Does this life truly change?
Or do I get to keep these demons for life?
Do I finally own them?
Keep them and officially
Give them permanent room
To board in this life of mine?
Am I supposed to love them
And maybe accept them
Because they might stick here
With me for this entire lifetime?!
What if I let them be
And they ravage me completely?
What if welcoming them
Means chasing hope away?
What if letting them in
Lets in unbearable despair?
What am I to do?
Can we just agree that goodbyes suck?
Even when they’re necessary.
Even when they’re good for you.
Even when they were long overdue.
Goodbyes come accompanied by grief.
There’s a part of you that you let go of as you bid adieu to whatever chapter of your life, a person, or a version of you.
You have to mourn the fact that something or someone that had been so familiar and a normal part of your reality, will no longer be part of your future.
I feel like I’m grieving various losses at once:
-A part of me that had been suppressed for years which resurfaced so powerfully lately, and it left me grieving the person I’d adapted to be.
-People I’d grown so fond of that had to go because I don’t tolerate disrespect or any form of bullshit.
-Methods of relating to people that I’d been taught by society but realised that they don’t work for me; methods that are so easy and comfortable.
-Reminders of people I lost to death and navigating both collective and individual grief.
-The life I thought I’d have and the one I see my peers already living.
This list isn’t exhaustive but it’ll have to do for now.
The last part about the life I thought I’d have, sort of hit a little hard lately. I see those I used to walk with vey closely and the lovely lives they curated for themselves. It reminds me of the prestigious path that I walked away from in order to live a life that was more authentic to me.
Don’t get me wrong; I wouldn’t trade my current life. I absolutely love the joy I derive from the meaningful work that I do, the life it’s afforded me, the flexibility I have to control my hours, the freedom to easily pack at a moment’s notice and go wherever I want, the peace of mind, the absence of burnout, and how it aligns to my unique personality. This right here feels like the dream I didn’t think was possible.
However, the dream came with such a high price. There was a lot to discard, people I had to walk away from, disappointments I had to issue, internal battles, lots of unlearning, and several other unsaid things. Nevertheless, the part that currently stings is the pain of having to start over again a couple of times.
New beginnings might be wonderful, but they’re also hard af! You find yourself in a new territory where it feels like you’re starting from scratch. There’s so much to learn, so much shit to figure out, lots of uncertainties to deal with, doubts occasionally assaulting you, and plenty of work.
It almost feels easier to just go back to what you were already used to because there’s such good comfort in familiarity.
Yes growth and changes can be painful. Yes there might be a price to pay. Yes there are also numerous joys to look forward to and expansion that will serve you well.
It’s okay to celebrate the new chapter while still grieving the old one.
It’s okay to miss something or someone but still be sure that cutting them off was the best decision.
It’s okay to affirm your choices while still wondering if you made the right one.
It’s okay to feel sad about the past while still excited about the future.
Goodbyes and grief will always accompany each other because where there’s new life, there was also death.
Currently listening to Cellophane by FKA Twigs and these lyrics linger:
“Why don’t I do it for you? Why can’t I do it for you?”
Those two lines slap really hard. The previous song I was playing was Two Weeks by her and someone in the comments said that she perfectly captured the feeling of longing for somebody. I couldn’t agree more. The part that hit home for me was:
“I’ll put you first, just close your eyes and dream about it
Higher than a motherfucker, dreaming of you as my lover
I’ll quench your thirst, just chase the high and stop your doubting”
Boy, don’t I know that feeling all too well! How it feels like to want someone and knowing you’d be what they needed, yet they are still aloof. It’s akin to wanting someone who does not want you or doesn’t want you as much. The irony being that at that very moment, there is most likely another person who wants you that badly but you are all aloof or not equally interested.
Here’s the thing though, I understand things better now. Previously, my ego would be the one to rescue me when the clowning got too much. It was just a matter of pride when I would notice the disrespect or being strung along.
However, I came to see it for what it truly was: the playing out of the Anxious-Avoidant attachment style plus codependency (the wanting to save/fix others). The people who triggered my Anxious attachment, got the version of me that would probably be singing those FKA lyrics and my clowning ass. Those who triggered my Avoidant attachment would basically get the cold heartless bitch version.
