I want you here I ache for us to be (stupid) together lost (in each other) arms around each other on the metro stolen kisses that taste like wine stretching to clinging impropriety
stumbling off the train giggling, hurrying, impatient to close that hotel room door for hands on skin for cool sheets and warm lips for sighs for gasps that mean things
your hands on my hips your mouth on my throat my fingers in your hair crazy (stupid) drunk on love/lust/wanting
bookstore secrets taste different at this time of night
What to say after a year hiatus? We are living in soul-crushing times. Children are dying in Gaza. An orange monster is running our country into the ground and taking our rights away. Climate change is fueling natural disasters left and right. Our brains were not built to intake this much news this quickly or plentifully. Fight or flight becomes one big muddle of fatigue, and then there we are, barely getting laundry done in the middle of the descent of democracy.
I’m here not to remind you of all the awfulness we are dealing with, but to offer a small measure of comfort and hope. There is honeysuckle blooming on my way into the office, and it smells just as sweet as it has in past springs, bringing me right back to the backyard of my childhood. The sun is shining and recently I was up before the sun, sitting quietly and listening to the birds chirp wildly as the sun came up gently over the horizon, lighting another day for us to revel in. My matcha this morning was creamy and sweet on my tongue, and it gave me a quiet moment of enjoyment between tasks. There is light out there if we can give ourselves the grace to see it. Pinpricks of joy despite oppressing gloom, if we can slow down enough to find them. Wishing you a week filled with grace and tiny joys, friends. And try not to worry about the laundry.
This is a painful topic to visit, but I think perhaps it is time to bring it out into the open. For as long as I can remember, I have never felt “good enough.” Perfectionism. Impostor syndrome. Depression. Anxiety. Overachiever. That wound by any other name still hurts. A lot. I’ve thought wryly that I’m even an overachiever at feeling not good enough — the mantra “I am good enough,” for example, is not at all soothing or affirming for me. In truth, it grates on me. I don’t want to be just good enough, I want to be the best. At everything. To everyone. The favorite. The winner. Perfect.
Introspection and a couple really excellent therapists have made me wonder if I actually want to be those things, or if I feel like I need to be them. It is, of course, the latter. And yet, how do I let this need go? We could start with logic, perhaps:
Perfection is impossible.
I cannot be the best at everything.
I cannot be everyone’s favorite person.
And to try to be or do any of these is not only impossible, it is exhausting. I have set myself up to fail (which is somehow also one of my greatest fears — failure. Being a perfectionist is hard, y’all!). Not everyone will even like me. And that’s okay.
Unfortunately, though, logic is rarely as helpful as we want it to be when confronting one’s demons. I don’t yet have all the answers to healing this core wound, but bringing it into the light is a good first step. I am lucky enough to have wonderful, loving people in my life to reassure me when I need it, and sometimes when I don’t, which is so beautiful. Cognizance and kindness are two things buoying me as well: awareness of these woundings, and the gentleness I can offer myself when they arise. And while I walk this road to healing, the immortal words of Mary Oliver are ever a comfort. I hope they can be for you as well.
WILD GEESE by Mary Oliver
You do not have to be good. You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert repenting. You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves. Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine. Meanwhile the world goes on. Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain are moving across the landscapes, over the prairies and the deep trees, the mountains and the rivers. Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air, are heading home again. Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, the world offers itself to your imagination, calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting – over and over announcing your place in the family of things.
what is the difference between spilling over and spilling open?
is the glass half full? no, it’s full — to the very brim, a rim that somehow holds me together and pulls me to the brink, a ledge to cling to or leap from
somehow too much and yet still not enough to break through or break down
a bountiful overflowing of emotion and self that some(one) can’t wait to sop off the table
whisk it away blot it up hide the mess out of sight, out of mind
but you can still see the stain — see how it spreads and changes? see how the blood/wine crimson looks like flowers?
