Communication is super, super important. Yet no one really taught me how to communicate about sex. I’ve begun to ask myself why I am so afraid to be seen.
I stopped being at the mercy of other healers when I began to heal myself.
Often, I wonder if I love women because I’m tired of being hurt by men. In effect, I have the same question many queer survivors have: am I queer because I was abused?
I’m not doing it on purpose, I promise. But when I’m in the bathroom alone I look at myself in the mirror and I go to a dark place within my own body, somewhere that I haven’t yet exorcised and burnt incense in.
It would be harder to run all my life. At some point, I have to head back in. Otherwise, the ghosts will keep haunting.
It took me a long time to adjust. To re-adjust. To redefine. The moment I started to speak in a language for myself, that was crafted around the way I want to understand myself, the clock began moving at a pace that felt eternally sacred.
As a queer and trans person of color who struggled for years to understand what healing meant, I've learned a few things on my self-healing journey that countless self-help books failed to tell me.