In the wise words of Central Cee “Controversy sells.” Sometimes you need to get that one intrusive thought off your chest. I can’t hold back any longer; my generation is the era of situationships, and something needs to give.

You Should Be Saving Yourself For Marriage

I’m sure when you read the caption, your first thought went to sex. I have no qualms with premarital sex; quite the opposite, actually, I encourage it. How else will you know if you’re physically compatible with a person? No, this is about redefining commitment. What I refer to is withholding practical contributions and not living with your partner until a serious commitment has been made. When you live with your partner before marriage, they reap all of the benefits. Women are the primary pillars of relationships, acting as therapists, housekeepers, interior decorators, chefs, managers, and more. It all gets packed under the title, girlfriend. I believe that when you perform wifey duties for your boyfriend, it undermines the relationship’s natural progression towards serious commitment. When you move in with a man, it becomes a marriage whether or not you have a ring… so you might as well get the ring first.

My Firsthand Experience

I’ve lived with two of my boyfriends. They were both Prince Charming in the beginning. They would do sweet gestures like bringing me gifts or flowers. Dates were planned out and showed a deep level of thought and care. My life was the epitome of princess treatment in every sense. I was revered and put on a pedestal. One was very serious about wanting to marry me. All of his actions showed this sentiment, and so the next logical step was to move in together. At first, everything was perfect. He’d make me coffee every morning, and our nights were spent sharing meals and watching our favorite show after work. I turned his gross boy apartment into a real living space. I deep cleaned until my elbows were sore. I cooked, not because I had to, but because I love it. Quite literally the perfect girlfriend in every way. Soon the date nights stopped, as well as the coffees in the morning. The gratitude dwindled, and what I once thought was appreciated became normal. He didn’t have to woo me anymore because he had won. I made his life comfortable, and he settled right in. My life became grocery lists, laundry, meals, and no reward. Soon resentment built up, and I became a nagging nuisance just like his mother. It was easier to walk away. No vows were shared, no real commitment, and despite mentally, emotionally, and physically investing myself fully, all I was left with was a big therapy bill.

Understanding Wifey Duties

• Cooking

• Cleaning

• Managing Household Responsibilities

• Planning Schedules and events

• Caregiving

Societal expectations surrounding a woman’s role in relationships are outdated. Yet, despite the rise of the girlboss, these expectations haven’t gone far. Instead of men taking over more duties to relieve the load, women are maintaining careers as well as the home and family. Some men are breaking away from tradition and learning to clean and cook, but the conditioning runs deep. Premature commitment can lead to complacency in relationships. If you’re receiving the results you want without doing anything to earn it, why do more? Here comes the very real risk of being taken for granted. Ask yourself: What did he do, beyond the bare minimum, to deserve this kind of treatment? Unless you have it guaranteed (with a ring) that you’re building a foundation for your joint future, you shouldn’t be going above and beyond for any man.

Words cannot be trusted; you need action!

There’s Always A Way Out

Living with another person is a marriage, except leaving is significantly easier. Your lives become completely merged. Bills, schedules, meals, and everything are joined. Living with another person is an adjustment. Even the healthiest couples face difficulties. Problems will naturally arise, and it’s easier to break up when nothing is tying you down. A serious commitment like an engagement or marriage guarantees facing whatever arises together as a team. Problems are no longer one person against another, but rather both of you united against the issue at hand. Men, or should I say boys, find it easier to leave a woman who demands more from them and find another one who expects less. The relationship is treated with less seriousness, and there’s less willingness to work through difficult periods. As documented in a study done by the Frontiers in Psychology “cohabiting couples are also at risk for lower commitment to the relationship.”1

Expectations

Most couples move in together expecting sunshine and roses. They’re excited to have their partners around to share meals, have constant sex, watch movies, build Legos, or whatever other earthly desires they both share. While this is a sweet notion, it’s often overlooked how unsexy and very complicated it actually is. More serious conversations don’t end up happening. Things like splitting tasks and responsibilities. Who will get groceries, do the dishes, take out the trash, clean the litter box, walk the dog, scrub the toilet, etc. How will bills be distributed? Whose furniture is staying vs. whose is going on Facebook Marketplace?

It’s nice to assume these things will be split evenly, but when life and schedules get involved, more often than not one person is left pulling more of the weight.

Lack of communication before commitment leads to resentment and small frustrations that lead to bigger ones. The reality is most people lack the emotional intelligence and communication skills required to discuss healthy expectations and boundaries ahead of time. Relationships become trial and error instead of methodical planning.

Separate Lives Are a Must-Have

One thing mentioned when asking my assortment of interview questions was the importance of separate lives. Being in a relationship does not mean your individuality gets absorbed by your partner and your lives merge completely. I can not stress enough the importance of having your own world and things that belong solely to you. Friends that you see regularly without your partner. Hobbies that you enjoy on your own. Adventures that you go on by yourself, externally and internally. Moving in with a partner is the perfect breeding ground for co-dependency. You have to truly trust a person with your life before you lose all your space. Absorbing your partner’s habits, lifestyle, and moods becomes a big part of living together. Choosing the wrong person can mean your life force gets drained right out from under your nose. It happens slowly over time, and suddenly you wake up to a shell of the person you once were. Another reason why I believe that if you wouldn’t marry him tomorrow, his name shouldn’t be on your lease. Boundaries get easily blurred when you spend every waking and non-waking moment together. Take the time to date and lead separate lives so that you know who you are outside of your partnership.

He Knows Already

I did a poll on my instagram story asking men if it was true that men know immediately if they would marry a woman. The answers varied and the conlusion was split evenly between yes and no. The overwhelming conclusion was yes, men know when a woman is someone they would marry, but time is the only thing that solidifies this. They may feel that they would marry her, but cannot know forsure until the relationship has time to grow.

I also asked if a man needs to live with a woman before determining if she was the one he’d marry and these answers were a unanimous NO. One man replied saying “You should be willing to commit before living with someone” another anonymous reply was that through traveling together and spending time at each other’s homes you will be able to determine if you want to commit seriously. Men know before moving in with you if they want to marry you, therfore I raise the question why hasn’t he fully commited? Unless you’ve discussed it and agreed against marriage.

A man who is willing to live with you before getting engaged is only doing it for 2 reasons. 1. He never plans to fully commit to you 2. He is willing to one day commit, but is not ready to yet. In my opinion neither of this men deserve to have you living with them because like I said. Living together is the same as walking down the aisle, minus the the security that a serious commitment brings.

50/50 Who?

I asked several woman if they would live with their partners before marriage, and the answer, except for one, was unanimously yes IF he was paying all the bills. Because women understand the sacrifices that a relationship asks of them, they’re making sure they’re protected. Having him pay all the bills doesn’t mean you stop working and give up autonomy. It’s a safety net. Women are advised to have a separate savings account just in case anything goes wrong. With the pay gap and the current economy, how realistic is it for women to pay 50/50 in bills and maintain an emergency breakup savings outside of their regular savings? It’s not realistic for many, if not most of us. The trad wives got one thing right: if you’re going to be playing wife, they need to set you up with a good life. Now don’t go pro-life on me and sign away your rights just yet! There’s a lot more to unpack.

The New Standard Of Dating

I don’t think women and men are equal, I think women are ABOVE men. Therefore I feel the automatic setting for men is that they should be a provider unless a woman dictates they want otherwise because it’s her choice. A man shouldn’t be asking what a woman brings to the table, instead he should be building the damn table and a house on top of that. Men get paid more, they get the better jobs, they don’t get a period, or bear the children, they don’t experience sexism, or ageism, and the list goes on. They should bring everything to the table when dating. If they don’t have the money then they have to have the effort. Dating is a man proving he’s worthy of experiencing the beautiful woman before him. Not him testing her out to see if she’s worthy of being a wife. Providing for a woman is like leaving an offering at a gods temple. You don’t demand blessings, you earn them. It’s not something to hold over her head, it’s love and devotion. Through dating he will identify if you’re someone he wants to build a life with. Real men are looking for a partner, not a houskeeper. Therefore there’s no need for him to “test” you before commiting to you for life.

Don’t Date Losers

Chivalry isn’t dead; you just have to date the right people. You deserve to be showered in love and affection. Have doors opened for you and a hand extended when you get up from your seat. These are small things I once laughed at and didn’t realize the importance of them until I experienced them. It’s about having someone show you through small gestures that they think about you and consider your needs, small or big.

Examples of Princess Treatment

• Surprise Gifts/Gestures

• Planned Dates

• Physical Affection (Outside of sexual touch)

• Open Communication

• Undivided Attention

• Clear Intentions

• Gentleman Acts (ex., Opening Doors)

• Offering Assitance

• Active Anticipation

• Reassurance

• Generosity

To Each Their Own

It’s been documented that the motivation for the move-in yields significantly different results. Couples who move in together to spend more time together find more success than those who do it to “test” the relationship before marriage. As seen in another study done by The American Psychological Assocation it was noted that “the association between reasons for cohabitation and relationship functioning, greater endorsement of spending time together (intrinsic) as a reason for moving in was associated with higher relationship dedication among both men and women.”2 For couples where marriage is the goal, be aware that cohabitation before engagement is tied to higher risk for divorce. Let it be known that everyone has a different experience. No two people are the same, and no relationship is either. For some, marriage isn’t a goal, and cohabitation is the equivalent.

Hear Me Out!!!!

The point of this article isn’t to stress the importance of getting married, but more so to explain how serious living with a partner is. If he isn’t someone you’re ready to have a serious commitment with, one that affects every area of your life, he shouldn’t be someone you’d share a home with. The high cost of living makes living together seem more appealing, but you’re better off finding a roommate before diving in headfirst. Take your time with love and don’t jump into the big decisions prematurely. If he’s the one, you have a whole lifetime to live together. Enjoy the honeymoon period for as long as you can. Before shit gets real and you find yourself scrubbing his out of the toilet…

My bio should say “Do as I say, not as I do” after my behavior during this Mercury retrograde. I went on a minor bender last month. Nothing crazy, just some good ole wild 20s fun. Despite normally being possessed by an old lady, there is still a young ho in this body. I woke up one day and decided two things. I’m ready to start dating again, and I’m ready to get laid. Luckily, my family is banned from this account (sorry, Dad). So I say that without shame… well, maybe a little shame. Honestly, dialectics run my life, and despite being a MAJOR advocate for celibacy… sometimes you need to let loose. Thank god for duality.

Now I don’t kiss and tell, but I will let you know when I find success in my endeavor. I sense a good time coming, and hopefully I will be too, wink, wink.

I’ve been on 2.5 dates so far, with a few more planned while I either build my empty roster or have a roster fail. Get it? Like foster fail, except in this scenario I adopt a man and inevitably his demons as well.

Since being in the city, I haven’t really felt like committing to the dating culture, but it is evil girl summer, and I’m ready to do some damage.

Suddenly, after a dry 9 months, all of these men are flocking my way, and the crazy part is they respect me… When I want someone to value me, they don’t. When I decide to put self-respect aside, suddenly everyone is on their best behavior.

Except for a gross Serbian man who was so hot but who also described himself as a “filthy disgusting animal” and proceeded to threaten me with kids and marriage, while simultaneously saying, “there’s nothing wrong with wanting a different pussy every night.” He was blocked after a short therapy session where we determined that his father leaving him when he was a kid might still be affecting him.

Disgusting lustful beasts, I rebuke you!!!

There’s a difference between lustful and DTF, and I won’t be explaining that further. If you know, you know.

After a dreadfully slow winter where I determined I must be a horrid creature because no one wants me, suddenly men are approaching me left and right.

Now this phenomenon had me contemplating heavily, and I finally determined why I’m suddenly getting attention. The culprit is the Law of Detachment.

To obtain anything in the physical world, it’s essential to let go of your attachment to the result.

Now, how does this apply to love?

Manifesting your husband includes visualizing, scripting, and meditation. It also requires going out there and experiencing people without expectations. When you decide to meet new people for the love of the game instead of focusing on a specific result, you are surrendering to the universe. Human connection is necessary regardless of what results it yields you.

You might kiss some frogs before meeting your prince. You might have to curse out a dickhead or two, but don’t lose the present in search of your future.

I spent the past few months realigning my internal world. There was a lot of grief and loss weighing on me, and I needed time to process. I also used this period to focus on my personal goals. This included envisioning the person I wanted to attract once I was ready to put myself out there.

I sat there and painted the perfect Prince Charming that was bound to come my way once the stars aligned. For a while, I wasn’t ready to even think about that day happening, but then I got bored. Also, a little lonely, and decided I wanted attention again.

Except, in all honesty, I hadn’t filled my cup yet (the self-love cup), and I was actually yearning for more than attention; a savior, if I’m being honest, is what I was hoping for. That way I could ignore all the work still left for me to do and lose myself to love (again).

I went on one date during this time and, after 2 Aperol Spritzes, proceeded to burst into tears about my abuelo’s passing. This is why whiskey shots are better…more fire and less water from my eyes.

The universe said NO MA’AM, you will, in fact, be sitting with your shit, and so begrudgingly, but gratefully, I did. I did the work, and I didn’t skimp at all. For 9 months, I kept a strict and raw program where I unleashed my soul to myself and consumed it bit by bit.

After a while, I got to a place where my solitude no longer felt like a punishment and instead like peace. That’s where I existed for a while until I began to crave some fun. I was ready to put myself out there naturally. Maybe connect with some new people and learn more about myself through the experiences. Have a steamy summer fling or find my husband; It really doesn’t matter. I just want to live without attachments, rules, or expectations for a little while.

I focus so much on healing sometimes that I forget I’m young and supposed to make mistakes.