Lately I’ve been making some decor updates here and there — some new art, swapping out a pair of lamps, trading out a mirror, etc. I’m feeling really inspired by English manor vibes of late, artist loft-type spaces, and the feeling evoked by curiosity shops and curio cabinets. Here’s a peek at the lovely newness gracing my home these days.
I swapped the mod-ish amber circular mirror I had in my entry for this beauty, which accentuates our tall ceilings nicely. Something this gleaming and elegant was crying out for a matched pair of lamps to flank it, so I went high-low and paired OKA’s Leptoria lamp shades with classic-looking stick lamp bases from Target. Stacks of books and a favorite vessel or three to style, and I couldn’t be happier!
Several updates have been artwork related which I’ll post about soon (peek and hint here!), but another recent addition has been hanging some long-desired curtains. The unique window placement and shape in our old house — a mixed commercial/residential duplex — has stumped me for years, but I finally took the plunge with some linen-y textured sheers and some warm gold curtain rods. I’m really happy with the results! The gauzy, filtered light in our living spaces is so, so pretty.
Shockingly chic (or perhaps not so shocking, as Target often has some real gems!) is this new vase I picked up. The shape is beautiful and I love how it reminds me of one of my dream wallpapers, Cole & Son’s Nuvolette. It is the perfect vessel for a bunch of floppy eucalyptus stems.
For overnight guests (and because I loved the color), we now have a sweet tufted couch that folds down into a full-size sleeping spot. I have it draped in a throw by Matilda Goad & Co. for Anthropologie, which picks up the minty color beautifully.
Lastly, let me let you in on a secret you probably already know about but might not. I have three words for you: candle warmer lamps. I am such a convert! No soot or smoke from your candles means cleaner air in your home, your scented candles last wayyyy longer since the wax doesn’t have to fuel a flame, and the lamps come in so many styles, you can easily find one to fit your vibe. I got this one, but something like this or this would be great if you like a sleeker look.
I love how our home is ever-evolving, cozy and welcoming. I hope you enjoy, and happy decorating!
I wrote this poem a few years ago, on a day when my depression seemed to be swallowing me whole. Some days I come back to this feeling for a while, especially when an emotional lifeboat seems difficult to find.
sinking slowly kicking back to the surface over and over and over again until she tires of treading, ever-treading
gently she sinks, lips pressed together in a hard line until she rests at the bottom where no one can tell the difference between errant tears and the waters in which she resides
crumpled and frayed, perhaps she can learn to unfurl to sway like the graceful kelp that stretches upwards toward the sun, but for now, she cannot even open her eyes, or imagine that somewhere there is light and warmth and sunshine
the pressure becomes a comfort — something to hold her pieces together, something to keep her from flying apart, to keep her from dissolving into the aether above — because it would be so much easier to cease to be, so much easier for sentience to become scattered stardust
Staying comfortably alive is, unfortunately, much harder as a woman than you’d think. Collateral damage of war, terrible domestic violence, and a surprisingly insidious gap in medical care — and rights. Most medical knowledge we have is based on research on male bodies. Knowledge and effective treatments for women’s health conditions and diseases are shockingly in short supply. Women are regarded as more “emotional” than men, dismissed as “hormonal” when concerned about alarming physical symptoms, and are often dismissed in a way that makes the “hysteria” diagnoses of bygone days seem not that far away after all. Black women and other women of color are disproportionately affected. Heavier women are told to lose weight as a catch all solution to every ill. Pregnancies are more dangerous in the U.S. than any first world country has a right to be. And a whole host of reproductive health concerns have been made violently worse by the recent Supreme Court ruling that struck down Roe v. Wade. Abortion access is imperiled in much of the country. Safe and easy medical treatments for other reproductive issues will be harder to receive due to the ban of practices deemed to close to those used for abortion. In short, women’s health care in the United States is a travesty. It is an environment that is negligent at best — and malevolently hostile at worst — towards female bodies.
