this is where the word comes from — the night i said it for the first time.
i was in a place that was like a storm, and i just wanted everything to stop. i remember i was delivering food and it was a busy night. someone i loved kept texting me, again and again, telling me how i don't love them, why i don't do what they asked me to do. and the way it was said, i could sense there was some other wording underneath that wasn't being said honestly. i was thinking a lot, and i just wanted it to stop, because i was under a lot of pressure.
i remember trying to get myself together so i could be conscious, be in the moment, be present — because i was trying to regain myself. i was losing myself. not in a dramatic way, but it felt like i was being pulled out of my own night into one that wasn't mine. i just wished it would stop. but it didn't stop. it just kept going, it just kept pushing.
then i knew, at that point, that i couldn't stop it. and when i knew i couldn't stop it, i knew it wasn't about stopping it at all — it was about me stopping playing along. i was supposed to do anything and everything, and still i knew this one wasn't mine to give. so i sent my last text of that night and let it be the last. and i knew that was it: the person that needed to stop was me, and i needed some kind of strength to get me grounded.
my plan to recoup myself was to be in silence, put my hand over my chest, then say "here." — to let myself know that i am here, not listening or thinking about anything else, but right here, thinking about me and where i am, focusing on being with myself.
and by being with myself and not other things or people, that's where i found the true power. the whole time, it was lying within me. so it was never about stopping anyone at all. it was about stopping me from being drifted somewhere dark that wasn't mine. and by practicing being PRESENT, i get to choose. i get to control what is really mine again, and i get to see everything so clearly — whether a thing aligns with me, in order to do it or not. because if i do it and it isn't who i am, i lose myself, because someone or something told me to or asked me to.
that night, pain was pushing me harder than fear. fear to always comply, fear to always oblige, fear of being alone, fear of saying no to the person i'd labeled as lover because it wasn't the same anymore. and that was it.
and there was still a delivery in my hands. nothing fancy, nothing dramatic — just a food delivery. but i had failed so many times miserably in my life, and i just wanted to have this chance of being responsible for the thing right in front of me. i just wanted to be PRESENT. and i think at that moment, that's when the first real PRESENT practicing started. i was PRESENT, i got myself back.
most days it still doesn't work. the yes still gets out before the word does. but the night it was born, it worked once — and once was enough to build on.