Blessed Up

I’ve been having some cortisol attacks in the morning time.

I guess calling it an attack is being over-dramatic. I’ve been waking up agitated- angry, or sad, or frustrated. I haven’t been getting to yoga classes as often as I’d like to.

The thing about human relationships is most of the affectionate ones are a mix of people liking each other and using each other. You like your girlfriend, she’s also where you get your hugs from. You like your friend, he’s also where you get your watching funny movies time.  We want to know the people we love, we also want pleasant experiences and count on them to provide them.

I have a real thing about feeling used. I get real angry when I’ve identified the boundaries of what people want from me. I’m real suspicious of people’s motives when it comes to friendship. There’s a lot of people in my life who believe they like me, but need me to edit my reactions to the world to be comfortable around me.  A lot of people I don’t talk about detransition with, because it’s so clear it freaks them out. A lot of people I don’t talk about rape culture stuff with. Most of my loved ones I know what experience I can relate that they’ll walk out of the room for. Most of the experiences I think a lot about are the same ones my family doesn’t want me even hinting around at. My family can only deal with an exceptionally narrow version of me. That’s fine. We didn’t choose each other, I don’t think the spiritual journey of being in a family with someone is about self-expression, I think it’s probably about acceptance and forgiveness.

That’s people for you. The trick is still using the knowledge gained from the bad experiences while not talking about it to people who will walk out on you. This is the fundamental trickiness of trauma. People don’t want to know about the bad stuff. They don’t want to hear about it from you. But you still know. You have to know. If you try to forget the bad stuff you’ll just walk right into it over and over.

I saw a Pema Chodron quote about how noticing the small joys of life is actually the warrior’s path. I’m trying to find that balance between knowing the bad stuff and noticing the good stuff. I think my real life friends only want me to notice the good stuff.  I think there are a lot of radical feminists who only want me to talk about the bad stuff.

But the trick is people can want whatever they want. That’s their right. They can desire anything from me. I have agency over what I talk about and what I create. I have agency over what I notice. You can tell me what you don’t want to hear me say, you can tell me what you’d rather hear from me. Whoever said I was trying to make you happy?

I woke up in a beautiful apartment. I woke up and cut up a watermelon, so I have a bunch of watermelon getting cold in the fridge. I woke up with my soft hair and fat ass. I woke up and I don’t have to get an oil change for a couple of months because I got one yesterday. Thank you, past me. I woke up and listened to rap, as I generally like to do when my cortisol is running high. I woke up and the birds were singing outside.

All the ways I’m not what other people want are also how I feed myself. That’s fine. I’ll wait here while other people get themselves ready to enjoy more complicated stories from more complicated people. I’ll eat my watermelon and listen to rap and touch my soft hair. Then I’ll probably write something real intense and heart-wrenching about the trauma of being female. I do it because the world is offering lots of different kinds of joy and I’m gonna feel all of it I can.

 

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