Arsenic and Old Lace

Please be careful when you praise a child for being so mature beyond their years.

When I was 9 we got our first VCR. There was a huge RKO Video store in Times Square that sold VHS and Beta cassettes, and one day my parents and I went to the store to get our first tapes. They were really expensive in those days, costing as much as $80 a tape, so my mom and dad got to choose 2, and I would get to choose 1. My dad is working with the salesperson to locate his selections, my mom then chose her 2, and then the man leaned down to me and with the sing-songey voice adults sometimes use with kids said, “And what movie do you want?” Probably thinking I’d say something Disney-related. I looked up at him and said, “Do you have Arsenic and Old Lace?” He stood straight up and looked at my dad with sheer incredulity. My dad nodded his head like, “Yeah, she means it.” He was not ready for me 😆. And while it was funny then, and for years afterwards, it took me a while to realize that moment was indicative of something painful: I’ve sadly never been a little kid. Not even when I was a little kid.

Yes, I was born an “old soul.” I do believe I have reincarnated hundreds of times over. That bleeds through and I have had access to a wisdom at an early age that seemed far beyond my years, because it was. Some of my maturity was due to my intellect as well. But the real truth was I was exceedingly “wise” and “mature” for very specific reasons. Traumatic reasons.

My entire childhood I was consistently praised for something that was a sign of trauma.

Let’s start looking at kids’ “maturity” a little differently. Let’s at least be willing to engage with questions around why a child should have to be so mature.

Lisa Marie Presley, Dead At 54

I don’t care much about celebrity. I never really have. And I don’t care much for Elvis or his legacy, seeing as how he stole from Black folx and made both money and an eternal name for himself off of their genius. I never knew much about Lisa Marie, other than she was the daughter of Elvis and Priscilla, that she had married Michael Jackson a long time ago, and that her son died by suicide in 2020.

It was that last thing that made her real to me. That made me actually care about her as a human. As a mother. As a fellow bereaved person.

Reading a post about her on Facebook by grief counselor, David Kessler, reminded me that even though the way forward is with a broken heart, as Alice Walker once wrote, sometimes that heartbreak can be too much to bear. Sometimes, people really do die of a broken heart. Sometimes we consume copious amounts of food or drugs or alcohol to numb the pain of a broken heart. Sometimes we try to “screw your courage to the sticking place” and just go through the motions of living. Sometimes, though, even though the will is strong and your spirit tells you to live again, sometimes, the heart simply cannot go on. I’ve been at the precipice of that exact same place. So many people around us live there every day despite the smiles they feign for others’ benefit.

She had money and fame and luxury and privilege, and yet none of that kept her from the excruciating pain of having to put her baby boy into a hole in the ground. Death is the great equalizer, and because of that, from my mama heart to hers, I hope that wherever she is, she is in far more peace than she was earth side.

Love your people fiercely, my loves — because this all ends.

My 2023 Message

I woke up today with a very important message on my mind for the new year that I have to share with you: Make this the year that you walk away from all the bullshit.

Your bullshit job? Walk away and find a new one. No, it’s not “easy to find a new job.” Find one anyway. Death is closer than you think and you don’t want to spend your remaining years doing something that leaves you empty and miserable and doesn’t pay you enough.

Your bullshit relationship? Walk away and give yourself the healing you need to be ready for something better. Death is closer than you think and you don’t want to spend your remaining years settling for something because you’re afraid of being alone. “Something” isn’t always better than “nothing.”

Those bullshit friends? Walk away from them and find the kinds of friends who truly love and care for you. Death is closer than you think and you don’t want to spend your remaining years being friends with people who smile in your face but talk shit about you behind your back. Whatever their issue is, if they aren’t mature enough to talk to you about it, that’s their problem. Only allow friends in your life who truly value your role in theirs.

