I. I just emerged from a long hot soak in scented, CBD oil-infused water. I feel like a million bucks. All I’ve managed since I got home from the cottage was a couple of quick sluicings off in the shower, so this was thorough. I even dry brushed before immersing myself. Self-care.

II. Therapy yesterday was exactly what I needed. I unpacked everything that’s happened, asked the questions I needed to ask, heard the things I needed to hear.

“Self-loyalty,” she said. “This is huge.”

Yes, it is. 

“There’s nothing about any of this that is ‘crazy’ or irrational. This was the only way any kind of healing could happen. You chose you.”

Yes, I did. 

III. Today is good. The scrub down. Clean nails. Squeaky hair. The rose water and glycerine face cream. The cocoa butter body lotion.The work I did for Darling Human for October. The zero’d inbox. The puttering around with a list of potential guest artists for 2021 (I am WOEFULLY BEHIND ON THIS). The toaster, sitting there all squat and pristinely white with chrome details and four slots just waiting to be filled with thick-sliced Italian bread. The grocery order that’s coming later today that includes chunky peanut butter. Plans for a Zoom with my wee girl on Saturday. Plans for Art Winos on Sunday. A live gathering to do with my Art Witches this afternoon. The garbage and recycling got done this morning in time for pick up, which felt very adulty. Journal52 up in The Wilderhood and on Patreon. A little audiobook listening to round out the work with a little play. It’s feeling autumnal out there, which I love, and I’m ready for tea and hoodies and socks and soup.

IV. I know what I know. This is a thing that’s finally sticking. 

V. I want more people in my life. COVID needs to fuck off so I can go find them. I want to gather in meatspace with people of like mind. I want to laugh and learn face to face. I want to circle with fleshly people. I want to take pottery classes, too, and learn to throw & fire. I’m dreaming forward about the ways I will fill my hours and days so that I am not caught up in isolation, because there be dragons.

I am too vulnerable when I’m lonely.

VI. Post-processing therapy with Renee is becoming a habit, and I am not mad about it.

VII. All my readings are telling me to sit tight and be patient. This too shall pass. I just don’t know what ‘this’ they are referring to because there are so many ‘thises’. *Annoyed*. Patience is not one of my superpowers.

VIII. The whole conversation about strength and how all that we experience ‘makes us strong’ and how sick I am of that story. The way I handle what I experience makes me strong. The experience itself doesn’t get any fucking credit. The way I do the work, the way I work to learn, grow, grapple, the way I do my level best to own and hold my own, the way I move through…that’s all me.

I’m also over the story that I would not be who I am without these experiences as though that’s a *good thing*. I would not have C-PTSD. I would not have crushing anxiety. I would not be undereducated. I would not have imposter syndrome. I would not be afraid all the time. I would not be so goddamned guarded. Unraveling what my experiences have laid on me in terms of coping mechanisms and behaviours is the work of a lifetime that I would not *have had to do had I not had these experiences.*

I’m not bitter, though. I’m just tired of *having no choice* but to be strong. I’m tired of doing my own work and then some.

I’ll keep on keeping on, but I am okay with admitting I’m tired.

IX. This has been a year of shedding. I wonder what next year will bring? <—–and that’s progress, because I am asking that question with curiosity, optimism, willingness, openness instead of dread.

Ok, there might be a little bit of dread, but it isn’t overwhelming all the rest.


X. This made me laugh out loud.

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