Not About the Coochie

So I started to fulfill my podcast (Life As P now available on iTunes podcasts) indication that I might cover mama Gena’s Women’s Conference on the blog. I mean the absurdity of a whole conference dedicated to the power of our privates while at the same time demonizing anyone who reduced us to such was just too much. As typical bandwagon folks do, they held their torches, I mean pink feathers, in protest of the men on the screen. The likes of which we’ve all seen in the news finally being held accountable for deplorable sexual harassment. However, calling the cooch our divine power and the way to get doors to open up for us, sounded like the a contradictory proclamation and I wasn’t here for it.

So there’s my coverage and now on to something that I was struck with just yesterday.

In the mist of a conversation I made mention of an attribute that I thought I naturally had. And I wasn’t wrong. That is me, cause I know me, but I recognize that life’s trauma’s has quieted that part of me and steered me differently. However, this person (as much as they love me) doesn’t really know me without my traumas so they wouldn’t know of this thing that I’ve always had within me. I mean I’ve been experiencing trauma since I was seven. Who would know me without the constant losses and abuses? No one but God and of course me. Um… correction. I do have a friend that seems to be able to see me and has always been able to read my story despite what I cover I present it with.

So anyway, in this conversation with mention of how my past has colored me, the question came about if I was living in the past. Then I thought about how often we ask that of people who are hurting. Hurt is uncomfortable for people to watch or hear if it’s too intimate. Much easier is it to watch on a movie or television screen. But if we hear of past hurt too often, we can’t figure out why people just don’t get over it.

How long did it take for the past to color you? I can’t imagine that good or bad, your past took a few months of therapy to mold you. Now what if it’s a poisonous mindset. The thing about mental and emotional trauma or abuse is that often it can lead to the victim perpetuating the abuse on themselves. The negative mantras they’ve been preached have now become what they think or fear about themselves.

So how long did it take to get there? Then how long did it take for you to recognize what it was? And then how long to realize you deserved better. Then when did you make it stop? How about being free enough to talk about it without tears? I could go on but you get it. Healing is a process and when one needs to be healed, simply “getting over it” does not suffice. I mean you can move and life abundantly, but without healing, it creeps into your conversations. It taints your opinion of others. It violates your sleep.

For years I’ve run from telling my story. or so I thought. It’s been creeping into everything I say and write. Perhaps that would make it hard to heal from it. Because I’m addressing it in pieces in fear of people thinking I’m using it for some sort of sympathy. But maybe it’s time I tell it as a whole. Although I’m still not sure how, I will tell it. Not so I can get over it, but so I can make some sort of stride in healing from it. I just wish it wasn’t so damn much.

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