Lousy Smarch Weather

Spring has sprung…well, almost. The days have grown longer and longer, to those that observe DST, the time has changed. Easter or Ostera, depending on how you feel about it, is right around the corner.  We’re almost out of the dredges of winter.

For years, a good friend and I have lamented that the “New Year”, takes place in the dog days of winter. It doesn’t feel right. Several cultures observe their new year during the spring…and it just seems right. Better. More fitting. To start over again as the world starts over and everything turns lush and green and flowers bloom.

This has been a particularly brutal new year. A very hard winter. Things I’d rather not speak about have rocked me and my family to my core. I’m not trying to be cryptic; this isn’t the space for the whole story. I’ve spend the last god knows how many weeks carrying a very heavy weight…there is an end in sight. Spring will bring me many changes.

There’s a song lyric that is stuck in my head as I write this, “I’m sad again, don’t tell my boyfriend”. There’s been an undercurrent of sadness in my existence since the beginning of winter, and I need it to melt as the snow does. However, I also wonder who doesn’t feel like this during these dog days of winter? March is truly the oddest month of the year. It’s the liminal space of months.

I had grand plans at the end of December and beginning of January to revamp this space and change how and how often I utilized it. Life told me to pause. Within this pause, I’m seeing to other needs (including those of my family), and taking time to rest, while also thinking things through figuring out what I really want out of this blog. We’ll see what form that takes. I’ve had this space now for nearly ten years…possible more…and I’m proud of what I’ve done here; even though I often talk about how I use this space and how I’ll do things differently go forward. Maybe that’s just part of the process. Maybe this blog is my “March”…weird and liminal.

Hurricane Hilary

The end of summer always takes it out of me. My seasonal depression is actually summer based. The heat in Los Angeles covers everything like a thick, suffocating blanket. I find it impossible to wake up early, to work out, to make myself a hot tea in the morning…the small rituals that keep me going are suddenly meaningless when it’s already 80 degrees first thing in the morning and just going to get hotter. Cardigans, thick blankets, a bed shared with stuffies become too hot, unbearable. The small comforts and pleasures I find in the cooler temps are rendered null and void. Even hugging friends is moot - we’re all too sweaty to cuddle.

Of course, there are things I love about the summer. Pool days, outdoor concerts, Comic Con, afternoon cocktails with friends, extending weekends by leaving work early on Friday’s, quick day trips, camping…(almost) all things that I’ve taken advantage of this year…but my brain still isn’t manufacturing serotonin or dopamine with the capacity that I’d like it to, and I find myself longing for the dark days of fall. After all, we all know it’s always Halloween in my heart.

This weekend has been both concerning and a needed respite. Southern California is experiencing its first hurricane in 84 years. Welcome, Hilary. So far, things have been mild, and I’m grateful. Los Angeles doesn’t have the infrastructure and its residents, by and large, don’t have the experience to truly survive a hard hurricane. However, the long gray days and the gentle patter of rain, coupled with a Star Wars movie marathon have put some much needed ease in my soul. Things have felt particularly melancholy recently - I can logically understand that the majority of my life circumstances are good things and that I surrounded by an abundance of joy - while also knowing that my challenging emotions are valid and leaning into the lessons that they have to teach me.

If fall decided to come early - I wouldn’t be unhappy about that. Regardless, I look forward to every blessing she has to bring me. I have a good feeling about the end of this year.

​ Boundaries

I’ve had this blog idea rolling around in the back of my head for a long time. In fact, the original draft was saved in 2017. I was learning about a word that’s since become warped and overused - boundaries. I guess you can understand why I was drawn to revisit this so recently.

The first thing that must be said - a boundary is a line that you draw for YOURSELF, where, if crosses, you have a pre-determined response. It’s NOT a set of rules to impose on someone else. It’s NOT a list of demands from partners. It’s NOT a way to control someone else’s behavior.

For example; “Drunk people make me uncomfortable, so I’m going to leave the party if there’s a lot of drunk folks”, is a boundary. “Drunk people make me uncomfortable, so no one can drink at the party”, is NOT a boundary. One is managing your own capacity for outside stimuli, the other is trying to control the outside stimuli to suit you. See the difference? The amount of folks who are confused on this point and calling controlling, manipulative behavior “boundary setting” are wildly upsetting.

Boundaries were one of the first things my old therapist wanted to work on with me. Being more intentional about how I spend my time and who I choose to spend it with; telling people no; removing myself from situations that don’t serve me. I was too open to people and situations that weren’t in alignment with the person that I was and the person that I wanted to become. Being an open and caring and loving person can invite all of the wrong people into your life - it makes you an easy victim. I can honestly say it’s so much easier and much more freeing to be able to say, “you do you, but I don’t have to be a part of it”.

I am not perfect, I am still very much working on living within my emotional means, and still get very upset when I am intentional in my actions and things don’t work out the way I thought or hoped they would. But - realizing that I am the only variable that I can control was life changing. I went from sacrificing everything for those I love, to setting boundaries to maintain healthy relationships, to finally honoring my feelings. I can be a little distant or hard to get ahold of, but I’m also protective of my peace and honest and very loved. It’s okay to be a little detached from others. (And this is the one I’m really struggling with) It’s okay to be detached from outcomes. People and situations are allowed to exist without our input or control. Go ahead and draw that line around yourself.

And for the love of god - don’t put yourself in stupid situations that are already pushing your limits and then get upset they don’t turn out the way you thought they would. You were already violating yourself, and you can’t blame someone else for that.

Softness

I dream of never being called resilient again in my life.

I'm exhausted by strength. I want support. I want softness. I want ease.

I want to be amongst kin. Not patted on the back for how well I take a hit.

Or for how many.

• zandashé l'orelia brown @zandashe

I deserve softness. This is a conversation my friends and I have been having in private for some time, and it’s been on my mind a lot recently. I’m tired of being strong. I no longer want to be resilient. I want to rest. I want to relax. I want to enjoy the life I’ve had to fight to build. We are told to choose our battles, and I am choosing fewer and fewer battles. But, choosing fewer battles is not enough.

Kelly Clarkson’s new album, Chemistry, broke my brain. She wrote about her divorce in such an honest, vulnerable, and universal way. I saw myself in so many of the lyrics. I kept going back to the song “Mine”, and this bit from the chorus, “Go ahead and break my heart that’s fine”… how many times have I allowed people to hurt me without repercussions, because I knew that I’d be able to heal, because I’d healed before. How many times have I been wronged and chosen not to fight back? That’s not fighting, but it is resilience. And it’s a burden that I am done bearing.

Within the same week I had three different men say the following to me; “you’re a fighter, I can tell”, “you deserve princess treatment”, and “ I just want to see you”. None of them were wrong, but the last two are the only ones I allowed to enter my heart. I am no longer accepting people who bring me fights. I am accepting princess treatment. That’s what I deserve. Just wanting to see me is princess treatment.

I want to be amongst kin; people who see the fighter in me, but don’t ask her to come out and fight. I suppose that’s part of being a princess right; ruling over a kingdom is hard work. When I was a child and I’d play princess, my mom would play one of my royal advisors and bring me the problems of my “people” (my Barbie’s and stuffed animals) and ask me how I was going to attend to them, as their leader. After working for my people, then there was tea and treats. And I am firmly in my tea and treats era.

If you’re not bringing joy and softness and kindness and grace and understanding to my kingdom - don’t come.