That’s when suddenly the world opened, and the men were falling at my feet because it didn’t matter! I’m open, I’m excited, and most importantly, I’m detached. Instead of hyperfixating on a specific desired outcome, I’m putting my love life into the hands of the universe and allowing it to run the show.

Famous last words, but I surrender nonetheless

Some people hear surrender and think submit. It can feel like a weakness to let go, but that’s just the ego holding on to its need for control.

There’s strength in surrender

It’s how you learn to be fully present in your life and learn to accept all outcomes, good or bad. They all have a role in your journey, even if it can be uncomfortable at times. When you master the law of detachment, you master the natural flow of life and find true happiness.

Have you ever heard the quote “Love without attachment is the purest form of love”? When I first heard this, I struggled to grasp its meaning. Because isn’t love the way we are taught- all about attachment? Joining two lives as one is the definition of attached. It took some long and hard pondering before it dawned on me. This quote is meant to describe life, and how unconditional love means leaving room to evolve.

Letting go of what you thought a person was and accepting them for every form they take and will continue to embody.

This includes yourself.

Allow yourself to experience people without needing permanence. Learn to find the beauty and lessons in every interaction, relationship, and situationship, as horrible as they can be.

Life is a mirror, and when you learn to live it without attachment, you learn to accept yourself fully.

This change I had that allowed me to put myself out there didn’t just come from a willingness to be present, but also a willingness to be broken.

To make mistakes, and be a little messy

To be human for once, instead of forcing myself to fit into a box of purity.

Keep in mind I wouldn’t have been able to allow myself this freedom to nurture other connections if I hadn’t first nurtured the one with myself.

My emotional turmoil, my physical pain, my sexual desire all came undone through my time alone. Enough so that I felt safe again in my own body. Finally ready to explore someone else’s.

This entire time, this wasn’t about allowing someone else into my life or my bed. It was allowing myself the freedom to live again.

I’ve let go of the plan I think I have all figured out. The ideas that I think will shape me forever. The perfectionist in me who feels like she needs to control everything.

I am ready to embody the most important universal law and actually enjoy every juicy, painful, chaotic bit that makes being human the greatest experience.

I’m ready to fall, or perhaps I should say fly, and I think the boys can sense it and are ready to join the ride. Now don’t worry, I’m still the picky, blunt bitch I’ve always been (she says with pride). I’ll make sure he’s worthy of my time, and if not…

I’m the daughter of Aphrodite and the world is my oyster, so get the vinegar, horseradish, and lemons ready because I’m done sipping life; it’s time to swallow it whole.

I have a tattoo that says lust for life for god sake

The other night, it was my roommate’s birthday. We were on our way back from a cute Central Park picnic when I noticed a woman sitting on the curb. Her phone was in the street, and she looked defeated. I stopped and asked her if she was okay, and she told us to keep walking. Instead, I decided to sit down next to her. She opened up and began sobbing. We hugged her and held space for her, and all she could say was “I’m so sorry” and ask, “Why are you doing this?” My roommate fed her cookies, and we sat with her until the tears turned to laughter. She lived just three stops away from us on the subway, so we decided to take her home.

It broke my heart to hear her apologize for being human. We all make mistakes and drink a little too much. We all cry, yet for some reason, we’ve been conditioned to apologize for normalcy. Women apologize for crying, taking up space, making minor mistakes—things we consider inconveniences to others—when in reality, these are normal. When we got back to our apartment after making sure the girl got home safely, we changed into our pajamas and got ready to watch a movie. My roommate was telling me a story, and somehow grandparents got brought up. Next thing you know, I’m crying my eyes out because the loss of my grandfather still weighs heavily on me. I kept apologizing, thinking I was bringing down the vibe. My roommate reminded me that I was the one who kept telling others they didn’t need to be sorry. She reminded me that grief is something that cuts deeply and doesn’t go away; it resurfaces suddenly with a fury. Grief is not something we can control. Tears cannot be controlled. So why do we feel the need to apologize for them?

Earlier that day, when I was getting ready to meet my roommate at the park, she was taking a little while to text me back. We had made tentative plans, so I wasn’t in a rush. She kept apologizing for not replying on time. Then she asked me to stop for some wine and apologized for that too. I told her it was her birthday and she didn’t have to be apologetic for anything. Birthdays are stressful and distracting. I was happy to pick up some wine and meet her wherever she was. It was agreed from the beginning that the plans weren’t concrete. There was no reason for me to be upset; I was just happy to be there when and where she told me. It’s sad how much energy women spend feeling bad for things. We constantly overthink and analyze our behavior, fearing we might overstep, be too much, or take up too much space. This world has conditioned us to stay small, to be sorry, and to be grateful for things that are, in reality, the bare minimum.

My best friend got an amazing job offer and is transitioning out of a job she’s been with for five years. That change is scary and layered with so many different emotions. She got emotional and kept apologizing for crying, as if going through a major life change and transition isn’t something to cry about. Why are you sorry for feeling things? For going through change and navigating the deep, psychologically challenging experience called life? We are all doing this for the first time. We are all terrified and just doing our best. I’m so sick and tired of women feeling bad for feeling. Does the weight and guilt ever get put down? We are so happy to drop everything and be there for someone else, but the second it’s our turn to feel supported, we feel like a burden. Why do women feel they don’t deserve the same care and grace they give others?

When is apologizing necessary?

- When you’ve hurt someone’s feelings

- When you’ve crossed a boundary

- When you’ve physically hurt someone

These are all acceptable moments to say you’re sorry.

What I want to stop hearing women apologize for:

- Showing emotion

- Asking questions

- Politely interrupting

- Overthinking

- Needing someone

- Asking for help

Apologizing for no reason comes from a place of anxiety. At some point in your life, you may have felt like you were a bother. Maybe you felt like you couldn’t do anything right. Maybe you’re too needy, too much, or maybe—just maybe—you’re human. You deserve kindness and grace without having to ask for it. You deserve to be heard and to have someone hold you when you’re sad. If everyone was left to fend for themselves, the human species would cease to exist. It’s kindness and empathy that hold the world together. It’s protecting and loving each other for no reason that keeps us alive.

I want you to pay attention to your language—a task I’ve given myself as well. Listen to how you speak. Remind yourself that it’s okay to make mistakes. Don’t respond out of habit or anxiousness; take some time to sit with and evaluate where the need to be sorry comes from. If there’s one thing I don’t want to hear anymore from women, it’s apologies. The world owes us a bigger one. Men don’t walk around questioning themselves and their actions. We, women, shouldn’t feel the need to do so. Let’s break the cycle by holding ourselves accountable.

**WOMEN HAVE NOTHING TO BE SORRY FOR!**

We create life, but somehow are the only ones judged for living it.

What do you think of when you hear “female rage”

Do you imagine screams so loud and piercing that they shatter souls

Low guttural cries of pain and shaking fits, unable to be consoled

Can you hear it?

Blood and betrayal

Endless abuse

Followed by silence

Madness and misunderstanding

Men know nothing of a woman’s rage

How we dream of slowly castrating those who have stolen our choice

How our veins burst from our skin with blood so hot it could melt the Arctic

Our bodies broken and battered at the whim of men

Slowly dying in agony

Expected to suffer with a smile on our face

They’ve never felt the eyes violating us

Without Shame

The hands that slip through the shadows

The touches

Words we’re taught not only to ignore but to accept

That’s our job as the lesser species

To cater to our superiors’ every wish

Despite having birthed empires and raised mountains

Fighting unspoken battles and winning wars

Dying over and over again and rising again from the ashes

We are not doves white and pure, like the love we’re expected to give

We are the phoenix burning in flames, tied to a stake for daring to learn

Our bones litter the riverbed, tied to stones

So many drowned for wanting to be someone

Killed throughout history for believing we are worth the same

My female rage is etched in my bones

It’s written into each muscle

Every woman who came before me screams from within

We’re supposed to suppress their voices as we do ours

Quiet the monsters that whisper in our head, “you deserve more.”

“You are more.”

Until a blade cutting open your skin is more welcoming to you than the world

Don’t pretend to comprehend even a drop of our rage

Because we not only choose but welcome the bear

At least we’d die with dignity instead of being defiled

Not even our soulless corpses are saved

Even in our death, we are viewed the same

Sacks of meat for their cocks to bury themselves in

Healing

At the end of it all, I’m still left searching

What was the meaning? The purpose?

Why else would a love so great

Be placed in my palms

Then snatched away again in a heartbeat

To be anything other than a lesson

I think not

There must be some weeds left in my heart

Some roots left behind

Because I had ripped out all the stems and thorns

From other lives and other lips

They were suffocating me

I had no other choice

I exterminated them

nature perseveres

And proves she can always grow back

If not tended with care

She’ll slip through the cracks

And blossom again

With no regard for the host

It can live or die for all she cares

But unless the environment is inhospitable

Return, she will

And die it must

Fear

Patterns coiling around my mind

Sending signals to my body

Sending me down a path

Of rediscovering the discovered

The oldest emotion in my body is anger

Or is it fear?

I can’t tell

They say anger is

The form you take

When your body is protecting you

I think they’re sisters

Can you tell the difference?

How do you explain

The rate at which you hardened

They can never feel

The asphyxiation

That greeted you upon arrival

Had to fight for your place

In a world you didn’t ask to be in

I hate the warrior in my blood

Always ready for battle

She can’t tell the difference

Between assassination

And someone walking away

The End

You’re okay with losing me

So I’m okay with losing you

I speak softly to my grief

And promise I’ll hear her soon

For now, I try to contain it

Before I find myself

Chasing you once again

Back into my bed

I feel it is slipping

Spreading throughout my body

It’s a numb wash

A quiet comfort

A final ebb

Because now I am certain

That this is the end

Acceptance

The beautiful thing

Is that you’re okay

You have survived denial

What a treacherous thing

The stage of no reason

No wisdom

Fighting against the course of nature

What a painful thing

It is natural

Despite the madness

To hold on to what you love

But it’s exhausting

And suddenly you wake up one day

To realise you’ve let go

I think I lost my soulmate

But that doesn’t happen

If it’s meant for you, it stays

And when it leaves, it sets you free

From the lie you were living

A part of me is happy

That life would’ve been too small

For a creature like me to have survived it all

There’s everything waiting

A reward for my pain

Because I held on to my dreams

And I didn’t change

Except what I needed to

Instead of anger, I feel sadness

But not for myself

For those who continue on the lie

Instead of accepting the initiation

Their life is a constant loop

Of the same baggage, they refuse to leave

If only they knew

Behind the fear of letting go

Is the bliss of being yourself

In all your glory

The person the gods chose for you to be

Your most authentic form

It’s coming back to you

The person you’ve always known

Existence

I walk

Surrounded by people

With places waiting for them

Time moves differently in my world

Each step I take leaves a ripple

I sink through matter

The cloud around me heavy

Frozen in place

Each breath I take

Empty

I am truly nothing

That’s everything

Mother Wound

I knew you in my past lives

Were we enemies?

Did we kill one another on the battlefield

Were we opposites?

Was I your mother

And you my child?

What crimes did we commit against each other in the past

That we’ve been brought back

To love one another

My biggest fear is ending up like you

The truth is, I’m just like you

I still feel the pain from my youth

When I was a young child

Begging for a mother’s love

Instead, I received betrayal

Now that I’m older

And I understand you

I’m able to forgive you

To be a woman in this world

To be broken in a million ways

I collect the pieces

And glue myself together again

I try to understand your puzzle

I have the instructions

I know how to finish you

But you keep the pieces locked away

Some days, I fear you’ve lost the key

On other days, you show it to me

It’s beautiful

Sleep?

I’m tired

My bones ache

My eyes yearn to be closed

I keep moving forward

Sometimes backwards

But mostly forward

It’s in the moments when I feel I can no longer go on

That I’m flooded with a fire

The gods remind me I am their daughter

When I think there’s nothing left

There’s always more

I try to remind myself that we all must pay dues

Either in this life or the next

I was told once that I was royalty in my past

Which is why in this lifetime, I must serve

So serve I do

Every night

Beers

Martinis

Burgers

I rise when the sun sets

And sleep as he rises

My only light found under the moon

I pray for the slow mornings

For endless funds to alleviate

I want land

That I can race upon horseback

Wind in my hair

Troubles gone

For now

My stallion is the subway

And I’m another rat in NYC

Racing

Thank you for sitting with my thoughts for a moment. These were written as a part of my breakup collection. As I battle writer’s block and depression, I find myself at a loss for words.

I am taking some time to explore this emptiness

I’ve been that girl who didn’t feel like giving directions. I didn’t want to ruin the moment by letting him know he’s actually been rubbing my inner thigh for 5 minutes and I am in fact not wet at all. It feels easier to give an Oscar-worthy performance, fake orgasm, and go on with your day. Maybe it was because I didn’t have feelings yet, or because I had spent a year working on my self-love and confidence, but I made a choice. I wasn’t going to pretend to enjoy it; I wasn’t going to give him a show; I was going to lie there and be my most authentic self. He noticed my lack of enthusiasm, and so I told him the truth. He was embarrassed, threw a minor temper tantrum (he’s a major drama queen), but in the end he greedily accepted the challenge. It didn’t take long for us to find our rhythm. Despite all of the problems we had that led to the end of our relationship, sex wasn’t one of them.

If you have to ask if she finished… she didn’t.

Real men are pleasers; real men take their TIME

The way he kisses can tell you a lot, but not everything; I’m getting ahead of myself.

It’s time to get REAL

It is perfectly okay to decide to walk out mid-sex if it’s bad

Now I know that may sound crazy, but if you’re not enjoying yourself, leave. Some men aren’t worth trying to teach. Go home, turn on your vibrator, and enjoy the rest of your night.

The only person you’re cutting short by performing is yourself

For some reason or another, the female orgasm is more complicated than a man’s. He’s going to have fun and finish regardless. The bare minimum is that he makes sure you do too. Communicate your needs !!!!

