Cigarette smoke rose, adding to the cloud that had yet to dissipate, lingering just above your head. The stripes on the sitting room curtains appeared distorted through that filter.
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Strong-willed little girl, I want you to know there is something very special that is happening to you right now, but the grown-ups around you just don’t see the beauty of the fire growing inside you...at least not yet.
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Part of making a home in your life is learning to understand the calls of your soul, learning to hear the small voice, to take time to care, to show regard. Learning to know which words are important, which lines are old narratives, which tapes to press stop on and which tapes to press play on.
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I had no desire to tell the story, those first months at the dungeon.
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Every week, without fail, her therapist would ask her the same questions, and again without fail, Emilia would sit there and avoid taking any actual steps towards a resolution. Not that she didn't want to get better, but the fear she had when she approached those memories, those feelings, was just too much. She preferred the isolation of separating herself from that which made her human.
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So I distanced myself from that label of cancer patient, practically dissociating with illness, disease and a perceived weakness. I didn’t want pity or to be seen as less than.
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This is the moment I learn that my body does not belong to me. Forever a puppet in a battle that I did not choose.
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They told me God was an angry old man who would rather have me dead than happy. They told me I needed to count my blessings, but to keep in mind that I didn’t deserve them. They told me to keep my head down, cover up, don’t laugh so loud, let the boys talk.
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I’ll never know the real catalyst for why I was able to pivot so quickly months after disordered eating had become so much a part of my identity…
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I chose me for the first time, but not for the last. Every moment since then has been a choosing.
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I promise you I am getting you out of this land that is blood soaked in hatred.
And when my voice became the most unsafe and volatile part of me, I didn’t know whether or not it was going to work, and so every syllable felt like a risk.
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So give your heart a shot of espresso, wake it up. Rub some menthol on it so it can breathe in deeply with everything it’s got.
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As women, we need to speak our truth and it starts with learning to listen.
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My body wasn’t my enemy. It was a reflection, a mirror of the pain I felt in my soul and had suppressed.
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In truth, there are wounded children in all of us that need to be loved back to life.
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My life felt like an ongoing game of hide and seek,
except I was the one hiding and no one was seeking.