A smattering of recent news:
According to the 2021 Global Women’s Health Index, not only did women’s health get worse worldwide in 2021, the United States was ranked 23rd in the world. Twenty third.We are one of the richest countries in the world, but we don’t even crack the top 20 for women’s healthcare.
Recent reporting in the New York Times brought to the forefront how very little we actually know about an organ possessed by approximately half the world’s population: the clitoris. Virtually no one is studying it. Most medical literature ignores it completely. Surgeries and procedures regarded as routine and straightforward have documented injuries to the organ as a result of anatomical ignorance. And even though regular examinations are recommended, most providers “neither know how to examine nor feel comfortable examining the clitoris.”
Abortion bans in the 100 days since Roe V. Wade was struck down by the Supreme Court have resulted in incredible harm to women’s healthcare, including but also well beyond abortion procedures themselves. “Abortion bans have impacted healthcare beyond reproductive care, keeping Americans in some states from obtaining treatments for conditions like rheumatoid arthritis, lupus and even cancer because the medications can be used to induce a miscarriage.”1 Women in the middle of life-threatening medical emergencies are sitting and waiting until legal teams, not doctors, decide if their lives are threatened “enough” to provide care.2 Other very basic, safe medical procedures that utilize similar methodologies or medications as abortions are in serious jeopardy due to the potential legal ramifications for the providers. A miscarriage has become a prosecutable crime. As Jia Tolentino pointedly explains, “We’re not going back to the time before Roe. We’re going somewhere worse.”
What can we do?
PlannedParenthood.org remains a steadfast resource for women’s healthcare, including issues related to menstruation, endometriosis, UTIs, PCOS, pregnancy, contraception, and more.
Abortionfunds.org lists abortion funds in every state if you’d like to donate, as well as links to resources to help find a clinic near you or get more information about safe, effective abortion pills.
National Indigenous Women’s Resource Center advocates for policies, offers resources, and holds events and trainings in support of the mental and physical health of indigenous women in the US, extending even to housing instability and gender-based violence.
The Electronic Frontier Foundation has excellent advice to keep your digital privacy safe, whether you are seeking an abortion or a provider of abortion or healthcare support. What was benign data can now potentially be used as criminal evidence, so know your digital rights and protect yourself accordingly.
We are in this together. Let’s do all we can to close the gap in our rights to healthcare and bodily autonomy. Women’s rights are human rights.
Just before my birthday last summer I was out shopping and eating with friends in LA, and I stumbled upon a candle in a little shop that I kept coming back to. The vessel was a bright, shiny gold, with an artful label of all text. The scent was deep and woody, and the name? “Polyamberous.” The quip made me smile, as I always love a good wordplay. It took me a bit to decide between it and another candle I liked as a little gift for myself — I was apprehensive about making it mine, to be honest, in more ways that one. I finally said “yes” to it in my head, and as soon as it found a home on my nightstand, I felt seen. Yes, I was – I am – polyamorous. I wasn’t out to anyone but myself, and I wasn’t seeing anyone yet. But I felt like I had finally embraced this part of me.
The smell of amber and tonka bean is heady and rich, much like my life these days. I’m grateful and scared and learning and growing every day. What I am not doing every day, though, is asking myself, “what’s wrong with me?” Not anymore. And that, more than anything, is the true gift — a gift to myself that was long overdue.
Last night I read a book that I could have written. Lyric and melancholy, musing, yearning, seeking — philosophical, if you will.
Today’s book, the pages are full of you, have you all over them. A novel of tight, clipped prose. Simple. Deceptively so. Something new for me to touch that feels all too familiar.
Maybe somewhere these books are on a shelf, touching in ways that we cannot seem to no matter how much I ache.
I stayed with you that summer, loving you from the far end of your couch cup of tea in my palms and a welcoming smile on my lips that I hoped could cross the gulf between us.
Later we imploded, but in my heart I still carry the softness of that early morning light and your shirt even softer on my cheek.
Pink&GreenMusings 