The piece of me that hates the whole of meΒ 

I write this from a place of semi-sobriety and complete honesty. It may contain triggers for those of you who have been affected by sexual violence. My hope is that through my sharing I gain some peace and that maybe am able to connect to others, helping them move closer to their own serenity. 

There is a piece of me that hates the whole of me for that night. I just laid there. After saying “no” repeatedly he told me to stop telling him no. That I was not to ever tell him “no”. So I was compliant. I didn’t know then that my complicit silence would be the grey area making it difficult to charge him with rape. Why didn’t I fight? It was a question the detective asked me. It was a question I’ve repeatedly asked myself. And perhaps it’s a question that those who know me who have never experienced rape have wondered. The truth is, I always figured myself for a fighter. To be assertive and aggressive and clear about consent and my own discomfort. But in that moment being held down so forcefully I would have bruises on my back for days after, silence was my only weapon. 

When the detective for sex crimes asked me to describe the event I did, in explicit detail. There were, it seems, many times where I could have gotten away or fought back or stressed “No” beyond the initial iteration. Why didn’t I seize those opportunities? They asked me waiting for an answer I didn’t have to give them. I wish I knew. Beholden to a man who’s grip would leave scars while tears streamed down my face and a mantra echoing through my head, “just don’t make him mad.” Jennie says it was self-preservation. But I have not yet come to the place where I can forgive myself for my weakness, my silence, my presumed compliance in that moment. I am not sure I ever will. 

And then in the aftermath. The grasps for control. The breakdowns. Five of which I’ve had today alone. The ocean of tears I’ve cried. The deep desire I have to quit my job because it physically wears me out to have to perform the act of normalcy. But knowing if I do I lose access to my mental health care. It is a pressure that feels like the weight of him on top of me. One that I can’t seem to get out from under. 

My biggest plight right now is not knowing how to find relief. I hate the question are you okay? No. I’m not. And I’m afraid I don’t know when I will be. It scares me more than anything else in this world right now. I want my mom but I don’t want her to see me this way. Broken and unable to be fixed, even by her love. It’s an impossible feeling to not know what you need. To be told that time is your serum for healing but time is the noose around your neck and the sand in your lungs. 

I hurt and all I can do is cry out through my fingertips. Because for anyone who asks, I don’t have any words. Just like that night I guess. Which makes me cry even more. Where was my voice when I needed it? Where is it now? Can I be brave enough to speak even if it’s through tears and short sharp breaths? I hate the part of me who thinks I can’t. She was born that night. 

Can I get a witness?

There is a fear that I need to acknowledge. It is that as a decidedly single woman, I house within me the fear that I will always be single. There will be no witness to my life. There will be no audience to my triumphs nor safety in my trials. My oneness though elective it may have once been will become a choice I didn’t choose. Yet cannot undo.

After a while you can’t help but wonder, “is it me?” And after a while longer you have all but convinced yourself that it must be. There is no other reasonably logical explanation. I ask myself, “where is my lesson in this?” I dug for lessons for six months in silence while holding pieces of a broken heart in my other hand. I could just…I could breath through this hurt God if you just show me where’s the purpose in my pain? Give me a hint.

I would sit still and listen for my gut. Nothing. And another night I would fall asleep and wake up confused in my bed but somehow smelling him. Back there. And I would cry. I cried so much in that loneliness, that quiet, that yearning for the lesson that I cried myself numb. Scabbed over and thickened it took that much more effort to feel anything.

I just want to feel wanted. I remember thinking. Desirable. Dancing around the one word I was afraid to crave: loved. Love-ing had gotten me nowhere. Trusting in love had gotten my heart broken. And here we were the day before Valentine’s Day and me in red, out of breath in a shopping mall because he robbed me yet again. And again. And again.

Leaving, I told myself, was the best idea for both of you. Only on every lonely night I have to wonder if it’s true. Was there one, a someone I overlooked? Did I miss them? Did I miss love? Can I call it back? I need someone to care how my day went. I need someone to rub my back when I feel like crying. I need someone to turn off the lights with at night. I need someone who’s laugh is the third to my fifth. I need to be held. To be cherished. To be listened to. To be made love to. Don’t I deserve that?

