Yoga was hard this morningā¦as it is most mornings. I do not wake up and put on Lululemon, stretch, strike a singing bowl, light incense, and then have an AƧaĆ bowl with lavender tea afterwards. Yoga doesnāt look that way for me. As much as I have tried to āclearā my mind, my practice is when I become the most introspective. I breathe through some of the complexities in my mind and massage the knotted rope that is my brain before coiling it back up, only to have it become tangled up again.
I often ask myself why Iām so open and why Iām so vulnerableā¦why I choose to share my deepest most intimate thoughts on social media. āWhy not put it in a book and get paid to share your experiences?ā Right. Monetize my thoughts, feelings, and emotionsā¦bank on my trauma and package it to hopefully āhelpā others while profiting from their trauma as well. Wrong.
Iāve been thinking about my life and how my decisions impact others. Iāve been thinking about my safety and how I protect others to protect myself. My safetyā¦How can I possess something that Iāve never had? I have never felt safe. Maybe onceā¦I felt safe onceā¦I guess twice. I sat with my father in our living roomā¦in the middle of the floor on this brown shag carpet during a thunderstormā¦because the lights had gone out. As Iāve gotten older, I donāt know that it was ever an actual thunderstorm or just a warring in my mind as a kid, but what I did know was that our electricity was out for whatever reason.
My father held me during that storm.
The other time was on a Sunday after church. I went into Mama Letās other living room and fell asleep. I woke up just enough to hear her telling one of my parents to let me sleepā¦preventing them from walking in and disturbing a good nap. I went back to sleep in the cool, dark room where framed faces on the wall would keep watch over me.
Otherwise, I have never felt safe. I have never felt protected. I do not feel safe. I do not feel protected.
I protect and preserve the emotions of others, the egos of others, the sanity of others by denying my own protection.
I have always considered the thoughts, emotions, feelings, and actions of others before I even so much as exhale.
Not in charity or for a pat on the back, but protection of others looks like: Not cussing out or confronting a racist or a homophobe or bigot so as not to make it uncomfortable for others.
I fear the loss of family and friends by being authentically me because in truth, people do not want you to be authentically you as it may or may not reflect them.
People do not want you to be honest if it exposes their dishonesty.
I have found safer moments in a community of my own thoughts, ideas, and identities than among a community of people.
This is for people who donāt feel safe and are coping.
This is not a cry for help, but it is an opportunity to think about the people you are charged to protect. Do you protect them from what you think you know they need protection from, or do you protect them from what they tell you they need protection from?
Do you love them because of who you want them to become or because of who you donāt want them to become, or do you love them for who they are becoming?
