between two seas

I’m surrounded by water with salt in my eyes and my body light – floating. I have a moment of fear, that i will float away and never stop. I am always afraid of letting go. The water doesn’t give me a choice. She holds me. Cradles all my fears and carries the stories of my ancestors in her molecules.

I stand between two oceans and i cannot hold my body up any longer. My knees begin to buckle as i feel the weight of my ancestors pain hit my like the crashing waves of the atlantic mere feet away. My limbs feel like jelly as the breeze of the caribbean sea behind me carries away the all the feelings of displacement that i have carried in my body. I have come home and my mind cannot catch up with all my soul is experiencing.

I sit on the hot, dry  ground. Feeling each blade of grass on my bare legs. I am overcome by these oceans. This is not just water. This is more than waves on rocks and gentle breezes. My outer vision blurs while my inner knowledge deepens, sharpens. I see my ancestors surviving on these journeys. I understand many did not. I feel their bodies in the water. I can hear their voices, whispers to hold on, screams as they let go. I know when I can stand again, I must get to calmer waters and put my body in this water. The ocean that they made their new home in, around. I must feel my ancestors memories on my body.

As I sit and inhale the legacies that these oceans hold. I see a man all in white working inside a white house. All white walls. It looks brilliant and fresh in the mid-morning sun. I can tell from the quietness that surrounds it that no one in living in it. I watch him painting white walls white. His clothes are bright white. He’s too far and behind a glass window so I can’t see his expression as he works. I continue to watch him. I had crossed over a ditch and passed a faded “NO TRESPASSING” sign. I wonder if he will see me and ask me to leave. I wonder if he would understand why I needed to be here, between these two oceans. Something tells me he would. When I go back a week later, I see him again, he’s outside of white house, leaning against a white truck, dressed all in white. I don’t see any paint on him. I wonder if he just starting his day. He says ‘Good morning’ and watches me walk. I cross the road, hovering, wondering if i can walk on to this property with him standing right there. He calls out again – it’s not his house. The owners are rich people who don’t live here, he thinks they might be british. White.

We exchange some pleasant words and jokes about these foreign people and their big houses. My accent betrays me, but he waves of my foreignness, asks me where my daddy’s from. He reveals a big smile when I tell him. He tells me “ay gyal, this your home too then.”

I go to the edge of the sea. I can stand today. I have my ancestors with me, holding me up. I see him in the house again. All in white. Painting white walls white. We exist, not knowing, all knowing, between two seas.

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godbody I

 

godbody I

my body is

my soulhome

a soft place to land for broken men

for my sister who share the weaving of dna and trauma

a place where i’m fine could not be more of a lie

as my body finds its balance

when i can listen to this godbody

we slowly, slowly heal

i sink into the comfort of care

i am thousands of years of –

yes baby lay your troubles down

i am a millennia of soothing words and open arms

let your troubles flow through me

my water smooths the hardness into sand

move with me flow with me

Shame Doesn’t Survive in the Light

It’s mid-afternoon on Friday, I am facilitating a workshop this evening and planned to get coffee with a friend beforehand. Instead, I’m propped up at my kitchen table writing this as a distraction from the some intense pain and discomfort. For a few moments, I was confused as to why I felt like this. I then realized I ate a meal without restriction portion or food groups for the first time in  weeks. I got myself together and went grocery shopping, made a meal and ate it before I got too overwhelmed. I’m still proud of myself, but despite years of experience, totally forgot I would had some side effects due to my body not being used to eating regular portions.

This is a less-talked about aspect of recovery from restrictive eating. It’s not inspiring or doesn’t have that trauma-porn style of intrigue that many “recovery” stories hold. I didn’t struggle as much through this meal or any other recent meals than I did a year and a half ago when I was in treatment, or a year before than in the rare time I would attempt to eat a full meal. That was a whole different kind of terrible, which often involved a lot of crying and anxiety. Today, I cooked and ate and felt guilty and enjoyed it and texted some friends and listened to The Internet. I sent an email afterwards and did my laundry. 20 minutes later, as my body tried to digest this meal, I was struck with intense pain, I feel like the wind has been knocked out of me. I’m hot and exhausted. My body is currently working overtime to handle the amount and type of food that it is not used to. This part of recovery is not the hardest, it’s not inspiring. It just is. It’s an after effect of the years of deprivation and damage, my body has experienced. This has happened to me before and will happen again. Each time it gets a little worse – so if you don’t suffer from an eating disorder you may wonder, well why don’t you just keep eating normal amounts and avoid this?

