On not being allowed to love.

My earliest memories start around three or four. In one, I have climbed up a wooden fence, trying to balance my weight against the top while I reach out to feed a neighbor’s horse, that I have named Cow, a piece of my apple.

In another, I am wandering down the street back toward our mobile home, having just returned from the post office a half mile away. I had told my mom I was going and she had said yes, but when I asked to go to the post office to mail Mema some leaves I had burned holes into with a magnifying glass, she assumed I meant the “post office” that I had imagined in my bedroom. The leaves did not make it to my Mema; I had remembered a stamp but the address “Mema, Raleigh” was not specific enough.

In one of the most vivid young memories, I am on our home phone, sometime in the evening because I was in my soft, pink footie pajamas. I was about as high as the counter, my eyes just barely reaching to see its top. I was speaking to my dad – my biological dad whom I wouldn’t know I looked like were it not for pictures – and I was about to hang up the phone to go to bed. Continue reading “On not being allowed to love.”

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On heartbreak.

heartbreakA few caveats before we go into this:
1) I’m fine. I’m not writing this from a place of current pain. It’s just something I’ve wanted to put on ‘paper’ for a while.
2) To the person who was involved, we are absolutely good. Life is an amazing teacher and I’m grateful for all of it.

My mom says there have been two times in my life when she wasn’t sure I was going to make it.

The first was my type 1 diabetes diagnosis at 10. After being inexplicably ill for months, I almost slipped into a coma and spent several days in the intensive care unit being stabilized, an IV inserted into my jugular because the rest of my veins would collapse with any attempt to place a needle.

The second was the summer of 2015 when my entire being broke in a way I didn’t know was possible.

Every morning, for six and a half weeks, I opened my eyes feeling like I never slept. Without respite, the memory of why crashed over me. Unwillingly, tears started sliding down the side of my face as I pushed myself out of bed. Waves of grief hit me in the shower; in their most overwhelming I curled up in the bottom of the tub, water washing over my body. Continue reading “On heartbreak.”

It’s just sex.

There tend to be two ways that young women are taught to think about sex. I’d argue that neither is correct. They are:

  1. Don’t. Protect your virtue. I mean… it’s your decision. Obviously. But *shrug* do you REALLY want to be known as *that* girl? Do you want people to talk? I mean, I’m just saying, but it’s not very lady-like. You can have your fun but, you know, be careful. Men only want one thing anyway.
  2. Free love! You live in the age of women’s empowerment, honey! Don’t let anyone try to slut shame you! Do you! Need some condoms?

I wish someone had told me about the middle ground. I wish someone had ever had a sex-positive conversation with me that leaned less on the act or the societal expectations and more on the energy sex requires.

Stop, get your mind out of the gutter.

I don’t mean physical energy. Step your workout game up. I mean your spirit. Continue reading “It’s just sex.”

In which I shrink myself.

I am not a physically small person. I’m 5’9″, towering six inches above the world’s average woman. My shoulders are broad and strong, my hips wide, my thighs solid and touching on the inside. I wear a size 10 shoe. I am muscular, dense. Unfeminine?

I am not a mentally small person. I speak with conviction. I am a voracious learner. I am passionate, obstinate, and just a tiny bit outspoken. My ego runs away with itself sometimes. Often. I am aggressive about my integrity and I cannot be convinced to do anything I don’t feel is right. Too much?

I am not a spiritually small person. The universe is my guide; I am its entertainment, but it’s still a fan. It knows I am strong-willed and it allows me to be so, and when it just can’t take my charging in the clearly wrong direction anymore it hits me over the head and brings me back. I am shown my way by energy. I call in my angels when I am in despair. I am protected and loved and sheltered by spirits. Unreachable? Continue reading “In which I shrink myself.”