5.13 I don’t have answers . . . yet

“There are years that ask questions and years that answer.” – Auntie Zora Neale Hurston

  • How much of your persona is you being completely authentic? And how much of your persona is you covering up what you hate so much about yourself?
  • What would you look like, what would you do, how would you talk if you were being completely authentic? What do you look and sound like right now? How different are they?
  • If you acted like your authentic self, who do you think you would lose? Who do you think you will gain? Who would you actually lose? Who could you now gain? Would you lose yourself? Or would you gain yourself?
  • Who can you trust with your complete authentic self?
  • If you were to fluently express yourself, how do you think it would manifest?
  • How would you move through the world without self loathing, self deprecating and self hate?
  • Who sees you fully?

I’m deeply offended that something inside my brain convinced me that I didn’t deserve to be loved or even draw air into my lungs. I was really convinced that I was a wasted assimilation of molecules and not the divine being I really am. And no one could prove otherwise… that’s not cool. I was living as if I wasn’t make of magic and divine energy, as if I didn’t descend from a line of magical black women since the dawn of time. How did that happen? And how do I make sure none of my daughters or nieces ever carry themselves like a mistake? These are questions I aim to answer before I procreate. I don’t want to be a mother my child has to recover from.

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