005.

Part of depression (or mine, I should say) 
is that you don't take care of yourself. 

I've seen myself as lacking lately. 
Lacking in good decisions. Lacking in self-esteem. Lacking in efforts towards healthy decisions and behaviors. 

Tonight, I took a shower. 
Not out of necessity but out of want. 
I usually take showers in the morning. 

As I lathered up the shower poof with my favorite coconut body wash, I wondered what it would be like to wash myself of this. Instead of the dust, dirt, and oils of the day, what if I were washing off the acts done upon me? 

I wish that I could rid myself of this. 
Scrub every speck of the event off my skin. 
Erasre every intuition that this truly occurred. 

As I got out of the shower, I put an extra bit of moisturizer on my face, massaging instead of rubbing. 
I coiled the cotton fabric around my coconut coated curls. Dipped my fingers into my favorite Palo Santo body lotion, and realized...I deserve to treat myself like a queen. 

I don't know how this journey will end, if I'll ever get to true healing or not. Some days are hell. Some days I just barely get through. But there are moments. Moments like tonight, when I see my beauty. When I realize I have been made in the image of the divine themselves, and I am worthy of love. Not just love, but righteous love, divine love. 

I hope you feel these moments too, beloveds. 

A. 

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

015.

It feels weird.  Calling myself a survivor of childhood sexual abuse.  I think it's because for 20+ years of my life, I had no idea. I used to navigate this world thinking I was so incredibly blessed to not have experienced major heartache (until my adult sexual assault). I had become so attune to the injustices of the world. All the violence. All the hatred. All the oppression. I couldn't imagine living a life that was filled with shame, sadness, turmoil.  Yet here I was, living in denial. My brain had done a superb job hiding the truth. I lived 20+ years thinking life was great. Until I was confronted with the truth. Until memories finally caught up with themselves.  I acknowledge that something happened. That I was sexually abused as a very young child.  But damn, does it feel fucking out of this world.  I can't explain it, but I'll try.  It feels as if everything you have been taught is a complete lie. It feels like you are an alien on their first ...
Read more

010.

I'm starting to realize that I don't need to remember in order to move forward with healing.  All this time I've wanted to remember.  If only I could remember, I would move on.  I don't need to remember.  But I need to trust.  Trust myself.  Because I know.  I know that what was done to me was bad.  What happened to me was not my fault.  I don't need to remember.  Perhaps if I did remember, I would end up killing myself. Ending it all because I simply could not deal.  Maybe I can't remember because I'm trying to save myself.  Today I was asked to choose between life and death.  It wasn't a treat. I didn't have a gun held to my head.  Instead, I was asked from the words of my father himself as he stood in the pulpit, delivery his weekly message.  D30.15-20.  Life and prosperity.  Death and destruction.  Life and death.  Blessings and cursings.  Today, I want to choose life.  I hate wh...
Read more

003.

I'm stuck on the question of why.  I was born into the Protestant church. The dreams of lazy Sundays were just that, dreams.  Church was second to family (although it seemed to compete, if not win, with family).  You learn quick to not to question when you're a pastor's kid. It wasn't my parents who taught me that but the church itself. It is what it is. Fate. Destiny. God's will.  So when I ask myself, God, the universe, why . .  I latch. I perseverate. I drown.  Why?  What did I do wrong as a human to deserve this?  Up until this time in my life, the question was "what".  I couldn't place a finger on the feelings of shame, guilty, embarrassment and denial that seemed to stir once in a blue Moon if my I allowed my mind to wander. They occurred sporadically, but flared when I or my family talked nostalgically about our life in a certain state. The tightness would form in my chest. The strings of my stomach would knot themselves.  Yet I c...
Read more