I was busy living out the two styles depending on the person who showed up. It was mainly my emotional unavailability mixed with the fearful wounded girl within who desired love but was scared of it. The one who felt like all through the years, she had to earn love and most times, she wasn’t even good enough for the love she was seeking.
And this wasn’t just in romantic set ups; this was everywhere and with everyone. I was either emotionally distant with you or eager to please, or a weird combination of the two. Thank goodness for all the therapists and people who’d share information online on these aspects and how to heal.
I did the work and I am still doing it. After all the hard work and good progress, came the painful realisation that I will never be perfect or “fully healed”. That I can live aware, do better, be more open, make great strides and still slip once in a while. That when I get triggered, it’s not an indicator of failure or not having healed.
Triggers will come but my response is what matters most. I can sit with whatever feelings come up then hold myself with plenty of grace and kindness.
A while back, those triggers came, courtesy of someone I knew very well that I would not date. But somehow, when the other person confirmed the same, it felt like a kick in my (non-existent) balls. I was hurt and found myself eager to please or get them just to prove that I could. I sat with those feelings to figure out why somebody I didn’t want bothered me that much.
Yes, there’s the whole Rejection Sensitivity thanks to ADHD, but the rejection wound cut deeper. Most importantly, it was just my ego because I’d had the upper hand but dilly dallied until power shifted when things got defined.
Anyway, the point of this whole post is to appreciate how far I have come and to acknowledge how things look different once you’ve faced (and accepted) your shit.
It’s been a really long time since I was here. To be honest, I am actually here because I can’t remember the login details of a different blog I started, Lol.
Now that I think about it, this is the perfect illustration of what today’s post is about. You see, I absolutely love this site. I created it 8 years ago and it was my wonderful online journal. I figured my vulnerability may as well be shared because someone out here might resonate.
Let’s just say, I eventually discovered I’m not as vulnerable as I thought I was. Vulnerability was okay when the people who came here were a little similar to me and related with what I was saying. But one thing I hadn’t factored, is just how much I would evolve and change into a whole new person.
I had already started to shy away from writing about some things. Then one time, my mum’s friend mentioned how she used to read my posts and had been genuinely concerned about my mental health. It was such a lovely gesture but that’s when it hit me that I was very exposed.
You see, it’s easier to be vulnerable with people who are like you or when it’s complete strangers. That shit hits differently when it’s people around you. I could break down all the psychological reasons why this is yet another thing that’s not okay and needs healing from; but that’s not the point today.
So when my online journal started to feel infiltrated and I could no longer be as open because I’d changed to a different person; I left. It sucked to leave because this is my baby, but I did.
Let’s face it, leaving has always been my thing. Oh escapism and avoidance were things I effortlessly did! At the core of it, I know it’s just the fear of being truly and fully seen.
Back to the couches. Today I had an epiphany while on my friend’s couch. Last night I told her I wouldn’t share the bed as we mostly do when I’m around, because I was in pain and needed to be alone. I explained that couches are always comfortable for me and even while staying with other friends, I usually prefer their couches.
This morning, the truth dawned on me: it wasn’t that I loved couches and found them safe, it’s that it was always safe to be by myself. On nights I wanted to process my emotions, or when I was in pain due to health issues, or my sense of safety had been threatened; retreating was my thing. And when I was in a place where I couldn’t just lock myself in a room as I do at home, I quickly run to the couch.
So couches aren’t my refuge or favourite delightful place. They are examples of how it’s easier for me to avoid being vulnerable with those close to me or simply allow them to be there when I am most vulnerable. It’s me being afraid of being seen because deep down, I fear they wouldn’t know what to do or wouldn’t hold space for that level of vulnerability.
It’s safer to hide behind couches than face reality. But it certainly isn’t healthy.
We deserve spaces where we can be seen in our totality and be embraced. Where we don’t have to partition our lives and have one person see this side of you and another knows a separate part. So that ultimately, nobody really gets to fully know every single bit of who you are.
Before 2021 ended, I remember my Guides asking me what it would be like for me to have a space where all parts of me could show up at the same time, and be beautifully accepted. I realised I didn’t know what that looked like. Therefore, I decided to indulge that. To dare to dream of such spaces. And most importantly, to begin working towards being ready for such.
