Still I Rise - Maya Angelou

I woke up with a prompt that I needed to write more. I needed to express myself through words. I needed to find courage and peace about going to the home I grew up in. I don't know how I feel about it. It's a mixture of feelings. Like, nostalgia for example. I feel nostalgic to go there and create new memories. I have many memories there. But lately I don't like going back in time. I prefer avoiding the unknown of what can come up. I prefer focusing my trip on other realities. Nevertheless, I am still going with my niece and my sister this time. I am not going alone. I have support. I have a place that I can call home. I guess. I can explore more of my stuff and find treasures that I didn't find the last time I went. It could be another chance to discover things that were unseen. So, maybe it won't be that terrifying. Maybe it will be enjoyable. I hope it is. 

I woke up at 3:33am last night. I wonder what that could possible mean. I looked it up and I couldn't find a reason why it is connected to me, but maybe it was a message from above about today. Three numbers, one after the other. Same number. Could it be connected to three spaces in time? I read something like that that made sense to me. I read that it could be connected to my past, my present, and my future. I am gonna abide by that. Past, present and future are all showing up in one space in time. 

Kelly, my therapist, showed up in my dream last night. She looked content because I had taken her advice about writing more about my life. She told me I finally got one part of our work together to heart. And I did! I did. I am committed. It is for my well-being. I miss it. I used to write so much, and I stopped. But I am back to it. Finally. 

Why did I stop writing? My first answer is trauma. I experienced a lot of trauma the last few years. But also, sadly when I went to Mexico I didn't have time to take care of myself. It wasn't on the schedule. I feel like I lost an important part of who I am, and I also found another. Huh. I found out that I like women and I lost myself trying to help others. But now I am refocusing myself to my core. I am first, then the rest. I cannot help another person if I don't help myself. The air gets thick, the atmosphere soffocates me, then I need to turn inward. Then I need to find ways to soothe myself. It is not anyone else's responsibility, it is mine and I am here to take it. 

Years. It's been years. Almost 10 years. Ten years where I have taken the pen and paper for a time and then left them on the side. Ten years where I didn't use this practice for very long. Ten years of no poetry. Ten years of overthinking what I write. Maybe it's been less, but it feels like ten years because it's been ten years without having a blog. 

Now I consider myself free. Free from my own critics. I am not my negative selftalk. I am so much more than what I have been able to show outside. Maybe I am showing parts and pieces of myself. Maybe I am demonstrating the person I am. 

Trauma. There has been some big T trauma lately. I am still recovering from it. I was considered trash by one person. At least, that's the story I am telling myself. Trauma, big T. She called the cops for me. She called the cops and I have no understanding why. The only thing I can think of is her being so triggered by her own shit that she couldn't think of something else. But I am not white. I am latina. I am not in the States as a citizen, I am international. Yet they couldn't stop yelling and I couldn't stop trying to be understood. I don't know when in time you share these type of things. I don't know how much of an open book I am, but I am here. Fuck, I am here. 

Trauma, big T. K abused me and pushed my boundaries away. She didn't respect my personal space, in all areas, not my home, not my body. She was thirsty of me, while I was trying to move on. She was scary. She was scary cause she would punch the wall or the floor sometimes, and I grew up seeing that. If I didn't do as I was told, I was gonna be in trouble. I was scared of not doing what she wanted me to do, so I kissed her boob when I didn't want to until she came. She pushed me to the wall and grabbed me even when I didn't want to. She kissed me forcefully. She showed up at my place and made a mess because I didn't pay enough attention to her. She had these outbursts of anger and I didn't know what to do. She was the main reason why I hurt myself that one time. I was treated like trash for the first time. She couldn't stop herself from disrespecting my new relationship, she couldn't keep her hands to herself, she couldn't stop showing up to my place and begging me for attention until she broke my relationship and left with someone else. THAT IS NOT LOVE, DARLING. That is not love. That is abuse. Shitty abuse. 

Well, then my thoughts go towards my father and my household where I grew up. Father would hit the table so hard that a little girl, 5 year old me, would be super scared. He screamed and yelled to us, to me. He physically abused my siblings. He didn't treat my mom right. My mom didn't protect me. She was probably scared just like me. But goodness darling, I wish you would have protected me. 

Shit happens, and I am much more than all of that. I am much more than what happened to me. I am worthy of love and belonging. I am not my scars, my scars just show how life has beat me over and over again. I stand. I stand up. One time, two times, three times... My face has dust, my hands have blood, but I stand. Just like Maya Angelou said, Still I Rise. 

Still I Rise

You may write me down in history

With your bitter, twisted lies,

You may trod me in the very dirt

But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?

Why are you beset with gloom?

’Cause I walk like I've got oil wells

Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,

With the certainty of tides,

Just like hopes springing high,

Still I'll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?

Bowed head and lowered eyes?

Shoulders falling down like teardrops,

Weakened by my soulful cries?

Does my haughtiness offend you?

Don't you take it awful hard

’Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines

Diggin’ in my own backyard.

You may shoot me with your words,

You may cut me with your eyes,

You may kill me with your hatefulness,

But still, like air, I’ll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?

Does it come as a surprise

That I dance like I've got diamonds

At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history’s shame

I rise

Up from a past that’s rooted in pain

I rise

I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,

Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.

Leaving behind nights of terror and fear

I rise

Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear

I rise

Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,

I am the dream and the hope of the slave.

I rise

I rise

I rise.

And I keep rising after all. 

Thank you Maya Angelou for such inspiring words. 

I end this here, but I'll come back.