Self Care

My therapist helped me realize I am allowed to exist. People are allowed to have boundaries, preferences, feelings, or opinions. That doesn't mean I should constantly erase myself to cater for those, nor that I am a bad person if I want to put my self first.

My therapist helped me see I have no control on people's actions or feelings. I can give my best to the world, and there will still be people who think it's not enough or it's wrong. It's not a slight on my part, and I shouldn't burn myself trying to fix it nor should I think I am a failure.

My therapist helped me accept the concept of being imperfect. If people want to leave me they would, no matter how perfect I am. No human is perfect. My flaws might be acceptable for some but not others. It doesn't make me less. If anything, it allows me to improve myself.

My therapist helped me understand that deciding to love is brave. It takes strength to love. Sometimes you love with all that you have and it still doesn't work. That's ok too. I decided to love, and that's all that matters. My grief or happiness is valid regardless of how good or bad that person was.

My therapist helped me to acknowledge it's ok to be me. I am not everyone's cup of tea and it's ok. Regardless, I deserve the same kindness and compassion I showed other people especially from myself. I am cool enough for me to love.

My therapist is awesome and I am glad I took that step. This is my self care. I feel better, healthier, and in much less pain. Mental health should be as important as our physical health. Have you checked on yours?

Red

Never thought I'd have a tattoo

I got one now

Thought I would be stagnant

I'm leaping high now

Said I won't love again 

Got a fiancé now

Accepting my city dweller life

Love my white picket fence now

Instead of dull gray monochromatic

I have the brightest red

Red for speed

As we accelerate our life

From 0 to 120 in record time

Red for passion

As we indulge our senses

Savoring every bit the city offers

Red for strength

As we support each other

And people whom we love

Red for love

The emotions running wild from

A glimpse of each other's smile

Red for majestic

A taste of humbling amazingness

Of this crazy thing called love

Red for certainty

Knowing that this is it

This. Is. It.

Red for warmth

Radiating from each other's presence

And will be there no matter what

Loving you is red like I'd never known

The red that made Padmé a queen

The red of Dany's Drogon

The red that looks so good on me

As I close chapters of my life

I am excited for new ones with you

Here's to the brightest, warmest red

The most beautiful one

LA has ever seen

Here's to us.

Sack of Potatoes

I overstepped yesterday. Someone reminded me how my views on a certain subject are always negative. The disappointment in their voice scared me and for a second everything fell apart for me.

Don't get me wrong, I needed that. The reminder is like a cold slap to my arrogance. It forced me to reconsider and recalculate my views. It made me realize my view on that matter was heavily biased by my own trauma and grief, and I should do better.

What scared me was how much it hurts to not be 'perfect'. That every flaw I have, every wrong and every disagreement will be a valid point to leave me. If I am not good enough, I am in danger of being left behind. Again.

Which is a load of bullsh--. 

I am imperfect. I am flawed. As much as I want to think how amazing I am, I am not without fault. And that's ok. As long as I strive to do better, as long as I try to give the best for the world, it's ok. And even then, people will still have different opinions, different perspectives on things. And that's ok. 

I don't have to be perfect to be loved. Sometimes my imperfections drove people away, and that's ok. That's their prerogative. My job is not to fit in someone else's mold. My job is to be better in any way I can. For myself. For other humans. For the world.

This note is a reminder for myself. Yesterday I started the burlesque class thinking how I looked like a sack of potatoes; an hour later I still looked like a sack of potatoes but with a dangerously seductive smile. I love who I am. I am aware of my imperfections but I love who I am. 

This is the level of acceptance where I want to be with my personal awareness. To accept what can't be changed and to change what I can, and still love myself in between. I will get there.

Kingslanding

I think the craziest thing someone could do is doing shocked Pikachu face when a woman turns mad and crazy after being pushed too far.

Lucia di Lammermoor. Daenerys Targaryen. Me.

We women are emotional. Hormonal. We use our emotion instead of our logic and throw common sense out of the window in lieu of "gut feeling". We are weak. We are unreasonable. We can't be trusted.

Yet we are strong enough to carry the hormonal roller coaster in us. We are strong enough to be the nest of a growing human. We are strong enough to wake up everyday and live a life where people have claims on us just because we are our gender.

