Many mornings I awake looking forward to the newness of all that awaits. I generally know what to expect; my mornings are calm and full of prep and creating the intension to kick ass all day . I list the action steps for work, my overall attitude is to simply show up and be the best I can be. However, I never know how these experiences will shape me, illicit emotion, motivate me or inspire self-doubt.
I can say that despite PMDD, I am not so easily discourage by curveballs. Like not getting a piece of business, loss relationships or personal goals not achieved. I know that if I am showing up and striving towards the end result that not every win is a win by one action but by many and that not every loss is a complete fail. I don’t think that I was always like this, but recently I’ve been told that I am a warrior. This new year people from my past have been reaching out and telling me what I’ve represented to them and how I effected their life.
These accounts completely unsolicited; a gift from the universe. In a time where there is great discourse and divide, humanity has the opportunity to embrace what matters. The words from people I loved growing up with, who allowed me the space to be myself, helped shaped my ideas about life and still hold dear in my heart today resonate with me this morning. They matter.
They told me that no matter what situation I find myself in, that I always rise to the occasion. I land on my feet. I am crazy in a good way. I am a good person, funny, beautiful and strong. I am loved and missed …
These words spoken to me from childhood friends and the friends from my younger life is a gift and a testimony to believe in myself despite the voice that is imbedded in my old thinking. The footprint in my child’s mind is at the core of my adult thinking….It is subtle and insidious. It is powerful and can bring me to my knees if I allow the words to envelop me like a shroud. I would be dead today if the warrior in me, the crazy in a good way person in me couldn’t muster the strength to collect the experiences that prove that voice wrong on a daily basis.
My friends view of my outward personality is their experience of me. My actions is my experience and that voice must be met with more outward action on a daily basis. I tell myself that I must be the resistance.
I woke up this morning thinking that I was ready for the day and thought about the Women’s March on Washington and how millions of women marched in solidarity. Our voices needed to be heard. So much to march for. I read a sign held by an elderly women that read “Can’t believe I am still protesting this shit.”
That sign hit me hard…because the truth is that people’s beliefs run deep. Engrained in our existence is a demand to have that belief recognized. This patriarchal society we live in is the old school, privileged bullshit thinking that is rooted at the core of colonization. This thinking has shaped many generations and so long as people of power continue to abuse their positions there will be suffering in the masses and no space to move beyond this same shit and move toward new and relevant matters.
I thought about how these ideas effect me and my daughter and ultimately my son, but that day we thought about signs and we brainstormed what we were going to say and we narrowed down some ideas, but I couldn’t help thinking from the wombs of women people are born. Many women have given birth to all kinds of people. As a parent I have great power over my children’s minds and I can exploit that power and be abusive or I can raise powerful altruistic people. As a mother, there is no way of knowing how the person you are raising will do with their lives and the impact it will have on others…
My daughters sign read “Young and Empowered.”
I however, decided to not have a sign. My body was my sign in a sea of Pink Pussy Hats. I stood by my daughter and many strangers. I felt the strength of the men and women chanting their core beliefs and I felt proud and emotional because I knew I was giving my daughter the experience of democracy and empowerment. She Matters.
I woke up this morning feeling motivated and as I walked around the neighborhood touching base with friends on social media, I caught a glimpse of myself and I thought, I look old. I’m no longer pretty. I am not skinny. I will never be good enough, successful enough. I will always be broken and I nearly began to cry.
This is the belief system at the core of me. No matter how far away from it I think I am, this is the voice that finds it’s way to my consciousness. This is how I was raised to see myself. I was taught that to be pretty, I had to be skinny, not so smart and that my body was a distraction. I developed early and instead of helping me find my comfort zone, the women around me gave me shame. I wasn’t skinny enough and I had breast. I was smart, but it didn’t matter because I wasn’t skinny enough. I was pretty, but because I had breast I was trouble.
This belief that was bestowed upon me is dangerous, yet has given me the fortitude to push back upon time and time again. This belief had me unknowingly give my power away time and time again to people that would hurt me, take advantage of me and make me depend on others to make me happy. I didn’t know my own strength or that I was worthy of having a voice that mattered. I didn’t know I mattered.
PMDD loves to collect the demons that lay low in my mind. So when the voices from old friends come in from the past to lift me up, I accept the message. When I can stand in a sea of people and teach my children to stand up for their beliefs I run with it. When I am mugged from my serenity, I know that the voice that was planted in me by people who had power over me isn’t my truth. So I have to continuously protest against this shit like that women’s sign read. Until this goes away I am not done.
I have to look in the mirror and pick my battles. I have to decide to ignore the voices in my head no matter how loud. I know it will pass. I am not a prisoner of my thoughts, but I recognize where they are born from and so I must step outside of myself and realize I can no longer allow myself to be my oppressor! I matter.
I am loved and I’m not what I was told I was when I was young girl, but am who I’ve shown myself to be and I can choose to listen to either voice because I have self will.
I woke up this morning loving life. I’ll go with that…