My Rock Bottom
I couldn’t stop crying.
I don’t remember the day. The month. Even the exact year.
But 13+ years later, I still remember the inside of that bathroom stall.
Are right and wrong in the way?
Is it possible that narratives about right and wrong, good and evil, make it harder to have intellectually honest conversations about what is true about ourselves?
And if that’s true, do we really know each other? Can we? How can we ever truly love each other if we don’t feel completely safe being seen?
Totally seen.
Young Jessica
The Kansas sun beat down on my tiny hands. Tiny, busy hands. They added another tower to the castle I crafted in the sandbox behind my parents’ shotgun house. I built castles in that sandbox often. And every time, I prayed I might be swept away from my life. That the castles would become real. And that I could live like a princess in one of them.
Safe.
But reality always came crashing over those dreams.
She's a Tempest
She is a
Sexually
Liberated
Unlimited
Tempest
She needs no one's permission for the wonder and power in her sexual energy.
Sacred Semen
I started masturbating in eighth grade, and I immediately felt both intense pleasure and intense shame from it. By the time I graduated high school, I'd filled a large drawer in my bedroom with journals, and all the entries dealt with one thing: my self-hatred and over my masturbation habit.
Let's Talk Filthy
When I was younger, I put a lot of my focus and belief on the idea that filthy was shameful.
Clean was sacred. Filthy was sinful.
Clean was worthy. Filthy was worthless.
Clean was wholeness, divinity, light. Filthy was broken, damnation, darkness.
And because of these beliefs, I felt torn in two.