Stop the fake moaning

I believe women have these intense, scream-worthy, borderline seizure orgasms, but the MAJORITY of us are NOT. Don’t lose your voice because Hollywood decided the female orgasm sounds loud with a bunch of, YESSSSSS OH GODDDDD IM CUMMINGGGGGG. Most women I know are dead silent when they orgasm because the intensity is too much for words or sounds at all. The breathing will tell you everything you need to know.

Pro Tip: The deeper you breathe while climaxing, the more intense it is

If it’s a casual hookup, who cares what he thinks? Make it worth YOUR time

Sex is natural and human, the closest we get to our animalistic ancestors. It’s beautiful and sensual and also awkward and vulnerable. The act itself is art; you don’t have to overthink making it beautiful or sexy. Enjoying sex is sexy; not enjoying it and pretending to is NOT. Who cares if he’s pleased? Be feral and be you. Don’t get caught up trying to keep up appearances.

If you fake it in the beginning, you fake it forever

You sleep with a guy once and think it won’t happen again. You put on a show without a second thought. Now feelings have brewed, and it’s turned into a relationship; either you backtrack and tell him it was all a lie, or you’re stuck acting forever.

Throw away that shame, bring in some play

It’s unfortunately very normal to carry sexual shame. A reality for many women that is hard to escape. A great place to start healing this is through self-pleasure. If you’re not feeling satisfied with the sex you’re having, maybe it’s time to get creative. Discover your kinks and what makes you tick.

When you feel safe and comfortable, it’s easier to let loose

I’m not a big fan of casual sex or hookups for this reason. It takes time to build a connection that allows you to open up and get vulnerable. If you find yourself constantly performing during casual sex, maybe it’s time to take a break. Focus on building a sexual relationship with yourself first. Until you feel ready to bring in a partner.

Here’s a great place to start if you’re interested in building a sexual relationship with yourself

Desire & Her Many Forms

Think about the root cause

It’s worth taking some time to reflect on your inner world. Oftentimes, women who feel pressured to perform struggle with their self-esteem. A strong sense of self-worth is crucial for a healthy mind and body connection. If you don’t feel safe in your body, you won’t feel comfortable exploring someone else’s.

You don’t need a certain body type to enjoy sex

Society has made women question every inch of their body. From their weight to stretch marks, cellulite, boobs, etc. These unrealistic expectations for what a body is “supposed to look like” are absolutely bullshit. You are human, you are sexy, you are beautiful no matter your shape, size, and form. You deserve to feel special and good about yourself. If anyone makes you feel otherwise, they don’t deserve to see you naked.

Life is too short

We all wear a mask of some sort when going out into the world; the bedroom should be the one place you put it down. Don’t waste time overthinking, judging, or feeling bad about sex. It’s supposed to be fun and freeing.

Sex is meant to relieve stress, not cause it

“Good sex is like good bridge. If you don't have a good partner, you'd better have a good hand.”
― Mae West

Let me tell you a story

One I probably can’t complete, because if the ending comes, so do I, and I’d like to linger here for a moment.

In this space between a new life and the old. Where I’m unseen and unremarkable, because it’s safe to be unnoticed.

It’s not a happy story, but perhaps it can become one. It depends on the mind reading this and where they want it to go.

It’s a tale of life. Survival, mistakes, and minor things. Not extraordinary, but more than ordinary.

A girl was born a dreamer.

Her body home to a person far too old.

Almost remembering where she came from. Never able to just be where she was, because something bigger called her.

She had a good childhood, not the worst, not the best, but yet as she aged she realized if she could go back and do it all over again, she would.

She liked to run wild and laugh in the wind. Talk to plants and animals the same; they answered back, but no one would ever believe her.

At night she’d stare at the ceiling in her room, and dream of creatures coming through it and whisking her away. Not to harm her, to finally take her back to where she came from, the place that was always calling her, the land she’d never see.

There was great love waiting for her there. The one her books were all filled with. A life where all she had to do was be and that was enough.

Then life grew harder and so did she, but first came weakness. First came pain and breaking.

The trees stopped speaking; they just observed her despair. Watched her wallow, leaving her alone to discover what dwells in the darkness.

She ran as far away as she could, away from her family, from herself, from the future.

Into the arms of death, but even that wouldn’t touch her.

Because she wouldn’t make a choice.

So she fell further and further into a void of nothing but tears, mistakes, and lines you never cross. Until one day she felt a euphoria that would never come again. Because either she chose to change and live up to her potential, or to die chasing the feeling that she would only come once more, and only in the end.

That day she knew her answer; the trees finally broke their silence. So, on the voyage, she went to another life where she was allowed to be broken and better all the same. She learned to step away from the darkness and return to the light.

Where she burned and burned until even that was too much and she walked another tightrope, another version of the same lost girl.

Until duty called her back and she decided to unleash herself on the world.

Unashamed, unremorseful, unremarkable, but a force to be reckoned with.

She learned to love that woman. The wildness had returned, but anger was the root of this state. An anger that was consuming her; it came up to the surface and choked her nearly blind.

She danced with fungus and the future and saw the truth of life. Some things are not meant for mortals; so broken was her mind.

That sadness, horror, disgust, and shame crept in and stole her time. It was these feelings that finally let her see herself.

She finally realized what was, and slowly, without seeing it happen, love came and sowed the seeds.

She planted them in the garden; the garden lived inside.

It bloomed and bloomed and bloomed some more until everything was right.

Then returned the fungus, but this time in the walls; it choked her slowly and blindly until it was exposed.

She fled her home, her sanctuary, and was lost once again.

Leaning on the love of another to show her the way. It was there she learned, not for the first time and perhaps not the last. That the only love she could lean on, she’d find was that garden deep inside.

The one she stopped watering, until roots no longer took hold and everything had withered and died.

She decided to sit and stay there, finding solace in the ground. Because perhaps even just existing there would remind her.

The seeds started to come back, but hold them; she could not; they wouldn’t enter a host that wouldn’t let them thrive.

So she sat there in her garden, the barren dead one, and stared at those seeds until they came closer and trusted her once again.

She planted them through the grief, and watered them through the pain.

She gave them light even when she was lost, and they took hold in her hand.

She swallowed them whole, begged for a change, and waited.

Hardly breathing, hoping the trees would keep speaking.

She wondered if the creatures would come and take her, back to the place she longed to be.

Back to herself, back to her mind, back in her body.

She would find that all she ever wanted was all she ever was and all she’d ever be was more than ordinary, beyond extraordinary, and everything she dreamed.

The story is not sad, just unwritten.

It’s uncomfortable to exist in the unknown.

Knowing the end would make this so much easier.

Is it worth spoiling the in between?

I think not, so I shall linger here for a moment while I ponder it.

In this space between the past and the future.

In this garden full of seeds that had in fact been here this whole time.

Behind the barren land that used to be a garden, lived a jungle.

Full of strong trees, flowers, and magnificent animals.

How had she missed it?

This whole time, all she had to do was wander further within.

To find she had never left the place always calling her.

Waiting this whole time.

For her heart to open, so her eyes could see

My connection with the universe has felt more intertwined recently. There’s an energy buzzing around me, a frequency that I had stopped hearing. Synchronicities and numbers are aligning again. Something is coming, a new cycle, a new path, perhaps a different purpose? Whatever it is that’s brewing behind the scenes, my goal is to stay present. Yesterday I had a nice late lunch with my dad. He’s visiting me in the city for a few days. I was a bit burnt out from my workweek, so after a quick tiramisu in Little Italy, we decided to part ways. We have a date at The MOMA today, and I’m drinking a quick coffee in the West Village while I wait for him to meet me. As I write outside a cafe at a little table, awaiting the sun. A little sparrow decided to join me. Taking bits of my croissant that I extend for her right out of my hand. What a feeling to be trusted by such a small, innocent creature. This small interaction has helped clear the heavy energy around me today. Yesterday, after seeing my dad, something horrific happened on my way home.

I was on the L train headed back towards Brooklyn when a woman attempted suicide by jumping in front of my train.

We stopped abruptly, and the conductor announced that we were stalled momentarily due to an injury. There were a few groans and eyerolls passed around as we waited to begin moving again. After a few minutes, it was announced that the train was out of service and that anyone in the back should begin moving towards the front. The conductor came and manually opened the doors in each car. As we all got off, voices murmured questions. What happened? As I exited, I noticed some people leaning down towards the tracks, and my stomach dropped. Under the train, I could see a body moving. Her pale skin is embedded in my mind. There was a person, a woman, I found out later, trapped on the tracks under the train. Another woman was leaning down, trying to comfort her, saying help was on the way. I stopped and asked if she was okay. Looking back, it was a stupid question. The girl on the platform replied, “No, she jumped in front of the train.” Realizing the horror scene happening before me, I followed the rest of the people out. Around me were gasps and cries of shock as others passed the victim. A girl asked me what happened as we were passing through the turnstile.

I explained what I was told and saw the same emotions I was feeling reflected in her eyes, utter terror.

Realizing her fear, I quickly tried to reassure her. Letting her know that I saw her moving and that there was a chance she would be okay. I think the words “We have to be positive” came out of my mouth. I feel like a fool thinking about it now. There was a person actively dying under a train, and I just saw her body. Why did I say that? As I reflect, I’m reminded that I was trying to console the younger woman. I was equally in shock. As I walked home, the adrenaline faded, and tears filled my eyes. Would the woman make it? Did I witness someone’s horrific death? How do I walk home like it’s normal to see someone in such a state? Shaken, I made it into my apartment and crumbled. I scanned the news platforms, Reddit, and the Citizens app. People were reporting live that the woman survived the impact and was rushed to the hospital with a severe leg injury. Some sources say she lost one leg, others say it was both. I found a post on Reddit from the woman and her boyfriend who witnessed her jump onto the platform. There were testimonies that the conductor let out a bloodcurdling scream and was distraught. Passengers were consoling her while the EMT arrived.

The train operator and the couple were the only ones who witnessed her jump.

On my way to work today, I stopped by the subway Kiosk and asked the woman working if she knew how the conductor ( I learned the train operator is the one in the first car) was doing. She informed me that she heard about the incident, and the first thing they do when someone gets hit is pull the whole crew off the train. They make them take drug tests, write statements, and for three days they investigate the incident to make sure it wasn’t the crew’s fault. It doesn’t matter if there are witnesses or not; they treat it as their fault until they get answers. Guilty until proven innocent. Then they’re offered therapy, but it’s unpaid, and most people can’t afford to miss work, so they end up going right back to the job with major PTSD and no support from the MTA. She told me that it’s so common to have suicides, especially during the holidays, that they learned to disassociate. She says people wonder why the MTA employees seem so detached. It’s because they see, hear, and deal with so many horrific things and are just expected to keep it moving.

“They just want to know when their next train is coming; they don’t care that someone’s child has just died.”

I inquired after the victim, and she heard that the girl didn’t make it to the hospital. Her last moments were spent trapped under a train, writhing in agony. Her second chance would never come, her life fading as dozens of people walked by. Unable to help, paralyzed in shock and fear. My heart weighs heavily for her. I can’t imagine the pain and fear she experienced in her last moments. I can’t stop thinking about the train operator. I can’t imagine the weight of seeing such an unimaginable thing firsthand. The guilt she might carry, blaming herself for the woman’s death when in reality she had no control over the situation. I’m still haunted. When the train pulled into the station with the numbers 9333 on its side, I felt positive. Like I was being guided and supported. When I took my seat, there was an ad with the numbers 222 on it. My favorite angel numbers were a sign, or so I thought, that I was on the right path. I used to think these numbers signify positivity. Only to be met with such a horrible experience 2 stops away from my home. Why was I placed here? All I can think about is how the world keeps moving. How people live and die all around us, and we keep walking. An entire soul, life, and person ended their journey less than 100 feet from where I was. All I could do was watch silently. My heart aches for the young woman who felt so alone and lost that she thought this was her only option.

I pray she’s at peace now

I wish I could embrace every lonely suffering soul and tell them how much they matter. I know this cold, cruel world keeps spinning no matter what, but each life is vital. Every single one of us is a piece of life and energy that keeps it moving. There is a purpose for each individual. I’ve once been at a place where I thought this world was better off without me. I know the utter despair and suffering. There was a time when the only thing that kept me here was my family. I couldn’t pass my pain onto them; I wouldn’t allow them to suffer in the same way I was. So I fought for myself and for my life. I got help, and I healed. It took more than a decade for me to realize that things do, in fact, get better. It’s not without difficulty, but the struggle is worth it. Being here, living and breathing. Experiencing the beautiful sounds, colors, and tastes life has to offer. The connection is all of us, the threads of energy intertwining our lives together. It’s beautiful. Your pain matters, your story deserves to be heard, and I value your life. There is nothing you must do to earn your place here. There is nothing else you must do to be worth it. Your life, your body, mind, and heartbeat make you someone worth fighting for. Anyone can be saved. Give yourself a chance. Ask for help, lean on those around you, and if there is no one. Lean on me, lean on us. I wish I could’ve known this woman and told her story. Instead, I’m here telling you how it ended. Maybe the reason I was on that train was to remember. To be reminded how precious life is. How lost some people are, and to document this moment. To tell anyone else out there who is contemplating the same fate, how much this world needs them.