That bullshit opinion you have of yourself? Walk away from it and start truly loving who you are. Identify the ways trauma and family and society have taught you an incomplete and incorrect story of who you are. Death is coming sooner than you think and you don’t want to spend your remaining years living someone else’s story of who you are. Get to know and love yourself enough to embody self-respect in all you do. Love is an inside job.

Death is inevitable. Living a half-life doesn’t have to be. My wish for all of us for 2023 is to live full lives without settling for the smallness of what we’ve been taught we “deserve.” You are made of star stuff. You deserve the immensity of the entire Universe.

Scars

For anyone who struggles with the wounds of trauma, I know how hard it is to bear witness to the reality that no matter how much work we do to heal, trauma and its adverse effects often remain forever a part of us. We often get lost in language around “healing” meaning we are “making it all disappear,” but I think the more accurate version of healing is that the scar doesn’t disappear — it will remain with us forever — but the deadly infection doesn’t have to. The intense pain and inflammation of severe emotional infection can be treated. And yes, sometimes getting rid of the kind of septic infection caused by trauma can take a really long time. It can appear to recede and then come back again when a new wound is inflicted that triggers sepsis again. I know. I really do. It gets exhausting. Just know that any scars remaining aren’t an indication that you somehow failed at healing, and that your healing isn’t a one-and-done, and while that can feel daunting, it can also free you of the expectation to “get it right.” There is no right. There is only being present to your feelings, honoring why you’re feeling them, and giving yourself the permission and the resources to help them move through the stuck places in your psyche. You will have to do this many times, but that just means you will have many opportunities for the kind of attention and release your pain most needs. You will have many opportunities to lighten your emotional load.

And as always, you are never alone in that deep, dark wilderness of pain. No matter where my physical presence is, my spirit is in that wilderness with you. You need only to reach out your hand to feel mine gently holding your own.

I love you.

❤️

Babes in the Woods

Sometimes being a Buddhist heals me in the most remarkable ways. Compassion is a cornerstone of Buddhism. Sometimes, the greatest act of compassion for your parents is sensing that you have reincarnated hundreds of times before, while also sensing that they have not; that they are far newer souls, that they birthed their teachers. Imagine, the wild unknown of a love like that, having to nurture something that is hundreds of times older than you, as it suckles at your breast. Imagine the feeling of profound inadequacy as you look into the eyes of your precious toddler and see an ancient, primordial soul staring back at you. Imagine the pride and joy they feel at having you for a child, mixed thoroughly into a roux of trying to keep up with you, and failing.

Sometimes, often times, our parents were the ones who were the babes in the woods.

Sometimes, often times, compassion begins there for me. In those woods. Holding space for them in my arms like the babes they once were.

How The Grinch Saved Christmas

I’ve been in so much pain lately that my Christmas spirit has been completely missing. Usually I put up the Christmas decorations around here for Theo the weekend after Thanksgiving but that was the week my leg got really bad and I’ve been wiped out just getting through the day most days.

Yesterday, Humans of New York released a 15-part “Christmas” story and at first I was skeptical that it would do much other than the usual eliciting of appreciation for Brandon’s gift of capturing a great story, perhaps giving me a smile or two. By the time I finished the 15th part, I was weeping. Weeping. Weeping with every good feeling one could have, wrapped in a bow. I then got up, put Christmas music on, and went to the hallway closet. I got out our tiny tree and our bag of ornaments and decorations. I then proceeded to decorate our home, asking Theo at some point to come finish decorating the tree while I took Jake out for his last walk of the day. When I got back, Theo was finishing up the tree and excitedly said, “Guess what just came on?!” I listened and smiled when I heard the familiar sound of Boris Karloff narrating “How The Grinch Stole Christmas.” Theo finished the tree and we sat on the sofa, my tiny family of three, listening to the rest of the story, our faces lit by the twinkling of lights, the story backed by the hum of my electronic fireplace. When it was done we got up and hugged, and when he pulled away quickly I held him close to me, not letting go, and felt him melt back into his mama’s arms. We stood there for a few moments, in each other’s arms, until I kissed his cheek and let him go. It was far too brief and yet it will live within me for the rest of my life. It is an evening I will never forget. An evening filled with love.

