The Processing Mind

I thought I’d be embarrassed about arriving late to the party, but as it turns out — everyone’s just happy I made it.

I grew up an uncomfortable kid; slow to learning, becoming, loving — I thought my skin needed tattoos to be beautiful and that my friend’s list had to fill an over-dramatically long scroll to prove that I mattered. I’m the youngest of five and I wasn’t just the smallest; I was the smallest. My voice? Always muffled. Common sense? Never developed. My academia? Under performed. I was small.

I’d ask my parents what would make them proud but there’d always be something lying around that would make them prouder — I grew up an uncomfortable kid. 

And though it’s thrown me off my path more times than I care to count, my husband likes to remind me that it’s not my past that gets me home, it’s my present. Everything I do now, is my compass; it’s on me.

He’s right. My parents have taken their respective step down as my coach and have fallen back into the stands, as my newly found cheerleaders. I am both the coach and the runner, as well as the official who shoots the pistol.

I am the one who says, “On your marks.”
The planner who sets the day.
The designer of the track.
The one who chooses the lane.
And the one who decides when and when not —
to run.

I used to wonder where principles came from and when mine would finally make an appearance. Nobody told me they don’t just show up at your door — you’re supposed to build them. 

So, I’m late to the party — I don’t know what I believe in or what I’m willing to stand for. I’m a fool.

I pretend, by-stand, avoid — I’m a full-functioning adult, and yet an overstimulated toddler all over again.

I used to deny my menstrual cycle — and for what? I’d deny its ability to hijack my emotions, as if all feelings somehow appeared out of thin air, and then when Red came knocking, I’d be too scared to ask my mom for the proper coverage, so all that left me with were stacks upon stacks of bloody underwear and a downward spiral of self-care, not to mention confidence. I grew up an uncomfortable kid.

I don’t have the best stories. I grew up the buff girl, the unhygienic girl, and the girl who cried over having to go get a physical. I didn’t gain consciousness until college and the fact is, even after almost a decade of it — college — later, I’m still just trying to find my way.

Man, this is extremely hard to write. And I think it’s especially hard because I’m a mom now, and I just can’t believe all this happened behind my back. Like, if the mom in me had just kicked in a little sooner, maybe I could have caught some of my worst falls, and then maybe I’d be farther along by now.

And I know, I know… I didn’t know any better, and yet still, I grieve. I grieve for her, for me. Over and over the memories play back in my mind, the hopelessness ceases to fade, and I’m left in a cyclical pothole of mourning.

Knock knock. It’s me — your husband. Remember what I told you. Focus on the now, and take your time, we’re all here waiting for you.

And just like that, he brings me back.

Okay, so maybe I don’t know what my principles are right now, that’s okay — I’ll build them.

And maybe I didn’t recognize the science behind my cycle back then, that’s okay — I do now.

And maybe I don’t know which race I want to run yet, that’s okay — one day, I will.

For now, I’ll just sit in the process of it all, because that’s the heart of life in its most candid form.

I reckon that’s enough emotional sap for one day, why don’t you go wet a paper towel and wipe off the residue — let’s move on to the curated drop.

The Growth & Grind Report

I might not have done a lot, but I’ve done enough. As I’ve mentioned before, I am deathly afraid of dancing in front of people. I get stiff, I can’t improvise, I can’t get over the fear of embarrassing myself, but during my Hawaii trip, I took the stage.

Watch:

But look at me now. 

And I dedicate that dance to the follicular phase of the menstrual cycle because without it, I don’t surmise I would have been in the right mind to pull it off. I’d be too overwhelmed with fear and doubt and a cannot attitude to execute something I knew in my heart I’d love.

I also made it a point to pocket my insecurities during my trip and wear the damn two-piece bathing suit anyway. I genuinely brought it without the expectation that I’d wear it, but low and behold, I did.

I mean, this trip really brought out my ability to actually accept the freedom I had been so gracefully given. I didn’t recognize myself. I felt …big, bold, and honest. I felt like Tomiee Cruise.

I reserved space for myself and honored my box hotel — I could have easily checked out early and spent each night with my girls in their shared hotel, and the truth is I would have in the past, but I didn’t. I saved room for my space. I embraced it and let me tell you, I loved every minute of it.

I was completely indulged in self-empowerment. I wore the skirt, the crop top, the bathing suit; I mean, my fit went way beyond my usual norm. But my favorite part about it was how safe I felt in my own skin. So, thanks, Föllie. You’re the real homegirl.

Aside from my trip, I’m also learning how to take my shots in basketball. Most of the time I get too intimidated by the guard and resort to making the pass, but little by little, I’m practicing my ball handling and seizing the moment when it reveals itself to me.

Mira! (aka “Look!” in Spanish)

Not me crying in the club like 

I also got to step into my supervisor role at work and lead a group of people on my own for the very first time ever in my Costco career — oh, did I mention I work at Costco? Hi, I work at Costco. 

Like literally, you know what? Who said I didn’t do a lot? Cancel, this month was golden.

Aüggst, bring it on, baby. Though I’m late, I’m very much ready.

That’s it for the Growth & Grind Report. 

What’s something you did this month that you’re proud of? Anything out of the ordinary? Something worth doing again?

Think about it.

Cheers,
B.