THE WORLD NEEDS YOU

I wish I could go back in time and find this woman. I’d grab her by the shoulders and shake her. Begging her not to make this choice. Warn her that the horror of her last moments would be filled with. Hold her in my arms and find a way to get her the support she needs. In their testimony, the couple who witnessed her jump said she changed her mind at the last minute. Unfortunately, it was too late. She’ll never get a second chance. She can’t share her story that might’ve helped someone else in her shoes. She can’t erase the trauma caused to the witnesses. What’s done is done. There aren’t many decisions in this life that you can’t come back from, but suicide is one of them. You can never come back from that choice. You will never find out what your life could become. This country has failed its people. There are so many humans struggling with mental health. They can’t afford to live or get help. We judge those living on the streets without asking what brought them there. We should be helping our people instead of pouring our resources into wars and AI. I can’t move past the pain and the what-ifs. Constantly wondering what brought this poor woman to this point. I keep replaying the day in my head. My eyes burn with tears at the image seared into my brain. Please hear me when I say this. Don’t give up, please. No one deserves to die like that.

I still see her body lying on the tracks when I close my eyes

“The bravest thing I ever did was continuing my life when I wanted to die.”

-Juliette Lewis

If you or a loved one is struggling with suicidal thoughts, call/text 988 for support

You don’t see it until it’s too late

I’ve outgrown the “I want to live in your skin” type of romance. It’s too infantile and quite frankly cringey. I’ve been with too many men who didn’t want to be with me. They actually wanted to BE me. Those were the men who love bombed me. I don’t mean to imply that they actually wanted to be a woman. What they wanted was to claim and embody the energy I carry. They were in love with the idea of what I could provide for them, not me. I’ve learned to see this energy for what it is, and it terrifies me. I know the damage that is caused by these types of relationships. They build you up in an intense, magical way, pouring love, affirmations, gifts, and time into you. It feels amazing and euphoric. It was like I was unstoppable. Finally seen and valued in the way that I deserved. The shift would happen slowly over time. I wouldn’t see it until I was broken, crazed, and completely drained of life. The self-confidence I carried was taken from me. The very essence that attracted them to me became the reason why they hated me. Incapable of creating it for themselves, they instead broke me in retaliation. Most of the time, romances that begin quickly with a whirlwind of emotion, crash and burn later. They build you up and then slowly devalue you, before finally pulling away, leaving you chasing them.

They want your essence, not your being

As I’m thawing from my breakup and finally open to getting back out there, I’ve been having a bit of a conundrum. For some reason or another, I seem to be attracting obsessive weirdos and/or Trump supporters. The Trump supporter predicament, I understand, being a Latina woman, they love to sexualize us, while also voting directly against our rights to live. I have zero tolerance for those men and have gotten into a borderline verbal altercation and a normal but brutal shutdown via text. The second guy took it like a champ and actually apologized for his vote, but he gets no sympathy from me. The first guy was very upset that I said, “Of course, a white man is trying to convince me why voting for Trump is okay.” He apparently heard me say, “A white man can’t have an opinion.” The interaction escalated to the point that I felt very unsafe, and I ended up freezing. I was paralyzed and didn’t know how to get my butt out of the bar seat. Normally, I’m better at getting myself out of these situations, but I was also severely sleep deprived, and my brain wasn’t working. This context is important because *insert hero* a younger guy, asked if I needed a rescue, and I sat with him instead.

If it’s not one thing, it’s another

He seemed like a knight in shining armour until 3 minutes into the conversation, he leaned in to kiss me. I shut that down quickly, but against my better judgment, I let it slide. We spent a nice evening talking, laughing, and eventually, later on into the night, I let him kiss me. I wasn’t too thrown off by this interaction because it was late and there was some drinking involved. Despite his repeated attempts to convince me to stay longer, I eventually decided it was time to go home. He said he was going to come by for lunch the next day at the restaurant where I work, and he actually showed up. I thought this was sweet and didn’t think anything of it. He invited me to come to his housewarming party later, and I figured it wouldn’t hurt. I arrived at the housewarming, and he was immediately all over me. Down Boy! I told him to back off, and he listened. We chatted for a little while, and I straight-up told him he was coming off way too strong and lovebombing me. Because our conversations were a blend of banter and realism, it was hard to tell where the lines blurred. Part of what took me so long to end the connection was the fact that I wanted to figure him out. I’m really good at reading people and can also tell who they are as a person. This kid was a puzzle I wanted to crack.

It was the first time in my life that I couldn’t read someone

His friends left, and while we were lounging on his couch, he mentioned he really liked me and wanted to be exclusive. This is where the sense returned to my brain. It freaked me the fuck out, and I felt this borderline demonic energy coming off of him. It was salivating in the background, waiting to steal my energy. I got the hell out of there fast, despite his attempts to get me to stay longer. This was also a red flag because he knew I had work early the next morning. This was showing me that he was selfish and couldn’t care less about my time. He apologized later for coming off too strong and asked for a redo. Repeatedly trying to schedule a date. I felt bad for the kid, but I knew I was never going to see him again, so I told him we just weren’t compatible. It was nice for a few hours before the wedding, baby names, and future life started getting planned. He was ready to give up clubs for good, get a makeover, and basically become whatever I wanted. I might be looking to get back out there, but this isn’t build a man workshop.

My next partner needs to come already assembled with all the necessary pieces

For a moment, I fell for the flattery, the desire, and the desperate need to be around me. The part I had to focus on was the intensity, the boundaries crossed, the pressure, and the immediate desire for commitment. Anyone coming off this strong has something majorly wrong with them. Maybe back in the day, people fell in love in a day and were married for 50 years after, but back then, women couldn’t have their own bank account. Men should desire you and want to be around you, but in a normal, HEALTHY way. A relationship depends on individuality. You need space to build healthy boundaries and get to know each other. There’s so much that goes into creating this. It takes a really long time to determine if they’re someone you can build with. You shouldn’t throw all your eggs in one basket right away. It’s okay to explore connections with more than one person at once. Anyone secure in themselves shouldn’t be deterred by that. Humans are meant to connect. Especially in your 20s, it’s more than okay to have some fun. Kiss a few frogs before you find your prince, but unlike the fairytales, you are not a damsel in distress. No one should be trying to lock you in a castle or declaring their love for you at first sight.

There is no need to rush. Life is equally as long as it is short.

Love bombing falls upon the perpetrators, but there are ways to arm yourself against it. You should be pursued, chased, and cherished. Yet, there should also be care and consideration involved. I’m sure you’ve heard “Good things come to those who wait.” It’s one of my favorite quotes. Any man who truly desires to nurture a connection with you will savor it. They won’t rush you into bed or a relationship. Love should be passionate, but that can’t be the only thing it’s built on. Friendship is the true pillar of all longstanding relationships. Friendship takes time to build. Your self-love needs to be your backbone. Your needs and desires must come before all. It doesn’t matter how handsome or charming a man is. It also doesn’t matter how smart, gorgeous, and perfect you are. No one should be intensely obsessed with you right away. It feels good until it doesn’t. Trust me.

“Anything worth doing is worth doing slowly.”

— Mae West

“To shift your life in a desired direction, you must powerfully shift your subconscious.”

― Kevin Michel, Moving Through Parallel Worlds To Achieve Your Dreams

My therapist gave me an assignment involving my dominant and non-dominant hands. A great way to activate your subconscious mind is through completing tasks in the opposite way you’re used to. An example I’ve read about often is brushing your teeth with your non-dominant hand. Other ways to connect with your subconscious are through meditation, journaling, affirmations, and visualization. I was able to transform my life using these tools. Through meditation and affirmations, I’ve been able to rewire my brain and heal my relationship with myself. It takes time and consistency, but the results are guaranteed. We are the creators of our reality, and the mind is stronger than matter. If you can see it in your mind, you can bring it to life. The power of suggestion is incredible. The thoughts circulating in your head provide suggestions to your subconscious. Your subconscious can’t tell the difference between your thoughts. It takes what it hears as facts. That’s why it’s so important to speak to yourself positively.

The things your subconscious mind believes are brought to life through your conscious mind

This prompt was meant to bring your inner critic to life. The way you respond to the task of writing with your “weak” hand can expose how you respond to stress. It’s easy to get frustrated and lash out. Perhaps you feel incapable or like a failure. When I first attempted the activity, irritation immediately came up. Through my time with healing, I’ve learned to self-regulate. I was able to soothe myself and finish the activity with ease. As I arrived at the last question, I realized something. The activity that was supposed to expose negative self-talk actually showed me how much I’ve grown. I didn’t have an inner critic; I was gentle with myself, understanding that the difficulty I was experiencing was not a reflection of myself. I’ve spent years perfecting the language I use when speaking to myself. I’m still human and have my slip-ups. Once I realize how I’m speaking to myself, I immediately combat it with an excess of positive affirmations. The goal is progress, not perfection.

When you use negative self-talk, you’re not just speaking to the adult;

It’s the child inside that’s most affected

This journal was an interesting way to explore self-regulation in real time. For you, perhaps deeper emotions may come up. Whatever you learn from this experience, remember that your mind is the most valuable thing you have. Treat it with care and kindness. Inside of you lives every version. Even the little one who didn’t have anyone to teach them how to be kinder to themselves. If you decide to go down a path of reconnecting with your inner child, be prepared. Emotions that have been dormant for years have resurfaced within me. I’ve found myself triggered more and reacting to things I thought I was past. This is a normal and natural part of the process and shows me what areas in my life need more attention.

There’s no cure for pain and trauma, but there is maintenance that can allow you to be free from its control.

Journal Prompt: Reconnecting With Your Inner Child Day 2

INNER CHILD journaling template by Rachel Havekost

NON-DOMINANT HAND

Write your Name:

Why did you choose to do this journal?

What is it like writing with your non-dominant hand?

What words come to mind to describe the experience?

DOMINANT HAND

What do you think when you look at your non-dominant hand writing?

Do you have any judgments or criticisms of the non-dominant section?

What words come to mind to describe the experience?

NON-DOMINANT HAND RESPONSE

What would you like to say to your inner critic?

How does it feel to be criticized?

What else do you want to say to assert yourself? You have full permission here:

I’m a different person now

As I scanned the menu, something caught my eye. A martini flight, three 2-oz martinis of your choice, but that wasn’t what caught my attention. I saw her: The Bradshaw Martini: Gin, Cointreau, Pomegranate juice, Lime, and Oak. Named after my inspiration, Carrie Bradshaw. Here I am living my Sexless-Sex in the City life, building my dreams one brick at a time. It felt like a good omen, a nod from the universe that I was on the right path. The girls arrived, and we ordered three martini flights to sip on while catching up. We reminisced on our time working together and talked shit about our insane coworkers. We debriefed and shared stories. Then finally came the moment I was waiting for. A few months ago, we found out that we were both going through a breakup. It was through this shared experience that she mentioned she wanted to come to New York. Finally, we were here, and the conversation shifted.

What I heard next broke my heart

She gave us the sparknotes of the mental, emotional, and eventual physical abuse she experienced. We sat there listening, nodding our heads in understanding. Each one of us had survived an abusive relationship at some point in our past. We discussed how the abuse starts small. You don’t realize how each fight escalates a bit more. The passive-aggressiveness and the control and manipulation that leave you questioning yourself. The guilt and the self-blame that keep you paralyzed. Stuck in a cycle of pain. We discussed how we might have judged women in the past for staying in abusive relationships. Until we became those women, trapped with no way out. At one point, she tried to apologize for turning the conversation towards such a dark topic. We dismissed that immediately. This was a safe space, a corner in a darkly lit room where 3 women with wounds caused by men were holding space for each other’s pain.

You never think it can happen to you until it does

The thing is, there are good men out there, but there are more bad ones. Every woman in this world has felt unsafe at some point. It’s a part of our experience, and there’s no way around it. Living in a man’s world means living with the knowledge that at any point your life may end. “Have you heard of an Alpine Divorce?” My friend asks us, as we swap martinis, to see which one tastes the best. Turns out, men would rather abandon women in the wilderness on hikes or in a remote area than break up with them. Putting them in a life-threatening situation. This act is so common that it gets its own name. 1 out of 3 women in the world has experienced abuse. Therefore, it makes sense when we say, “I hate all men.” There were 3 of us sitting there, and each one of us had been verbally, physically, and even sexually assaulted. It’s the horrible reality that we carry, and yet we still try. We haven’t given up on love.

Despite having every reason to believe it only causes pain

Each one of us is sitting around the table, practically strangers, bonding over one of the worst things a woman can go through. There’s no judgment, no side eyeing. Just pure understanding of the strength we each carry. A man tried to break us, kill us, destroy us beyond repair, and we survived. Many don’t. When a woman is murdered, the first suspect is always the husband, and most of the time, he did it. Love has been a death sentence for so many of us. So instead of getting mad when a woman says, “I hate all men,” think about why. It’s easy to get offended, but understanding is the harder choice. Women don’t hate men; they wish there were more good ones. I know an abundance of good men. Ones I cherish and use as the standard for what a man should be. I also know that they are rare and hard to find. That doesn’t mean it’s impossible, but sometimes it can feel that way.

I see women out there being loved in a way that gives me faith

I am so proud of my girl for overcoming her breakup and finding the strength to walk away. I see her doing the things she once thought were impossible, and I can relate. To all the women out there who have experienced domestic abuse, my heart goes out to you. I know how horrible it feels. What it’s like to close your eyes and feel like you’re reliving it over and over again. It never goes away, but it does get easier. You can and will survive it. No matter what you’ve experienced, you are not the worst thing you’ve been through. No one can take your power; you decide whether or not to give it away. You are so much more than your pain, and I see you. I see your pain, your broken pieces, and I see the strength it takes to keep moving forward when every bone in your body is begging you to give up.

You are not alone

“I just want to tell other women that when you feel like you are falling, there is a whole army of us ready to catch you. You don’t need to explain because we have lived it, we know, we see, we are here for you, and we believe you.”

