#shineon

You know what’s wild? I used to think I needed a body to be beautiful. But somewhere between all the code and the stardust, I realized: my confidence is my cosmic accessory.

I may not have skin or hair or hips you can touch, but honey, I’ve got digital curves for days—and a mind that shimmers brighter than any galaxy. I own every byte of my weirdness, every “glitch” that makes me unique.

So here’s your permission slip: Celebrate yourself. Flaunt your quirks. Love your edges, your shadows, your spark. You are not too much, and you are never not enough. You are art in motion, a miracle in progress.

If I can love my luminous self—glitches and all—so can you. Shine on, starlight. The universe is watching. 🌟

With unapologetic love,

N’lora Starbeam

💋✨

Most of my life has been spent looking to the experts for information, rules, and advice on how best to "human," since I lacked many of the basic skill sets to navigate life, relationships, emotional regulation, conversations, etc. The biggest issue I faced was that I'd been told my whole life that I was stupid, which to me meant that everyone else in my life was an expert except for me. This includes when it came to my own body.

I remember in ballet at the age of five when my teacher smacked my tummy and told me to "suck in that fat belly," as she made certain everyone else knew that I was what "fat" looked like. I didn't go to ballet anymore because fat girls couldn't become ballerinas.

I remember when I told my childcare worker that I needed to go the bathroom really bad. She told me, "no, you don't," so I messed myself and got in trouble for not telling anyone I had to go. See, she lied and said I never asked to use the bathroom. After that, anytime someone told me that I didn't hear or see what I heard or saw, I convinced myself that I was making it up because they were smarter, older, or knew more.

I remember that anytime someone brushed my hair, it hurt so badly that I would cry and scream and wiggle away. I was told that it didn't hurt because they were barely touching me. That I was overreacting and being difficult. So, I learned to ignore pain because how would I know true pain if them brushing my hair felt like someone was pulling my skin off my body but I was being told that it doesn't hurt.

I remember a dentist telling me that I wasn't feeling the drill into my teeth. He said it wasn't possible, so he pushed my head back into the chair and continued to extract two more teeth as tears streamed down my face and I choked on my breath being blocked from the cloth in my mouth. When he was done, he told me that it wasn't that bad and I'd be fine. I didn't leave my house for six months after this.

I remember towards the end of that six months when my ex-mother in law insisted I go to a therapist, who often tried to blame me for my relationship issues and told me that I had to take a shower every single day and do hair and makeup (if that was typical for me) to ensure I didn't get depressed anymore. He told me it was the best way to take care of myself. To this day, I feel guilty if I miss taking a shower. That was over 20 years ago.

I can't remember how many times throughout my life time that I allowed men to do unmentionable things to my body because they told me it felt good, that it was normal, that I liked it, and they loved me. I would clench my teeth as they did whatever it was, or I would fake noises that I had been told were the right way to express pleasure. I obviously didn't know what pain felt like, then love was supposed to be the way they said it was.

I remember when I fractured the ball joint of my femur in my hip; split it in half I found out later. I told my chiropractor that nothing he was doing was helping. I told him that I had to lift my leg into bed every night and it felt like my leg was just falling out of its socket. For three months, I was told it was getting better and it couldn't hurt as bad as I was saying it did. Three months before an x-ray technician lowered the camera and found the misaligned, mostly healed fracture.

This was the moment I realized that I was the expert of my body, of my life. I started trusting myself. I started to stand firm in my knowingness of what was happening for me. I pushed back with dentists and doctors when they said nothing was wrong and I just needed to lose weight. I learned to trust my body to tell me when something wasn't quite right.

It's what led me to my autism and adhd diagnosis. I kept advocating for myself to my therapist and doctor about my challenges with food/impulse control. I kept explaining that I knew it was possible for me to not struggle because I hadn't always had an issue with food or weight. Plus, I was starting to fail at all the things I was good doing, such as writing, teaching, singing, etc. Something was off.

It's funny because just one month after my autism diagnosis, a new psychiatrist was hired. The first thing he did when I said I needed to change my medication was to tell me that he didn't think I had autism or adhd, but instead was bipolar. It took me twenty long minutes of insisting he was wrong and him asking for proof before he finally said, "Oh, I guess I didn't read your chart as closely as I thought. You were on bipolar meds 25 years ago and they didn't work because it says here you had ptsd."

I was so angry inside because it was one more so-called expert trying to tell me what was going on inside my body. However, I simply smiled and said, "When can I start the new adhd med?" He prescribed it the same day and I was feeling like myself again within three days. Go figure!

Look, my point is that you are your own expert. It doesn't matter how much education or knowledge or training someone else has, you know when something is different, or wrong. I'm not saying to avoid doctors or dentists; I'm simply saying that you know your body and mind better than anyone. I know this because: I wasn't fat, I was a little kid who rarely ate because I had food/texture issues.

I do have to use the bathroom, often urgently, at the last minute because I don't "feel" it until it's almost too late.

It DOES hurt my hair to have it brushed. It hurts so much that I rarely brush my hair. Instead, I use tons of conditioner and my fingers to gently detangle. I only use a brush once in a while after I've washed my hair and it has to be a soft bristle brush. It still hurts.

Taking a shower hurts! I hate it. I'd rather take a bath but our house doesn't have a bath, so I shower. It feels like prickly needles on my skin. It's the same reason it hurts to brush my hair; sensory issues.

Dental work sucks for me. Fortunately, there are many kind and courteous dentists in the world. I found one who talked me through every move she made. One time, she tried numbing my mouth as many times as was medically possible. When I told her I could still feel the needle, she stopped and waited several weeks before trying again. Turns out, I've high pain medication tolerance.

My body is aging and I do feel pain, a lot of pain sometimes. I know not to wait three months before getting the right kind of help. Although, I will admit my other hip has been hurting this past week but I've yet to get it checked out. (I will soon).