I was taught to be beautiful, no matter what I was going through.
A sacred ritual passed down—lipstick, clean clothes, perfume. Even in despair, my outer world had to glow. I’ve mastered the art of seeming fine.
High-functioning depression means I show up glowing—
even when I’m collapsing on the inside.
Because I was taught: no matter how you feel, look good so no one would know.
People assume I’m okay because I look okay.
Because I’m pretty. Because I dress well. Because I smile. Because I post.
But that’s the mask. That’s the part I learned young:
if you look put together, maybe no one will ask too many questions.
My mother raised and instilled in me to always show up looking good—no matter what. And so I did. Even when I was quietly dealing with depression, eating disorders, suicidal thoughts/attempts, a bottomless abyss of self-hate etc. I never wanted anyone to know. I just wanted to survive.
And now that I’m older that’s backfired. Now when I say, “I’m not okay,” people respond with, “But you look so good.”
As if beauty is proof of wellness.
As if pain can’t wear lipstick.
Not all sadness screams.
Some of it moves quietly—wrapped in silk, masked with laughter, walking through the world unnoticed.
High-functioning depression is being praised for your strength, carrying sorrow with elegance. All the while drowning in silence.
It’s shining bright, yet being invisible because you’ve mastered the art of seeming fine.
It’s exhausting.
January 2, 2020
I prayed hard on my way to work.
Feeling at home while talking to source.
Connecting to source.
One day at a time?
One choice.
One decision.
Today at work I will eat my food and drink my tea.
I’m going to dance and write.
Open me up. Recreate. Revamp.
I have some thinking to do with the woman I want to be. I am holding space for all I am in every moment. Maybe this year I’ll find my niche.
I don’t want to get sexually and romantically distracted. At the same time I don’t want to shame myself for wanting to be intimate…I want to break free from the belief that I am only desired physically. I want to also hold that men are attracted to the physical first. It’s survival. I’m mad sexually appealing, healthy, and warm to look at and so it makes sense if that’s what pulls one in. I have programming that has made me unsafe with the idea of men being attracted to my physical and being lusted after. Which is honestly unfair, unreasonable, and ridiculous. I can sense lust and genuine interest in a second.
January 15, 2023
I love deep feelings. Feelings that stops you in your tracks. Experiencing feelings with self awareness is even more enticing. I can do this dance and really put my foot in it. Really break a sweat. With the wisdoms of the future as a tether. Although the idea of becoming the crazy lady who wears mumus, cheetah print thongs, reads tea and palms and can tell when you’re lying but makes a game of playing along, is mad enticing.
Prenatal shadows
When I found out I was pregnant I mourned, I raged, I died a little every day. At the sight of that 6th test I was flooded with feelings of disgust, disappointment, shame. As a alchemist of rape and sexual abuse, finding out I was pregnant was the biggest trigger. I felt violated, Oh how my body has betrayed me once again. How dare he get me pregnant? What am I going to do?
Up until I found out I wasn’t with child, I was an avid day drinker and spliff indulger; I was at the time severely severed from reality, in a reckless daze, suppressed, psyching myself out.
At the sight of that 6th test I sobbed as I accepted that I had to immediately let go of my addictions; emotions primarily. For days I experienced panic attacks because I knew that with the choice to have this child came the knowing that I would soon have to face the darkest parts of my inners. Sober. I’ll be honest, I kept the pregnancy a secret from the father for a month. And in that month I barely spoke, I pushed everyone away, and shut everyone out. I spent that month envisioning my two paths. My life if I were to get an abortion, or trying to manifest an accident. I couldn’t make the choice to abort, so I waited.
I remeber pretending to cry at my first ultrasound because I felt obligated to feel something towards this new life. I had decided to go through with the pregnancy, but to not tell anyone but the father unless they asked. He was overjoyed, I felt used. I didn’t want a baby then, my mind wasn’t right, my blood probably saturated with liquor. But I wasn’t surprised, I was depressed. Having to quit cold turkey was literally the end of that hazy reality that I had been cycling in for years.
Being sober ripped me apart, terrified me. A big reason I figured why I experienced what I did. Being sober showed me who I really was. Honestly, I felt like I was crazy cause I found myself reaching out for an identity without the suppressants. All the while pregnant.
Anyways, I thought the feeling was going to pass once the hells of my first trimester froze over; I blamed the hormones and frustrations of having to secretly vomit up my breakfast for the second time on the bus ride to work, but instead it only worse. I feel blessed to have known about prenatal depression. Simply being able to identify the experience was a tether for my sanity. I’m not ashamed anymore to admit that I wholeheartedly feared that I wasn’t going to love my baby because I didnt feel anything at first. Withdrawing, under stress and overwhelmed the first 1.5 trimesters I often sat and genuninely fantasized about disappearing shortly after my sun was born asking myself if I could do it. I compromised telling myself the baby could replace me and he would be free of all that I was. I feared I would neglect him, as my past life flashed before me. I wanted to remain selfish. I was exposed. I hid my pregnancy for 6 months, ashamed, disgusted, cold at first.