Because you see, it’s possible to get that and still fuck it up. If whatever inside me makes me closed off or emotionally unavailable or triggers the anxious-avoidant attachment style, isn’t healed, I’ll either fail to notice those spaces or I’ll self sabotage when I get them.
Which means more work to do. I won’t lie, the amount of inner work I’ve had to do over the past several years, is A LOT. And seeing that I’m still a bit of a wreck after all the work, makes the idea of more work, a little daunting.
So I’ll hold myself with grace and kindness as I do this. I’ll be gentle with myself and remember that being human means that I’ll never be perfect, but I’m still adequately good as I am at this moment. I’ll sit with the things that come up, attend to them and grow because I am committed to investing in being the best version of who I am at each point.
Most of all, I’ll remind myself today that I can no longer keep hiding behind couches. I am worthy of being seen.
We easily spend a good chunk of our lives trying to work on ourselves. the general goal is to get rid of our unpleasant traits and strengthen our nicer ones. Society frowns against against anyone who seemingly makes peace with their vices, and god forbid they actually flaunt them! We are supposed to constantly thrive to be better humans.
And you know what, it is a good model. It ensures that society functions properly as everybody sticks to constantly focusing on improving themselves. It is a noble thing and of course it makes us feel better about ourselves. There’s also the perk that comes with it: it’s the perfect scapegoat. When somebody confronts us about a wrong we conducted, we quickly hide under the veil of: it is a weakness that I am working on. Then all we need to add to that is a remorseful appearance.
So I have been on the same path. Yes generally, throughout my life, if a person pointed out an action I had done that had unwelcome effects or words that weren’t pleasant, I would work on rectifying it. However, the past 5 years, I have been actively and deliberately been working at making myself a less shitty person.
I came to discover that what I was doing was shadow work and a lot of healing my inner child. I won’t lie, it has been a hard journey with more tears in those 5 years, than I have cried in the entire 25 others. But I was committed to it. I have been a serious advocate of healing and I believe that we have to be deliberate about that. An added benefit to that, is that we become better versions of ourselves (or rather that’s what I hope).
You can imagine how shattered I was, when in a span of 2-3 weeks, I have had different incidents with two different friends, which left me feeling like absolute crap. No, this has nothing to do with them; they are both amazing people! But I was the one left doubting if all my time spent healing had done any good. How was I still able to hurt one that much, and be seen as something I didn’t think I was, by another.
So I went through the motions. Beat myself up seriously and embarked on working to quickly correct the things that had placed me in those positions. And I put in quite a lot of effort!
But life has an interesting way of dealing with us. Today, I found myself in the same place. And it absolutely broke me. I was in the kind of pain that I didn’t think my heart would survive. Nonetheless, something happened in that space. I told myself that I had given my pain adequate time to release itself, and when it was done, so was I. I would get out of bed and that was the last time I’d engage pain.
After that, I had such rage. I was angry at the Universe, angry at all higher powers and mad at myself. I had given way too many years to this and yet here I still was feeling like crap and like everything I had been doing was for nothing.
And later in the day, I decided that I was done. Whoever I am right now, gets to stay. If I am a shitty human then I have no business having people around me. If they stayed, then I am done trying so hard to constantly improve my interactions. This is who I am and whoever can handle it, will stay, if they can’t, then I’m at peace with that.
It reminded me of something Tara Brach teaches frequently on. Something about making peace with your demons. No running, no trying to convert them or fighting them, Simply surrendering to them and let them do their worst. And thankfully, in her lessons, the demons usually leave.
this time round, I don’t even care about the demons eventually leaving or me learning lessons with them. I have given them space to just be. Well there’s a reason we were created with the “flaws” or “weaknesses” we have.
And why do we even have to put negative titles around them? Who says it’s a bad thing to embrace your shadow? Shadows wouldn’t exist if there wasn’t light somewhere. Which means the two go together. There’s a reason they are both there.
I am done trying to chase away my shadows.
