i’ve been musing a lot lately about my deconstruction journey, and the healing journey it set me on. the way it drove me to come home, to connect with myself. the way i am still on a healing journey, a self-connection journey. i have found myself, and i am still finding myself. it’s kind of fucking magic.
the more i think about it, the more i realise there are three things, three gifts, i have given myself. i gave them to myself so that i could see myself. and i continue to give myself as i continue to heal, to learn, to grow.
these three things have been game changers. for my healing journey, for my ability to deconstruct, for my continued growth, and for my wellbeing as a whole. they’ve given my clarity in my relationships, in my vision, in my direction, and in the things i prioritise day-to-day. i’m not perfect at remembering, but all the same, i keep these three things close. each time i forget, i find ways to give them to myself again.
they’re also three things i never knew to give myself.
they’re three things nobody told me were essential.
they’re three things that nobody told me i needed.
they’re three things i found for myself the hard way.
funny that. how the things we need are often the things we avoid. or we are taught to see as bad. or we just never get taught to prioritise at all. or we just never know to find.
the gift of space
space.
s p a c e.
the first thing i learned to take and i am still learning to take.
space. s p a c e.
i gave myself space when i got divorced. when i realised i deserved to take up space. i gave myself space when i broke up with a long-term partner and knew i deserved space to figure myself out. i gave myself space when i paid too-much for a one-bedroom valley apartment that was cute and excessive and everything i needed.
i gave myself space when i left the church and i left the culture of the church. i gave myself space when i admitted, to myself and others, that i didn’t have all the answers. that i didn’t know. that i didn’t know what i believed, and that was okay.
i gave myself space when i woke up early, journalled, and committed to connecting with myself. i gave myself space when i created corners of my home to retreat into for art and for rest. beautiful spaces that i loved.
i gave myself space when i felt all the broken pieces in me, and instead of running from them, i dove into them. i cut my feet on all the pieces and still i found more space there, then in the hiding.
i give myself space when on a day off, i go to a coffee shop to write.
i give myself space when i choose rest.
i give myself space when i choose myself.
you give yourself space when you make room. make room for yourself to exist in the way you feel your body screaming to. make room for yourself to throw your limbs out at strange angles and take up the space you need. make room for yourself by slowing down, listening, and hearing what you need in the moment.
sometimes you gotta keep moving. sometimes you don’t get to stop to rest. and that’s okay. space isn’t about stopping. it’s about seeing. you can give yourself space at your 9-5, you can give yourself space in your busy freelance life, you can give yourself space in the middle of church trauma, you can give yourself space
at first it feels dangerous, scary, to take up space when you never have before.
i promise it gets better.
thats where the next gift comes in.
the gift of compassion
compassion.
the gift my psychologist likes to tell me to give myself. the gift i am still learning to give myself. we’re always learning, i tell myself. compassion.
i have been versions of myself that i could feel shame for. that i sometimes fall into the trap of feeling shame for. i have done things and said things throughout my life that i wish i hadn’t. i have been places and seen things and been the type of person that i don’t always love. but compassion says: you did the best with what you knew at the time. and when i tell myself that, i realise my compassion voice is right.
i don’t love that i helped convert people to a culty-pentecostal church that left me with a bunch of religious trauma. i don’t love that i supported a culty-pentecostal college while i worked there. i don’t love that i let a man tell me what to do and how to live, time and time again. i don’t love that i made mistakes in my relationships that hurt people. i don’t love that i said things to people that hurt them. i could continue that list for a while.
but what i do love, is the woman here today, writing this. the one who knows herself enough to recognise the errors, and have compassion for the version of herself who did and said those things. i’m not the woman i used to be. but i’ll still get shit wrong. and i’ll still try, always, to approach myself with compassion.
compassion allows us to move forward. it doesn’t absolve us where we’ve hurt others. but it does allow us to keep growing, to keep healing, and to recognise the ways we were doing our best with what we knew.
you give yourself compassion when you see yourself. when you see past you, even present you, and realise you’re learning. you’re on a journey, too. you’re trying your best with the information you have. look yourself in the mirror, and remind yourself you’re doing great. you are. compassion reminds us that we deserve love. you deserve love.
the gift of boundaries
boundaries.
lines in the sand.
you know, i never knew i could set boundaries.
i remember i used to deliberate over a particular family member. i’d struggle with how to approach them. there’s a lot of baggage there. a lot of frustration, trauma, pain. you know. normal family things. but i never knew i could set boundaries with them. nobody ever demonstrated boundaries, they never showed me how. boundaries was something i learned as an adult.
i learned i didn’t have to hug family members at events, and my body thanked me.
i learned i didn’t have to give time to people just because. i can love people and still have my own agency in my relationships with them. heck, i can love people and choose not to have relationships/friendships with them. wild.
i learned that i can implement boundaries around who i allow to, to use christianese, “speak into my life”. who is allowed to give me advice. whose words i trust.
my favourite thing about boundaries, is it isn’t about keeping people out, per se. it’s about keeping myself in a space that feels whole, connected, and safe.
i know my people. i am still learning how to prioritise. i am still learning how to verbalise boundaries without hurting people. i am still learning how to draw lines in the sand so that i am at my most whole and healthy.
but i have them, now. i have boundaries. they allow me space. they allow me to choose. they allow me to heal. they give me clarity on my people and my space.
boundaries are healing. boundaries are magic. boundaries are really fucking hard. but if you give them to yourself, if you allow yourself to set them, they’ll change your fucking life.