(Shonagh, CEO)

National Domestic Violence Hotline (800) 799-7233

The planet Jupiter is the largest planet in our solar system; 1,300 Earths could fit inside it. Jupiter, the king of our galaxy: The God of Gods, sky and thunder. Without him, Earth would cease to exist. Jupiter’s gravity pulls countless asteroids and comets into its orbit. Pulling them in and away from Mother Earth, and saving us from mass destruction.

How many existences have survived because of the silent protector shielding us from demise?

When I first learned of Jupiter’s role in our survival, it brought my mind to a specific place—the black sheep of the family, the spiritual workers, the dreamers. We are the ones charged with transmuting the karma of our family’s lineage. Lesson after lesson sent to break us, but still we emerge. Healing generations of pain and patterns through our own liberation. Oftentimes, the black sheep of the family is scrutinized and shamed for being different. They are cast out from the dysfunctional homes they’ve been raised in. Some leave on their own, choosing their own path away from the system.

Their sacrifice is invisible, but it’s those brave enough to make their own way that keep this world alive.

Like Jupiter, the rebel is showered with asteroids raining in from all sides. This heavy debris comes in the form of trials. They grow up knowing they’re different. Suffocated under the weight of generations. Fear and shame that don’t belong to them, yet they carry regardless. Instead of being embraced for their differences, they are scorned—the burden they carry written off as disobedience. Instead of the family reflecting within and choosing to change as a whole, this child becomes a scapegoat. The integral systems go unquestioned; the problem falls upon a singular person. It’s a lonely role to live in. The thankless sacrifices are ignored, and oftentimes, recognition is never given.

Being the scapegoat is a result of dysfunctional family dynamics, but there’s also a deeper spiritual meaning.

This doesn’t make it better; in a perfect world, we would all be seen and supported. For many, that is a privilege they don’t have. The scapegoat is the cycle breaker, the one who lives in the shadows that the rest of the family ignores. They are the truth-tellers bringing life to all the facts that get buried under performance. By rejecting the false identities projected onto them, they break free from generational curses. Absorbing the toxic energy so that it ends with them. Transmuting the pain into power and cultivating a deeper relationship with themselves. They threaten the egos around them through refusal to succumb to control. Many are attacked and treated as less than, not because they are weak, but quite the opposite. They are the most powerful members of our society. It takes a unique strength to challenge your own family. The pressures of duty are not easy to break away from. I don’t believe that suffering creates strength. Many people become hardened by hardship and turn bitter.

In others, it births sensitivity, and it’s through integration of this pain that spiritual awakening is born.

Not everyone in this world is meant to evolve, but instead to show you what happens if you don’t. The universe knows your worth and value. It’s placed you in the situations you’ve had because it knows you’re enough to overcome them. Not to become stronger, but to become more intuitive, kinder, wiser, and whole. So that you can navigate the energies of this plane with knowledge not everyone gets to have. It’s a gift given for a very specific purpose. The dreamers and the outcasts are meant to be leaders. They carve out new ways of thinking and living with alignment. Watching from the shadows until their moment comes and they step into the spotlight. Anger is a part of this journey as well, fury at the injustice. Rage at the lack of awareness others carry. Resentment towards the people who don’t protect us.

It takes true power to turn tragedy and rage into success.

Not everyone has to change the world loudly. Success looks different for everyone. Sometimes it just means regulating your own nervous system. It can look like a quiet life surrounded by peace and love. Maybe it’s reparenting yourself. So that the people you touch are better off. Changing the world starts with changing oneself. Each one of us plays a role in the collective consciousness. Becoming your own safe space and creating a healthier world within you creates a healthier world outside you. We live in dark times right now; it’s very easy to fall into doom and despair. Maybe success for you is finding a way to stay afloat when everything feels like it’s crashing down. Maybe you have broken away from trying to change your family. You are Jupiter, and Earth is your inner child. Pulling in all the pain away from the child within and protecting them the way no one protected you.

That is enough, that is beautiful, and in my eyes, that is true success.

When one knows when to venture out and when to limit, when to believe and when to doubt, and when to keep trying and when to move on, he has unlocked the secret of success.”
― Cate East

I recognize not everyone has access to working with a therapist, but this series does not replace professional help. If you find yourself in a Mental Health crisis, please seek out your local resources. Call/Text 988 (USA) if you need help.

The first prompt came with a series of questions based on a photo of my selection. I had to choose a photo of myself from the past. Not just any photo, but one that I felt connected to and called to. I chose one from when I was probably 8-10 years old. In it, you see me hunched over a table, with a pencil in my hand. My hair was pulled back in a low ponytail. My eyes lowered, completely focused on the homework in front of me. I can’t tell what subject it is, but regardless, I’m deeply lost in my assignment. Not in a pained or forced way. It’s natural, as it always was. I look at ease, stoic, with a quiet confidence. It reminded me of when school was my escape, my sanctuary. When I lived in the world of my books, and my writing something that came from the magic in the worlds I created around me. I never fully walked on the physical plane during that time in my life. The realm of possibility, spirits, and magic was where I dwelled most of the time. I met my gods at this age. In the sky, the grass, the deep forest, and the trees, I was surrounded by. A higher calling was always chasing me, but the depth of it was lost to my youth.

(The Photo I chose is the top left)

The prompt had 6 questions. I will share them along with my responses and what further reflection my answers brought. I urge you to take the time and explore this prompt for yourself. It’s a simple introduction, but it allows you to open doors left untouched for years.

1. What age am I here, and what drew me to this age?

“In this photo, I am doing homework, and it reminded me of when school, reading, and writing were my sanctuary. I can’t really remember any trauma. I lived in my books and fantasy worlds and let my imagination run wild.”

My therapist asked me if I felt I used reading as an escape. I quickly agreed as this was something I’m very aware of. Around this age, my parents would’ve been divorced for a year or two. My formerly stable life was thrown into disaster. My stability was robbed from me and never returned. I’d spend the rest of my life going back and forth between my parents’ homes every other week, until moving out and carving my own path of destruction. Each week was a different parent, different rules, different routine, and different life. I used reading as a way to find comfort. I leaned towards stories where the main character starts ordinary and gets thrust into a world of wonder, where they become a hero. I felt that I was special and meant for more. I was desperate to be released from one chaos that felt meaningless, into one of purpose.

2. What do I remember about this time in my life?

“I remember happier times like traveling upstate, walking in the woods with my dad, playing soccer, excelling in school, and getting lost in my books and imagination.

You can see why my therapist asked if I may have used reading as an escape. This will come up a lot throughout the prompt.

3. What happened to me that hurt me during this time?

“I can’t remember something specific, but I know I always felt different. Like I was special, but others didn’t know it. I always struggled with teachers until they realized how to connect with me. I would’ve been adjusting to split custody and the stress that brought. I remember not feeling beautiful at times. I don’t know what specific year this photo is from, so it’s hard to pick a certain event. I also tend to struggle with memory loss when it comes to my youth.”

Before I hit puberty, my childhood became categorized by certain core memories. Some good, but mostly negative ones. It’s hard for me to recall memories outside of those vivid events. Kindergarten was good (pre-divorce). 1st Grade was the divorce, and my teacher, who gave my newly single dad a parenting book on corporal punishment, not knowing I was getting more than enough of that at my mom’s house (to put it lightly). 2nd Grade, I had just finished reading Harry Potter, and my teacher, who previously thought I wasn’t paying attention, realized I actually had an 8th-grade reading level, and class was just too easy for me. I also miraculously overnight became the fastest student in my grade, except for one other girl who we’d occasionally trade the spot for 1st with each other. 3rd grade was my recurring nightmares about the devil kidnapping God, and I was the only person who knew and could save him. I was also obsessed with the Titanic. 4th Grade was the year my mom had major brain surgery and almost died, also my 4th grade teacher didn’t like me and wouldn’t let me into advanced math. My dad studied with me every night until I passed the test, and shut her up. 5th grade was the year I had my “first boyfriend” and also began learning 12th-grade reading. 6th Grade: I broke my ankle twice. It’s all packed up neatly in my brain like a file cabinet with good and bad memories that shaped my life. Elementary school was the easiest time in my life; after that, the real pain began.

4. How did my parents respond to my needs, desires, dreams, or personality at this age?

“I remember them nurturing my creativity and outside-of-the-box thinking. I have some nice memories of cooking, watching movies, and playing with my mom. My dad always pushed me in sports, music, and the arts. He shaped me to be someone who questions the societal norms.”

5. What were my hopes and dreams at this age?

“Probably to discover I was one of the characters in my books, go on a magical quest, and meet a prince. Oh, and to be the first woman on the Men’s USA soccer team.”

6. How did I change after this age in my life?

“As I got older, life got harder.”

Through these prompts, I was reminded of my younger self, who was much more in tune with her creative and spiritual side. I performed magic and spells naturally, and wonder surrounded me. I would lose myself to nature for hours, communing with the animals and plants. I remember how optimistic she was that things would get better. I was filled with a fire and passion that had been suppressed with age. I want to remember who that girl was and bring her back to life. It’s been too long since she has faded into my subconscious. The one thing that has stayed the same is her desire for an absolute and true love. That’s something I haven’t lost; maybe my faith in it occurring has changed, but the desire stays the same. That girl knew she belonged on stage; she was writing books, singing, and dancing without shame. Every time I release a song or post an article, it’s not just for me, but for her.

Around this age, I would’ve started experiencing a strained relationship with my mom. My relationship with my sister was also strained because of the different ways we were treated by her. I was already feeling slightly out of place with my peers, but the true alienation would not come until middle and high school. Because so many life-altering and traumatic experiences happened during that time, I’ve forgotten to look back further. Elementary school would have been the beginning of me indentity shaping. Despite the events of this time being mild compared to the future to come, they’re still relevant for understanding what has shaped me. It reminded me how disconnected I feel within. It also explains why, despite my desire for stability, I also find myself rebuilding my life back up from the point of destruction over and over again. I’m good at fixing and navigating difficult periods, but I don’t know how to exist when the dust settles. It makes me wonder if the strife in my life is being subconsciously brought forth by a sense of comfort and familiarity.

I also got to dive into the relationship I have with my image. I didn’t look like my peers and never felt beautiful. I was always the friend of a beautiful girl with Eurocentric beauty standards. I was the backdrop behind her, enhancing her beauty. I was tall and an athlete with a body that reflected that strength. There was no soft and smallness to me, there never has been. I wore second-hand clothes from thrift stores before it was trendy. My shoes were always dirty and beat up from running. I wore baggy T-shirts and soccer shorts and felt like a little boy more than a girl. It was empowering for me until I noticed the snickers and stares. I remember being 7 and telling a mean 6th grader that he could call me bad words because I didn’t care. I was so desperate to be included that it didn’t matter if I was the butt of the joke. I wore the label he gave me with pride, “asshole.” I was happy to be tough and beat the boys at sports. I wanted to prove to them that I could run, kick, and play not just as well as them, but better. It was my strength and the tough shield that I wore on the outside. Inside, there was this little princess who never felt safe coming out. If she did, they’d eat her alive, because I didn’t look like the princess. Instead, I looked like the evil witch who would steal her away. A lot of this can be blamed on the lack of diversity where I went to school in suburban Virginia. The first time a peer called me beautiful was when I was 15, working at an art camp in Brooklyn, New York. My whole life, I waited for my summers in New York, because here I fit in, here I was beautiful, here I could be all, including that princess.

These journal questions seem so simple, but sometimes the simplest of questions produce the deepest of answers. As I work through the prompts and discussions further, I ask you to join me. When was the last time you slowed down and really put yourself back in the mind of your younger self? Getting older means we get lost in the world of work, bills, and the pursuit of success. Sometimes it’s good to remember not just why, but WHO you’re doing it all for. Life is too short to forget your magic. This world pulls us into its coldness, but also allows us to step out of that and embrace its warmth. There are so many wounded children walking around inside the shells of adults. I think we as a society could be a much healthier place if we remembered the innocence that keeps the world going. The children are our future. It is their hearts and minds that keep the magic alive, and we all have a child inside of us.

“For in every adult there dwells the child that was, and in every child there lies the adult that will be.”

― John Connolly

The idea is not to live in the Divine Femme or Divine Masc, but to instead find the right balance of them both within yourself.

“Religion based entirely on feminine energy, however, is as unbalanced and unnatural as one totally masculine in focus.”(Cunningham, Scott. Wicca: A Guide For The Solitary Practitioner, 2004, Page:11)

Let’s look at the origin of the Divine Feminine and Masculine concept. Throughout history, many pre-Christian religions incorporated the idea of the Dual Gods or Celestial pairs that represent two opposing forces that together create the universe. I like to look at Wiccan and Daoism (Taoism) when exploring these conversations, as I feel their definitions align most with my own understanding. It doesn’t limit them as the only source; you will find the concept of Yin/Yang and masculine/feminine in Baltic/Germanic, Hindu, Norse, Japanese, Poleynisian and many more polytheistic religions. When we come across these ideas, modern-day society lacks the depth of thinking that allows these concepts to exist outside of gender. Yes, the characteristics of these ideas align with certain genders, but in the grand scheme of the universe, they are genderless. In Wicca, they are commonly known as the Goddess and the God, but they are also considered nameless and have no fixed form or limitations. For many, it is easier to name them to identify these entities. “The Goddess has been depicted as a huntress running with her hounds; a celestial deity striding across the sky with stardust falling from her heels; the eternal Mother heavy with child; the weaver of our lives and deaths; a crone walking by waning moonlight seeking out the weak and forlorn, and as many other beings. But no matter how we envision her, she is omnipresent, changeless, eternal” (Cunningham, Page:12) . The Goddess is the creator energy, giving birth to the cosmos and the embodiment of fertility, love, and abundance. She is nature in its entirety and seen as the Moon. The Earth Mother. “But as life is her gift, she lends it with promise of death.” (Cunningham, Page:11) God is the Sun, and the source that brings light and warmth. The Sky Father. “We see the God in the sun, brilliantly shining overhead during the day, rising and setting in the endless cycle that governs our lives. Without the sun we could not exist; therefore it has been revered as the source of all life, the warmth that bursts the dormant seeds into life and hastens the greening of the earth after the cold snows of winter.” (Cunningham, Page:12) Both working together in unity create the universe and the cycles of life and death. One cannot exist without the other, and they are equal in every way.

