No matter how hard it gets, no matter how alone or isolated I may feel; alone on an island with the weight of all these problems, to-do lists, pain, and flare-ups…somebody (or rather somebunny) loves me. And I’m certain that the same applies to y’all. Sometimes it may not feel that way or seem that way, but some one does. Love isn’t always enough but it lessens the blow of the worlds cruelty. Even when you’re on your last limb, everything is failing, the world is crumbling a round you; worst yet, a dumpster-fire, there IS someone. Someone who cares. And if you feel like there isn’t, chances are it’s because you counted yourself out. The love starts there. If you love you that “somebunny” will always exist. Everyone else is the icing on the cake; the Sazon in that arroz con gandules.
And that love has to be unconditional. You don’t always have to like yourself, no one is perfect, we all make mistakes, and you STILL have to love yourself through it all.
I’ve loved myself for as long as I can remember, no matter who tried to tear me down and make sure I hated myself….it just never stuck. And when I tell you I was smothered in reasons to hate myself through the world’s gaze….I do mean smothered.
My mother defended her melanated baby against racist Hispanic family members who all but called me the N-Word (often) and for sure used the word loosely when my mother and I were not around. I was singled out and called an ape by my 4th grade teacher, she would have me sit in the middle of a circle of my classmates and tell them to throw things at me (I was 9 and it was my first experience with racism at this level, and I didn’t fully understand the gravity or what she was doing). Any time someone from class spoke to me or tried to be friends with me she would tell them to stop talking to me because I was a trouble maker, that people like me always were, and that I didn’t deserve kindness. She would grab my arm hard and yank me around, tell me how worthless I was, scold me for nothing, use sentences that started with “You people”, and force me to sit in the back corner.
One day she ripped up a drawing of mine in front of the class and that was definitely something I could understand; it made me cry. I was deeply hurt by my art being destroyed. I finally, after several months of racially motivated torment, told my mom and cousin what my teacher did. Needless to say it did not go well. You see….my mom is crazy and my cousin is crazier. Then they told my father and He is just as cookoo for the cocoa puffs. And as cray as my family (as I reflect, it makes sense as to why I’m as hot headed as I am….it runs deep in my lineage), they managed to keep their cool long enough to call for a sit down with the teacher and principal. To make a long story short, my father sat as calm as can be with balled up fist (trying not to feed into the angry black man stereotype), while my mom gave this bitch ass racist teacher a piece of her mind. My cousin sat quietly as my teacher tried to explain herself with, get this, a fucking attitude as she tried her hardest not to let the racism slip out her mouth. My cousin did her best impersonation of a civilized person….but ended up not being able to hold her tongue for long. Next thing you know she’s lunging across the tables cursing and screaming up a storm. More happened that night but my mom never fully elaborated outside of what I just told y’all. I was transferred to another class and within a week, that racist sack of human trash was fired. Turns out all of the student corroborated my story and they felt bad and uncomfortable watching how this adult treat me on the daily. They felt helpless. And from then on it’s been a battle I could no longer ignore or be oblivious to. I now knew that I was different different.
I have a long list of stories enduring racist and prejudice (let me know if you wanna here them), but the self hate parade and brigade didn’t stop there. My mom, without intending to be a shitty parent, would always try and change my appearance and outwardly tell me how she wanted me to look; thinner, blonde, etc…
***TRIGGER WARNING***
My father abandoned his duties to me from the age of four, but every time he popped up or dropped a line, he spent his time criticizing my style, my race (because as far as I know he doesn’t care to much for Hispanics…much less Puerto Ricans), and the way I looked. He would vent about my mother and call her a dyke and truck driver, tear her down for what he deemed a lack of “femininity” and warned me to not turn into her. He would talk about my body every chance he got; told me that no one would ever be attracted to or love a fat woman. He often called Hispanic women sluts and Hispanic men were lazy….as though I’m not partially Hispanic myself. So according to my mother, I wasn’t skinny enough, my hair wasn’t blonde, and she didn’t like my style. According to my father, I was lazy and a slut due to me being part Hispanic (Puerto Rican specifically), I was too fat over all but more specifically I was too fat to be attractive to him and to anyone; I’d never find love because of it. Plus he felt like I should know my place and role as a woman.
By the time I was six I had been sexually assaulted, by the time I was thirteen….sexually assaulted some more. I was bullied all through junior high and had been betrayed by every “friend” I’d ever had. By the time I turned sixteen I’d been hit by my boyfriend; two more times after that and by then I was finally fighting back and almost killed him. All the while dealing with the typical growing pains and a side of continual racism everywhere I went; like I said there’s a long list. I also have a lil list of all the trauma and bullshit I’ve endure throughout my entire life. And now, now I’m disabled. There’s a lot to be angry for, a lot to be resentful about, a shit ton of reasons to internalize the hatred I’ve come toe to toe with my entire life. But through it all my love for myself never faltered, not once.
Sure there were things I didn’t like sometimes, sure I was insecure a time or two (I don’t think I’d be human if I hadn’t been, and sometimes still am), but my love for self always stayed true. I don’t know if it’s because I just knew I was amazing, or if early on I felt the disappointment and lack of protection from those who were supposed to protect, love, and respect me, that I ended up being my own best friend, my own cheerleader, my own support system from jump. Maybe it’s all of the above. But because of it I was able to see first hand why it was and IS so God damn important to start with you. Because no matter what, that’s the one you should be able to rely the most, and it is completely in your control.
So that’s what I’ve done. I’ve loved myself with reckless abandon; unconditionally, feverishly, and unapologetically. Yes somebody can love you, and that’s FUCKING AWESOME, but nothing compares to the love of self, and that special intimate bond you foster through out your time on this dumpster-fire planet… with these garbage humans. Don’t get me wrong, there are incredible people roaming this existence just waiting to be welcomed additions to your family, but never forget, it’s you and your relationship with you that comes first and trumps it all. And before anyone misinterprets what I’m saying, by no means am I talking about being an asshole or selfish, these are different concepts altogether.
In any event, like my outfit? Cool, me too. I just had to bring in some Spring vibes into this fall, cuz I doooozzzz that sometimes. The dress is long-sleeved (so you can keep toasty in these increasingly crisp’ning weather. The jacket isn’t exactly lightweight even though it has a decent amount of distressing. The sneakers take the quintessential white-sneak up a notch with it’s ever so amazing flat-top studs. And, lastly the pink beret that kindly reminds us all that “somebunny” loves you, while cheekily and simultaneously reminds us that on the flip side “somebunny'‘ hates you too (didn’t get the chance to show the back of the beret where it says exactly that. A reminder that there’s always a second side of the coin….and that the in-between spaces of that coin is the grey area we all often reside in.
Hold strong my loves, somebody loves you, start with you, but if you’re still learning, that’s ok; I have some spare love to share. You can have some as a placeholder as you’re on your journey.