Cristen Rodgers's Blog, page 6

Here I go Again

In matters of the heart I have never been able to settle on anything short of real.

Sometimes I get distracted, but nothing but true intimacy long appeals.

I need something that goes beyond.

Beyond the trappings of social norms and roles, dramas, wounds, or masks.

I guess I’m addition or quantum physics, depending on who you ask.

See, I want it all.

But, to me, that doesn’t mean words, or trinkets, singular experiences, popularity, or charm.

My endless struggle is that only in the right environment do I fully disarm.

To me, love is so simple. But it’s profound.

It starts in the middle and then it seeps out.

And yes, I have tried. I’ve tried to blend in with the colors of the room.

But I can’t force myself into any shape without it becoming a tomb.

I can only feel at home in a place where the foundations are real and they’re stout.

Held together with conscientiousness and intent, but built from the inside out.

I care about connection. I care about vibes, and presence, partnership, and harmony.

I care about sharing simple joys, like the wind and the stars, or the sun in the leaves.

I don’t need someone to take me anywhere, just someone who can meet me in the eternal right here.

But who else even knows what that means, much less lives anywhere near?

I’m not looking for a hero, just someone who can open up with me. Someone who can feel.

But who out there has the courage to look at things that aren’t shiny and bright? The things that are real.

I’m not searching for perfect, because I too am still learning.

I’m searching for someone who can dive deep, someone who can grow with me.

Somehow I keep landing in places where it seems I’m too fast or I’m too slow. And then hope leads me astray.

And I’m pulled off down some side road in a city of glitter and paint.

Where are the peacemakers, the healers and thinkers, the true?

Why is it that the more I heal and grow the less that real friends come through?

And so I wander on, alone in this place full of masks and dramas and toys and games.

Step by step, I’m losing faith that lightning will ever strike the same spot again.

©️ 2024 Cristen Writes

Morning Prayers

take good care of him

in all the ways I was not able

I’m but a flawed human

but you are more capable

only you know

what his soul truly needs

please grant him grace

that he may finally be free

Visceral Pain

You were my first.

Not my first kiss. Not my first love, or my first pain. You weren’t my first sunshine, or my first rain.

Not my first teacher it’s true, but you might have been the first to really get through.

Your lessons were like a hammer against the remainder of my pride. Your brand of love was just the poison I needed to retch the lies still hiding inside.

Again and again I was faced with my own brand of hypocrisy. Again and again I tried to run, but until all was revealed I couldn’t break free.

I may never know how much was love and how much was attachment to familiar shadows. I may never find words for just how deep the love and pain goes.

But what I know for sure is that so much was revealed. So much was forsaken, but just as much healed.

I walked in knowing, in a way, where this would lead. But you were the first to make me willing to see it through and let myself bleed.

The wounds are fresh again and so I choose how to tend them. A little girl was wrapped in scars, but this woman knows how to mend them.

©️ 2024 Cristen Writes

Mother Wounds

Every time you find yourself remembering what wasn’t there.

Every time you have a moment of longing for all that you wished she could be.

Lean all the way into it, then bring yourself back.

Grab a hold of it, that feeling of love and security, with the same desperation that you would have had it been there back then.

Dive into what you wished it could have been, then open your eyes to see that now it is.

The feelings are within you.

If you can imagine it, then it is already there.

The source may not be what you’d hoped for, but it’s a gift just the same.

To all of the sons and daughters who are in pain today, give yourself the mother that you wanted her to be.

©️ 2024 Cristen Writes

Lifetimes

No matter how many lessons I’ve gathered since that day.

No matter if I tell myself you’re better off, spin it the right way.

It’s true, besides you, I didn’t care for much of anything.

It’s true you knew better, and I had to learn so many things.

Lifetimes have come and past since I turned and walked away.

But in each one I look first for you, hoping that this time I stayed.

Most days I’m grateful, how it helped others by making me grow.

Some days still, I’m selfish, and wish that I never had to go.

©️ 2024 Cristen Rodgers

Courage

Courage.

