Swim, It's Okay

 So the image in my head over these last couple of days has been little Deandra hanging onto the side of the swimming pool for dear life. See, I used to do this thing where I knew that I could swim, loved it even, but I was terrified to let go of the wall. Like I'd maybe get juuuuuuuust adventurous enough to inch over to the ladder, and start doing some kicks off of it. Of course, I was still gripping the ladder because...I was just "practicing."  (Practicing what? Girl you could swim, damn)

Now I loved swimming. I loved being in the pool. I started swimming lessons at an early age (thanks white mom!), and I was frequently one of the better swimmers in the class. But sometimes? Despite that? I was afraid to let go of the side. The thought of 1. Getting eaten by JAWS, obviously, (look, it's a real fear, I KNOW I'm not the only one who experienced this. Also, can we talk about how much of a disservice that movie was to sharks. A whole fucking campaign against sharks. Anti-shark propaganda, if you will), and 2. I didn't feel ready to let go completely. The wall, while also holding me back, felt like a pretty comfortable place to be. Less risky. 

But here was the dilemma Little Deandra kept running into: how was I going to do what I loved without letting go? 

Especially when I knew:

Swimming was freedom. I felt so at peace and at home in the water. I felt alive. Stepping into a pool...how do I describe it? Melting. The deep sigh of contentment. Like that hug from someone you love where you just exhale, lean into them, and lose yourself in the feeling of "Hey, I gotchu." 

"I gotchu." says the water. Which...from water might not always be a comfort? But just go with me here because it's *my* comfort. 

See, I thought the wall was saying, "I gotchu." And it did for a while. It kept me safe, I felt secure to explore the water...with my legs. Because that was the only part of me that was free to "swim" while hanging onto the wall. But eventually, in order to find and experience one of my greatest loves, I had to say goodbye to my anchor, the wall, and embrace the freedom of the water. I had to let go in order to swim. To do handstands. To dive to the depths of, what was it, 13 feet one time? To challenge myself to swim the length of the pool in one breath. To pretend I was a dolphin. To experience all the ways my body could move in water. To feel joy and peace. Exhileration. 

Liberation. 

In order to find that, Little Deandra eventually had to say: "Thanks, wall, for getting me. For being a place to anchor. It's time for me to go swim now."

If the wall could talk, I'm sure it would say, "It's about fucking time!"

I kid. 

Sort of. I wouldn't put the wall past it, but I imagine it would also be like, "Glad I could help." 

Oh, by the way, JAWS never did show up. 

Growth

This is the story I told at the Truth in Comedy night at the Jayhawk Theatre. BTW, I slayed. I MEAN SLAYED. Killed it. I was so nervous to throw all of this out there, to share more of my struggles and growth with others, but it ended up being one of the coolest things I have ever done. I am a storyteller, I owned the stage, I am a writer, and I am a badass. Ooo, I wore my badass leggings too! Antyway, I hope I get another opportunity to get up on the stage and tell more stories. It's my jam.

Leaving Evangelical Christianity

Back in 2014, I left my last church. My intention, then, was to go back to my childhood church, and I might have spent one Sunday there, but I was progressing in my theology far beyond the acceptable boundaries of both churches. My beliefs about women in ministry, LGBTQ folks, and social issues were all changing. I was becoming a progressive feminist social justice warrior. I was already labeled an unruly, wild, and not submissive enough woman this made me more so. I was too much, but not enough. 

I kept with Progressive Christianity for about a year and a half before I just couldn’t believe anymore. I couldn’t reconcile the theology. 

The leaving and not believing anymore changed me. I had to deconstruct everything I had known up to that point in my life. I lost the very fabric of my being and my identity. I mean, I was a hardcore Evangelical. It. Was. My. Life. Losing that nearly killed me. I contemplated suicide a couple of times because it was so painful and traumatic. However, what saved me? My mom who was surprisingly supporting and trying to understand and this beautiful online community that I had found, The Lasting Supper, where I could process everything I was going through without judgement. 

A New Spiritual Path.