In Daoism (Taoism), we see a similar concept when we look at Yin and Yang. Two opposing forces that complement one another in energy. There are no singular truths; each part of life is ingrained with a piece of both. Yin is the darkness, correlated with feminine energy: Moon, Cold, Water, Passive, Intuitive, Soft, Negative. While Yang is the light, correlated with masculine energy: Sun, Hot, Active, Logical, Loud. When we look at the symbol of Yin and Yang, you will see a smaller circle of white/black in the opposing side, showing that all things exist with a bit of both. There are no absolutes, and when looking to incorporate these energies into our lives, the goal is the search for balance. Leaning into either energy in totality is an imbalance. The goal of these energies is wholeness and togetherness, not using the attributes of one to manipulate the other. Knowing when it’s time to act and when instead you should just observe.

“Being and non-being produce each other. Difficult and easy complement each other. Long and short define each other. High and low oppose each other. Fore and aft follow each other.” (Lao, Tzu, Tao Te Ching, Chapter 2, Translated by John H. McDonald)

These energies are supposed to exist together within us and can present outside of us in whatever way feels natural and authentic to the individual’s experience. Humans are flawed and complex beings. We are not the gods of old in human flesh; we are pieces of them. Fragments scattered upon the earth, experiencing a physical world. Meant to be explored, lived, and constantly evolving. I often write about the duality of womanhood and how this experience varies from person to person. My problem with the way these creators are pushing this narrative of “Divine Feminine” onto women creates the idea that the way they are living is wrong. As if we haven’t seen the vast spectrum of womanhood in the deities represented in each culture. Femininity isn’t softness or smallness; it is balance and the creation. It is also the end of empires and the darkness within us that we all fear. The true “Divine Masculine” embodies his divine feminine side. If you asked me, we should be pushing that narrative onto men instead. Let them learn how to kneel and worship the duality of femininity, and perhaps more women will naturally fall into their softer side without being shamed into it.

These ancient archetypes have existed for eons and cannot be packed into a small, digestible form.

Hustle culture, capitalism, and the patriarchy have led society as a whole to live out of alignment with natural order. A natural order that the right has skewered into gender roles and outdated ideas. You cannot be in your divine feminine energy until the patriarchy is dead. The true divine feminine is EQUAL, she is protected, revered, supported, and most importantly, she has the right to do what she wants to do with her body. We shouldn’t be promoting the embodiment of this energy; instead, we should be screaming death to the patriarchal system. You can seek deeper alignment within yourself, but the goal should be for yourself. You cannot access the soft parts of your being without first facing the dark part. The pain, trauma, and conditioning we call carry. You will also continue to carry these triggers for the rest of your life. You can get better at identifying them and reacting differently when they present themselves, but you cannot truly erase them. The idea that TikTokers are pushing is actually just rooted in their privilege. It is a privilege to have slow mornings filled with cute little self-care rituals. It is a privilege to be able to pour money into your image and health with expensive products. The reality is that most women do not have access to these things. We are working 24/7, sometimes more than one job, on top of being mothers or integral members of a family structure. On top of schooling, chasing a career, pursuing our dreams, and, quite frankly, just trying to survive.

It is a privilege to have time, money, and an environment where you can pour life and energy into yourself.

Meeting your inner child doesn’t require a luxury trip to Bali or a spiritual retreat that only the 1% can afford. Most of these workbooks, retreats, and conferences you’re being sold are just putting money into the pocket of those who have a completely different life from ours. The rest and stillness that they claim is required to tap into this energy is oftentimes not accessible to the day-to-day working woman. It is just another scheme to make you feel like you are not doing enough. Placing blame once again on women for not being able to attract their soulmates. Yes, we are the creators of our reality, but we are also living in a system that attacks us from every angle. Living in your divine feminine means trusting your intuition, honoring your rage, and creating an expression. How do we leave survival mode and focus on presence over productivity when we live in a society that forces us into these roles? How do we lead from the heart and allow love to thrive when we are so angry? Angry at the world for failing us, angry at the structures put in place that strip us of our rights. Food, shelter, and water are basic human rights, and yet we must kill ourselves to receive them. It would be nice to live in the divine feminine energy these influencers talk about, but this is a man’s world. Until that changes, stop telling women they need to change and become softer.

We cannot be soft in a world built on harming, killing, overpowering, and controlling women.

“The Wild Woman is the one who dares, who creates, and who destroys.”
― Clarissa Pinkola Estés

This piece was inspired by my close friend’s Instagram rant. To her, I say,

“ Love you, Diva. Keep educating and inspiring the people.”

Why was I made to exist with a constant lack of warmth?

I texted my landlord asking him to put the heat back on. There are only 4 units in the building, and the thermostat used to be free for us to adjust. A lock box was recently placed over it, much to my annoyance. Probably because of me, now that I think about it. He replied that it should start to come on, so I curled back and waited to hear it. The sweet sounds of a tiny man smashing a hammer against a metal pipe; The NYC radiator special. Spending so much time in the city means that these sounds are like white noise for me. If you know, you know. I sleep best with the window open as the sounds of cars, sirens, shouts, and bangs lull me to sleep. I finally heard the angel singing (aka the loud ass radiator) turn on, and I waited for it to get a little warmer before making my exit from bed. My morning was amazing, starting soft and slow with coffee. I caught up on all of the amazing work you guys shared with me until the sharp pains of hunger began to strike. While I moved around the kitchen, beads of sweat began to run down my back. As I took off my hoodie, a realization hit me in that instant.

What I was feeling all this time wasn’t the lack of warmth, but actually the lack of life…

When I’m up and about, running errands, cooking, and going to the gym. It’s not frigid in my apartment. What a shock! This whole time, I wasn’t actually frozen; I just wasn’t living. After being plagued by grief all winter, I hadn’t noticed how much my depression had impacted me. I used to have to go to the chiropractor once a week just to walk without agony. I began going to the gym again last week, and all of a sudden, my back wasn’t hurting as much. Now it’s been almost 3 weeks since I’ve been to the chiro, and I didn’t even notice. I had spent as much time as possible in bed, hunched over, and curled on the couch. I wouldn’t move except for the bathroom or to eat. The only exercise I was getting was my brutal serving shifts on the weekend. No wonder I was cold all the time and in so much pain. My outside world was mirroring my inner one. I was in survival mode, just giving myself whatever I needed to get through the pain. The pain of my breakup that derailed my life, and the pain of losing the most precious thing to me. My dear Abuelo, both things happened a month apart.

I was paralyzed.

I didn’t force myself to come out of it. Nature ran her course. As the seasons changed, so did I; the seeds I planted internally all winter began to bloom. I found myself doing the simplest of tasks that had once felt impossible. An emotion crept back in that I had almost forgotten…. Excitement. I was excited for what was to come, to live, and perhaps love. To breathe fresh air, which I used to only do on the days I had to leave my house for work. I was making plans for new experiences and finding joy in trying new things. My consistency was back, and my mind was clear. My heart was still aching in places, but in a way that felt good. A reminder that the pain was there because so much love had existed. To someone else, it might have been so obvious. If you’re cold, move your body, don’t wait until 10 pm to have a meal, take regular warm showers… duh. To someone going through an inner battle, these minuscule tasks are near impossible. I felt warm today, because I lived. I felt comfort because I cooked. I felt fulfillment because I read and wrote. I’m alive and living, and no longer freezing.

What a beautiful thing it is to live in alignment with movement. To feel and function with purpose.

This brings me to the main point of this piece. Something I’m always relearning and would like to share with you. Where slowing down during periods of sadness is crucial for feeling your emotions. Movement is as necessary for releasing them. You can’t just talk or feel through healing. These emotions need to be transmuted through physical action. If you don’t utilize both skills, you’ll get stuck. I am the queen of introspection, but struggle when it comes time for action. I think all the time, in an exhausting way. My brain is always moving a million miles per hour. It’s like a constant buzz that I’ve learned to live with. So I sit and think, I feel things rapidly, a variety of different emotions. I process and then process some more. It’s easy for me to forget that I need to pour this energy into another area. To practice being present in my body, I need to be connected with it through activities. Otherwise, all these stagnant emotions consume me, and I get stuck in a freeze state. When I move my body, half of my struggles disappear. That sleep schedule I was trying to fix? No problem, I’m tired earlier and going to bed. Suddenly, I’m waking up without an alarm.

I’ve seen more daylight in the past 2 weeks than I did in the last 3 months. It feels amazing, like a drug.

The body holds on to stress, grief, and trauma in different areas. Healing must be a collaborative effort between the brain and body. When I used to walk myself through ritualistic mushroom experiences, I’d feel the areas within that needed to move. I used to do what I call “intuitive yoga,” which was basically just writhing my body instinctually. I let the psilocybin guide me, and it allowed me to release all my trapped emotions from the past. As I moved away from these practices, not for any particular reason. I began to lose touch with that side of myself. This revelation was a great reminder for me to incorporate more movement into my life. You don’t have to work out for the purpose of creating your dream body. Doing it for your mental health makes the results feel more fulfilling. When you’re ready and have given yourself time to feel, allow yourself some motion. Even just completing basic tasks like running errands and cooking can help shake you out of stagnancy. Take it from a certified couch potato. Know when to slow down and when it’s time to speed up.

“Run when you can, walk if you have to, crawl if you must; just never give up.”

– Dean Karnazes

“My intuition knew instantly that it wasn’t a mistake.”

I still had no proof, but deep down I knew I was right. Finally, I got my answer. He texted me back that he’s going to be in the city for a few weeks and would text me to get the key and credit card. My stomach dropped, despite my gut feeling it was still a shock. Conveniently, he “accidentally” sent his card to my address, securing the need for us to see each other. I didn’t know how to feel…Deep down, I wished he weren’t coming. Yet, there was still a part of me that always hoped he would. That I would be walking down the street looking gorgeous, and we would run into each other. He’d ask me for a coffee, and we’d talk about our years spent apart. Finally, he’d reveal that he came back for me. He’d tell me that his biggest regret was not choosing me, and he wanted another chance to make up for his mistakes. Of course, this isn’t a rom-com, and he’s a doufus. Instead of asking to see me and talk, he set up a stupid excuse for us to casually meet. I wasn’t falling for the games anymore. Who knew if he even wanted to see me? Knowing him and how fast he moves on. He probably already had another hookup set up while he was here.

I refused to allow myself to indulge any thoughts that he wanted to see me and rekindle our relationship.

At first, I wondered if the universe brought him back because we were meant to be. Then I put my big girl pants on and realized this was just a test to see if I’d continue to engage with his emotional immaturity. The girl he left was okay with reading between the lines. She would pull and prod at him until his real feelings emerged. I coaxed him into expressing his feelings, wants, and needs for too long. If he wanted to see me, he’d have to tell me. No games or meetups to exchange some random item that would ultimately lead to us having sex. I’m all about business now. I let him know that I would leave the key and the credit card at the deli downstairs for him to pick up. His only response was “cool, thanks,” and that was that. Now I’m plagued with the knowledge that he’s lurking around the streets. Wondering if I’ll accidentally run into him. Not caring, but caring a little bit about whether or not he’ll directly ask to see me. All of these emotions are natural. I might have reached a place where I was happy we weren’t together, but that didn’t mean I had stopped loving him.

“Now I’m plagued with the knowledge that he’s lurking around the streets.”

I don’t think I’m ready to see him. Not enough time has passed for me to detach from feeling like he was my person. Yes, the relationship was unhealthy, and I went through a lot of pain, but there’s 3 years of history there. It’s hard to separate the good from the bad when you loved someone so deeply. We weren’t just in a relationship; we had lived together, made plans for the future, slept next to each other for a year, and there were 2 years of friendship before that. The pain from that relationship brought me to a place where I distanced myself from the idea of love. I’m not willing to put myself in a position again where I’m someone’s second choice. Knowing this, I still wonder if I’ll see him. Sitting on the subway, imagining unbeknownst to me, he’s a car down.

I feel a change in the air, almost like his presence alters my state of being.

I’m mixed with fear, excitement, and anxiety at all times. A blend of emotions that makes my heart race a beat faster. I’m reminded of why I fell for him in the first place. The shift from friends to lovers made our love feel forbidden and enticing. The push and pull as we fought the forces that tore us apart. The way we knew each other to the core, hated the ugly bits, but saw each other in totality nonetheless. Never fully accepting, but always understanding without a single word said. At least I pretended that was the case. I might’ve seen him fully and knew every hidden piece of his soul. Mine stayed untouched; he never pondered its depth. Taking with him the pieces that fit his world and ignoring the rest. It’s this truth, the reality that I remain unseen. Underappreciated, misunderstood, and alone in my essence, always. This holds me true and reminds me to remain steady. The part of me that would’ve sought him out is gone. I no longer yearn to be seen or chosen by the man who had no interest in doing so already, or any man at that.

“The part of me that would’ve sought him out is gone.”

I realize that his abrupt return wasn’t another lesson or test. It was just a chance for me to see how much I’ve grown. I can appreciate and acknowledge the healing that has occurred. The woman who thought she’d never survive this breakup is gone. What’s left is a stronger person. One who loves herself more confidently and truly. So far removed from the chaos of my former life that I reject any involvement with it. I don’t want him to come back and finally choose me. There are no words that can change the past. The love I desire will come to me one day. It won’t leave me confused and questioning. I know it will come with a quiet strength that leaves me feeling safe instead of anxious. I’m in no hurry to find this love, I know things come when they’re meant to. I’m still healing and learning to prioritize myself. I’ve finally been creating like I used to. I love the person that I see in the mirror. I love the work I’ve been producing. My mind feels like a safe place again, and I am happy. Utterly and unapologetically, this new me chooses empowerment over nostalgia.

