives together with the enormous amount of pain of having the feeling that I missed out because of all the trauma that I have been through. The idea that I don't work hard enough because I need to rest my brain. That I choose joy — learning to feel joy — instead of forcing myself on a screen to write with the knowledge that I will have yet another brain attack.

So I choose learning to find joy in the pain that continuously exists, instead of working hard and making pain literally the center of my life.

It is confusing me.
Let's say this.
Let's say this.

Anyways, back to the topic of experiencing the emotion of jealousy when you see another woman thrive with being herself. At least that is for me. I don't really care if she is successful in the patriarchic sense (although Florence Given is), but she came from a different spot, right? It is more the courage of truly accepting the human that you are. And this takes balls.

This is also the place where great women meet. Whomever you are inside of you, if you go deep there, you will live from the same frequency as the woman that you are jealous of. Because we meet each other in the space of power, in the space of courage, in the space of magic, in the space of frequency.

But I needed to address it because I think especially as women we are so bound to look at other women.

And I do not have a judgement about how people live their life. People must do whatever the fuck they want to do. I am not here to put my mind into negative thinking and pointing fingers and judging people for their choices and their way of living. I am just tired of this.

I am looking at the people that are thriving, that are happy, that are in their ways successful, that are owning themselves, that are stepping into the audacity that triggers other people with their freedom. This is my people. This is the people that I look at, listen to, and am happy to be a part of.

And the beautiful thing is, within this journey of this morning; listening to the podcast and deciding promptly to write an essay about… maybe the title is The Jealousy of the Authenticity of Other Women (I'm not really sure what the title is), then I went from the journey of:

“Oh, I wish I had a nice upbringing,”
“Oh, I wish I had fewer traumas,”
“Oh, I wish I found my voice way earlier than now, I am 40,”
“Oh, I wish I didn’t have pain all the time,”
“Oh, I wish my brain would just work better,”

…to the conclusion that we are already on the same level of frequency, authenticity, freedom — only she (Florence) is more recognized than me (which I have an opinion about because I am also fucking brilliant).

🗣️But realizing that everything that I wished for, that I did not have, is the reason that I am now sitting in this tiny park in a very small town in Italy. So that would mean that I would wish my life away.

And I'm not saying that I am not grieving over my pain on a daily fucking basis. Really, my life is a roller coaster. To have pain every day is a roller coaster. Your brain is obviously conditioned to run away from pain for saving your life.

So I am a multipolar instead of bipolar, you create a lot of defense mechanisms to run away from your own system. And within accepting the person that you are, you have to accept also those conditionings: that your nervous system is on edge, that your brain automatically wants to go into freeze, flight, or fight because of the pain that you experience.

It's contradictional. I stepped into a form of contradiction that really blows my fucking mind.

I think, going to the end of my writing, I realized — and this is what makes writing so fucking precious — you start with an idea of what you want to write about, and you are completely open and you are completely honest with yourself, and then you end up in a space where you realize: fuck, it’s raw, it's beautiful; I am learning.

Even when the brain wants to tell you that your life is completely fucked up, at the same time, in a different perspective, you live the dream life of another human being. And also that experience is felt within me at the same time of grieving my past self that only tried to survive in a broken body.

So yeah… I am not really sure if I made a point, and if I did want to make a point. I just recognize, speaking with my women, that we all find ourselves sometimes comparing ourselves a lot with other people, and find it unjust that we have to move through an amount of trauma that not a lot of people in the Western world are familiar with.

And of course you wake up sometimes — when you wake up again after 14 years with pain in your broken brain — that you try and think: “Hell, I wish it was different.”

I will not say that pain should be celebrated continuously. Grief is a big part of my life. I realized now that it will be until the end of my life.

I'm getting emotional again. But it will not stop me from learning to be the free woman that I am within the experience of my human being that I have in this lifetime.

I will fucking never stop. And I think that is what makes me.

 Source of this moments jealousy; Miss Florence Given

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