So few people talk about how quiet it is.

The word sounds so loud. Like the roar of a lion or the thunderous clapping of a waterfall.

But courage, I’ve found, is quiet. And it starts out small. Like a single stilled moment in a whirlwind of thoughts. Or single statement uttered into the silence.

At first it’s just the tiniest seed. And the hardest part is trusting that it will even survive. Such a small thing in such a crazy world.

But something extraordinary happens when you make that tiny, quiet choice.

It grows…

©️ 2024 Cristen Writes

This is War

Ashes and dust clouds

of crumbled strongholds

floating upon the very air.

crimson trails of old blood,

fragments of broken ideas

are scattered everywhere.

armor cracked and bent,

arms and sword heavy;

it’s not me that’s scared.

heart and mind at the ready,

something deep inside knowing

that only the light will prevail.

©️ 2024 Cristen Writes

Hero

I didn’t wake up feeling like a hero.

Wrapped around a coffee cup, struggling to fight off the sleep still pulling at my eyelids and weighing on my shoulders, I felt more like the withering plant in need of saving. Waiting. Waiting for the sun to rise and energize again.

I didn’t feel like a hero, until the moth.

A little tiny grey winged creature, no bigger than my fingernail that rested on his right cheek. Him with tears running down his chin and his face all tensed up with fear that shook him from his dreams. Me with a red cape and the swiftness to catch our little winged intruder. With the superhero ability to turn that scary miniature bad guy into a soft and intriguing friend.

I didn’t wake up feeling like a hero.

But that precious little moment made me one.

~ Cristen Writes

What doesn’t kill you

What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, they said.

But it did kill me.

It killed my sense of self worth. It killed my faith in myself. My faith in love. My faith in the world. It murdered my hopes and crushed the seeds of any dreams under its heel.

Yes, I got stronger.

But not because it didn’t kill me. It did. But I rose again.

Not because of it.

I got stronger despite it. I got stronger because I was always going to get stronger.

What doesn’t kill you doesn’t kill you.

You get stronger because you are strong.

Don’t give the ones doing the killing any credit. Your growth is your achievement, not theirs.

©️ 2024 Cristen Writes

My Younger Self

So often I’ve heard people talk about what they would say to their younger self. And so many times when they look my way, expecting some deep and drawn out response, I stare blankly back.

Unsure.

Conflicted.

Because every time I come to the conclusion that I wouldn’t want to change anything. Even the things I would.

Because if it happened any other way, maybe both I and those I’ve known will have lost something.

Maybe just a pinch of early insight would replace wisdom with blanket knowledge and cost us something I can’t quite articulate, yet nonetheless feels important.

And so I just say “I’m not sure”, and let the topic pass on to the next person.

Yet, as I sit here now, in the quiet of my living room with my son asleep beside me, I know exactly what I would say to my younger self.

I would say that it all changes.

I would say hold everything lightly.

Don’t give it too much meaning, because in the end the things that seem so important now are like the blanket of snow just keeping the seeds warm. And in time you will witness the thawing and the warming, and eventually the spring and the blooming – and there you will find that nothing was as it seemed.

All that was once true has broken down and become something entirely different. Something much deeper. More refined. Potent. Pure. Real.

Where before it was about self, it becomes about others. And where before it was about others, it’s now about self.

Where once you sought out comfort, now you give it; and where once you looked for love, now you live it. Where before you sought reason, now you feel truth.

Night clubs turn into sunsets, and impressing turns to undressing. Striving turns to manifesting; seeking turns to teaching. Pride turns to humility, and fear turns to hope.

All that once was important slowly starts to fade, and is replaced not by new places, or things, or even goals, but by new levels and understandings and gifts.

Lightly, I would tell her. Hold it lightly.

Don’t fear letting go.

I know it all seems so important now – but it won’t always. And that’s a good thing. It’s an amazing thing, actually.

Don’t change a thing, because it all leads you somewhere – but carry it lightly and be ready to let it go.

Because everything changes, baby girl, even and most especially yourself.

©️ Cristen Writes