I am very proud of myself today! I’m not here to flaunt what would appear to be mere vanity. You see, being a Virgo, I am my own worst critic. So as expected, I notice mostly my flaws and all the things I could do better.
But today, my focus was on the opposite.
Last night something happened that was supposed to tear me apart and leave utterly overwhelmed today. But somehow, today is actually the one day I’ve spent the least time in bed.
I didn’t go out looking for things to do or achievements to make. No, on the contrary, I got out of bed involuntarily to go help my dad search for something. And then I had to take breakfast because I was famished. Yes somewhere along the way I took a break to watch a movie on Netflix.
Today, I managed to disinfect every surface and handle I could think of in this house (I can thank Corona for giving me an excuse to freely do what my low-key OCD already likes doing). I cleaned the entire house, got time to undo my twists and do chunky loose twists, recorded videos for Instagram and Facebook, shared them on my personal accounts and pages I’d set up, and even managed to record one for YouTube (a lot of work). Even though I haven’t uploaded the YouTube one, I’m still struggling with video editing softwares and apps to get some necessary editing done. And I’m about to go cook supper for the family.
Yeah, I know it doesn’t seem like much to most people. But given my recent frequent battles with depression and anxiety, and coming out of an event that should have knocked me out… I feel like I’m kicking some serious ass!
So seeing as constantly being my best critic (a full-time job that I’m not even getting paid for, smh) isn’t working as well, I have decided I’ll stick to being my own favourite cheerleader. From now on, I choose to deliberately see and celebrate any progress I make and even the smallest accomplishments (including simply breathing for a whole day or getting out of bed).
Being a woman isn’t always the easiest thing but we embrace all the beautiful and messy bits.
For instance, my idea of a good morning is not waking up to what looks like a murder scene. All this while cramping, hungry, and having had a really hard night.
Last night, in an attempt to get a different type of painkiller for cramps, I ended up with something that triggered an ulcer that had been dormant. Keep in mind I’d specifically told the pharmacist (a fellow woman) that I could no longer use Ponstan Forte (Mefenamic acid) because of ulcers and Buscopan wasn’t strong enough. So I was there in excruciating pain and had to take other meds to sort that. I couldn’t even eat because nausea got in the way and the empty stomach was making things worse. Needless to say, it was a very long night.
I was trying a newish type of pads. I was among the women boycotting the most popular brand of pads in this country. For years, we’d put up with substandard products that left us itchy and uncomfortable. Until a few months back when the boycott began on Twitter. Another major brand heard us and created a pad for women with heavy flows. That’s what I bought this time.
You can imagine my disappointment when I woke up literally dripping like I’d been stabbed by a dagger. Apparently the pad isn’t good at holding and locking down enough blood.
Waking up to start cleaning up blood everywhere is not fun at all!! I had to clean myself first and ensure I was dry and comfortable. I’d slept on the couch so thankfully the duvet I’d wrapped myself in, soaked up everything. Which meant I didn’t have seat cushions, or worse, an entire mattress and bedding to clean up. But there was still the trail that looked like evidence of someone running away from their murderer, from the couch, all the way to the Loo.
Let’s just say, trying to clean up all that, including the duvet, leaves you feeling like you just want to break down.
I had to do everything in a hurry because I was still cramping and couldn’t take meds on an empty stomach. I also couldn’t leave my tummy empty because of the ulcer. Then had to figure out what on earth to consume that would sneak past the nausea or I wouldn’t throw up immediately after eating. Thankfully, while travelling from home yesterday, my mum had packed for me an entire stash of fresh rosemary. So I mixed that with my tea and managed to drink an entire half a mug (big deal because I couldn’t go past one sip last night).
And this is me at a good month. After everything I’d gone through for years due to fibroids, and having surgery to remove them (an open myomectomy), I was finally at a good place. Yes it took about 6 months after surgery to get to a normal flow (I still can’t believe this is how it feels to have a normal period! Y’all are lucky to have experienced this for years).
I write all this because I’m not the only woman dealing with such. We need our stories to be heard. People need to know the things women deal with every month. There should be no mystery around periods and certainly no period shame!
Let’s normalise such discussions. Most of all, let’s find a way to celebrate this with all the perks and quirks and the messy bits.