Thank you, HONY. And Merry Christmas.

❤️

Grief Thoughts During The Holidays

Just wanted to remind anyone going through holiday grief that my book, Grief Thoughts, is available at most booksellers (https://linktr.ee/IssaMas). My favorite thing this book has been called by a reader is “medicine.” It may not be able to heal the hurting you or a loved one is going through, but those who have read it speak of how it eased their pain and their grief loneliness. Sending you all so much love, especially during the upcoming holidays. ❤️

Big Dreams

When I was young (and if I’m honest, still to this day), I had terrible stage fright when it came to singing. It didn’t matter that anyone who had ever heard me sing since I was a child remarked on how beautiful my voice was. I loved to sing, but I was never confident while singing. If you had asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up I’d say many different things over the years, but in my heart I always wanted to be a singer.

My father squashed that dream pretty early. He told me I was too smart to waste my life living as a struggling artist. I knew from little that my voice wasn’t enough. His advice was practical and logical. It was responsible and caring. It was profoundly cruel. It crushed me. And since what my dad said was law in my house, no one else bothered to support my creativity. It was left in the dark like all my other big dreams.

Sitting here listening to my kid sing and play the guitar in the next room, I hear him tell his guitar instructor that he thinks his own voice is even better than the voices he hears on professional recordings of professional singers.

Dear reader: It is not. 😩😩😂

He has a ton of potential but because his voice is changing it sounds…well, it sounds like it needs a lot of work. It needs a ton of growth still. He isn’t quite as good as a professional singer yet. And I would die before I tell him any of that.

Instead I tell him how far his guitar and vocal skills have come, and how he comes from a long line of natural singers (my father could SANG), and that with the support he’s getting as a musician his voice is just going to get better and better. I smile and tell him how great he sounds and remind him that his voice is changing so to be patient when it cracks and he gets frustrated. I tell him he sounds great and that his voice is going to keep getting better and better and better.

And then I go into the bathroom and quietly cry for the little girl who never got what I’m giving my son. I cry for the life I could’ve led had I been given the gifts I’m giving my child. I cry for the wasted potential of a life marred by trauma and neglect. I gather myself, I wash my face, and when I come out, I sing the song he has been practicing with his instructor, smiling as he joins in.

🎼I got big dreams, big dreams calling me

I got big dreams, and nothing's stopping me

I don't care what they're saying about me

I'm happy dancing to my own beat

I got big dreams, big dreams calling me

Parenting While Healing

Theo is on Zoom with his support teacher and I pop in to let him know I’m stepping out. I close the door and head to the foyer to put my shoes on and hear:

Teacher: Your mom is a really good mom. She loves you a lot, you know.

T: I know. She’s really tough but she’s fair.

Teacher, laughing: Yeah, she’s been tough with me already a couple times.

T: Well, it’s just that she wants everyone to have integrity and do what they say they will. She means well.

Teacher: I know.

(I had to talk to the teacher about one too many last-minute cancellations. While I can be considerate of people having lives outside of work, my job is to make sure my kid’s needs are being met, and to advocate for him if they aren’t.)

I laughed at first. Then I teared up. Giving your kid what you didn’t get as a child is a mixed bag of pride for the parent you are, and sadness for the childhood you had.

I reminded myself that I am making my own spectacular parenting mistakes, and everyone did and is doing the best they can. To not stay in the sadness too long. To give everyone involved grace and compassion.

I put on my shoes and left our home, knowing that some of my pain may never leave me, but I’m no longer crippled by it because I’m a really good mom. To us both.

I’m tough but I’m fair.

I’m healing but I’m whole.

I get outside. The sun feels so good on my face.

And I can smile again.

