My children and I will swim in the ocean at sunrise before school begins. We’ll rise at the crack of dawn to cotton candy sunrises and critters that chirp, and we’ll dive into the milky waters, letting it wash away any worries we have for the day ahead.
Sometimes I look around me and feel like it’s harder for people like me—writers, artists, creatives, highly sensitive humans—to find a person to connect with.
I am realizing that sometimes I am the best lover I can be for myself, so I put on dresses, pack my notebook, and drive myself somewhere beautiful over and over again and let the earth hold me.
This week I moved into my first one bedroom apartment in the city—my first time ever living alone. What I planned on being a very intentional and mindful move, including lots of journaling and reflection on what feels like a pivotal time in my life, turned into a week that was a little bit of a messy, well, shitshow.
My dad’s toast at my sister’s wedding echoes in my mind
“All a father could want for his daughter is for someone to love them!”But daddy
what about a woman
who loves herself?
How can we expect others to meet us fully when they can’t meet themselves fully? How can we expect someone else’s patch of earth to hold us when it can’t hold them?
Every time I have loved and my heart has broken, it has come back to me a little more whole, a little more complete, a little more firm in the knowing of who I am.
One day, somebody will love things about you that you’ve never even thought twice about. One day, any part of you that you have thought of as flawed will be the reason why somebody thinks you are beautiful.