I’ve been doing a lot of research on the sacredness of periods and all the good stuff. So I’m still embracing this with joy and plan to keep celebrating this. Hopefully one of these days I’ll share the many lessons I’ve learnt.
For now, I’ll stop here because all I want to do is go curl up and either sleep or embark on a good Netflix and chill session. And I’ll most likely grab the last bar of chocolate I’d stocked because I definitely need to reward myself for surviving last night and this morning.
I know this sounds pretty odd considering anger is such a normal and common human emotion. But here’s the thing, I have always been the type that rarely gets angry. Two things that contribute to that is my being an empath and a Virgo.
Over the years, anytime someone got on my nerves, crossed a boundary or did something to make me angry, the empath in me would quickly analyse and figure out why they did or said whatever it was. Therefore, I would easily excuse people or simply understand them and the anger would immediately die off.
Which meant that I was rarely ever angry. It didn’t help that I was such an extrovert with enough people pleasing tendencies. I valued peace over the uncomfortable or awkward situations that come after a confrontation or showing my anger. And to top it all, the Virgo in me was very good at hiding how I felt (still struggle seriously with this because I perfected the art of hiding my true emotions).
There are other factors I can’t ignore. First one being the effect of religion. It had pacified me. Being angry was practically a sin despite the fact that the Bible said that you were to be angry as long as you don’t sin. But it had been drummed in us in such a way that anytime you got angry, you needed to quickly release it. Forgiveness was also something mandatory. Unfortunately, what that did was teach me how to let go of my anger very fast before I had a chance to let it do its work.
Secondly, in life generally, especially in the African set up (most, not all the communities), expected women and girls to be composed, put together, pleasant, non-confrontational. Basically: sugar, spice, and everything nice. So that played a role.
However, with all that, I still had the ability to switch and be very cold. I had a very cold and heartless side that some people had unfortunately encountered. Which was weird because almost everyone around me would swear that I was the nicest person. But I knew that side of me; I rarely brought her out.
I knew how brutal I could get. I am very aware of my completely unforgiving and vengeful side; that woman is cold and terrifying! While everyone assumed I was candy; soft and sweet, I would smile mentally knowing how wrong they were but let them make their assumptions. I don’t bother to try prove some things to people when they are adamant in their opinions.
Recently, someone casually mentioned that the good thing about me is that I always forgive very easily. Oh that snapped something in me! It wasn’t a compliment at all but a testament to how I had let people walk over me way too easily. I snapped and decided I’d show them the side I’d saved them from for years. That was probably the straw that broke the camel’s back.
Then on Saturday, while in bed listening to some talk by Dr Tara Brach on anger, I suddenly had some major rage rise up. It was so instantaneous and strong that all the sleep I had disappeared. I swear I had never felt rage that powerful!! It was beautiful and impressive. And it got me to do things I had needed to do eons earlier. I think I lost count of the contacts I deleted and people I cut off. On social media, I unfriended almost a thousand people and I still plan to continue.
The thing is, we need to stop demonizing anger. Like Dr Tara says, anger is natural, necessary and intelligent. It’s something we need to learn how to embrace and work. It is very essential and exists for reasons. The only thing is that it shouldn’t possess us and be our masters.
All in all, I am excited about finally meeting and releasing my anger. And I can promise that from now on, everyone around me will see it in its fullness. Not just in the controlled way I have always done.
I have to say, this entire year feels like one big blur, yet somehow, it also feels like several years compressed in one. Generally, everything is defined by the surgery; so it’s either pre-op or post-op (operation).
Pre-op, there was too much activity. I was mostly home and still fighting to keep my house in the City, I was busy playing therapist and saviour to several people, I was unpacking a lot of things, unlearning even more and gaining new spiritual insights that were shifting my reality, juggling dating with distance in between, struggling with settling back at my parents’, too many hospital visits plus long trips in search of herbal medication, and in all that, fighting a battle with depression and anxiety while losing most of the time.
Post-op was an entirely different ballgame. I honestly only had energy to handle me, my three girlfriends and maybe one other person at a time. Which means I have been very poor at communication (too many unreplied messages). Initially, recovery took all my focus and energy. After my bed rest was over and I started working, I’d get home fatigued and I’d fall asleep even without eating dinner, way too many times.
