Love Thyself a Bit

In the thick heat of summer I have felt little inclination to write especially against the overwhelming feeling that any capacity I had before has been starved for lack of practice. I suffer as a vestigial writer.

But I feel moved tonight to write out a few things about myself that I like. It’s a healthy practice. So here’s a list:

1. I love that vegetables genuinely taste good to me. Thank you, Mom and Dad!
2. How flowers, trees and bushes captivate me. I get taken in by the colors and texture. When I stop (mid-stride and mid-sentence) and lean in to examine the bloom it feels as though I have a peaceful, beautiful conversation with a friend. I so thoroughly enjoy those moments and love that they happen so often.
3. How music moves me. I must have looked ridiculously silly/crazy tonight walking home from work: stupid grin with wide eyes and a tear here and there when I felt so moved. My ears eat up full sounds sometimes and beautiful rhymes, raps, hooks and stories can make me cry. Power by Kanye West made me feel like I wasn’t even touching the ground and Common’s I Used to Love H.E.R. choked me up.
4. Being a romantic.
5. Loving red wine.
6. Finding fulfillment in service to others.
7. Growing up in a religious household surrounded by persons who love their God. I appreciate the culture, the dedication, the seriousness, the intimacy. I can empathize with and understand what can’t be explained with words.
8. Curls.
9. Being a twin. Memories! Lifelong connection.
10. 5’6” above the caterpillars.
11. My sexuality.
12. My heroes.
13. Sincerity.
14. Leaning towards the new and unexplored (nix that if it’s technological)

You are welcome to comment with a link to your own list. I would like to read that.

Dear haters in my head

Dear haters in my head,

You are ruining me. I am miserable. When you whisper I struggle to decipher the more probable state of affairs (internally and externally) from your demeaning and de-edifying lies.

I am less fun to be around when you whisper so. I think my loved ones suffer me in moments like these out of loyalty and long term faith rather than for anything that I offer them in the moment. I drain them. My patience is thinner and I can get mean. My lips quiver more often for I am weaker and my feelings are more vulnerable. I am timid often when I otherwise wouldn’t be – shameful. You silence me, haters. A terrible thing to suffer.

My self worth plummets because you encourage the competitive comparisons in my mind between me and every other woman I know – most especially those whom I admire most and are friends with. I then hate them. These beautiful, powerful, wonderful women for being all of these things. Jealousy. And (big shocker!) I fail each competition you goad me into. My flaws against another’s strengths. My looks, humor and intelligence never enough!

The uniqueness each woman in my life possesses and wields so elegantly deserves to be adored and celebrated. Not envied and thus discounted. True and full-hearted unions with any one of them could be so… much! How to characterize “much”… I think the haters are scared of the potential, the possibilities. Perhaps I am too.

I write about you, dreadful and spiteful haters because I must tell you (and myself) clearly how useless you are to me. I must reprimand you for the terrible chaos you incite. Most importantly though, this letter serves to name you. You and all of your (D)effects. Uninvited HATERS in my head.

Haters, you whisper because that is a hateful thing to do and it is all you are capable of. Infectious fictions of exaggerated failures and flaws. All for what? You’ve no constructive purpose. And though I know that I shan’t ever be rid of you, I will not suffer you so terribly any longer. Those fallacious, poisonous whispers will no longer gain so much ground as I’ve permitted before. You have successfully harmed my self perception and my attempted communions with other women for far too long. I love these gorgeous gals fate has gifted me with. I love the grand guys I have similarly been blessed by and now is the time that I attend as much to my gals as I have my guys.

Now is my time and my space when “competition” becomes a different word in my feminism. Not so inherently good. Now is when the haters’ din is successfully disregarded in lieu of more probably accounts of myself and the reality around me. Haters, you pain me. Quiet down! For I speak louder than you now.

Angry but glad to have had such a discussion,

Alia

P.S. Haters and More