Hi babe.
Honest transparency: I was diagnosed with dystaunomia. And with over 7 more intensive tests upcoming, I have much more to learn about my body.
Throughout the past month, I’ve struggled, practically fought against the case I live in. I’ve felt at war with my mind and heart, but the war between a mind and body is a feat more difficult. And let me spoil it: the body wins the battle.
I’ve been grieving my body, a body where I can move and breathe without pain or dysregulation, frankly without trust. But I’m not here to bore, I’m here to warn.
Be mindful of your capacity. Physically and mentally. Us girls are ambitious, strong, intelligent. Our minds sees paths not formed yet, and our hearts heal things not even broken. Yet with our powers come one word that can stricken: capacity.
Take out illness and drop in relationships. Partners, distant parents, and old friends all share a footnote on the essay of capacity. We may have witnessed one’s intent to love us, or their intent to listen and care. But when their capacity stops — the text messages. The calls. Hell, even the emails. When they pause, no matter that person’s intent, we recognize their capacity, or inability to have it so, to care for us.
So why can’t we recognize our own?
Maybe it’s hidden. You know you ghost people when it’s time to give in. You know you ignore when seeing their face sparks more emotion than you can hold. You know you cry in silence, because doing so outside of your home or therapy exposes that… capacity.
And has someone who has been through a lot (just, literally read the blog), I didn’t realize the battle was truthfully mind and matter. But as I learned recently, matter takes over when the mind has reach capacity,
Book that therapy appointment. Dance or sing if it makes you feel better. I don’t care what you do. But your body does. And I’m not a writer but a reminder,
intent. No matter if that is love. Or ambition. But that intent, without a person’s capacity to hold it, CANNOT become consistency. Pattern. Routine.
