Explore what you can let be a mess with March’s full moon in Virgo.
• Letting go
• Finding peace in chaos
• Creativity as a safe space
• Home as a reflection of self
I can allow my art to be a mess. I can fully let go and let my emotions be channeled into creating something that will then feed joy, peace, and calm back into me. Give into the mess and turn it into something beautiful.
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How I get my work done. I get too picky, finicky and whatever else describes overfunctioning. Haha I guess overfunctioning will work. I crack myself up. Anyway, I noticed today how much the formatting of a word doc was bugging me and I spent half an hour “tidying” it up. I figured out a few years ago that it’s obvi linked to perfectionism but that there was something else at play…shame. If I make everything look good and with no mistakes then no one can call me out and I won’t experience shame.
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My thoughts are allowed to be a mess. I can change my mind. I can flip the table over in my soul and watch everything fly across the room. I don't need to understand it all.
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Toys, mud, flowers, jumping, bikes, balls, running, sticks. It wont be this way for long.
HOME AS A REFLECTION OF SELF
First Drafts. First Attempts. First Footings. They can all be a mess. I won’t live under the tyranny of perfection. I don’t wait for the perfect day to wake up, I don’t wait for the perfect meal to eat, I shouldn’t wait for the perfect words or moment or person. I’m learning to love the mess, if only for the joy of cleaning, because if I can’t love a mess then I can’t love myself.
• •
Right now, with my anxiety high
and tears close to the surface,
my inner world feels quite messy.
Quite mushy.
Quite melancholy.
The messiness is leaking out of me
and getting all over
the carpet that I didn’t clean,
the clothes I didn’t put away,
the car that feels too hard to drive,
the friends I disappoint…
And all for what?
Just so that I can feel bad about myself?
Fuck that.
Where is the strong woman I know I am?
Why can’t she come out now?
I’m tired of being scared and alone.
Moon, can’t I at least
feel like a badass
for not cleaning,
for not caring,
for not preforming,
for not giving in to social pressures?
Instead of carrying all of this
paralyzing fear
that no one will love me
if I’m a mess?
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My skincare routine. Some nights it’s a 10-step regimen, other nights it’s a prayer and good vibes.
LETTING GO
My body is new and different, etched with tiger stripes on my hip—a permanent reminder of the 41 weeks I carried you. My clothes, disheveled at 3 a.m., are soaked in milk and - somehow - in hummus, which turns out is the lifeblood of motherhood. I am drowning in tides of laundry, swallowed whole by fabric and fitted crib sheets. My hands are full of ruined clothes that fray faster than I can mend. The house bursts the wreckage of toys, giggles, and invariably dog hair that catch the sunlight as they float through the unvacuumed rooms like tiny glints of love. The mess of a mother is something else entirely—a wilder disorder.
So let me unravel, into this beautiful, hummus-y, tangled world we have made together.
• •
Myself. I’m allowed to be a mess. I have my off days.
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I can allow the mess and destruction to take over and I sit in it. I relish in it. I eventually put everything back in place and allow calmness to take over. That is of my mind.
•
Pinned and bottled
Bobby pins on the floor
No use for them anymore
Now it’s me, and him, and
my head. Three’s a crowd. Three is a mess.
But there is grace hidden here
like a golden egg last Easter.
I am Ariadne and I unwind the string of grace and it leads me to the moon. She tells me that all will be messy. It is the human condition to be confused, to be hurting, it is only my early memories plaguing me now.
Everything will be messy, and I am always at liberty to change my mind.
This is what the moon told me after the tornado.
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I let writing be messy. It's where I play and make mistakes but also read enough that I know what is me and isn't. Fiction intentionally mistakes symbols for truth, which I want to do in my everyday life but know I shouldn't. When the symbol doesn't work out in my fiction, I call the story bad, not me.
• •
Give me a pen, and a room of my own
A paintbrush, a palette, to myself I come home!
CREATIVITY AS A SAFE SPACE
The dishes, dust bunnies and crumbs on the floor,
The cleaning and mopping, just don’t care anymore
Internal, reflective I’m starting to see
Is the very best way to bring me back to me
My pants and my jacket won’t likely be matched
But my heart will align and love quickly dispatched
The house will be chaos, and unmade the bed
But my heart will envelope the dreams in my head
Farewell expectations and society’s mores
Housework and fashion, be gone I implode
Give me a pen, and a room of my own
A paintbrush, a palette, to myself I come home!
• •
My damn garden beds. The weeds are fine, okay?!
• • •
This might sound insignificant to some, but my home. With social media these days and the ability to buy anything and everything decor-wise for a minimal investment, there is so much pressure to have an AD-inspired space. I think we miss out on letting people come over when we don't have the perfect throw or the nicest couch. Or a sink full of dishes! We lack the connection that is a casual visit or drop-off without judgement or guilt about our spaces. This is something I am aiming to work on and hope others can let go too.
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The messiness of everything. Everything kind of already is a mess, but I can let go of the idea of trying to control, clean and box it all up. Sometimes things are just a mess, and that's okay.
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The chaos that is a warm home with a yard that is well played in. Toys, mud, flowers, jumping, bikes, balls, running, sticks. It wont be this way for long.
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The coming out of the cocoon.
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My skincare routine. Some nights it’s a 10-step regimen, other nights it’s a prayer and good vibes.
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my future - not needing to know how things will work out or where things are going. but being present in the messy now.
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So let me unravel, into this beautiful, hummus-y, tangled world we have made together.
EMBRACING MESSINESS
What if I don’t allow anything to be a mess in my life?
What if I’m a super control freak?
And don’t know how to release the trauma because I keep the screws tight.
Keep everything in proper order. Don't revisit the chaos that was my childhood.
But I have been slowly lifting the rug...
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Undoing my relentless cling to people pleasing and perfectionism while teaching my children that it’s totally fine to be a bit late sometimes, it’s completely alright to spill and everyone makes mistakes. I can’t just say these things. I have to act on it to reinforce for them. I don’t want them to live in this caged hell of showing up perfectly. It’s a cage that I’ve been beating against all my life. Buy the perfect gift at the perfect time, run around sweaty cleaning my house before someone arrives and answer the door calm and breezy, remember everything, shop all night for the perfect red shirt for red shirt day at school, or rack my brain for the exact right thing to say and then play it over and over in my head for weeks after correcting my self to nobody. I don’t want that for them. I don’t want that for me. I get to be a mess when I teach my kids that life is messy. We’re all here doing our best. Shit will happen and it’s how we choose to handle it is what counts. We might be late once in awhile and that’s ok, the world won’t end. Paint can be cleaned. Spills can be wiped. Houses can be lived in and look that way. I’m slowly unclenching my grip on a clean, perfect world because I can’t have my kids trapped in that world.
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THIS MONTH'S PROMPT
THIS MONTH'S PROMPT
Full Moon in Libra is here. What would harmony look like in your relationships?