To be told to know our place. To be told to sit still and look pretty. To be expected to always lend helping hands, even if it costs us. To have the water in our well taken continuously until the well is almost dried.

So we went all out. The fierce fire that we saved to protect our children. The brutal strength we have to weather the world. The sharp wit of many mothers that will occupy the world. We will fight. We will save ourselves. The world, however, went shocked Pikachu face and called us witches and whores.

All the murders and destruction, all the crazy bits and insane pieces, all the "Damn crazy bitches". All which can be avoidable, had we been put in a place where we don't have to summon hell in order to protect ourselves. 

Women are not "difficult", nor "weak". We are human, one of the apex predators in the food chain. We will fight back for our safety, for our deserving place in society. Watch the fire, lovelies. It burns.

FOMO

To the person who told me my office sucked: no, it doesn't. 

Could I get a better job elsewhere? I probably could. Get rolling in dollah, be the best possible career-lady I can, short of looking back with a sneer and a degrading "So long, sucker!"

Instead, I stayed. It wasn't easy, but I opted for loyalty instead of opportunity. I can safely say that the bet paid off. I am glad I stayed until I really had to go.

I would be called complacent. I would be called lazy or even scared of the future. I would be called unambitious. Maybe they are right. Maybe I am just afraid of change, or I have too little self-confidence to make it work.

Or maybe, just maybe, I choose to be loyal.

In this fast-paced world, there's always something better out there. Work, dating, food, everything is ever-changing. It feels if you are not chasing for the next big thing, you're gonna bite the dust. The FOMO is huge and is real.

But what if you found your comfort? As long as you don't bother others, what's so bad about gently cradling what you have in your hand for, say, forever and a day?

We have to come to terms that not everything needs to be fixed. That it's ok to love or be loyal to something that's less than perfect. That loyalty is a gift we presented to others, and a reflection of our good nature. No one else other than ourselves can dictate to whom our loyalty should lie.

It's ok to be loyal. It's ok to choose something less than stellar. It's ok to choose Faramir over Aragorn. It's ok to give yourself the kindness and grace to choose. It's ok to trust yourself.

And if someone tries to take that agency from you, especially without considering your opinion on the matter: F*** 'em. Or for some, stop f***ing 'em.

Damnatio Memoriae

Yesterday my partner took the initiative to put my parents' photo up on the mantelpiece. I didn't realize it until just before we went to bed. I tried to hold back my tears; I really did. It didn't work and I fell into a sobbing mess in his arm, thanking him over and over again.

This was the first time someone I'm with respected my parents. One tried to hurt them as retaliation to me. Another one didn't give a damn but wanted me to care for his. And yet another one coldly told me that going low contact with them is better, citing my family issues that I shared with him.

But that's not how love works. Whatever comes, I still love them. I will still care and will try to help them if I can. I can have boundaries, sure. I can accept that people love in different ways, and maybe not the way I want to be loved. The love, however, and the care, never stopped.

For some, love ends. Lines drawn. Roles reassigned. Perks retracted. Some even went "damnatio memoriae" and erase every trace of the other person's existence. They implied that still feeling that warmth is a sign of weaknesses, that we are not ready to let go.

I used to feel weak and ashamed because of that. That I am so 'co-dependent' and have such low self-confidence I can't bear to cut contact with people who hurt me. Yet did I not walk away when I must save myself? Did I not stand up, brush myself, tend my wounds, and live my life (somewhat) normally after?

Life is pain. Existence is pain. We want to build walls and borders around ourselves because we think that could save us from harm and pain. Love is a venom that seeps through and breaks the barrier. It's ok if this is your choice of self-protection. I just don't want to do this anymore.

Being able to love is not a weakness. Being able to see people for who they are and not just what their role to us is, honestly, a pretty rad trait to have. A person's bad trait and good deed can exist simultaneously. Humans *are* multifaceted. Accepting both means you have accepted the person as a whole.

I don't want to apologize anymore for being a loving person. My heart is a giant offrenda filled with candles of those who touched my heart. Their flickers light my soul and warm it in the harsh days of life. Whether the person stayed or left, whether it was messy or consensual or simply drifted apart, it doesn't matter. I was loved. I loved.

And you know what? That was enough.