I used to be really hurt by these questions, but for one, not many people ask anymore, I’m weight restored and am better at strategically using highlighter. Secondly, I have a bit of distance from the depth of my disorder and I kinda understand it now. Why can’t I just eat? I am fully aware that this happens. I am rational, intelligent and has work and academic experience in food and food security. None of this matters. It doesn’t matter how smart or experienced I am, anorexia [as well as other restrictive eating disorders] has an powerful hold on those of us that suffer. Most of the time, I don’t even want to be extremely thin anymore, but the desire to achieve some sort of celestial ideal of deprivation and thinness captures me. I feel trapped by this whether or not I am acting on these desires. I have learned to go through the motions to keep myself relatively well but not to the point where my body and mind has been able to rest and heal.

A couple of years ago when I was posting more regularly, someone asked me if I was uncomfortable with people knowing my vulnerabilities. I hadn’t thought too much about it at the time so the question made me deeply uncomfortable, however, over the last few years, I have come to understand that allowing myself to be vulnerable and open is an integral part of my healing process. Shame doesn’t survive in the light and writing my experiences exposes them to light, it gives me a feeling of validity and I hope, raises the consciousness of others. I hope those who love someone with an eating disorder can learn how to better support them. I hope that if someone reading this is struggling, especially, if they are at the beginning stages, that they will seek help. I imagine sometimes how different my life would be if I accessed treatment 10 years ago. I know my body would have been through the things I have dragged it [us] through. Perhaps, recovery would be less of daunting task if I knew what it was like to be an adult and to be well [for more than a couple of months]. I do experience embarrassment and shame at being almost 28 years old and struggling to feed myself, however, in order to dissipate that shame, I have to bring it to the light. So here I am. Writing this three days before my 28th birthday, having cried once over my thesis and twice over my body. I am not where I want to be, but I can feel the light blessing me.

OPACITY

i feel like i am drowning

swallowed by whiteness

fragmented

alienated by sameness

 

multicultural *

 

*stands for _______

 

assimilation

polite smiles

and working twice as hard

for half of what [they got]

 

Canada*

 

*stands for ________

 

stolen

h o m e

forgotten

[a better life]

 

i am tired

of white women asking me to explain

Why we feel this pain

of white women touching my skin & my sister’s hair

stop girl – you gonna hurt yourself before that hand gets to this body

 

i am tired

of our men

making h o m e s in our hearts

only to set them on fire

for becky with the good hair

 

their healing and our heartbreak

are touched by desire – not for our love – but the

O p a c i t y of [whiteness]

 

i am tired of skin bleaching

and hair relaxers

more common that shades beyond ivory &

mayo

 

i am tired of shame

and hiding our magic

i am tired of my brothers & sisters dying

i am tired of my relative safety

that my proximity to whiteness equals proximity to safety

and not knowing what to do –

and how to shed this shame

trade it in for action

not reaction

 

mixed *

 

*code for _______

 

“you’re pretty for a..”

“don’t tan too much”

existing outside the lines

“but what. are. you?”

of love crossing lines

 

May 5th 2018

skin

 

S K I N

tracing fingertips along

lines made of our ancestors dreams

 

S K I N

tastes sweet like peaches

in hot summers

 

S K I N

smells of oceans salt

sounds like i love you, whispered

 

S K I N to S K I N

i let you envelop me

i drink in sweat//memories

2018

h o m e

I dream of loving you

So deeply, clearly

Falling into each other like melting

Clouds on my tongue

I taste [h o m e] in you

 

I turn the words in my mouth, looking for the right way to

say i don’t know where i __________

And you pull the words [h o m e] right from my lips

 

I step back in to the soft glow of longing

I sink deep into you, while i wait

While we wait

For [h o m e]

The Dark Side of Healthy

 

CN: anorexia, disordered thoughts, diets, exercise.

 

I recently read an article by activist and writer Virgie Tovar called “(Re)Discovering My Love of Food After Dieting” (link), it’s short and emotive and captures the importance of unlearning diet culture and embracing bodies, food and pleasure in radical and liberating way.

 

I saw much of my own experience and that of my peers in Tover’s journey to find pleasure in food and eating. My research involves food (agriculture), I worked in food justice and the food service industry, I have a foodie instagram. I find baking relaxing and believe in the connective power of food and community. I just don’t enjoy eating. This is not a natural part of my personality (despite my insistence to myself and others for too many years). My thoughts around my own consumption of food are nothing but disordered:

 

How many calories is this?”

“When can I leave this dinner to go work out?”

 

“If I had X yesterday can I have X again today?”

 

“Is this healthy?”

