“You don’t throw away a whole life, just because she’s a little banged up.”

I pulled this quote from a woman’s instagram account that I follow @afelice16.  She runs a rescue and sanctuary farm for severely abused and senior animals (she’s definitely a hero of mine!).  This quote was supplemented with a photo of a young boy and a horse nestling heads. She saved the horse from slaughter. He was a workhorse, and in his previous life he had been abused, severely, at the hands of humans and--up until this point, had little contact with human-kindness.  I see their photo as proof to the emotional labor the horse and the family has put into one another.  I was struck by the clarity and the honesty.  I, too, have struggled with receiving kindness from others, and most definitely from myself. 

This quote really hit me at the most serendipitous moment.  Yesterday I was sitting in my Feminist Methodology, PhD class (yes, I’m a student) and the concept of self-care came up.  Folks were sharing their experiences of self-care, what they did, how it looked, and the grace that they give themselves to participate in their acts of care. At the end, my eyes began to well up. I sheepishly raised my hand and shared that I wanted to thank everyone for sharing their own self-care practices and how deeply I have been struggling with my own. 

Over the last seven years I have dealt with debilitating chronic pain. It would start in my lower back, spread to my thighs, then numb my feet.  Other times I would have the most severe menstrual cramping.  It would have my on my knees vomiting in pain. I knew something wasn’t right, and I had to fight every inch of the way to get to doctors who would see me--all of me--and then believe me.  Every day I inched further and further from my personal well-being. I stopped wearing clothes that I loved because I was fearful that the pain the waist bands would cause and the severe symptoms that would ensue (nausea and vomiting).  I stopped going out because my symptoms would flare up so quickly that I always needed a contingency plan--someplace I could quickly leave. Slowly, bit-by-bit, my social world closed in around me. In the summer of 2017 I worked with three doctors trying to better understand what was happening.  I was told a range of things: “there’s a mass--could be cancer; you might lose your uterus or your ovaries; you might need a full hysterectomy, but don’t worry you can still adopt.” I was spinning. I was forced to confront how  I construct my woman-hood.  What that meant and what that would mean, and more importantly, how I would have to now navigate and wrestle that constructed identity in my romantic relationship.  And no.  I sure as hell did not construct that identity on my own.  It’s been layers of conversations, images, others’ thoughts and beliefs about what my body should do in their service, how my body is politicized, moved, navigated, seen, discarded, desired (and not!) in this culture. I am not only wrestling with how I deeply construct my femininity, but how others--close and distant--construct mine.  At this point in my journey I became severely depressed.  I have a history of deep depression and anxiety, but all those other times--I could hide it.  This time I couldn’t.  My depression became more outwardly visible to folks who saw me regularly: I stopped showering; I stopped trying to look feminine; I stopped doing things that I enjoyed; I stopped making; I stopped exercising; I stopped taking my dog on walks (and keep in mind--he’s like my most favorite being on the planet!); I stopped until I just became  a shell.  This point was terrifying. I became so withdrawn that I designed my own death. Luckily, I was pulled back in, and here I am. Thankfully.  Here I am. But in being “here” I have to stop hiding, and I have to stop pretending.  

Yesterday’s class was magical. @falice16 post and quote was magical. “You don’t throw away a whole life, just because she’s a little banged up.” I’m feeling so banged up.  I’m really tired of pretending that I’m fine and happy because what I am really struggling with might make others uncomfortable. It’s OK to be uncomfortable.  And to feel it.  And to know it. I am so grateful that I am here.  As uncomfortable as I am.  I get to feel it. I sure as hell won’t throw my whole life just because I’m banged up.  Like the horse, my work is to learn how to receive kindness from others and most importantly--myself. I’ve never written a blog post before, and I strongly believe in the power of telling our stories.  The only thing is, I always attributed that belief to others sharing their stories--never mine. So, cheers to acts of self-care and compassion.  Cheers to sharing stories of uncomfortability, vulnerability, fear, strength, and forgiveness. Cheers to showing up. Every. Damn. Day. Cheers to radical honesty. Cheers to radical care.  Cheers to you. And to me. 

(if you can, please consider donating to @afelic16 at  PayPal:[email protected] or Wallyhawk.com/tof or at  Patreon.com/TwistofFateFarmSanctuary)

Cheers, friends. 

-Casey