Princess Interrupted

Hi Everyone!

As I sit writing this, I am attending a business conference in California. Signing up for this program was one of the first investments I ever made in Allison Ziggy back in 2019, and coincidentally the Live component of the program hasn’t happened until now.

Coincidences like that are what make me believe in concepts like fate and divine timing.

As part of the conference yesterday, we had a partner pick a scary action from the list we wrote down of things we wanted to do in our business. I always take action, so I didn’t think much could scare me at this point, but here I am, writing this post with my heart racing.

 One of my biggest dreams for as long as I can remember has been to writing a book, and I've been working on the project behind the scenes for the past few years. 

Enjoy this potential excerpt from my book, Princess Interrupted: Trust Yourself.

I hope you enjoy.

Xoxo,

Allison

It still causes me physical pain to think about how much I loved him. To sit down and think about how much he meant to me, or more accurately how much the person I made him out to be in my head meant to me. The certainty and intensity of the love I felt towards him seemingly reflecting the core truth of me as a person.

The sound of his name creating an adrenaline spike in conversations, to be avoided, or only brought up in incredibly sparing doses. The case where loyalty and love is a flaw; a manifestation of trauma. Something to be repressed, extinguished, eradicated. A secret flame you need to remember to put out when you awake from a dream and feel like you can’t breathe, because even your dreams remind you he’s not yours. He never was; he never will be.  

Even after all this time; all these years, the idea that a feeling could simultaneously so strong and so irrelevant felt impossible to intellectualize. It just didn’t make sense; was it really only limerence? My brain was simply so used to experiencing pain that it projected all my deepest emotions onto an unavailable person, further reiterating my deeply rooted inner feelings of unworthiness? It that really all this was?

Most days it is a murmur in the background, if noticeable at all. In my best moments, I make a conscious effort to send him love, the way you would a friend you no longer speak to, or someone who has died. In the worst, I indulge myself in assigning meaning to the signs, feeding into the relief of a crutch you know isn’t good for you. 

Maybe, maybe, maybe. 

What it?

But no.

You don’t even want that, I remind myself, snapping out of it. 

I deserve better. 

PS- the book goes along with my Mania Playlist, and I'll be including songs throughout.

“waiting for” – Xuitcasecity

Alright, back to the conference for day 2!