 

I have cycled through many eating disorder behaviours but they have all been based on restriction. Whether that meant eliminating an entire food group, only choosing foods I considered “healthy” or under the banner of  “clean eating”, fad diets or excessive exercise, denying myself food and pleasure in that food has been ceaseless component of my eating disorder since I was around 12 years old.

 

This is not say that I have never enjoyed food or eating, I have had moments of enjoyment that are mere seconds or might last a day or two where I can enjoy the experience of eating, but those moments still exist within a rigid set of rules that define what is of “good” and “bad”. What is good or bad has changed and evolved throughout my disorder. These changes have been influenced by personal experience, diet culture, friends, family, and different treatment programs. When I am very sick, what is considered good is a short and sad looking list, when I’m better, it grows along with my capacity to experience other joys of life.  Yet, I have not be able to move beyond the boundaries that my disorder has built. This is not health. I may not be as sick as I once was, however, the insidiousness of anorexia still lurks in my thoughts and actions.

 

Being healthy is great, but it is not a possibility for everyone. Chronic illness, socioeconomic status, environmental factors and genetics all play a role in health. Unfortunately, we tend to moralize health and bodies in ways that are incredibly harmful. Health is associated with thinness, whiteness, being able-bodied, wealthy (comparatively) and cis. Health is seen as something to be achieved through hard work, but it is often not something we can control, and being healthy is so much more than what fits into these narrow binaries.

 

Fat people are healthy. Disabled people are healthy. People of colour are healthy. Queer and trans people are healthy. How we define health beyond survival is shaped by social relations of power and how we validate knowledge of bodies, health and care. The dominant narrative of what is healthy and what bodies should look like has been shaped by white supremacy. Our medical system has made the advancements it has through horrific levels of dehumanization and cruelty towards black people. This legacy still affects how bodies of colour are treated (and not treated) in the healthcare system.

 

Health is important and  the resources to be as healthy as we can be should be accessible to everyone, however,  none of this should translate to one’s health does not defining their worth. Unhealthy people – whether they have made choices that led to health problems or not – are just as valuable as healthy individuals. The idea that health = worth is something we first have to challenge in ourselves and then recognize that our positionality and experience may have benefited us in ways that others have not been excluded from. I am a thin, able-bodied, cis woman. This gives me greater access to resources. This means that I am not charged extra when flying and strangers generally don’t express their “concern” about my health. We must recognize that we live in a fat-phobic society and those of us who are not fat (even if we feel fat!) need to be in solidarity with fats folks who bear the brunt of body shaming.

 

There is nothing wrong with wanting to be healthy, but it is important to ask ourselves where this motivation comes from and how we define what health is. Does health = thinness? That is not only inaccurate, but can lead to other, perhaps more severe , health issues.

 

The obsessive drive I feel to be fit into a eurocentric version of healthy, has contribute to serious health effects of anorexia, both mentally and physically. As it has for many others who suffer from anorexia, bulimia and other forms of disordered eating. Healthy is different for everyone and changes as we move through life. Rigidity around health and bodies is not in line with nature. Nature is complex and does not suit the binaries we place on ourselves and each other. In order to be truly healthy, we must accept the complexities of bodies and experiences.

 

Tover closes her article by saying, “I can’t opt out of this culture, but each time that I choose what I want I know I’m one step closer to the freedom I crave.” I am in the process of unlearning the ideas on health and bodies that have kept me from moving closer freedom and liberation. To learn to feel joy and pleasure when we – especially as people of colour – are told that we are undeserving of this or that denying this pleasure will lead to a greater pay off, is not a simple task. It takes time, commitment and all the gentleness that we denied ourselves for so long.

l o n g i n g

I feel a longing for home so deeply in my centre

It’s like fire burning through deep winter ice

I have not been

 

h o m e

 

I do not know – h o m e

 

I move desperately

reaching reaching

I move across oceans in my mind

never reaching the shores of –  

 

          so

 

I go back –

I stay a little later

work a little harder

move towards h o m e

melt my centre

 

and

 

                    hope

 

I am moving towards something

that tastes familiar

 

and

                                     sweet

 

my words drip out my mouth

not fully formed

rich with desire

 

                                                  longing

 

for something i can’t name

can’t yet touch

 

fear chills me

desire melts me

I am open and –  

 

                                                                        ready

 

Nothing tastes as good as [whiteness] feels

I haven’t written in a long time, mostly because being in grad school has turned any part of my brain not used for course and thesis work into a foggy mush. The other, smaller, but perhaps more meaningful reason, is that the things I want to write about are hard to discuss. This mirrors most of my life right now and that is not necessarily a bad thing. Discomfort can be motivating, it tells us that we need to take action or risk sinking deeper into this discomfort. It is also ok to be a little uncomfortable, it forces us to ask why this discomfort is present.

