The summer at the end of 4th grade

My body says I’m a woman, school says I’m a child. I am confusion. Someone please tell me what this entails? Am I expected to act like mum and stop acting like the kid I was a month ago? How do women act? I tuck it in, cover it up, step back, sit down, can’t forget, can’t forget, can’t forget, shit! Forgot! Embarrassment, shame, shame, shame. Cut down, mute, push away, tear apart. I hate my body. I hate it because I’m supposed to look like that and it won’t stop looking like this and the more suggestions I notice the bigger the rift grows within me. The war against myself is engendered by the unclear crossing over to womanhood.

Who knew that the loss of my childhood would be so bloody?

The divine tapestry

Don’t let your human limitations be a source of shame. Know that your limits are the delineation of you, the fabric that you were carved out of. Don’t identify with it either, for you will go at war with the claustrophobic feeling that comes over your spirit. Just accept it and know that they are the divine boundaries for you to know your place as part of a whole. You weren’t meant to be self-sustaining just as you didn’t create yourself. Your very blueprint is one of abundance and you need only to let your focus align with that eternal truth to receive everything you need.

The irony is that when we resist what we are, we limit ourselves because we assume that whatever we’re repulsed by is all there is to us. We put so much stock and faith in our understanding and perspective of the world and it makes the world a very distorted place. Surrender is the relaxation of the spirit and trust of the mind that connects one to a harmonious reality.

Beehive

Shame robs me of gratitude; it’s the opposite of it. It’s to be embarrassed about blessings, because of the tainted meaning assigned by others. Shame would be ineffective if I didn’t believe in it, if I didn’t see the world through that lens. If I didn’t identify with the gaze of those I desperately wanted to belong with.

thinking out loud#1

I’m supposed to go to an appointment today. It’s currently 05:50 am and after an entire night of tossing and turning, I have to begrudgingly face the sinking and squirmy feeling in my gut. I feel as if a train is fast approaching me and I’m too transfixed in fear to move. I know what’s going to happen; I’m going to think about the people who are expecting me (psychologist +dietist) and how I’ll let them down.I’m going to let loose a barrage of reasons I must go, despite my emotional state. Reasons that use my feelings and mental state as punching bags, as dirt to be kicked, as scum to be swept away. And that would only reinforce my resistance and cue a complete shutdown that would last a couple of days.

For a little over 11 years, I’ve been an emotional refugee in my own body, seeking asylum in far-fetched fantasies of a better tomorrow. Escapist dreams fuelled by my gruelling perfectionism that posits that if I work hard enough to fight myself, I’ll become ok again.

Only now, since a few days ago, is it dawning on me that accepting status quo isn’t the same as healing it. All this time I’ve been focused on going through the motions of mindfulness, of accepting and letting go of resistance, all the while being focused on the wrong direction.
I had my back turned towards the train and although I was doing everything right…I was being screwed over and over again but always believing that the train was coming at me wrong. I was demanding that because I had done everything by the book, the train shouldn’t come from behind me but from the opposite direction. I hadn’t, and couldn’t, entertain the notion of turning around.
I almost enjoy the pain of being bedridden for days or weeks on end by muscle rigidity brought on by a fibro flare. The empty pain of boredom. The PTSD flashbacks that would seemingly transport me back to my nightmares. I feel like I deserve it. I’ve come to create a symbiosis with my demons and I don’t know how to function without them. If I’m being beaten, then worse things can’t happen. But if I’m happy and in the clear…the worst things possible will happen.

I deserve suffering, I feel, but that’s just a pretext to avoiding my life. I’d rather jump to (the worst) conclusions than expose myself to the unnerving limbo of exploring and learning.

 
I’d rather hibernate until I die, than wake up each day with the dread of dying.

Rediscovering Ramadaan#4

Ibaada-shaming.

It’s never as strong as it is in Ramadaan. This need to shoot down the traits or actions in one is denying within oneself, in others. Projecting on others. Subconsciously looking down on the ‘heathens’ the ‘ramadaan tourists’. Grilling people with questions that are often communicated unspoken through glares and vague comments.

Why aren’t you reading more Qur’aan?
Why aren’t you going to taraweeh?
Why did you only pray 6 raka’aat?
Why are you watching TV?
Why are you taking pictures of your iftar when there are starving and poor people??

Sharp tones, clenched jaws, squinting eyes. You would believe that the wrong reply would have this person fly into a fight.

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