Hi. I’m Ellyanne.
The first thing you should know about me is this: I am freaking scared. I feel so pretentious creating a blog and making it public – as if anyone would actually want to read the stuff that goes on in my head and my life. As if my writing is somehow worthy of being shared. As if I really have something to offer. As if.
The second thing you should know is this: I am in the process of trying to live, and part of living is making a choice to ignore fear. Another part of living is breathing, and part of breathing, for me, is writing. So I’m choosing to ignore the fear and write.
Here’s the last thing you should know: I’m not tidy. Not my room, not my hair, not my life, not my writing. I use too many words and sometimes I choose the wrong ones and I
may will write things some people won’t like. I’m trying to be okay with that. I have a whole whack of official medical labels – depression, anxiety, borderline personality disorder (BPD) – as well as a few I have chosen for myself – HSP (highly sensitive person), INFP, empath, idealist, artist/writer – and those are just the labels. I am a tapestry of a million threads, most of which don’t even have names. We all are, aren’t we?
And I’m a phoenix.
The title of this blog is inspired by that idea – the idea that we are phoenixes.
A phoenix lives until, eventually, her time comes to an end. When this happens, she combusts. Her body explodes in flame and is engulfed by the heat until she is all but burned away – a broken, tired collection of grey ashes.
And then she rises.
From the ashes of her almost-death, she emerges, transformed, not destroyed but made new. Cleansed of her old self. Purified. Resilient.
Life is hard. Life is really, really hard, and sometimes it feels like we are caught in the flames of a fire we cannot possibly withstand. Or, worse, we feel we are the fire, wreaking havoc on our own lives and those close to us. These times break us, change us, reduce us from phoenix to ash, and it feels like we are destroyed beyond hope.
But we’re not. The phoenix rises after she burns. The burning is painful, of course. The burning is so, so painful. But there is life, even in the flames.
What is fire? It’s energy: heat and light. We become heat and light as we burn. That’s intense. And, honestly? It’s a gift. Our intensity is needed. Just as the world needs rain, so does it sometimes need fire.
The fire refines us – burning away what is no longer useful, burning until all that’s left is our essence – the purest pieces of who we are. In the end, after the flames subside, after the ashes of who we used to be settle, we find ourselves rising from that core. We discover we are stronger than we knew. We realize we are no longer the person who existed before the fire; we have changed. We are more alive.
The process is agony. And it will happen again and again and again, and it will always be agony, but it will not destroy us.
It is not a burning to death.
It is a burning to life.
P.S. I couldn’t find an existing photo that was really “me”. So I snapped a shot, with my greasy hair, in/on my bed at 5 PM. I told you, I’m messy.