My Apologies

In my current course I’m learning, among other things, about the human being’s innate “right to risk” and therefore their “right to fail.” Working through my feelings of remorse over how I have “wanted the best for others” based on my perspective of what was “right” or ”healthy,” and the ways I’d become upset if that person continued behaviors or actions that I viewed as self-harming. I had no right to decide that for others, no matter how well-intentioned I was and no matter how much I loved that person and wanted to spare them from harm. I had no right to make them feel in any way as if their decisions were inferior, even if they were self-harming. That was for them to come into an understanding of, not for my ego to try to own. No one has a right to judge others’ paths in life based on what they swear is “better.” No one’s wisdom is higher than mine. My wisdom is higher than no one else’s.

I send my deepest apologies to those I have harmed in any way with my counsel. I am striving to do and be better.

I love you.

Update

I know I haven’t been around much lately. I’ve had some folx reach out to me to check on me, which I appreciate so much. Most people leave me to sink or swim on my own because they either don’t really care like they say they do, are too overwhelmed with their own lives, or assume I “got this.” Same old story. So for those who are wondering how I’m doing, here’s a brief synopsis:

- Yesterday was excruciating. Yes, still. Yes, even after 21 years. Fucking excruciating.

- Daddy’s death date is on September 21. I’m not usually “okay” until a week or two afterwards.

- Theo is officially a High School freshman. Considering I just gave birth to him last Saturday, this is quite an accomplishment.

- I have begun coursework towards getting New York State certified as a Certified Mental Health Peer Specialist. I will, hopefully, be able to get my certification by the end of November, allowing me to pursue a career doing what I’ve already been doing for the last 15 years or so — guiding, supporting, and assisting others on their journey to mental health recovery.

— Doing coursework while having to hear Theo’s homeschool instruction at the same time is daunting. Today I was trying to write down notes for the Human and Disability rights portion of my coursework while Theo was listening to a biology lecture and I wrote down, “Human rights are all interrelated, interdependent, and indivisible. Universal rights are often the difference between ammonia and ammonium.” I’m fairly certain that is incorrect.

I haven’t forgotten my village. I’ve been treading water upstream in a hurricane since June and I’m doing all I can to stay afloat. Alone. As usual. So, for those who have reached out to check on me in any way, thank you. It means so much.

I send my love and care to each of you. I hope you are doing well, and if you aren’t, I hope things get better for you really soon.

Practicing Self-Love For My Birthday Season

For the month of May, my birth month, I’m focusing on joy.

My life has been painful, traumatic, and lonely. Since I was a kid. I’ve spent almost half a century trying to heal from things I don’t even talk about, as well as all the things that I do. I have been harmed, violated, and betrayed. I have had the kind of life that would make most people bitter and resigned at best, and absolutely feral with rage at worst. With what I’ve had to endure in this life I could be an entirely different person, one who uses their darkness to hurt others. It’s easy to do that. It’s easy to hurt others when you’re in so much pain.

Instead, I’ve become the kind of person who lights the way. The kind of person who takes the things that others would shame her for and uses them to rid others of their own shame. I am the kind of person who gains wisdom and shares it — freely — in hopes that others would not suffer in the same ways. I became a writer, a healer, a guide, a safe space. I became more fully the Light that has been buried for far too long.

A person like that should be celebrated, right?

So, that’s what I’m going to do.

Regardless of the machinations of a world gone mad, I will hold joy as my focal point. I will find ways to dance and sing and eat and laugh and love, especially this month. I just bought my birthday outfit and it’s doing WAY TOO MUCH and I fucking love it. Y’all are gonna see birthday photos of this old big bitch in a, “Is she really wearing that?” outfit and either love it or talk bad about me. Either way I’m gonna be really tipsy so it won’t matter to me in the slightest.