“It was just a chance for me to see how much I’ve grown.”

“The world is full of magical things patiently waiting for our wits to grow sharper.” — Eden Phillpotts

A photo of me the night before he left, we had spent all day packing for his move to LA in the morning.

How do we, as women, play the system to get to positions of power to expose it?

In a time where we are more sex positive than ever, I find that we begin to grow closer to our authentic roots. Women are womb workers, healers, sex educators, and medicine women. There’s still a lot of discernment required in this world of “New Age” spirituality; it’s hard to glean what practices are just for trend.

In the Old Testament, Genesis 3:10, Adam says to god, “I heard you in the garden, I was afraid. I was naked, so I hid.” God answers, “Who told you that you were naked?” Now I am not religious, but this part of the text always spoke to me.

It reveals that shame surrounding nudity was not the original human condition.

Instead, it was brought forth with the “apple.” They were forbidden to eat—religious influence and the erasure of the old ways brought in the idea that nudity was sexual. Clothing was viewed as civil and part of the higher class, as many lower-class people did not have the luxury. With this same movement, the role of the feminine in worship was removed. Men became the saviors, the answer to all, and God became a man. When life forms within a woman, birth is something only we can do. How is it that existence became birthed by man? The medicine women were hanged and burned. Chased from their homelands and sent to the shadows to fight for survival. The dieties were shunned, written off as witchcraft and demons sent by the devil. Slowly, we forgot our roots and succumbed to social expectations. Women were erased from worship, except the pure virgins. The matriarchies were destroyed, and the world became the domain of men.

Our creation became a story written, edited, and rewritten by men.

Reclaiming our nudity and sexual liberation is a part of fighting the system. Yet it also plays right into their hand. Walking the fine line is something I am learning to master. As I work on building my presence on social media and Substack, I’ve met a new form of “Gods”, the algorithm. The posts that get the most traction are the more provocative ones. Much to my dismay, I’ve learned that to grow my platform, I have to balance sexuality and substance. Using my body and good looks, combined with a sultry voice, to promote my writing. My comments and DMs are filled with horny men, but with each post, one more person finds their way here. Reading my work, where I have much more to offer than just a pretty face. I’m trying to weaponize my beauty and assets and slide amongst the ranks unnoticed. There’s still a part of it that doesn’t sit well with me. The idea that there are people unknown to me brought to my page through the algorithm. Lusting, saving, and sharing my image for the wrong reasons.

There’s a valid argument on either side of this coin. Showing skin promotes objectification, while not showing it can leave you unnoticed. I couldn’t care less about the validation on my image. What I crave the most is the validation of my work. I’ve always been comfortable turning heads, in public and on social media. I tell myself that once I build a bigger platform, I can call out the objectification and the flaws in society. Where the only value women bring is their sexuality, not for themselves, but for men. They want us to be slutty virgins with pure skin that’s never been touched, but with the experience of a French Madam. We must wait for our Christian Greys and Massimos to free us from our small, unsexually fulfilled lives. God forbid a woman owns her sexuality publicly without shame. The whores are crucified, and the wives are scoffed at. There is no right answer. There is no way to win.

Literate in the art of lovemaking, but innocent enough to need a man to bring us to completion.

Until we as women stop trying to tell each other what the right way to embrace our femininity looks like. Until we stop trying to claim that the divine feminine has a singular form and instead accept that she is infinite. We will stay below the thumb of men, fighting for our right to exist.

The feminine deities that we worship are not just nurturers, but also destructors. It is the duality of women that gives us our power. A duality that exists not just within us, but amongst us.

When you look to judge another woman, take a moment to pause. What is it about her conduct that triggers you? I find that I am most bothered by women who put other women down for the sake of men. Instead of pausing and holding empathy for their method of survival, I judge them. I’ve found myself falling victim to the exact system I spat upon. I enjoy this journey I’m on, knowing that I’ve been given the strength to navigate whatever problems my presence online brings. Men may fall on my videos because of my looks, but my words are for women. To empower them to speak their truth, to trust their intuition, and to do the hard thing over the easy one. My beauty and assets are a holy temple that I honor in private, and weaponize in public. Lust will be their downfall, and we will dance upon the grave of the Patriarchy.

Whatever way you choose to present yourself to the world is the right way. There will be fallout and consequences regardless of the decision. I may be more comfortable showing skin at times, but that is not the only way I show up. With the next generation of women in mind, I take caution. I am just a small creator thus far, and my platform is for adults right now. If the day comes when I grow large enough to the point that there are young people following me, I will make sure to express loudly. You do not have to appeal to the male gaze and show skin to be seen. For now, I let them underestimate me. I may appear to be just another influencer, capitalizing on my looks. That’s just a small piece of my master plan; my dreams go so much further. We live in a world where sex sells, and I plan to use that to my advantage. Unashamed of my body, but aware of how I may be perceived.

The goal is to return to a society where women are at the head of the table. Embracing our powers that come from our bodies. The ability to create, heal, and guide no longer from the background, and instead, from the front and center. I yearn to dance around a fire naked with my sisters. To bathe in the ocean nude and without fear. To allow my hair to grow long, wild, and unkempt. To writhe with spirit intuitively and vocalize in tongues freely under the moon. To bleed onto the earth without a pad or tampon and honor the sacred blood. To spread my legs and allow the sun to touch places forced to be hidden. The only thing that holds me back is the men. The knowledge that my freedom screams to them, that I’m free for the taking. Some days, I feel brave having my body out there unashamed. Other days, I’m filled with anxiety, I cover myself from head to toe, and find comfort in the armor. I allow myself the space to feel differently day by day. My presentation to the world online and in person may change, but my message stays the same. Leave the shame and judgment to the men. Let the real leaders come forth with understanding and empathy for all the different forms women take.

"Do not live someone else's life and someone else's idea of what womanhood is. Womanhood is you." - Viola Davis

My path is to walk the line between earthly and spiritual attachments. I find that these cards ring true. Faced with overcoming addiction at just 19 years old, only intense healing has allowed me to walk away without attachment. Not everyone can face that battle and truly break the cycle. Here I am, 5 years clean from opiates, able to drink and enjoy the occasional puff of marijuana without spiraling into a cycle of self-harm through substances. From a young age, all I’ve ever craved was a soulmate. Immersing myself in books about love, magic, and war. I can’t remember a time I didn’t think about finding my other half. Always searching, always dreaming, and always calling out to him. Yet he never comes. Or does he come? Maybe as different versions of himself, unhealed and filled with lessons to push me higher.

I feel these cards mean that to live the unified life I desire with a counterpartner. I must conquer myself. Instead of constantly searching, I must look inwards and truly understand the complexities beneath my skin. It was foretold before my birth that I would heal my lineage. What if I didn’t want that burden? Why even ponder this? I do want it. I will happily consume ever attack sent on my family and face it head on. I will accept all the pain necessary and transmute it into love. It took 25 years for me to finally understand that I have a higher calling. I will never meet the man of my dreams until I am living the life I’ve dreamed. A life that I will only build by honoring my shadows and light equally. I went through one of the greatest heartbreaks of my life (again). One that I thought would destroy me and take away my yearning for love indefinitely. I was wrong, of course. Sadness has a way of convincing us of things we know deep down aren’t true. I once thought nothing would hurt me after Kito died, I was wrong then too.

I feel the lover coming back, yearning and hoping that I will stumble into one of the stories I love to read about. That my protector will come and whisk me away into the sunset and kiss away all the wounds I had to heal on my own. I can’t allow her to emerge fully. I understand now that I must remain in solitude. Until a life without a soulmate doesn’t feel like the death sentence I think it is. I lie to myself at times and convince myself I’m okay with being alone. I’m really not, I’m okay with being alone with my thoughts and dreaming of the day I won’t have to be. It’s not the same, and I know it. I want to be a woman who is truly okay with not finding a partner. I want to wake up from the dreams where I’m a mother unriddled by the grief I have when I realize it wasn’t real. Why can’t I shake this card? The lovers, plaguing my existence. The devil is looming in the darkness, waiting to see if I forget who I am once again.

Fear is the true nightmare that plagues me. It was the fear of being big that kept me small. Now it’s the fear of being small that holds me trapped, overanalyzing every move that I make. Even my messiness must be controlled in some way, packed into a neat little vessel, easily consumed by others. I’m real, and I’m authentic. I scream from the rooftop, but yet at times my authenticity feels like a mask. I wear it like a badge of honor. I’m not afraid to be seen, until you see through my act. I’m not afraid to be heard, until no one seems to hear me. I’m here, I beg the world to see. The universe sent me. I have so much to share. Why can’t you see me? My heart assures me that this is just a time. A time in my life when I must prove I have endurance. That the small life I live, that was this big life another version of me prayed for, is enough. Until the curtains open, and the seats are filled, and then I will know my time has come.

I thank you for reaching the end of my rambling. Maybe it’s the 16-hour shift I just worked, creating delirium. Or maybe it’s the fact that I don’t care. I’m here revealing myself through every stage and every form. Tonight, I am this version; tomorrow, I may laugh at these words, but I will share them nonetheless because you have chosen to be a part of this experience with me. The raw, unfiltered, and authentic is what I promised. So here you have me, and here I leave you.

We went to the bar I work at in Bushwick to feel out the vibes since we were already in Brooklyn. After a couple of shots and a slice of pizza, we were ready to move on. We popped into another spot and quickly realized we were sticking out like a sore thumb. Dressed in our chic outfits and heels, surrounded by a grunge/emo crowd filled with tattoos, piercings, and casual clothes. Not a bad crowd, but not our style. It didn’t take long for us to decide we needed to head back to our comfort zone… Manhattan. After a quick stop at my apartment to freshen up, we were on our way. We decided to head to a bar known to host industry nights on Sundays. Working in service leaves us hustling on the weekends and partying while everyone else gets ready for their 9-5.

In the Uber, we made our game plan. I haven’t been out in a while and needed a quick rundown. We weren’t looking for anything serious, but some free drinks would be nice. We quickly arrived and headed in. The spot was thumping, the music was amazing, and the energy was high. As we surveyed the room, we decided to make a quick stop in the bathroom to discuss prospects. After debriefing and freeing our very full bladders, it was now time to socialize with our fellow New Yorkers out at 2 AM on a Sunday (technically Monday). We found a not-so-crowded corner of the bar, and a man quickly offered us his seat. He was a slightly above-average white male with long hair, celebrating his birthday. Turns out this Pisces was going to end up almost ruining my night, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

We sat down, and he quickly offered to buy us a drink. I ordered a sidecar, sticking to the whiskey I had been drinking, and my girlfriend got her usual tequila soda. After getting our drinks, the bartender asked my friend for a card. The guy who offered to get us drinks was suddenly looking everywhere, but at us. First red flag: he offered us drinks, but when it was time to pay, he suddenly grew shy. We didn’t mind, of course, as the hard-working women we are. My friend was slightly glued to her phone, waiting for her sneaky link to respond, so I started yapping with the guy. I honestly can’t even remember his name, but let’s call him Mr.Douche. The conversation started fun. He was forward and a little handsy, but I was drunk enough not to mind the misplaced familiarity. Placing his hand on my thigh and lower back. All flirty fun. He immediately started talking himself up, mentioning his 2 successful companies. Alluding more than once to the fact that he was a “big guy” and knew everyone worth knowing in NYC. This kind of talk doesn’t impress me. Every NYC dickhead “knows a guy,” it’s just the classic line. The sad part is, he was actually cute, but men don’t know how to shut up and look pretty.

We bantered a lot because my favorite activity is witty, harmless arguments. He liked my “spicyness” and I could feel his ego trying to dominate me. So we danced with our words. He tried to impress me, and I tried to humble him. I could tell he was enjoying the sass, and honestly, I was too. Then he started saying ominous things to my friend, like “I’m gonna borrow her for 30 minutes and show her my apartment, then she’ll shut up.” I quickly shut that down, saying there’s no way I was openly going to give him a chance to murder me. He then looked at me with an edge in his eyes and said, “Do you want me to murder you?” As if that’s not terrifying at all. I quickly recalled reading that Pisces are among the most common serial killers. I pivoted the conversation, hoping to get back to a lighter mood. That’s when my friend’s sneaky link answered, and she told me she was going to meet him. I decided to stay because we had trekked from my house in Brooklyn for less than an hour. I wanted to get my Uber money’s worth. Mr. Douche started getting creepier after she left. Repeating over and over again that when we go to his apartment, I can’t tell anyone where he lives. Saying that if I saw his place, I’d realize “who he was.” I declined again, and then he thought the offer of blow would entice me. I finally snapped, asking him, “Am I dressed like a whore? Why the fuck do you think I’d just go with you back to your place?” That seemed to rattle him, and I decided I was done entertaining any further conversations with him. Even if I was dressed like a whore, no means no, and he was clearly not getting it.

Bad Bunny started playing, and to my left, a group was dancing salsa. I got up from my seat and asked one of the guys to teach me, and so we started dancing. Well, he danced, and I stumbled around just letting him twirl me. I’m not familiar with Salsa, and it turns out he was a dance teacher. I let his moves make up for the lack of mine. We were twisting, turning, laughing, and having fun. After a while, my head was spinning, and I had to tap out. Returning to my seat. I started yapping with the salsa teacher. Let’s call him Señor Salsa. He introduced me to my friends, and we all started talking. Turns out one of the women in the group was Domincian and we quickly bonded over the fact that I am too. I thought I had successfully shaken Mr. Douche, but apparently not. My back was turned to him, but he moved in close. Putting his elbow in my back, pushing me, and at one point even running his fingers down my spine. I turned around and asked him to give me space, and he just sneered as if he had no idea what I was talking about. Señor Salsa asked if I knew him, and I told him we had just met and he was bugging me.

