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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Namaste But NammafuckyouUp: Don’t Let The Easy Vibes Fool You

In fact, the advocacy IS to speak up when bothered and if it’s not understood when I say it tactfully, then I’ll just have to bring out my inner goon and let motherfuckers know that my personal peace trumps whatever the fuck they think of me. Yes, Namaste, the light in me sees the light in you, but Nammafuckyouup, the goon in me sees the shade in you. Do not fuck with me. Come to me respectfully, and I promise I will absolutely do the same. However I will not be muted, silenced or looked over because that’s what someone believes I deserve. I’m going to speak up for myself and that’s just that.


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The Answer Comes From Within

No one knows ALL the parts of your story but you, and the parts that you refuse to share with others automatically disqualifies anyone else’s opinion of how you should live your fullest life. You can seek guidance, allow words from trusted advisors to marinate yet nothing will resonate with you more than the answers stemming from yourself. You are an expert in yourself, a guru, a sage and you possess all the answers you are seeking. Trust yourself.

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Accepting Mental Illness

I isolated myself to the point of no words, and I became proficient at being okay, fine and just tired. But in reality I was drowning, I was in unimaginable amounts of pain and I was ashamed, embarrassed too scared to speak up because I felt worthless. It’s been hard and it is hard to write to these things about myself but I must. Talking about this here helps me and I know it will help people like me because I know I’m not the only one who has been too strong, for too long but falling apart behind closed doors.

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Sweet Liars

How does one process the painful ramifications of the fallout of the lies from a sweet liar? It’s almost easier to deal with an outright asshole because they never hid their deception. At least assholes are wolves from the beginning and you have a choice to lay with a hungry wolf, who you know will rip your heart and emotions to shreds. Also, with an asshole who is honest, you’ll never have to guess what’s coming, it’ll be in your face and you can make a conscious choice to tackle the situation or not.

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Your Needs Are Valid – You Are Not A Burden

Training myself to prioritize myself has been a steep battle internal struggle. It is literally me practicing self-care by speaking up for myself AND believing that what I am saying matters, is valued and the person hearing me is receiving me with love. It is a real-life struggle to be my own advocate when I know how to advocate for others indiscriminately. However, it is inauthentic to do for others before I can do for myself. It is a dishonest way to direct people to speak for themselves when I stay silent through injustices inflicted upon me. I have to push through the practice of pushing my tears and words down when they are on the verge of my eyes and lips. I must find the same level of compassion I readily have for others for myself.

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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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