thoughts from my windowsill

All the labor pains of this year are finally resulting in what I think is a rebirth. I am giving birth to a new self. After all the aloneness, the fear, the nights of crying myself to sleep, the panic attacks, the desperate clinging to vices and self-destructive habits, something new and beautiful is growing. When I made certain very difficult decisions earlier this year, it was a moment of strength and independence. I made a statement. But I had no idea how much it would hurt. It was like the second I left marriage, the universe took over and said, "Thank you. Now sit back and get ready, because we've got some work to do." From that point on, it was beyond my control. When I realized what was happening, I tried to back out. I begged and pleaded, trying to explain to my Greater Self, which had taken over, that his was not what I had signed up for. I just wanted freedom and adventure. I never asked for lonliness, fear, and doubt. "I don't want to be alone anymore!" I'd scream. "I was just acting rashly when I said I wanted to grow! This is too hard! Please let me turn around! Here's my ticket, give me my money back!" But it was no use. I had opened up a pandora's box of pain, growth, and solitude. My Greater Self had me by the wrist with an iron grip, and was determined to drag me into this dark cave, kicking, screaming in protest, crying in desperation. I knew that I was growing, and that it was probably good, and that there might be a light at the end of the tunnel, but it just hurt so much. I feel like I've been in labor for 6 months, trying to push out something good from all this pain. But this, now, whatever I've been feeling - this is good. This feeling of knowing myself; liking myself. This actually craving solitude. I feel so lucky to be travelling. How can I get melancholy and become stuck in self-pity here? I am finally giving birth to a beautiful new self.