“Nothing Tastes as Good as Skinny Feels” and this became a mantra of self-hate for myself  and many others. I repeated this for years as my identity became wrapped in my eating disorder. After my first stint in treatment/recovery, I began to move beyond an outward obsession with thinness but still remained desperate for all it represented.

Five years later, I am more comfortable in my identity as a multiracial women of colour. I’m more comfortable in my own skin and know how to speak with my body and soul in ways I was unable to before. The work I have put into myself in the last year and a half has never been simple or easy, yet it has allowed me to see more clearly how my own trauma manifests as well as how systemic racism and sexism serve to harm people of colour on a broader scale.

Yet, here I am: losing my centre on my yoga mat, distracted by the thin white bodies that surround me. Thinness – and whiteness – represented all the things I have wanted and could never have. Acceptance, stability, success. I am loved, I have achieved things, my life is pretty chill overall. But I will never achieve whiteness. No matter how little I eat or how much I exercise, I will never reach whiteness.

I spent ten months in an eating disorder clinic and will be forever grateful that I was able to access healthcare in the ways i have been. However, with an all white staff and all the other clients being white, I felt alone in both my illness and efforts for healing. One of the programs at the clinic is to eat meals in a group, and after breakfast one day we were checking in and it came to be my turn. I shared that I was having rough morning because a man on the bus kept asking me where I was from and told me how much he liked exotic women. The women at the table easily understood the fear and discomfort that comes with a strange man approaching you on the bus, however, they (all but two) became to assure me that my “exotic” looks were actually a plus, that this was a compliment, albeit from a creepy source. As good as their intentions were, I felt utterly alone. How could I heal from the subtle racism that permeated my life when I was attempting this recovering in a place the recreating similar experiences?

So where do we go from here? The majority of my non-school work revolves around creating spaces of healing and care and I am still unsure what that looks like in the context of eating disorder recovery. I know that attempting to recover from this eating disorder on my own is not only pointless, but often dangerous. How then, do we improve mental health care for POC? What does healing from the trauma of colonialism and racism look like?

I don’t have these answers and I don’t know if I will find the ones I am looking for. I do know that working towards releasing myself from the trappings of whiteness will lead towards something that is better, something that brings more wholeness and acceptance.

Unpredictable Fulfillment

“Between now and April 15, I will be imaginative and ingenious in getting my needs met. I will have fun calling on every trick necessary to ensure that my deepest requirements are playfully addressed. I will be a sweet seeker of unpredictable fulfillment.”

-Rob Brenszy

These words entered my consciousness and buried themselves deep within my desires. I am feeling stuck. I have begun at least three separate blog posts and I can’t even think of the words to describe writer’s block to y’all right now.

Over the next two weeks, I need to make some drastic changes for the benefit of my health. I am struggling with divergent emotions: fear and motivation, apathy and hope, insecurity and channeling my true bad bitch self.

As I struggle to make these changes, to take back control and to trust this process, regardless of how hard it may be, I think of the words above. I read my horoscope in our local free paper each week, mostly for fun, partially because I believe we can find wisdom in many things. “I will be a sweet seeker of unpredictable fulfillment.” The word unpredictable is the antithesis of everything I have created myself to be. I have had a five (and ten) year plan since I was a child and I like my life to be organized; there is not much room for mistakes and unpredictability. This aspect of my personality has allowed me to excel is work and school but I have also missed out on a lot of things. This horoscope coincided with the changes I need to make and caused me to take a step back and wonder would happen if I became a sweet seeker of unpredictable fulfillment rather than forcing myself into these rigid boxes I created many years ago?

Fear can be a motivation, it serves to warn us against danger or let us take a moment to notice we are embarking on something unfamiliar. Fear becomes detrimental when we let it take over. We wrap ourselves in fear as a form of protection, yet instead of keeping us safe, the fear weighs us down and we cannot move beyond it.

A few nights ago, my yoga teacher teacher suggested our intention for the class be patience and to trust the process – whatever that may look like for each of us. I am striving to trust that I will move through this fear, towards some kind of fulfillment and wholeness. Fear is not everlasting. Fear serves a purpose the same way feeling too cold or hot, it tells us something about our selves and our surrounding but is only useful if we listen to it. We need to check in with ourselves and ask: What do I need right now? Asking ourselves this, and then fulfilling those needs, is not selfish. It is an act of self-preservation and it may one day become an act of self-love.

Be patient with your impatience. We can’t change overnight, but we can begin to become sweet seekers of unpredictable fulfillment when we let go of the fear that holds us down and embrace the fear that motivates and moves us.