Listen to Natahna read Big Feels 7.6 here👇🏻
“You are your own oldest friend.”
I’m laying on the floor by the fireplace, my friend dropping the wisdom is on the couch cuddling the dog, my other dear one is in the kitchen pouring a drink. We are talking about growth edges and new year hopes. I’m talking about shaking hands with my self-hate again, how I put my 8-year-old face on my phone’s lock screen so I can remember how worthy of being adored that angel (this angel) is.
I feel so safe when it’s us three. We spent the night eating and drinking and dancing and forgetting the rules to the card game and I’m struck by my happiness. I think, “I’m happy. I’m so happy. I want to remember this as one of the happiest moments of my life.”
There is a patron who comes into the library every week, sometimes alone and sometimes with a group.
Me: “How are you today?”
Patron: “I’m so happy!”
Me: “Oh, that’s so good!”
Patron: “And I’m so happy to see you!”
Me: “I’m so happy to see you too!”
Patron: “My mom took my phone!”
Me: “Oh no! I’m sorry about that. When will you get it back?”
Patron: “Maybe Tuesday!”
Me: “That will be nice.”
Patron: “I’m going to invite you to my birthday party!”
Me: “I can’t wait!”
Then he gives me a fist bump.
I went to Wild Church on Sunday and I was thinking about all this happy and all the bad and how I want to avoid the bad and how it feels like a failure to feel it; but I have to let it all in, don’t I? Maybe it’s impossible to be this happy without also feeling so much hurt, all the anger.
A favourite comedian, Meg Stalter, writes a love letter to herself every year. It’s always effusive and honest and alive. In the same vein as my baby-face lock screen, I decided to write my own. It felt awkward, cathartic. I was a little tender puddle by the end. Here it goes:
A Love Letter to Myself
After Meg Stalter
I could say that I don’t know anyone as vast and magical and bound to fluidity as you, but part of your vastness is that you see this in everyone else too. You know exactly how much power is held in the depths of your compassion and you share it abundantly. I love how many chances you give to people and how confused you are, every fucking time, when some of these people take this as permission to treat you poorly. The lore of your life begins first with the story of being a newborn, picking up your head, and turning it to face your father as he spoke – a feat of a strong neck and a deep want to give another person your full attention. The second story is when you would sit and cry and let your baby sister pull and pull your hair, knowing that she didn’t understand how it hurt you, letting her ignorance and your pain coexist. This instinct was alive before trauma warped it. You are letting it live on, but you are also learning to let people burn their own bridges if they want to. You tell the truth about the things that hurt, but that doesn’t stop you from feeling exactly as lucky as you were always meant to be. You know that no one is entitled to more of your time, energy, or body than you are willing to give. You know that the people who are for you are for you in a big way. I love how fully you hold them in your spirit. I love how much you want them to feel your love, how you lose sleep sometimes worried that they don’t know how much you love them. I love that you think about the letters you want to write before you die (at a ripe old age) telling each person exactly what they meant to you and how much you will miss them and how lonely you will be in the afterlife waiting for them. You are funny and charming and always amazed. You know how to seek out the healing you need and you are finding peace in knowing that it will take your whole life to heal each and every cell (and you know that there is a joy and a privilege in this too). I love how much you love your tiny, barren tits; and I like how brave you are, always, and especially in love and in your queerness and how you choose to share your whole self in tiny parcels of everyday exchanges. You are wild and growing wilder. I love you and I like you; big time, baby.
Talk soon,
Natahna
The Recommends: Look, just write yourself a love letter, okay? You could also listen to I Wonder by Ella Grace. ;)
Well, I fully sobbed. Whew. "How you choose to share your whole self in tiny parcels of everyday exchanges." Brilliant. What a love letter. I love this Baby Angel you still are!
loving this song!