I went through a period of time where I considered myself atheist-ish and then agnostic-ish. Until one night in November 2017 when I attended a Women’s Red Tent gathering in Lawrence where I encountered something Divine. Something I would call goddess energy. The theme was going deep. The stories that were told that night absolutely wrecked my non-belief bus though. I saw going deep morph into Letting Go. Like the trees let go of their leaves, we were being told to let go of some stuff in our lives to make way for growth in the next season. My task was to let go of my anger and pain. See, I hold onto it because it’s my proof that things happened. I’m holding the trauma in my hands, saying “Look, see. It’s real. These things really happened.” If I let go, did they really happen?

I left Red Tent that night somewhat angry because I didn’t want to believe, but I was also a witness to goddess energy. I was angry, but I was also so loved, seen, accepted, and understood. I’m still in awe of the power of women gathering together to tell their stories, share their lives, and celebrate one another. It’s sacred and holy and it’s Divine. WE are Divine. (P.S. my name litcherally translates into Divine...you’re welcome). Unlike my Christian experience, I didn’t feel a need to rush into figuring out exactly who this Divine was. Or even if they were one being. For once, I was okay with the ambiguity of it all. The only thing I knew was that I experienced goddess energy. I also didn’t feel the need to give my life over because I swore to myself that I would never do that again. I’m still resistant to any form of religion that would have me give my life over to their god’s control. I am not about that life! 

The Tarot

Not long after my first Red Tent meeting, and because of it, I started looking into the Tarot. To most people it’s just Tarot. But because I am the way that I am, I call it the Tarot. Just like I call Facebook The Facebook. The internet the interwebs, and twitter The Twitter. I do it because I can--I do what I want. Which scares people sometimes, I’m sure. The Tarot, as I had previously understood it was considered a form of witchcraft and divination. Which was evil. The Tarot as I understand it now is a tool to give insight into current and past life situations which happens through the interpretation of symbols, story, and intuition. I mean, honestly the Tarot was a natural next step for me because of my intuitive and sensitive nature. There is something so comforting about plopping myself down on the floor or my bed, shuffling my cards, drawing my cards, and then going through a reading. I love the Tarot, and I’m good at it when I get out of my own way. I now own several decks, but my favorite is my newest one, the Modern Witch Tarot because I connect so well to the cards. 

Witchiness

Which brings me to Witchiness in general. Am I one… perhaps, but I am completely solo at the moment, and not in a hurry to really put a label on myself (spoken in true Millennial fashion). Additionally, I’m going way, way back to explore this witchery. I’m talking back to my ancestors and West African spirituality. My goal is to reconnect with my roots and heal, and this seems like a good way, along with therapy, self-love and self-care to do that. 

Childhood, teen, and young adult me would be mortified by this development. 

My Love Life

I began seriously trying to date around in late 2017. Sure I had been on dating sites before, but something was different this time around. I was...more confident--a badass bitch. I was throwing myself out there, being vulnerable, and not apologizing for existing. I was somewhat successful. Actually, I was really successful. The first person I met in person was SB, and out of all the relationships I’ve had (including the more casual ones) and the dates I’ve been on (relationships 3-ish; dates, well, I might be a first date pro?) he is still a thing, and I don’t think there will be a time when he is not even if I’m in another relationship. Do I love him? In a way, yes. Platonically. I’m not IN love with him. 

So that’s the beauty of Relationship Anarchy and approaching relationships from a more “open” perspective. 1. I’m capable of loving more than one person. 2. I can enjoy the companionship and different levels of intimacy with more than one person (this does not necessarily mean sex), and 3. I don’t have to choose.  

Before realizing that this was even an option, or making a conscious decision to explore this relationship model, I was preeeetty much already a participant. I was living my best life between talking to and going on dates with about 5 different people. I imagined myself as a real life Bachelorette, and I even created my own hashtag on The Twitter. #AdventuresInDating to tell some of my dating stories. After some eliminations, I thought I had narrowed it down to two people. SB and Mark. But I still didn’t want to choose. How could I? They each played extremely important roles in my life and my growth. Like they weren’t the catalysts for my change, I was, but they helped me understand myself and others in different ways. Hell, Mark was the one who introduced me to the concept of relationship anarchy, and from there I started doing my research and some really deep self-work. But I still tried one more time to have a more traditional relationship. The dude and I saw each other for a few months, and then he broke up with me over the Facebook Messenger because he had found someone else. The way that all played out was really shitty, but it released me to finally start living more authentically. 