So that has taken a huge toll on my social life. I know a couple of people who got mad or hurt but to be sincere, I still struggle to try reconnect. Basically, anyone who wasn’t actively involved in my whirlwind of a life just before surgery and the period after, was most likely shut out. But I guess this is partly what adulting is about: understanding that the dynamics of friendship are fragile and unless you put in the effort to actively be in the lives of people around you, chances are you’ll drift apart. No hard feelings, no beef. Your interactions simply become rare and we all understand.
This season of my life came with the birth of a woman who might not be recognised by those who knew her in earlier years. And I make no apologies for that because humans are supposed to be constantly evolving and growing. Most of all, I am in love with this woman. I knew she existed in me but I always had her suppressed because I was afraid of her. I feared her fire, her boldness and her wildness. I knew she couldn’t be controlled and she would rub several people the wrong way but wouldn’t be sorry about it because she had no apologies to make for living her authentic life.
Maybe it’s the whole getting close to 30 that came with this whole IDGAF attitude. Maybe it’s breaking free from the shackles of religion. Or maybe it’s simply the evolution process which has unfolded exactly as it was supposed to be.
All in all, I must say, I am loving it all. The lessons, the growth and the unlearning.
PS: There are some amazing lessons I have been learning lately and can’t wait to share! Especially from the book Conversations With God by Neale Donald Walsch
(Oh and this is also the first time I think I have uploaded a photo of myself… yikes! Still trying to come out of my shell)
I can’t believe I’m seated here a whole 5 weeks post-op. Honestly, I had spent so much time freaking out and going through all the things that could go wrong, that I didn’t think of what happens afterwards. I had already prepared myself for all the risks: reacting to the anaesthetic, bleeding out and either needing a transfusion, or having my uterus removed to save me, dying on the table, waking up in the middle of surgery and screaming due to pain, and the cold theatre causing asthmatic attacks that kill me. But even if none of those occurred, I expected excruciating pain.
I remember that morning very vividly. Being a little sleep deprived, waking up around 5a.m and the major mistake that was showering with cold water because I was getting late. I was fairly calm, I had to force myself to not think because my blood pressure had been acting up and I was told if it didn’t stabilise, I’d be sent home. I had hoped I’d be knocked out before being taken to Theatre. Lol, I was wheeled all the way while I watched. The only silver lining was that I got to see the Theatre and it looked nothing like the cold dark rooms I had expected.
All I remember is being plugged onto machines and gadgets; the last thing I heard playing was weirdly, a song I didn’t even like: Extravaganza by Sauti Sol. Next thing I know I was back in my room surrounded by nurses and doctors. You’d think I’d be busy trying to rest, nah, clearly being a firstborn and control freak is not something that takes a break. I was busy ordering people around asking for all the warm clothes I’d packed plus a heater. Can’t blame me though, I was freezing and there was no way I’d allow an asthma attack to be my end after surviving surgery.
You know, it’s weird how things feel afterwards; my stomach felt strange but none of that excruciating pain. I don’t even know how to describe it. I woke up feeling as though I’d just woken up from a nap but yet to commence the surgery. Until I heard one of the nurses explaining to another that I’d just had an open myomectomy. Everything felt surreal; as though I was in the middle of a dream.
Remember me saying I was a control freak, I fought sleep the rest of the day! I was not about to sleep and slip into a coma or something (Lol, blame my over imaginative brain plus anxiety). Before I knew it, it was lunch time and family and friends started streaming in.
I must say, that day, it took some pretty incredible ladies to get me through. From the very sweet and understanding nurses, my doctor (she’s a kick-ass gyna), the wonderful anaesthesist (she had this amazing aura and was a ball of cheer!), and one of my closest girlfriends who had slept in hospital with me and got me through a lot! This woman travelled a few days earlier to be there as I prepared for surgery. I don’t think I’d have survived the overwhelming anxiety if it wasn’t for her.
Now look at me here a whole 5 weeks later and just 4 days away from completing my 6-week bed rest! I still can’t believe it’s over and I’m here.
Diary of A Loved Black Woman 