There was a time in my life when I experienced constant anxiety. Obsessive thoughts, excessive worry, and uncontrollable heart palpitations. Fear of the future was constant. Daily. Over time, my anxiety faded. I couldn’t contribute its
Suddenly I saw the problem everywhere: There were no women of color at the spiritual events I attended. None of the empowerment accounts I followed showcased their work and the female entrepreneurs they featured were strikingly homogeneous. Most of the mommy blogs I read were written by white, mostly blonde, ladies. What I realized after Charlottesville is that the racism I’d experienced paled in comparison to the experiences of other non-white folks. My hallpass, the one that had let me navigate conversations about race from the vantage point of the oppressed, not the oppressor, had suddenly expired.
I may have forgiven him, but I’d never forgiven myself. I’d never dealt with the shame and the guilt that was, quite literally, buried in the deepest depths of me.
Financial anxiety, extremely high rent prices, and a (un)healthy dose of limiting beliefs around money did not make for breezy conversations in which to plan and manage our finances. The word “money” came with a load of shame and a lot of fear.
After many months of trying to book a night at the Joshua Tree House, I finally had the pleasure of staying there last year. Based on the success of this gorgeous Airbnb spot I assumed the owners were living
I realized I’d been carrying around a heavy idea about my self-worth: I was not worthy or beautiful without makeup.
MOTHERSHIP; sexual awakenings, shamans and (re)igniting feminism
It was the first time that I had realized that what happened wasn’t okay. It was the first time I said the word, rape.