I wasn't allowed to be a Girl Scout. I really wanted to be a Girl Scout. I wasn't allowed to take my Harry Potter books to church to read while my Papa worked in his office and Nana practiced the organ. I wasn't allowed to dress up as a ghost, witch, devil, or anything else scary. I was told yoga was sinful. Because they pray regardless of faith. Because people think they're teaching you devil worship. Because someone might see and they might talk. Because it's a heathen religion.
I want to talk about my "Self Care" section now. It's not a concept I'd really ever heard of before. I'd heard people recommend "taking time for yourself" or the ever-helpful "just relax" offered by people frustrated by others' anxiety, but my soul sister came through in a big way a few weeks ago. "You gotta find what works for you... Do one thing each day that makes you feel good." One thing.
I don't want to put the specifics on loud speaker, but here's the gist. I've had the foundations of my life shaken. Old trauma was brought into new, brighter, meaner light. I can't think about a time of this year without my heart pounding, my breath quickening, and my eyes welling up.
You are the greatest investment I've ever made. October would have marked our fifth year together and I wish so badly that I'd done a better job of saving you this summer. But there is yet hope.
A few years ago when I was in weekly therapy sessions, I learned something that changed my life. It's something a lot of people know and a lot of people do, but it had never occurred to me that I really could do it. I don't have to answer the phone every time it rings. Mine … Continue reading (my) secret to everyday sanity
Today is the first day of spring. I'm so happy about spring I could scream, but that would probably scare the neighbors and maybe cause the landlord (who's cooking gourmet food in his high-class restaurant downstairs) to call the police and no one wants that much excitement on a Friday night. Right? Or do they? … Continue reading Ariel vs. dementors
I was going to write about my hair. My hair, which has sheltered me from so much, which has hidden my face when I'm ashamed, which has been my security blanket since I finally stopped carrying my beloved Blawnklie around. Besides the time I grabbed the bathroom scissors at age three, I have never deliberately … Continue reading From scars into sunshine