Trust Heal Be

I’m awake. I am not sure why. It is 2AM and I am feeling rested and my imperative seems to be that I need to write but I am not clear about what. So I will write to see where writing at this moment may lead because I cannot go back to sleep, I have already tried that for the past half hour.

I woke up thinking about the doctor that had assisted me at Patient First, hearing him give me the diagnosis of “allergies” again.

I don’t like this diagnosis. I am not clear exactly why but never having had allergies before, it makes me feel a bit weird, like my body is turning on me or Richmond is getting to me, literally in me and now I have allergies that I did not have before. And that bothers me. Because I never wanted to be here. And I don’t want to stay here. Even though this is a place that I have learned a great deal about history and the history of humanity on Earth, I don’t want to remain here. It is not my happy place. And I have been feeling this looming of the need to celebrate myself and just celebrate in general. And perhaps that is not tied to a place, necessarily, but it can be, and it has been in the past. No one place can be that for me all the time, but like any love relationship, it has an ebb and flow and it can show me the love again, or I can look at it a certain way and feel that special feeling again. But I have never felt a love relationship here, even though my marriage is here, I birthed babies here. I just feel like I have had to work too hard to find happiness here and I am feeling worn out.

In my dream, the doctor looked at me as though he knew me but was not sure I knew him and didn’t want to be too forward or familiar in a medical setting of doctor patient relationship. I felt like I knew him from somewhere but could not imagine where.

He wanted to heal me. It was as though his soul was speaking to me. I would like to be healed. The dream felt confusing to me, a mix of humanity, authenticity, sexuality, kindness of strangers, and message in a bottle.

I know that I did not want to write about this, but I’m glad I am because it is making more sense now.

I need care. I need it from myself and I need to ask it of others. I need it and I need to want it so that I can manifest it. And that seems to be the hard part.

The other day I woke up to a dream where I was smiling, grinning, feeling beautiful and loved and happy and I was celebrating that I am smart! I did not want to fully wake from this dream. It helped me decide to relish and take deep pleasure in being smart while awake. This is not how smart feels in reality, in my life, all my life.

Smart has had a place on a pedestal. It is given respect but it is not given love. It is a double edged sword. It is given reverence but it keeps people away, it is not celebrated, it is marginalized. It is pushed to the edge as though smart cannot be fun, cannot make connections with other humans, it speaks its own language, it is stereotyped as an outcast. A privileged outcast. To someone like me, a smart girl, who did not grow up with smart being heralded, supported in more than it is great that I am smart because I can do well in school and not cause my family any problems, because I am also good.

Smart + good=Keep you mouth shut. No one wants to hear your bright ideas. You are on your own. It’s your own fault. You know what you need to do. If you want friends, you can’t be smart all the time. Serious is too much work. No one will reach out, or they may feel inferior, so smart girl drop the smarts and meet folks more than half way. Especially if you want to get laid, especially if you want to be loved. How miserable. How much of myself was eroded by this, trying to figure out how to be smart, not too smart, engage to a degree that I did not give up on myself in order to fulfill basic needs. It makes me feel disgusting and slimy and angry and so very sad. It has taken it’s toll. And I don’t want it to hold me there any longer. I do not want to keep myself stuck with these requirements to fit into the box, be a good girl, good citizen, fit the mold of whiteness. Talk about self-sacrifice….

My authentic self is not that person and I want to know that person. I want to know me. I want to heal. I want to heal myself and I want others surrounding me who want to support that healing. This is a matter of trust. It is a difficult think, the idea of putting my trust in humanity to ask for healing support. But I think I am going to have to do it. It’s the message the universe has sent me.