Every week, I challenge myself to a Monday Dare. Click on the link to see the complete list of Monday Dares or to learn more about its origin.
This week: Own it
This occurred to me very recently: I have the power to make my life easy or difficult.
It seems like such a simple thing. If something can be distilled down into just a few words, it has to be easy, yes?
Yes. I mean, sort of. Only “sort of” because now, to do this supposedly simple thing, I have to go around collecting my power from the people I’ve been giving it to since…forever.
There’s not much left in my own reserve. So little, in fact, that I’m reminded of all the times I’ve been too lazy to turn the near-empty bottle of hair conditioner upside-down before I step out of the shower. Then, of course, the next time I’m washing up, I have neither the time nor the patience to flip the bottle on its head and wait while the remainder pools near the opening. I open the lid, swish a little water around, and pour the watered-down contents onto my head.
“Fuck it. This diluted shit is good enough,” I tell myself.
The diluted shit has always been good enough for me.
I’ve been giving away my power for so long, to so many people who didn’t even really deserve it in the first place, that I’ve had to make do with the dregs of what’s left for most of my adult life.
It is only now that I understand what a profound impact this has had on my development and my happiness. My broken memories are populated by broken people with either too much power or not enough power.
Almost every time I venture out of the house lately, I bump into someone I so willingly handed my power to back in the day. I am reminded of the things they used to say to me. I am reminded of how I stayed silent during all of it.
Your ass is too flat. You have a little girl’s body. I don’t like it when your hair is up. I don’t like it when your hair is down. You swear too much. You’re not friendly enough. Your laugh is too loud. You laugh too much. You talk too much. You’re not really the kind of girl I can bring home to my parents. You dress like a sa mo neem (pastor’s wife). You dress like a hooker. You’re not very smart. You’re too smart. Your cooking tastes like shit. You’re a piece of shit. You’re a whore. You’re a waste of time.
FUCK YOU. I’M AWESOME. That flat ass? Mine, motherfucker. I own it. I love it. That laugh? Mine. I love it. My clothes? That’s my style, fucker. I love it.
“There is a crack in everything. That is how the light gets in.” -Leonard Cohen.
As I become brave enough to OWN ME, and as I allow my cracks to grow longer and wider, the light grows brighter, highlighting all of my dark secrets and ugly imperfections.
All things, even ugly things, take on radiance in the light.
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That Tupac shirt? I “borrowed” it from my kid. More pictures on Instagram (username: flourishinprogress). And I’ll be announcing some exciting news on the Flourish in Progress Facebook page this week. Let’s get connected.
WINNERS of last week’s Wallflower giveaway: 1. M (you have the word “fair” in your email address), 2. Kristyn (“80” in your email), 3. Amy (“79” in your email), 4. Corin (“cb” are the first two letters in your email). Please drop me a line at flourishinprogress at gmail dot com with your address.
