When you’re in it, it’s such a blanket of black. I absolutely, deeply, know that. I’ve shed my tears and ruined my glorious mascara many times over the past few years. It all, eventually, comes to fruition at some point. It has to. And I feel that too. That this encourages you, is everything. Thinking of you. We’ll float in our juice and eventually land on some hot pink flower and be nothing but GRINS.
pple think that i "just" quit my job and moved across the country to the mountains and it's all sunshine and chill...but if anyone asked how got to where i am now ..i would say that it's been 4-5 years of crawling and crying through a swamp of mud, drirt and quicksand..and that only now i seem to be out of the swamp and maybe not crawling but walking..and that it's still dark, just not pitchblack anymore..and i think i see the light somewhere in the distance...maybe
This rings so true for me! I'm utterly besotted with the phrase imaginal cells, the idea that a caterpillar holds inside of itself the blueprint of its own becoming even though it is almost entirely unrecognizable ✨
Wow wow wow. You fascinate me Brooke… and it will stay like that forever. Your soul is too goddamn precious like it was made from the sprinkles of a milky way.🪐🤍
My absolute favourite part of following your words wherever I can find them is the familiar names that pop down below your posts, that alongside me, feel every single word and feeling spoken in your writing. There’s a binding magic of the deep soul that brings us all together. The feelers. The ones that shed themselves over and over again. That lean into the discomfort at the glimmering chance of knowing oneself just that teeny, tiny bit more. I feel seen and held amongst you all. So thank you, B, for baring your soul. It’s a breath of fresh air in here. Somewhere to to sit, and shed, and feel held in the dark.
Gods, this is where I've been since mid August...going completely inward, reevaluating everything about my work and how I want to show up in the world, who I want to BE in the world. And that means I haven't been making money. My ego is terrified. But I feel the goo starting to form into...something. And I'm choosing to trust the timing of it all, even if the timing is admittedly shitty. I'm trusting my own magnificence and that this brutal decay is going to bring something beautiful.
As always, you’ve managed to capture the gross decay that is my life and self as I knew it. Following my ex husband’s traumatic brain injury, I got butterflies tattooed on my right hand too. That was two years ago and I’m still decaying. There was a moment where my wings shone bright but life quickly let me know I had jumped the gun. My wings weren’t ready. Humbled, yet again. Back into the death portal I go. Thank you Brooke.
Holy fuck. Brooke 🦋🦋🦋🦋 this is the most blindingly, bitingly accurate description of metamorphosis I’ve ever read. I thought I was out of the rot but maybe it’s an ever going process. Thank you for normalizing this for us all 💋❤️🔥
I thoroughly enjoyed reading this love. I feel like I have been there many times, life is a never ending dance between life and death, rotting and rebirthing. I look forward to reading some more of your pieces once the kids are in bed. Glad I stumbled across you today x
I needed this piece of writing so many times in my life. So many places it would have made me feel held and nurtured through deep transformations. I will be keeping this close, thank you.
When you’re in it, it’s such a blanket of black. I absolutely, deeply, know that. I’ve shed my tears and ruined my glorious mascara many times over the past few years. It all, eventually, comes to fruition at some point. It has to. And I feel that too. That this encourages you, is everything. Thinking of you. We’ll float in our juice and eventually land on some hot pink flower and be nothing but GRINS.
It’s ok to decay. Love this
Absolutely; and thank you John!
pple think that i "just" quit my job and moved across the country to the mountains and it's all sunshine and chill...but if anyone asked how got to where i am now ..i would say that it's been 4-5 years of crawling and crying through a swamp of mud, drirt and quicksand..and that only now i seem to be out of the swamp and maybe not crawling but walking..and that it's still dark, just not pitchblack anymore..and i think i see the light somewhere in the distance...maybe
This rings so true for me! I'm utterly besotted with the phrase imaginal cells, the idea that a caterpillar holds inside of itself the blueprint of its own becoming even though it is almost entirely unrecognizable ✨
Thank you! ♥️
Wow wow wow. You fascinate me Brooke… and it will stay like that forever. Your soul is too goddamn precious like it was made from the sprinkles of a milky way.🪐🤍
My absolute favourite part of following your words wherever I can find them is the familiar names that pop down below your posts, that alongside me, feel every single word and feeling spoken in your writing. There’s a binding magic of the deep soul that brings us all together. The feelers. The ones that shed themselves over and over again. That lean into the discomfort at the glimmering chance of knowing oneself just that teeny, tiny bit more. I feel seen and held amongst you all. So thank you, B, for baring your soul. It’s a breath of fresh air in here. Somewhere to to sit, and shed, and feel held in the dark.
Gods, this is where I've been since mid August...going completely inward, reevaluating everything about my work and how I want to show up in the world, who I want to BE in the world. And that means I haven't been making money. My ego is terrified. But I feel the goo starting to form into...something. And I'm choosing to trust the timing of it all, even if the timing is admittedly shitty. I'm trusting my own magnificence and that this brutal decay is going to bring something beautiful.
As always, you’ve managed to capture the gross decay that is my life and self as I knew it. Following my ex husband’s traumatic brain injury, I got butterflies tattooed on my right hand too. That was two years ago and I’m still decaying. There was a moment where my wings shone bright but life quickly let me know I had jumped the gun. My wings weren’t ready. Humbled, yet again. Back into the death portal I go. Thank you Brooke.
💜🌟🌎🦋
Holy fuck. Brooke 🦋🦋🦋🦋 this is the most blindingly, bitingly accurate description of metamorphosis I’ve ever read. I thought I was out of the rot but maybe it’s an ever going process. Thank you for normalizing this for us all 💋❤️🔥
“...a mid rotting woman” - exquisite piece Brooke.
You gave me clarity.
I thoroughly enjoyed reading this love. I feel like I have been there many times, life is a never ending dance between life and death, rotting and rebirthing. I look forward to reading some more of your pieces once the kids are in bed. Glad I stumbled across you today x
Beautifully written. Here’s to the decay and almost total destruction that pushes us into a new, transformed version of ourselves
❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️
I needed this piece of writing so many times in my life. So many places it would have made me feel held and nurtured through deep transformations. I will be keeping this close, thank you.