Queerness

I have been slowly coming to terms with my Queerness. I mean slowly. Because of Christianity, I truly dissociated from any attraction that I might have had towards other women. It existed, but it did not exist. Being LGBTQ was one of the ultimate sins, and I was not about that life. Periodt. However, when Christianity became a non-issue, I began testing out my Queerness. First, I admitted to myself that, yeah, there were women that I found hella attractive. Second, when discussing life with my online women’s group and two of my super close friend, some of whom are also Queer, at the time, I just threw it out there like I think if I’m anything, I’m probably Bi. They gave me the space to wonder out loud, and encouraged me to accept this part of myself. Then the breakup with the dude allowed me the freedom to be my badass bitch self in all my Queer glory which then gave me the freedom to fully explore relationship anarchy. 

Girlfriend

Not long after, I met my now ex-girlfriend. It was, in the beginning, the healthiest relationship I had ever been in. We had a lot in common, there was so much communication, and we consciously made an effort to spend time together. She invited me into her life. Despite my fear of people knowing me and seeing me (this is also the best thing that could ever happen to me, and oh-my-gosh please see me and know me, but also don't), she did know me really well and she saw me. And because of her I now had this offline community that I really hadn’t had since leaving Christianity. It was glorious, and for the first time in a while, I felt secure in a romantic relationship. 

But things happened on her end that spilled over into our relations. Her security was shaken, my own security was shaken, she disintegrated, communication was strained, and I didn’t know how I fit into her life anymore. Which is really hard for me to recover from once that happens. Which, then, I knew for my health and hers, I needed to take a step back. The end was...it didn’t go well. 

Post breakup

You know, I have yet to have that first post-breakup encounter. Liker where i see her or her family members in public and have to deal with those feels. Like, what if I see her at Barnes and Noble, Ulta, or Walmart? Or the Thai restaurant? Or the covfefe shop? Or Fuzzy’s? Like what do I do? Do I say hi? Ignore her or them? How awkward is it going to be? Will I cry after the fact? What am I going to feel? I still feel a little twinge of anxiety when I get out of the car, wondering if that will be the time that I see her. There’s a chance the I, on occasion, avoid places based on the likelihood of seeing her there. On one hand, I just want to get this shit over with. But on the other, I do not want to deal with it. 

Fear

After we broke up, I did once again feel some sort of freedom, somewhat empowered after navigating my first big relationship 1. With a woman and 2. In a relationship anarchy context. As much as this hurt, I was really proud of myself for choosing my own well being. But I also missed her and her people. I was sad. I was frustrated with how things ended, grieving (because relationship ending grief is real), and so many other things. But instead of compassionately evaluating those feelings, honoring them and then letting them eventually pass, I just got angry. realizing that this was a thing, I did go see my therapist, and I thought I had processed through it. But really, I just sort of intellectually acknowledged that they were there without actually FEELING them. Though, okay, I cried a couple of times. It took FOREVER to get there though because I don’t like to cry. I feel like, especially if it’s in the presence of others, it’s going to draw unwanted attention to me. Really it’s an insecurity because it is a super vulnerable moment, and now that I’ve finally let myself get this vulnerable and show this level of emotion, what is going to happen? How is someone going to abuse that? I’m afraid that someone is going to 1. Invalidate those feelings, or 2. Ask more questions out of concern. Then I’d have to share, and deal with the fear of the potential negative reaction to the information that I’ve shared. It’s so much easier to just blanket things in anger (a nice one size fits all emotion), and walk about the world in an untouchable, unaffected manner. Trying to be a badass bitch who still manages to understand, empathize with, and hold space for others. But I won’t hold that space for myself. However, I still like to claim that I’m self-aware AF, and I am to an extent because I do see these things in myself. At the same time, I’m trying to cover them up to minimize the perceived impact, not really realizing that I’m holding myself captive. I’m my own hostage. This is me disintegrated. 