I’m tired of hurting. I’ll be 49 in two weeks. That’s a lot of pain. And while there is no end to the ways this world can break your heart, I refuse to just lie there and die. I did that once, for over a year after the old man died. I don’t ever want to be there again. I’ve saved myself more times than I can count in this life. I didn’t save myself from the gaping maw of trauma over and over again just to give in to the creeping resignation that often comes with it. If you’ve resigned yourself to a life of pain, know that I absolutely understand that sense of resignation. I do. Just know that you get to decide to be brave again. And with bravery comes hope.

So, sing. Dance. Love. Eat whatever the fuck you want. Just focus on the joy. And if you’re in NYC (or will be) the weekend of May 20th, and see me doing way too fucking much, either come join the party or mind ya business. LOL!

Love y’all.

My Reaction To The Leaked SCOTUS Draft Opinion

— Plan B is still available over the counter and has a shelf life of 4 years. There is a weight limit of 175 lbs at which point efficacy begins to decline.

— Mothers of people with male genitalia/reproductive organs: I plan to have a conversation with Theo about getting a vasectomy when he’s ready to have sex. They are easily reversible and require considerably less recovery than the sterilization of people with female genitalia/reproductive organs. It will obviously be up to him but I plan on making a very persuasive argument for it.

— It is highly unlikely that NY will ever ban the procedure. Even if the Feds ban it, the State will fight for its autonomy on this topic because it has consistently been the will of the people of NY that the procedure be legal. To that end, if you or a loved one find yourself in need of a procedure while living in a state that has criminalized it, know that my home is open to you. All you have to do is get here.

They want us afraid. They want us resigned. They want us docile. Thing is, after four years in the 4th Reich, those of us who resisted then are in no mood to lie down and play dead.

We will continue to resist.

We will continue to fight.

We will continue to use community to hold space for our needs and get them met.

Don’t despair. None of these motherfuckers are more powerful than the Light within you. Let’s focus our personal efforts on grassroots solutions, on donating to the folx creating legislative and legal solutions, and to holding each other in compassionate community.

This is just the beginning. Hold steady.

Love y’all.

Control

The other day we were joking about his height and he laughed at my dismay that he is indeed now taller than me, and he said, “I love it because it’s the one thing in my life you can’t control.”

Oof.

That stayed with me for a day or so. It followed me everywhere.

“So, remember you made that remark the other day about me not being able to control your height, and that being the only thing in your life I don’t control?”

“Yeah.”

“Well. I‘ve been thinking. What are some of the things in your life you’d like to have more control over? Are there things in your life you’d rather control on your own without me?”

“Look. Let’s face it. It’s probably a good thing you’re in control. I’d just make a mess of things because I’m 14 and I only *think* I’m smart enough to do your job. Let’s just leave things exactly how they are.”

Just so you know, The Torment I Regularly Put Myself Through For Nothing, is the name of my next memoir. It will be entirely made up of my posts about Theo.

A Haunted Mirror

Cheslie Kryst’s death affects me in ways I wish it didn’t, and yet…here I am. There I was.

There I was.

Anyone else out there with chronic depressive disorder? The awful dance we do, the way you think — or at the very least, hope — that because it’s not here right now you could be finally free, that you could be cured, only for it to invariably come back out of remission leaving you feeling like a giant failure for not having figured it all out by now? Yeah, that never really goes away, does it? So, we hold on. Sometimes just barely. All I had for a while was Theo. Deadass. Dassit. Nothing else would’ve kept me here long enough to get help during the worst time of my life and that’s just the truth of my situation.

At only 30 years old, like Cheslie was, I didn’t have a Theo to hold on to. I didn’t have much of anything, really, to anchor me down. I was floating and hurting and lost, and when I say she reminds me of me in so many ways, just looking at her is like looking at a younger me. And I remember that I struggled like her, and that I almost didn’t make it, more than once. And I’m stunned into an ineffable gratitude. And I remember that each of us is so very powerful, and so very fragile, and so very, uniquely important. Even when we can’t see it through the dense fog of pain. Especially then. If only we could feel how truly sacred we each are. If only we could learn to lean into that a little more.

