#winterbrook

I made it a life mission to make myself the only home I needed. To dip into my center and rip out burning light, to illuminate the way for my young feet to walk.

I was a storm shelter, built to shield my gentle heart away from hatred.

It may have poured but I stood tall.

Honestly, still trying to figure that last one out.

Who did I become? Who am I becoming? What and who should I let influence that identity?

I am a sponge soaking in anything and everything around me; this 27-year-old heart made entirely of fragments from past lives lived.

I am not sure who I will be even come tomorrow, but I do know she will be a woman filled with love. With drive. With empathy.

And what is growing up if not being fearful of the future, but running head on into it anyway?

I am still afraid, but I barrel into fate with gritted teeth. Every experience brings a lesson, every passing day and night just a page turned in my story.

I was a child filled with longing, with hope, with bravery. I wanted to paint the world with my color. I wanted to kiss every dog I saw on the street. To hold the hand of softness and melt.

I was a child, happy, and thriving.

TW: body image, comparison

Even as a young kid of around six I struggled with my self-worth. Every inch of me was foreign, my entire body a phantom limb begging to belong somewhere, to be seen. I remember comparing myself to my cousins in every way I could. Intellectually, mentally, emotionally, and especially physically. Feet too large. Got a B on a test where they received an A. The curvature of my hips wider than theirs. My entire being just an echo in the background when I shared a room with them.

Of course, this was not the case in anyone’s eyes but my own. The belittlement of my self was no one’s doing but mine.

I was surrounded by love and still, I was cold in a body I felt unknown, unfit, unable.

Today, that little girl still sits inside of me crying but I try my best to console her. “There is beauty in every part of you,” I tell her. “I know it’s hard to see it, but it does burn, right there in your chest. You are worth feeling comfortable.”

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I was born desperately treading water. I fought to keep my head held high, to push through the exhaustion to be seen as a lover, as a fighter, as someone worth spending time on.

But not everyone is so accepting of the love I am willing to give. Not everything wants to be held in the way I crave.

I will find what burns just as brightly as I do and engulf the world in blinding light. Not everything is meant for me and that is okay.

I’ll break the sound barrier. I will be heard. I will explore every inch of myself. I’ll draw a map, mark every part as my favorite, find the buried treasure hidden behind my ribcage.