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The Dalema

Finding The Woman I'm Meant To Be

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Allow Me To Reintroduce Myself

“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside of you.”

– Maya Angelou –

Purposefully misspelled, I created ‘The Dalema’ from letters in my name. It’s a safe place for me to breathe. A place to unload the built-up and untold opinions, emotions, situations and short stories – the baggage I’ve been carrying around with me every day of my life.

I started writing when I was seven. I was on a plane for the first time, traveling from New York to Oregon with my grandma to visit my uncle. She gave me the gift of paper and my uncle gave me the gift of poetry. Together they gave me the gift of writing.

Escaping my body through the pen in my hand and camouflaging themselves as ink on stationary, I realized words had become my tears, my laughter – my screams. Only then did I realize I could start to understand my emotions if I wrote them down. Every day since, my life story has been accumulating on paper.

I’ve learned I’m a hopelessly romantic cynic, a realistic dreamer – a millennial with an old soul. I’m an outgoing introvert who’s insecurely confident. I’m a woman trying to be better than the girl I was meant to be.

Writing is the only way I know to lift the weight of the world off of my chest so I can breathe. The Dalema is my life. The Dalema is my story, untold. Follow along as I get through it – one post at a time.

  • The Dalema
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Part II 

You were like a fine wine
I couldn’t afford
And every time I saw the bottle
It made me want it more

I could see you in my glass
The mood set by candlelight
Scared of what I knew was coming
I told myself ‘afford it tonight’

Tell the server to leave the cork
Then swirl, inhale – take a sip
Close my eyes and let them rest
Indulging in the lusciousness

Getting lost in the shades of grape
Tracing the rim with my fingertips
Before I knew it the bottle was empty –
Leaving purple stains on my lips

  • The Dalema. November 6, 2016
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A Made Up Mind

I sat there
Staring at the screen
Reading every thing

Reading you walk away
Knowing
There was nothing I could do
Nothing I could say

But I tried
Begging you, calling you
Convincing you
There was no convincing

You made up your mind
You closed off your heart
And I was –
Vulnerable
Disposable
Left behind

The rejection of it all
No matter what you say,
I wasn’t enough
Enough to make you stay

‘It has nothing to do with you
Everything to do with me’
That’s what you said
That’s what you’d say

When I’d beg and plead
Trying to convince you
And maybe even
Trying to convince me

  • The Dalema. November 6, 2016
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A Note To The Wounded Part II

I know it’s hard. You feel empty and broken in the deepest and most sacred parts of your soul right now. You feel lost and confused – completely unwanted.

But . . .

You are loved. You will be loved in such a way by someone new, it will make you wonder why you ever thought you truly loved this person. It’s all going to get better. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But one day at a time.

Those deep, sacred parts of your soul you feel you’ll never get back will double in capacity. They aren’t even close to being absorbent enough to encompass all the love you’re going to receive from the person God truly wants in your life. The forever kind of love.

The path you’re on does lead to a happy place. The emptiness will subside and you will eventually feel complete again. And the right person will never, ever, ever in a million years make you feel the kind of rejection you feel right now. Give your sadness to God.

Allow yourself to feel the pain – it’s part of the healing. Just don’t drop your anchor and stay there long. Because the captain of your heart is still out at sea, fighting hell – wind and storms – to get through to find you.

  • The Dalema. October, 2016
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Blank Canvas 

I think you saw their true colors but painted over them. I think you thought maybe, if you mixed your colors with theirs, the painting would be a real work of art. We do that when we love someone.

Unfortunately, I wasted a lot of time repainting. I wasted a lot of time in denial; always blaming the poor lighting or the colors I was mixing with. Then I realized something, all those times I thought I was choosing the wrong colors, but I didn’t even like my own colors. You can’t paint a beautiful picture if you hate the colors you’re working with.

So I changed my colors. I spent a lot of time staring at a lonely, blank canvas. And I threw away a lot of paintings.

I know my colors now. I know the colors that mix well with mine; anything less just won’t do. I don’t want to look down the road years from now and want to throw away the life I’ve worked so hard with my partner to paint.

Don’t be the only one painting. Love your colors. Make sure they love their own colors, too. If they don’t, if you don’t, the painting will never be more than a recycled canvas – an artless piece of trash – no matter how talented the painter is.

  • The Dalema. August, 2016
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