I’m learning. I’m trying.

I love y’all.

Please stay.

Okay?

❤️

How Long Does Grief Take?

Out of all of the myriad human emotions we have access to, grief is probably the least welcomed. After all, grief comes only after loss, and loss isn’t something us humans are very good at.

What does being “good” at grief look like, anyway? Does it mean getting right back to work as soon as possible? Well, a society built on the reliability of its workers would have you believe that. Does it mean being stoic and “strong” and not buckling under the weight of such pain? Too many movies and television shows — and even our friends and family members would have us believing that as well. Does being “good” at grief mean making sure all of your emotions are neat and tidy and can be put to bed at the end of a long day quietly with minimal tears? For too many people, this is the model they are hopelessly trying to emulate, feeling like failures when the grief they are managing refuses to stay inside the lines and colors everything bright and bold with dull streaks of grey. SO, what would grief look like if we allowed it to draw its own path in our lives, using its very own palette of colors? Well, it looks a lot like the book Grief Thoughts: Brief Anecdotes About Profound Loss.

In Grief Thoughts, I allow the reader into the long and winding road through the dark forest of my grief over losing my father, a World Trade Center first responder and my own personal hero. It is my love letter to all of those who grieve and think they’re doing it all “wrong” because it is taking too long, or it’s too messy, or any other reason they’ve been given for devaluing their own personal process. There are no “right” or “wrong” ways to do grief, there are only ways that support you and ways that do not. Ignoring your grief, going back to work too soon or focusing on work and work-related projects only and not processing your feelings, using substances to numb your feelings all of the time — these are some ways that you could be doing more damage than good during your bereavement process. Outside of harming yourself or others, and/or not facing your feelings at all in any way, there is no way to get any of this “wrong.” And you know what? Even when we’ve buried our emotions and didn’t deal with them, or drank or ate too much, even those things weren’t “wrong,” they just weren’t helpful. They didn’t relieve the pain they way we wanted those things to do, they just prolonged the process. The most painful part of grieving is that there is no way around it. Sure, we can and should give ourselves moments of comfort and relief, because the onslaught of grief can feel relentless. The paradox of grief, though, is that the only way to truly move through it into a place where you can carry it lightly, is to go through the heaviness of the ways mourning someone you loved can make you feel. Since most of those ways we feel during grief are awful, it makes sense that we want to ignore them, shut them away, bury them like we had to do our loved one. That grief just grows heavier and scarier, looming ever-larger in our psyches until they demand to be seen, to be acknowledged, to be felt. It’s hard work, feeling all of those feelings, but it’s the work that gets you to a day when you realize that while your grief over their loss will never end, you’ve grown strong enough to carry it. You know how to hold it now so that it doesn’t cut you quite as deeply. You can sit with it and be unafraid that facing it fully won’t be the end of you. The grief was the end of who you were when they were here, but this new you has gifts to bring you. In Grief Thoughts, I come into those gifts slowly, over time. Over lots and lots of time.

You will, too.

What if?

What if you decided this year, that instead of fighting the inner voice that tells you that you’re trash, that you’re worthless, that you don’t deserve happiness in your life, what if you embraced it with love and grace and compassion instead? What if you told it, “I hear you. We were taught a lie, though. You deserve goodness all the rest of your days. You are worth every one of your dreams. You are. It’s the truth.”

What if you loved that hurtful, hateful inner voice instead of despising it? What if you invited it to stay and sit with you, in love, instead of pushing it away? What if you lovingly called it in instead of angrily calling it out? What if, the voice that tells you that you ain’t shit, is the final part of you that needs love and healing? What if we told it that it can stay and get loved, too?

What if?