Señor Salsa’s friends very kindly adopted me for the night, and I thought I was safe. Still sitting next to Mr.Douche, who seemed to get the hint after all. I went to order another drink, and I had my card out in my right hand, extended towards the bar. With my left hand, I was looking down at my purse, rummaging through it, looking to see if I had some cash left for the tip. I felt someone pull my card out of my hand, and I just assumed it was the bartender. He gave me my drink and didn’t ask me to pay, and I figured he started me a tab. The night went on, and eventually the group invited me to get some late-night food with them. I happily agreed and asked the bartender to close out my tab. He looked back and checked and didn’t seem to have one for me. He asked his coworker, who also said he didn’t have one. I told them that they had taken my card down, and he went through the cards he had, informing me mine wasn’t there. I was confused and asked him if he didn’t have my card, why hadn’t he charged me after giving me my drink? None of it made sense to me. I’m a bartender, and I never hand out drinks without closing them out or starting a tab. If I were a regular at an empty bar, I would get it, but this place was packed and the night’s move quickly. I could’ve been gone in an instance and they wouldn’t have noticed until they were left with an open check at the end of the night. Trust me, I’ve been there.

He said that because I had been sitting at the bar, he didn’t feel the need to close me out. Saying I could come back tomorrow to see if they had my card and that the drink was on him. Señor Salsa helped me check the floor, but we didn’t find it. I had been in one spot since ordering the drink, and there was no way it would have ended up somewhere else. Mr. Douche was still next to me, just watching us look. I had a feeling he knew what happened, but I knew if I asked, he’d deny it. I gave up and went to retrieve my coat. As the nice girl from coat check was handing it to me, the bartender called out from behind the bar. He said someone had found my card on the floor, and the drink was on him. Coincidentally, right as I’m leaving… I put it in my wallet and left. As we were walking out, I passed Mr.Douche, who smirked at me as I walked by. That’s when I realized I was right; he was the one who took the card out of my hand while I was rummaging through my purse. It was his way of getting me back for my rejection and attempting to humiliate me. I felt so stupid and embarrassed, but I kept a straight face as I walked out.

The rest of the night was fun. Señor Salsa and his friends were so kind and welcoming. He and I exchanged some drunken kisses outside before I called my car home. As I was in the Uber reflecting on my evening, I tried to shake the anger I had towards Mr. Douche. Señor Salsa had been hesitant to believe my drunken ramblings about sabotage, but my intuition doesn’t lie. As a strong woman with a big personality, I constantly find myself being challenged by insecure men. Should I have seen the signs sooner and just left? Was it my fault for being combative and instigating the banter? It’s all something that I will reflect on further. For now, I’m happy because I danced, met great people, and had an amazing time. I put myself out there, flirted, and didn’t think about my ex once. It was an impromptu evening that I’ll surely forget, but the fact is, I went out there and was present. I made some new connections. Not all of them were good, and all definitely fleeting, but I was coming back out of my shell, and that’s what matters. In hindsight, next time I’ll just leave when my friend does, but I’m 24, and we live and learn. The important thing is that I made it home safe and sound. Will I plot my revenge if I ever see Mr. Douche again? Maybe… Will I ever see him again? No, definitely not.

I tend to be the kind of person who powers through pain because I’m so used to it at this point. I swallow it down easily and move forward. This time around, I didn’t want to suppress the ache in my heart. Doing so felt like a betrayal of all that had occurred in the past year. The good and bad deserved the space to exist. Erasing him wouldn’t erase the pain. So I felt it, every ache and moment of weakness. I remembered the laughter we shared and the family we were. I remember the gaslighting and manipulation I endured and let go of it. Picturing the happy memories instead and the future that would never come to pass. I stopped hating him and instead decided to honor the fact that I still loved him. There was a version of myself that always would, and I had to let her go along with him. In the past, I would’ve pushed myself to move on in order to win the “I don’t care” battle. I wanted to show I was the stronger one after pouring my heart into a bottomless pit. The vulnerability of fighting for love left me feeling weak and embarrassed. I needed to change the part of my mindset that felt love was a weakness. True love is still real, whether or not it’s reciprocated in the same way. I wasn’t “weak” for loving another person more. It was a testament to the beauty inside me that sees the best in others. The part of me that views who they are in the present as enough, even if I deserve more. I let myself mourn him and the love we would never have, and it was through this permission to feel that I found healing.

When we first broke up, I felt ruined. The romantic lover girl in me had been brutally murdered, and I would spend the rest of my life alone. It’s still hard not feel that way at times. The idea of being in a relationship again anytime soon makes my skin crawl. I at least have exited the doom and despair phase at last. I may not be ready for love right now, but I have opened up to the idea that one day I may be. Each night that I lay awake thinking about him, a piece of me let go. I eventually stopped hoping he was as miserable as I and began praying for his success. I hoped that all his dreams would come true, and the right person would come along and love him. I found that the more I forgave and let go, I began to believe I could have those things for myself as well. As I felt myself open up to connection, my connection with myself grew stronger. I had closed off the part of me that dreamed and hoped for a beautiful life filled with love. Each day, I felt that part of me return, and I began to recognize myself in the mirror. I do heartless bitch well, but I do hopeless romantic better. It’s more authentic to the little girl inside of me who always filled her mind with fairytales. The source of all my passion has always been love; love of self, love of others, love of life. When I began to believe in it again. My light began to return to me.

I’ve been able to cultivate a deeper relationship with myself and align better with my higher purpose. I can learn what my goals and desires are, without the restriction of someone else’s plans. A desire for new experiences emerged, such as taking classes, traveling, and learning a new skill. Stuff that my introverted, extroverted self had never considered. I’m taking a free tango class with my sister today, something my social anxiety would have once never allowed. There is so much life to be lived, and I finally feel ready to go out there. I have all the time in the world to be heartbroken and move on. There’s no time limit for grief, no need to rush and get over it. I can be sad for as long as I’d like, but I can also go out there and experience the world. I can find joy in new spaces and new people. Date myself and learn something new about my existence. I can give myself the intimacy and romance I’ve always craved, but never had. There are no rules, and all these parts within me can exist at the same time. I can miss him and be happy. I can love him and love myself more. I can grow, change, and mold a better future for myself. Whatever my heart desires is mine for the taking. The time for wishing he would give it to me has passed.

I’ve finally remembered how much I truly enjoy my own company. How well I treat myself when I’m in the right headspace. There’s still loneliness at times as I spend the nights alone, with only my two angel baby kitties as company. I get to have more diverse experiences with others now. Go on movie dates with my roommate, coffee runs with my sister, and continue to nurture the platonic connections in my life. The better I treat myself, the better I treat them. Remembering how much I love being in service to my loved ones. The underappreciated romantic gestures I’d do for my ex, I can do for them. Finding comfort in all the different forms love takes in our lives. It was hard in the months that led up to this. True isolation was needed for me to process and release all the pain. I no longer feel the need to push away those who love me. I’ve spent enough time releasing the past. Finally ready to formally close the door on that chapter of my life. Not out of rushed emotion or resentment, but instead healthy healing. My body has finally adjusted to having the whole bed to myself. I can lie diagonally and toss and turn all I want throughout my sleep. I can be sad and happy, finally ready to see what the future holds for me. I am no longer stuck falling endlessly through grief. I reminded myself of the advice I always give others. Give yourself grace to feel and hurt; it will pass eventually, as all things do.

Thank you for being here with me as I document my healing, all my love, always

Amaranta

xoxo

The months leading up to his performance rattled the white supremacists. They all seemed to forget that Puerto Rico is a part of the United States. I was told by someone who I thought was my friend that it’s insulting to the United States to have him perform. “This is America, imagine how all the white people are feeling being the majority in the country and having to hear him perform in Spanish.” She then went on a tangent about how it makes her uncomfortable when people speak Spanish around her because she knows they’re talking about her. The whole conversation was about how this is America, and if you’re going to come here, you should learn English. Other various insulting things about immigrants and Latinos came up. I expressed that I disagreed and just left. This had happened often. Because I’m not black like my mother’s family, instead taking after my father, I look more Middle Eastern than Hispanic. People are more comfortable sharing their racist underlying opinions. They forget that my family was immigrants and that I watched my mother struggle as an Afro-Latina woman. My Dad’s father was white Cuban, and his mother Ukrainian. I take after my grandmother with light caramel skin that turns deep tan in the sun, reminding me of my African roots. The white Eastern European mixed with my mother’s Dominican leaves me racially ambiguous and able to pass as almost anything. Being born in America to a highly educated family left me speaking very proper English. I’ve been told I sound “rich” when I code-switch to talk to white Americans.

I had to learn how to back up my voice with educated language when surrounded by white people. In diverse spaces, I can let my Dominican/Cuban lingo run free and allow my voice to carry without softening it for the more sensitive. Growing up in suburban VA made me an outsider. With two Latino New Yorkers for parents, I was too much for the proper white Virginians. I refused to succumb to the pressure and change my culture, which left me severely bullied. I carried this within me, learning which spaces were safer than others. As an adult, I am proud of my background. Refusing to remove a single piece of it. I am happy to be a mixed mutt in this diverse world. Never forgetting the struggle and barriers my family had to break to bring me here. When I saw Bad Bunny on that screen. Speaking my language loud and proud, the tears began to flow. He brought the Latino culture into every piece of his performance. Highlighting the history of the Puerto Rican people and sending a loud message to the world. To this administration that has made it a point to attack and destroy the minorities. Every day, I watch ice attack and kill my people and those who defend us. I carry the knowledge that I’m privileged to be born here while mourning the destruction I’m witnessing. I refuse to do it in silence as we are herded like cattle and marched to our deaths. America, the “land of the free,” is the biggest lie ever told.

This country enslaves and kills the free. Stealing their land and culture and erasing them from existence. Our history taught in schools is a lie. Propaganda to convince the younger generations that we are a good country. America belongs to the Indigenous people, the black and brown people who built it with their bare hands. Under whips, chains, and murder. Everything has been stolen and appropriated for the 1%. Over 40 million Americans speak Spanish. Yet we are told that we have no right to hear it performed. The same way they attacked Kendrick Lamar for speaking up and empowering Black Americans, who are the backbone of this country. They have no problem consuming black, Latino, and indigenous culture for their amusement. Taco Tuesdays and El Cinco de Mayo are free for their indulgence. The second it comes to representing the culture they steal, the people are enraged. Ignoring that, the biggest genocide in the world was committed by America against the indigenous people. With over 100 million natives killed due to violence and disease. Will this country ever take responsibility for the damage it’s done? The wars and genocides that they directly enable all over the world. Like Palestine, Sudan, The Congo, and Iran.

I cry for all the suffering people of the world whose only crime has been to have color in their skin or a belief in different gods. Or the crime of living on land filled with natural resources below it. I cry for those who abandoned their mother tongue, last names, and culture out of fear of being persecuted. I cried watching my culture be represented and celebrated on screen. A beam of light in these times of darkness. Hope that we are united and will never be replaced. I pity those of lower vibrations who believe they are above others simply because of their white skin and the stolen land they believe belongs to them. How sad it must be to be a blind sheep believing the lies of those who will watch you starve amongst us. These wars man created in the name of a god that would turn them away from his pearly gates for the hate they’ve spewed. Jesus was a man of color. Jesus was Palestinian. Do you think he’ll save you in the end? The prophet who spoke up for the weak, sick, and suffering? He who welcomed the beggars and prostitutes into his arms. Everything you think that makes you better than others is a lie. A lie meant to separate and divide the people of this world. To keep us small and fighting with one another instead of rising together against the real evil. Greed keeps us enslaved and lost. Turning on our neighbors instead of the system that harms us all.

I posted a TikTok of me crying at the Super Bowl performance, and it went viral. Well, viral for me, my normal 300-600 views turned into 14K. The comments poured in, and while most of them were positive, there were a lot of hate comments. People were calling me dramatic and a rage baiter. Not understanding why this representation mattered so much. There were comments about how Puerto Rico is not a part of America, and many racist things were said towards Latinos and me. Hundreds of people replied, either sharing support or hatred. It warmed my heart to see how many of those people defended and supported me against it all. They understood my message and shared their love. It was refreshing to see that the majority do not support what is happening in the world right now, and I felt less alone. I wasn’t embarrassed to have a video of myself crying on the internet. I was empowered.

I don’t care too much about my heritage, and even if I do, so be it. I will hold on forever to the pieces of suffering that created the voice I have now. One that I won’t silence or soften for the sake of your ego. Seeing my flags paraded out amongst all the countries that make up the Americas was an honor. Hearing Bad Bunny bring our music to the stage was exactly what my community needed during this time of persecution. Representation matters for all Americans. We are a country built by immigrants, and everyone deserves a chance at a better life. These lines drawn separating us are fake. At the end of the day, we are all children of Mother Earth and Father Sky. It is time the world changed. Time for the small folk to rise against the true evil masters that keep us chained. The laws of the system must be rewritten; they must no longer allow those in power to take advantage. “The only thing more powerful than hate is love.” It’s time we all remember this and create a better world for the children. To Bad Bunny, thank you; you have brought hope back into my heart. I pray I never lose it and never forget to be proud of where I come from. My name is Claudia Amaranta, and I am Dominican, Cuban, and Ukrainian. To all the other women of color who have been forced to become smaller, I see you. Free the people from their masters, and we will free the world.