Backwards to go Forward

Twenty-17 was a lot of things for me. It was the year of reconciling debt, over coming disappointment, healing stubborn wounds and finding my rhythm. It was also the year of spoken for men. But for the sake of saving the rant, I won't be saying much about them.

I will say, I literally began the year angry at two different men for stirring my interest while *secretly* in long term, one common law, relationship. Then one was hit by a street car, and the other cracked his skull on icy cement, and the karmic balance of the Universe felt restored.

I really adhere to having an epic first day in whatever way I can manage. So I spent the first day of the year at the top of the biggest mountain I could find, Ontario's Blue kind. I sat there, appreciative, gaining the analogous perspective I would need for the year ahead. My brother at my side, atop this hill that made us feel on top of the world.

Early year seems to be when then power of suggestion is at its most high. Old habits discarded make room for new possible pastimes. My Mom had been taking Salsa lessons, and said she thought I should give it a shot. I love to dance, give me a good DJ and a dance floor, I'll shake my tail all night. The problem was, it wasn't in the budget. So I decided to manifest it.

I set the intention, that I'd find some way to afford Salsa lessons. I shit you not, within the week I had a new client. Sore all over, but why? Because he's a latin and ballroom teacher. And guess what, he'd "get a massage every week if he could afford it"… I said I was in the same boat with dance classes. A perfect trade was birthed that day.

A 90 minute treatment for a 90 minute class. We did that for 3 months on end. I learned the Salsa, Bachata, Rumba, Cha Cha, Waltz, and a horrid dance called Kizomba. Sexy as all hell, but I just don't move that way.

Wedding season dawned and my dance lessons came to a permanent pause, just in time to be offered a volunteer Salsa and Bachata basics teaching gig. I learned all too quickly that teaching dance was not for me. And really, until I have a partner, I won't be doing much more of it. There's something about always following a strangers lead that just doesn't sit all that well with me.

By now it's summer. My throat is constantly sore. To the point I feel I'm going hoarse. I've been through two more "relationships" with spoken for men, refusing to budge on my principles. NO, I won't entertain this with you if you have a girlfriend. I feel at this point I should preface with a "trigger warning", but the statement itself does a lot more harm that good I think.

A friend's wedding came and went, reminding me of what happy couples actually look like. But all I really remember of that night, is being harassed and assaulted by her only other single friend. My date by proxy. Oh the joys of single life.

I started to really consider therapy. Clearly, something was wrong with me. Why else would I keep encountering these unsavoury "romantic" advances? But again, I just couldn't afford it. So I DIY'd my therapy. Thought about what bothered me, and came to the conclusion that drum lessons was the appropriate answer. Maybe more on that another time. For now, I'll leave it at that.

On a whim, I signed myself up for 8 classes. Considerably cheaper to hit things with sticks than tell people your problems. It did the trick… for a bit, but the original problem still remained. Then it happened, sexually assaulted again, this time by a dear friend. Not to mention, one with a girlfriend.

I became angry. For an entire week I shook from the inside. I didn't know what to call it, how to define what happened, but the fact that it did made me rage. My throat felt like an open wound. My eyes, always fighting the tears just behind them. All at once I was hit with all my repressed memories of men assaulting me in varying degrees. I was the epitome of an angry woman: "a female who has been exposed to many players, liars, manipulators and cheats that her original gentle loving caring, nurturing, spirit has been diminished to a blackened heart, hard exterior and bitter disposition at times to the point of no recovery." Yes… Google has a definition for it.

I felt insane. Sick of men, all of them. I wanted to line em up to spit in their face.

But instead, I took that anger, and gave it an outlet. I started to write. Every night, pages of journal entries and poems galore, I let out my poison bit by bit. I even found the nerve to invest in a therapist. And for as much as it leaves you raw, it's the kind of raw that let's you heal. Like shed diseased skin making room for the new tissue underneath. I finally started speaking my truth, and my throat no longer ached the way it had all year.

Despite the intense trip it had been around the sun, I felt empowered. I felt strong. Motivated for the next one. So again, I set intentions for what was to come. And found myself on a plane on twenty-18's day one.

I am grateful for the year I had. What I just shared was some of it's worst moments, but those were the most impactful ones. It's the hard times in life that help us know beauty. It's the darkness in life, that helps us see the light. There is no way around, but through, and that's really what I'm trying to say to you.

All my love, G