Silence always makes me question it. What I deserve. Because when someone doesn’t even care enough to say goodbye or fuck off or anything? You feel insignificant. Maybe silence always hurt but it certainly does now, after. His silence was deafening and in it I filled the space with every negative thought one could think. I became the woman who could be walked away from. I lived up to unworthy.

So the silence from today triggered me. Caused me to have to acknowledge my fear. My fear that even though on most days I don’t believe it, that somewhere inside me lives the belief that I will never feel…

I can’t even write the words. Through my own tears. I know that happiness is my own work, I know. But I can’t love in a vacuum right? Will friendship be enough? Will my work? I need something that loves me back.

It is at precisely this point that I find myself dangerously close to negotiating. Deciding the things I wanted and needed in a partner were ready for mediation with the universe. Only that’s not right either. But how long? How long does one sustain and persist through the lonely before you set up permanent residence in solitude?

I don’t want to hear about timing. Or trusting. Or plans and purpose. I would just really like to feel loved again.


The local time is 10:58pm but it feels much later. Its been a day. I hesitate to call any day I am blessed to have experienced a “bad” day, but it was one where I found myself grasping for the goodness, the gratitude, and the grace.

I had almost arrived to Denver. Our pilot had previously made mention of turbulence we may encounter as we prepared to land but I figured, I fly often enough–I will be okay. I was wrong. We just kept dropping. My body was in panic. I shouldn’t feel that floating rollercoaster feeling on a plane. I looked at the window and saw the mountains and then the plane shook violently. The little Indian woman beside me was starting to fret. We dropped again. I closed my eyes and hot tears fell. I told myself it was fine, just air pockets. Or rough air. Or jet streams. I struggled for some meteorological explanation. But all I felt was the falling.

The mountains were so close. I could see the stream carved valleys and icy caps. Down we fell closer to them. I closed my eyes again. Telling whatever power would listen that I was grateful for this morning having spoken to my mom and my sister. I told them I loved them. At least I did that. And I suppose for those who have never experienced anything like this, I might sound a bit dramatic. But I’d left panic and found peace and in hindsight that’s scarier.

We shook and dropped and shook until we landed, very roughly. I wiped the tears and the man behind me rubbed my back. I just kept saying, “that was not okay.” I cried from the time it started until I was in the shuttle headed to the hotel where there was a debacle with my room.

As I sat in the lobby, growing more and more frustrated by the minute I sang to myself. I longed to play in my hair. My hair. It has always been a sort-of soothing thing for me. I needed some comfort.

I didn’t call my mom, because I did not want to worry her. I knew she would be concerned and I was going to be okay. I was just a little shaken up. When she saw my facebook status dictating an awful mood she knew something was wrong. Lots of people did because I rarely, if ever post negative things. Just not me. She, of course, went into mom mode and wanted to fix it and make it better. I recalled that awful flight and started crying again. It struck me that no matter how old, accomplished, mature, developed we get…sometimes we’re just little helpless beings in need of love, affection, and comfort. When Mo came, she gave me a hug, helped me sort through my hotel woes and I told her, “you should be a mom.”Β 

After dinner, I was calm. Ready to shower and wash off this day and settle into bed. I laid on the bed unable to locate the anger I felt so strongly only hours before. Instead I found the goodness in problems easily fixed and good friends willing to help fix them. The gratitude in a peer, a friend, a mentor who can laugh and cry with you with such ease, its as if it always was. And the grace…for a life where I am so incredibly loved. Even the problems I have show just how privileged I am.

And so, before bed I say my prayers. For my mother and my sisters. May they always know I love them. For good pilots and safe landings. For loving friends with nurturing hearts. And for the good sense to even in crisis, know there’s something more than this moment. Thanks to the divine, even for my anger.

