A Broken Heart Can Kill You

I knew what it meant to love so completely, and knowing there was an expiration date, and I did it anyway. It was worth the lesson, the growth, the self-introspection but it came along with a pain that brought me to my knees. Ugh. The days when I knew we had to have a hard conversation, I would cry for hours on end, I would literally feel my heart hurting and the daggers turning painfully and there was nothing I could do but ride it out. It hurt because he understood me, saw me, loved me too and it had to end. It hurt because we did things that caused each other more pain on purpose and I don’t like that.

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Apologize To Me For Making Me Mad

How many times have we seen an abused person become an abuser? It’s a dynamic that’s scary because I wonder when does the switch become flicked? When does it occur to someone who had no voice, say or emotional safety become someone who oppresses others? I think with third graders and kids in general, they are finding their voice, their place in the world and their friendships matter a great deal to them at that age. However, adults who never actually find their voice, or work through their childhood abuse become someone who either overly asserts or completely shrinks.

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The Danger of Codependency

I wanted so much for myself but I kept stopping and putting my healing on hold because I was in a holding pattern of hoping, wishing and fantasizing about things being different and yet they were not. It took us months to actually break up, and I finally had to buckle down and pull the plug for good because it felt like poison to my soul. Do I love this man? Oh I surely do but I loved my sanity, well being and healing far more than him.

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Forgiveness Is Freedom

They say religion is brainwashing and to an extent, I agree but I think religion has different effects on people and in this instance, I think he added more good than evil in the world right now. He did what he thought was best and how can I ever in life be mad at him for that? Is he too soft on his brother’s killer? I don’t think so. What would I have him do instead? Carry around his anger? Allow himself to be weighed down by the pain and harm others? To put his hurt into the world and perpetuate a cycle of grief? For what? To save face and to appease the masses? Please get the fuck out of here with that.

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Sunday Afternoon Treat

My heart still beat madly out of my chest, the cage of butterflies busted open and when I saw him, my soul smiled. It’s like when we first kissed in 1995, in the church courtyard that linked our schools, and I went to a different dimension. The feeling you feel when you never knew you could be so satisfied and yet wanting so much more, this feeling, this thought, this nostalgia made those seven years feel like seven minutes and I was back in the company of the person who was the most important person in my life on Sunday afternoons in 1995.

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The Fallout Of Good Intentions

What about when someone fucks up our well-oiled cast iron pan by washing it, scrubbing it and putting a copious amount of Ajax on it to get all the gunk out? Those of us who are kitchen aficionados know about this absolute faux pas, but my 80 something-year-old Trinidadian grandma who believes in everything needing to be spick and span doesn’t know, and her intention is to make it very clean. Am I really going to hold her well-intentioned cleaning against her? YES! I am kidding, I will be a little sad but I can get another cast iron pan.

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A Letter To Anyone Haunted By The Trauma Of Not Being Believed…

You as an adult never realize when you’ll have a moment of flashback until you’re drowning in tears and unable to catch your breath because you’re being suffocated by the silence and rage you’ve had to swallow for years because NO ONE took the time to make you feel protected, wanted and like they would bring justice to your cries for help. This is for those of us who have sat in silence because there have been no examples where we have ever felt like our bodies mattered enough for anyone to care. This letter is for all of us who are so scarred by our trauma of not being believed or being brushed off entirely. It’s not your fault.

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