Finding Home

Years ago, a friend who owned a Gowns-for-Rent boutique in our city and other cities proposed to me that I be one of her models for their billboard ad featuring women of various kinds of strength. At that time, I was well immersed in the world of CrossFit. I was 35 at that time and had been the fittest in my entire life at that point. She had this concept of how she wanted to present a juxtaposition of this perception of society's yardstick of femininity and strength. I marveled at her idea. But I was clearly unsure of myself and other considerations living in a small city where everyone knew everyone, and everyone talked about everyone as if they truly knew everyone and having your face plastered on a tarpaulin 24/7 apparently was the dealbreaker. As much as I love to share my thoughts on social media through poetry and essays, my image presented to the public as a model was a totally different beast altogether. She told me in her very caring and sensitive manner that she understo

  “This is the part where you find out who you are.” This. Here Where everything hurts.  Where nothing makes sense. This. Here Where there is nothing left of your heart.  But others say there must be some  if not so much more left This. Here Where you are  But the one who birthed you, taught you love Is not This. Here Where you made your choice Where your choice made you  This. Here Where you are alone Where you are loved  This. Here Where there is no taking back Where there is only grace and mercy This. Here Where you can finally utter, I’m sorry Please forgive me Over and over and over This. Here Where everything hurts Where everything finally becomes clear This is the part where you find out who you are. 

I am born from many mothers. As I was reflecting on the events that transpired in the past two days this particular thought emerged. The story of my life is perhaps the same as most others-- one of manifesting the changing of the seasons though I live in a place of eternal sunshine. In the glare of this reality, I find myself constantly navigating my way through the loneliness of the dark months, the transmutation of my many selves preparing the demise of their hues, the breaking free from the constricted buds of my beliefs and my adamant disrobing of this cloak of precarious blossoming into the parching of my own mind, body and heart.   Through it all, I meet people who support me in the many ways my seasons change. Some are the fierce catalysts of change. Some are the gentle nurturers of my soul. Most are both. And I see all of them as "mothers' in that whether fierce or gentle, they birth a new version of myself every time my heart and mind is open enough to meet them