Watching weight and irrational fears

I have a very irrational fear. I realize it is not completely sound or founded on anything rather than its near absolute reality. Consider the following statement by Elizabeth Gilbert from her book Committed:

“The desire to feel chosen. A wedding; a public event that will unequivocally prove to everyone, especially to myself, that I am precious enough to have been selected by somebody forever…What better confirmation of her preciousness could she summon than a ceremony in a beautiful church where she could be regarded by all in attendance as a princess, a virgin, an angel, a treasure beyond rubies? Who could fault her for wanting to know-just once-what that feels like?”

And on this day, my day, the day I marry my life partner, my husband, my love, I have a terrible fear of being a fat bride. Now, I know there are plenty of voluptuous women who make absolutely stunning brides. I just have no desire to be one of them. I suppose it makes sense, I can’t say that I have ever really looked at a thick curvy body and had it resonate. On the flip side, I have not looked at a super svelte body and longed for that either, I love the toned body of an athlete.

But in a wedding dress…its different. Its soft and romantic and sexy! I want to be all that and comfortable. Not that I am getting married anytime soon, but when I see photos of brides…


Like this one? I see dark chocolate skin and a woman who is comfortable in in. Yeah, its about the comfort. Its recent for me that I have been supremely uncomfortable in my own skin. I decided to do something about it; I joined weight watchers. I can already tell you that within two days of journaling my food and points it has me thinking.

I was walking today and craving junk and I made myself think of what it would cost me. Not only points wise, but in the long run–I thought of the ugliest white gown I could imagine and saw myself waddling down the aisle. Ridiculous though it may seem, it quelled my craving for french fries immediately.

My person rolls her eyes whenever I mention my FBF (fat bride fear) but I can’t help it. And I don’t think I want to. I want to count my points and go on walks and eventually runs, and I’ll do that until my outside matches my inside.

Scared of lonely

I was talking to A last night and admitted to her something I’ve noticed about myself within the last month: I have abandonment issues. Its weird because, I am also an introvert and spent the first 12 years of my life as an only child so being alone is commonplace. However, there is a difference between being alone and feeling lonely. And sometimes one has absolutely nothing to do with the other.

I pulled cards while my person was here. We sat in my floor and I did a spread where 3 out of 5 cards mentioned loneliness, abandonment, isolation, and solitude in various forms. I know that is a fear for me…that if I indulge my talents, my interests, and my passions there will be a divide between myself and the people I love. I realize this is a bit irrational, but its so very true for me. I love closeness.

I’d told my person a few months ago that I think I do want a wedding, just to be surrounded by the love of family and friends. But as I settle into my quietness, I think that comes from a place of…need. A place of needing proof of many things that, I very much want to know regardless of a guest count. Largely, I really want to know myself. Because I think when you know yourself, you don’t need in that same way. Not that all weddings are about that, but for me…its not for the right reasons.

When I think of the things I need to let go of I drill down to the core of one thing: validation. I keep doing things to prove a point of some sort, but to whom? And why is anyone allowed so much control over my attitudes, thoughts, and actions? I believe that if I keep discovering, keep questioning myself, then I can let go of needing affirmation from external sources. I really want to concentrate my efforts on my relationship with the divine, my divinity. Its so easy to lose focus.

I made a promise to myself to begin each day with meditation and to end it with prayer. To treat my body as a sacred vessel, and to remember I am not in need–I am enough. Its interesting…the times that I come to these conclusions are always in times of great uncertainty and physical and/or material depletion. Why does it take a reaping for me to turn inward? That’s the lesson.

I do not want to be afraid to be left because that does not say anything about me. I want to be clear in my knowing that when people leave it is not because of some personal deficiency of mine. I want to make it clear, and I don’t want to be afraid of lonely. I am not being abandoned. Everything and everyone I need is here and never leaves.

Carrie asked Big why they decided to get married and he said, “because we were afraid of what it would mean if we didn’t.” I think that’s so relevant. Its not so much that I’m alone but what does it mean that I am. What does it mean if I don’t find this “one” if I don’t have kids and a home and pottery barn kids rooms? I don’t want to be governed by the what ifs. Nor do I want to entangle my definition and appraisal of self in social norms. Breathe. Yield. Love.