Self-love

I really thought I had processed *enough* and was ready to throw myself out there into the world again. Um, soooooooo… that didn’t go well. I was that dog sitting down at the table, sipping covfefe, saying This is fine while the room around him was burning. However, not long into being out there, I had pretty much disintegrated into an insecure, low-key self-hating, anxious, angry, disillusioned, and somewhat dissociated mess. Yet I was still refusing to compassionately examine anything that I was thinking or feeling. It was like stuff would come up, and instead of letting it happen, I would reject it, get angry that it even dared, and try to go about my life like I was okay. I was not okay and I knew I was not okay, and I felt shame for even trying to pull that shit off. Because I KNOW that is not healthy. I study things that are all about self-awareness, self-love, growth, vulnerability, courage, and body love. For fun. It’s like I knew what I had to do (and have to do), but I was refusing to do it. I felt like a hypocrite which brought on even more shame. I began withdrawing from my friends because how could I be the friend they needed when I wasn’t willing to share my stormy self with them. Meaning I’d have to actually engage in self-disclosure. Lol, now way in HELL was I about to do that. Again, it felt like it would be too painful. Again, I’m just holding myself hostage. Prolonging my own suffering, and keeping myself from being my most authentic, beautiful, badass, and loving self. 

SO this is where my journey is taking me now: A time of internal work. I could fight it. I could give into the shame and fear and try to hide, but I wouldn’t be loving any part of myself. Not really. I suppose I have a choice to make: live in shame and fear or radical self-love. I choose love. 

I’m Deandra

And this is my truth. 

Better Than You

I have been reading L.E. Bowman's " The Evolution of a Girl" this week, and can I just say gahtdamb?!
Like gahtdamb, if these poems do not resonate with me.

Out of all of them, however, this is the one I wanted to write about:

"You claim you can please me
better than anyone,
but you forget
I have a vivid imagination
and two hands of my own."

While reading this, I thought of the several times that I've been asked by dudes, once they found out I was bi, who does me better: them or women.
Now, I've only ever had sex with one woman. It was okay. Like not the best and not the worst.
But why is this a thing that some men feel like they have to ask?
Who does it better, them or the woman?
Is it a competition?
Because L. O. L. that's cute
See, what y'all don't know is that it's not a "battle between the sexes"
No, see
Who y'all are actually competing against
Is me.

Nobody knows me better than me


The Powerful IG Post

You can get the book here:

The Evolution of a Girl

Anger

Today, I shared a spot of poetry that I wrote last week with my friend Pablo. They told me to publish it. 

Since we're getting all open and vulnerable again, here it is. 

How do I talk about my anger? 

My anger is sadness. 

My anger is lonely. 

My anger is how dare you say those things to me.

My anger is how dare you shut me out.

My anger is wanting to care, but not knowing how to show it. 

My anger is having all of these feelings inside

I want them to flow freely.

Who told me I had to keep them in?

My anger is vulnerable

What if I let you see my anger?

My anger is a little brown girl

My anger is little girl you're not welcome here

My anger is I belong any place where I am.

Am I here? Then I belong.

My anger is too much

My anger is a woman who has been told she is too much

But not enough

My anger is all consuming.

Because all of these things are inside me

My anger is want. 

I want to be loved

And I want to love

Freely

Openly

Without fear

But my anger is fear

Of standing up

Of standing out

Of speaking

Of loving

Of wanting

Of needing

Of being.

But I embrace that anger

I am

That anger

What I'm Calling The Great Surfacing of 2019. Or *the nod* 'Sup Adolescent Trauma

This month has been a struggle between knowing what I know about myself now, and being who I am now, or falling back into my former restrictive, withdrawn, small, insecure about damn near everything, especially 1. How I move through the world and 2. My relationships, self. I'm disintegrated AF.

