I dropped corn and black beans on the floor last Sunday. As I watched the tupperware slip out of my hands, I saw my insides flying to the floor with it. I lost it. After screaming a few cuss words, I slumped down onto the floor and started to cry. Softly, at first. Eddie had come into the kitchen and was helping to clean up the mess. I didn't want to cry, but the floodgates were open. Sniffling, then tears falling and huge gasps for air. I let go, releasing into the disappointment and sadness and fear that consumed me. I went into the bedroom and flopped face down onto my bed, stiffling the loud sounds of crying in my pillow. Eddie came and laid next to me, stroking my back, not saying a word. All of the stuffed feelings from the past week flowed out of me. Tired and beginning to calm down, I lifted my soggy face, wiping my eyes and nose on my sleeve like a five year old girl.

I've had four months off from work. I was teaching, but realized it wasn't the job for me and so I quit. For three months I enjoyed the benefit of a paid summer off. I didn't start to panic until the end of September. Money was running out and bills were pouring in. I had sent out close to 70 resumes and gotten five interviews, none of which were the right job for me. A year ago, I would have freaked out; cried all day everyday, felt the anxiety twisting in my stomach, not left the house for days. But not now. I am changing.

"If you want to break patterns that no longer serve you, realize you have a choice, and choose to do something different than what you would normally do," advised my health counselor. This idea has become my mantra over the past month. Although I do have days where I break down and throw a tantrum (remember the corn and black bean incident?), those days are few compared with the ones where I recognize the fear, and choose to take action rather than let the fear consume me.

So, here I am. Today I make the choice to start a blog, to give voice to my thoughts and feelings. I am a writer. I do journaling, poetry, and short stories. I do not share my writing though. I keep it hidden in journals and notebooks and on my computer. I have been thinking about starting a blog for months, and obviously have had the time to do it, yet something kept me from actually doing it. Fear. Fear comes up a lot for me. But I no longer want to live my life afraid of what people think of me or wondering what might have happened if I had taken action. I am changing my old patterns. I am creating, and re-creating, the story of my life. I am journeying into places unknown: speaking my truth, being conscious and aware, looking inside myself, finding and honoring who I truly am. And I am asking others to join me on the journey-tantrums and breakthroughs and everything in between.