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between knowing what I know about myself now, and being who I am now, or falling back into my former restrictive, withdrawn, small, insecure about damn near everything, especially 1.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.