I do this thing when I disintegrate where I'm present, but not present. I give the illusion of openness, but I'm not really that open. I'm apologetic about the space I take up. I second guess damn near everything, everyone, and every interaction. I start questioning the security and strength of a lot of my relationships, convincing myself to start the withdrawal process because I'm *certain* the rejection is coming--I'm trying to get out ahead of it and isolate myself from those relationships. But staying just engaged enough to hopefully not lose them forever (because of course I've convinced myself that this is going to happen). I restrict my needs, thinking that I'll come across as waaay too needy. But also because I fear taking on one more disappointment because, again, rejection of that need. Most of those needs are so reasonable too, but I convince myself that I don't dare need. These are mainly human connection needs that I'm talking about. It's a paradox that I NEED connection, but I also fucking fear connection. When I'm in this space, people scare the shit out of me. I scare me (not because I'm a danger to myself). I am terrified of my needs, feelings, and emotions. My emotions and feelings are big. They are scary. I feel like they are going to tear me apart if I let myself acknowledge them. If I name them. If I validate them. But if I let them go, then what happens after that?
One time, a few years ago, I was in this battle between moving forward or regressing. I was so angry/sad/hurt. I was dealing with trauma (trauma of losing the things that, up to that point, had been the very fabric of my being, my identity that I'd had for 28-ish years. NEVER, EVER underestimate or dismiss how traumatizing deconstruction of belief and faith are for a person. It defined who I was. It was my *life*. My life was built and sustained on my faith and the communities of faith...until it wasn't. I would never, ever wish this on another person, btw) I fought these things for a while, but was doing some hardcore self work. So one day, as I was discussing things with someone (my mom I think?), I started letting them some the feelings and emotions out. Part of my reason for holding on? I was afraid that if I let it go, it would mean the trauma(s) didn't happen. That hit me hard. I was afraid that if I let it go, then it meant it didn't happen. I was holding on because I felt like holding on was my receipt. I paid this price for it, and I'll be damned if I let it go because it cost so much.  I was holding myself hostage to prove to myself and the world, to remind us (self and world) that goddammit things happened. However, I had been processing and doing the work--which is why I was able to admit the trauma hostage situation to myself. Why I was able to speak it out loud. Those actions: the feeling, the admission, and the speaking it were bearing the witness. They were the, "I see you. I see what happened." I needed.
Obviously, as evidenced by the badass bitch that I am now (I have to keep reminding myself to try to keep myself from completely spiraling), I saw that I can heal and acknowledge that, yes, those things still happened. But holding myself in the trauma was no longer necessary. I had a whole world to discover, a me to keep uncovering and building. A me to become.
NOTE: I did not do this alone!! Therapy, safe spaces, self-work, and relationships got me through.

*SO.* I'm in that battle to not regress again. It's draining. I'm overwhelmed. I'm freaked the fuck out. Because 1. I feel like I'm losing or going to lose so much of what I've worked so hard for. 2. It's the massive amount of work that I'm going to have to do to release from this set of traumas and grief.
I never processed them properly, and it's time.
But goddammit, it pisses me off because I had a plan to do this. I told my therapist at the beginning of last month, that it was time to start *slowly* and *carefully* working through these. We'd examine a set, process, heal, and then neatly move to the next.
I. Had. A. Gahtdamb. Plan. for how this was going to work. Albeit, a highly romanticized plan because it was perfectly controlled.
That plan got messed up, and I'm so angry about it.
I also don't want to admit that my expectations a were a teensy bit unrealistic.
It's like, "Lol, that's cute!"

I'm still here, but I'm in the midst of the biggest struggle I've faced in a couple of years.
I've been trying to minimize the impact The Great Surfacing of 2019 is having on me. Because 1. (I've convinced myself) That I've talked about it enough, and people 1a. Don't want to hear about it anymore (I've overstayed my welcome on this trauma thing). 1b. Will think I'm seeking attention by talking about it
2. Were these things really *that bad*?
3. I'm overreacting.
4. See 2nd paragraph up at the beginning of this post.

God, the SHAME is STRONG here. Shame silences. Shame convinces us that our stories are not valid. That we are not worthy of love and connection. We are not worthy of support as we rumble with this shit. That we are incredibly alone. (Thanks, Brené Brown)

My Twitter handle stands: "2019 Is A Hold My Whiskey Year"
(It will not be changed until December 26, 2019, when it will be "2020 Will Be A Hold My Tequila Year" until midnight on January 1, 2020 when it will change to, "2020 Is A Hold My Tequila Year")

Food: I'm Not Feeling It

I'm at this place with eating where I only want pickles, chocolate and peanut butter things, breakfast burritos with green dragon sauce, tempura sushi (is that really sushi tho?), cheese chips (the actual parm or asiago baked cheese things), iced covfefe, and the occasional bowl of panang curry. Like that is it.