Happy New Year! Farewell, 2021

Some things I’ve learned in this bloody, illuminating, painful, expansive year of mine:

— When you get bone-tired of living the same life over and over again with your most precious dreams still buried and left unfulfilled, you will start to realize that no one can change that situation but you. And the longer you argue for your limitations instead of advocating for your dreams, the longer you feel like an imposter in your own life.

— When you carry trauma, it feels normal to put up with awful treatment from others, and you will make excuses for things you absolutely should not make excuses for because “no one is perfect.” Perfection isn’t required but consideration and care is. No one gets to harm you because of their own traumas. You are not here to be collateral damage for other people’s growth and evolution as human beings.

— Self-respect not only feels better than settling for something less than you deserve, it shores you up on those days when you question your decisions to walk away from anything that doesn’t serve your highest good because of the insidious ways trauma tells you that what you have is the best you’re ever gonna get.

— Big, miraculous, positive changes are always a wonderful thing, but make sure you notice the small miracles in your life. Those things that others look at as if they were mundane — support from a friend, a passage you read that stays with you long after you’ve read it, the way a pet snuggles against you or a child wraps their arms around you for a hug — those tiny miracles are the bricks of the house of your life. Your appreciation of them is the mortar.

— Lastly, and this has been coming up a lot for me lately, is the power of “decision.” It’s important to remember that you get to decide who you want to be, how you want to live your life, and who you want to share it with. You get to decide — and not by default either, because to not decide is still a decision — what the feeling of your life will be. How will it feel? You get to decide. We all do. I hope you’ll decide that you are worth all of the joy, love, and fulfillment you can hold and then some.

Happy New Year, my loves! Thank you for being my village. You’re the best  village in the whole wide world.

Artax and the Swamp of Sadness

Hi.

I’ve been swimming upstream in a hurricane for the last week or so. Felt like maybe I would drown. I was doing well, or so I thought, then POW!, triggers sent me into the Bermuda Triangle right in the middle of a storm.

How about you? How is the holiday season treating you? Are you doing great? Do you feel amazing one minute and then the next minute you feel like crumpling into a pile and lying down right where you stand? Is it all shitty, all the time, like emotional water boarding?

Look, this year has been hard as hell. Last year was terrifying but at least there was a smidgen of hope to be had. This year felt like an interminable journey through the Swamp of Sadness and sometimes, sometimes, I felt like I was Artax. Like this sorrow could lay me down and leave me there forever. And if you felt like that, too, I just want you to know that you weren’t alone in that swamp. I was just a few feet away. I’m only ever just a few feet away. I’m here.

Sending my love to you now, as always. May we find the break in the swamp that leads to the road out. May the holidays bring rays of light here and there, even on the darkest days.

Forgiving Myself

In the wee hours of the morning as I lay in my bed giving up the fight against insomnia, I recalled something I did in my past that made me despise myself so much I could’ve willed myself to actual death right there. The amount of hatred I felt for myself and what I did almost consumed me. If I self-harmed I would’ve done so.

I took a deep breath and told myself that I had to forgive myself. I had to. I couldn’t go back in time and undo it, and I certainly couldn’t undo what I did by hating myself. I had to forgive that version of Issa. I had to forgive that version of me. So, I said, “I forgive you, Issa. It wasn’t okay, but you didn’t mean to. You didn’t realize what you were doing. You made a huge mistake and you never made it again. I forgive you.” Then I cried a little and fell asleep for an hour or so.

Maybe there’s a version of you who needs forgiveness. Maybe there’s a version of you who hates themselves and seeps poison into your heart. Maybe now is the time to forgive that version of you. Maybe now it’s time to accept the many variations of who you’ve been and integrate them into who you are now, even if those variations bring you shame. Maybe compartmentalizing who we are by locking away who we’ve been behind heavy oak doors made of self-hatred only serves to keep us from feeling like a complete human being. Maybe the wholeness that we seek can come from nowhere but from within. Maybe it can only come from truly forgiving and wholly integrating all the parts of ourselves.

Maybe.