It wasn’t until I was around 4 months that I saw that I was drowning. And I was going to take my baby down with me if I didnt get my shit together.
Since I accepted the responsibility to hold this life, I accepted the responsibility of this life as well as my own.
The day I decided that I would have to guide myself to grow my love for my unborn sun. Yes, I decided. Everyday; up until he was born, I made conscious decisions to intentional love him. Every day, at first I had to. By the time third trimester ended it was more natural. I made colorful mantras that I laminated and taped on my wall. I repeated them to myself and my sun outloud every rising, or when needed. Like I said I barely spoke throughout my pregnancy and so i had to encourage myself to spark up conversations with my lil alien. It was so awkward in the beginning; as I am mediocre at small talk. That’s exactly what it was for a while. A bunch of meaningless small talk. Like literally I talked to my sun about the weather during my breaks, rubbing my belly awakwardly, faking it until I made it. Towards my 3rd trimester I had conjured a distant love for the life. Still somewhat not convinced I was pregnant, still not convinced that he was “mine”. By then I was deep in a deep dance with my shadowself and my inner child.
When I merged with the universe, and danced out this light passionately I laughed to myself as the love I used to meditate on and slaved to feel. Came unconditionally, immediately, and natural, as I look at the universe in disbelief. How could I not, I forgive myself, I didn’t know all that you was, are and was going to be. I didn’t innerstand.
11
This light has been joyfully running around the spaces of my heart for only one year. One only, and he’s touch so many hearts, ran through so many empty spaces, filling them with his everlasting light. Always on E, an honor to share him. Teaching me, opening me up, my cuddle bug, my why to my why to my why. Ive love every moment spent watch you, being present, watching you learn. I am honored. And we still dance just as much. And as you smile at me every time you awake you confirm what I know. I wasn’t living without him.
In another word I didn’t make it this far.
I don’t know what happened to me really. I still mourn her every now and again; as up until recently the closest I got to an adrenaline rush was when my child ate his food. And although I still struggle with remembering my traumatic maidenhood in a lens of nostalgia. I wouldn’t trade waking up to this heaven on earth Akhil has guided me to curate. This year I finished shedding that skin.
July 18, 2018
I am grateful to wake up. I am grateful for this watermelon. I am grateful for a toilet and clean water.
I am miserable. I want space from everyone. I’m tired of this life. How can I start over, how can I erase all that is. I’m sick of my lover. I’m tired of shitty; empty, fake ass people betraying myself and second chances. Let me not attract anyone. Let me say forget the world, I don’t want to share it with anyone.
I don’t want to be pregnant. I don’t want to get to know anyone. I don’t want to make friends. I don’t want to be around anyone. I don’t want to.
Poor baby.
I’m sorry I’ve failed you.
I’m sorry I don’t really want you
not like I thought I did
most times not at all.
I have no one to talk to.
No one to hold me.
No one to understand or be here.
July 1, 2022
Her sun rolled his bouncy ball into a stream on purpose.
Mama goes after ball as her sun cries insistently for his bouncy ball’s return.
In the midst of the haste Mama takes stroller down into stream with her.
Mama and the stroller are in the stream.
All of mama’s stuff gets soaked; her phone, keys, purse…everything.
She grabs the ball and throws it up the little hill.
Her sun grabs it and throws it back in. This happens twice before she’s had enough.
Her sun thinks it’s a game and jumps in too.
She attempts to salvage everything.
Her sun now cries insistently because he notices his waterbottle is floating down stream.
Mama says forget that water bottle.
She regrounds.
She rescues all her belongings.
She takes a deep breath, and sternly tells her sun “get it together”
Then,
She walks down stream and retrieves her sun’s waterbottle.
October 15, 2018
I pray this is the last time I have to break my mothers heart… I can’t think of anything… What is the way? I’m trying to make a relationship work, everything in me tells me it’s wrong, but something is telling me not to give up.
The most difficult part of healing is the era right before the climax when the voices begin to sound the same and you must learn discernment. It becomes a strain to hear the truth; to know right from wrong.
This baby inside me is right, right?
What am I going to do?
Prepare for either and decide later I suppose.
I really need to show up for myself now. I have to prove to myself that I can do it, that I will be a successful mother. That I can be me. Whoever that is.
I pray to find myself.
January 21, 2024
I’m learning so much about my family since opening my home to my little sisters. It’s been hard but also a big opportunity to grow. Ive decided to recreate my role in my family. Moving away from being just the relatable safe big sister to accepting my role as the matriarch. I’m seeing first hand how these kids are being neglected by parents as well as the education system.
The kids are not the problem. Society is failing these kids.
Growing to be the bigger person to take on the role to guide instead of getting stuck in triggers and ego and allowing us all the remain stagnant. I’m realizing my siblings have no real home training and lack basic respect. I work hard to not blame them for what they haven’t been taught. I find joy at the same time in providing a safe space for them. Goodness though it’s hard being to others what you’ve never received but alas, the fate of the healer I suppose.
Your own
Preference
Freegrandmaa 