I just tried to eat some peanut butter and honey toast because, for a very brief moment that I tried to capitalize on, it sounded good. A couple of bites into it, and I was done. The Body was like, "Yo, I'm over this! I will not tolerate anymore. Go drink your tea." Last night, I couldn't decide what to eat, but I got all creative and made...an Italian meat and cheese wrap. A wrap. That was it! I'm not saying this in an Ooo, great job, diety type of way. I'm pissed off because I didn't have the body led motivation to want to make anything else. It was like, "Eh, the wrap will do...I GUESS."

I want to eat goddammit!

Like I want to want good food that I've made, but I just don't want the food at the same time which means that I'm not making it. Because I don't want to eat it. It's a weird space, and I don't like it.

Maybe I'll do the meal kit delivery thing for a while again. Because I need to do something. I need to eat things. This being hungry but not wanting to eat anything but pickles or cheese chips or breakfast burritos isn't going to work in the long-run.

The other component in this whole eating shit show is that I'm getting full really quickly. Which is a whole nother thing that contributes to my eating quandary: if I start eating something that fills me up quickly (for example, the peanut butter toast), I feel like my hunger/fullness signal goes off. I kind of think I've messed those up again with the ADHD med that I'm on.

It's incredibly frustrating because I feel like I'm wasting food at home because I don't want to cook it because whatever I was originally going to make isn't what I want.

I love to cook. I'm a bomb-ass cook. I make amazing food.

But the idea of eating it is getting in the way of me making it.

Even The Gynecologist

 A fat woman's adventure at the gyno's office:

Nurse: *reads off a list of my ailments* ...diabetes...

Me: Um, no. Insulin resistance because of PCOS. (It clearly says that in my chart too. Also, my blood sugars, without metformin, are on point. Health at Every mfing Size, bitches)

Nurse: Oh! Okay.

5 minutes later after disrobing and gowning up:

*Doctor enters room*

Doctor: I see your BMI has gone down! I know we talked about you maybe starting to diet and exercise more last time (over a year ago)? It's going well?
(All of this before she looks at my lady bits)

Me: No. I'm eating intuitively. I listen to my body, eat whatever she wants to eat when she's hungry, listen to my internal cues as best as I can, and then stop when the she's comfortable. (This is a very, very basic not all-encompassing blurb)

Doctor: Are you exercising too?

Me: Not deliberately. I'm just more active overall--riding a bike to and from work sometimes, running around my house and the RMHC, and walking places. Just...more active.

Doctor: Well, it's working for you!

Note: I love my gynecologist. I really do. I HATE the fat first approach to healthcare though.
So I set some shit straight in the most on brand, Deandra way possible.

Self-advocacy is really a thing. After being treated like shit because of my size at my last PCP's office, and after I discovered radical body love (s/o to Sonya Renee Taylor) activism (Thank you, Sonya Renee Taylor, Kelsey Miller, and Jes Baker. I know you don't know me, but you were my catalysts for change), I realized just how much I, and my illnesses, had been written off for so long because of my weight. Apparently, according to the everything is wrong with this person because they are fat model of healthcare nowadays, everything wrong with me was, in fact, because my BMI labeled me as morbidly obese. Never-you-mind my blood panels and whatnot mostly coming back normal (again, PCOS)!

However, No more. I was, and am, so tired of my legitimate health issues being dismissed. If I'd just lose the weight, I wouldn't have most of these issues. Lol. That's cute. 

Needless to say, I was pretty disappointed that my BMI was the very first thing my gyno mentioned as soon as she entered the room. 

I stumbled across Intuitive Eating while reading Kelsey Miller's "Big Girl: How I Gave Up Dieting and Got a Life".  Health at Every (motherfucking) Size after hearing about it from Jes. 

I stumbled across Intuitive Eating while reading Kelsey Miller's "Big Girl: How I Gave Up Dieting and Got a Life".  Health at Every (motherfucking) Size after hearing about it from Jes. 

Part of loving me, part of loving my body, is self-advocacy. Especially when it comes to healthcare.