Until You Know Better
Emotional labour, reciprocity, and learning when to choose yourself.
Dearest human,
January has made its grand exit.
A month ever symbolic of new resolutions, new beginnings, and old sheddings.
What is new now finds us in the celestial world as we transition from the Snake to the Fire Horse. From stilled reflection to renewed motivation.
And yet, I regarded it just like any other. A mere continuation.
I didn’t cross the threshold with fireworks or celebratory champagne. Just a great read and an early bedtime.
And although I am not a celestial by nature, this month was very much one of shedding.
From regulator to self-possessed.
I remember the feeling as if it were yesterday.
A potent and residual reminder of what it feels like to not be met with reciprocity.
Excuses of empathy and quiet strength dissolved, revealing the truth at play.
A feeling I can only describe as fever-induced.
A body in a state of emotional detox.
A body in shivers, pleading with me to listen.
January asked that I take up arms and finally face these unhealthy patterns.
Patterns born from endurance and responsibility.
From a capacity to hold the emotional worlds of others.
Patterns that normalized unidirectional travel across terrains to meet others in their complexity.
In return, I was left underfed.
Left at a table where bargaining, justification, and explanation became the starved language.
Nibbling on crumbs with broken humility instead of demanding the full loaf.
This month asked for a reset.
To not discard the gifts inherited from survival, but to use them with discernment.
To return to the seller and step into the role of buyer.
To be selective of who was deserving to drink from my well.
It asked that I witness myself again and clean house.
To step back from those who minimized my needs and most painful moments.
Who intermittently sought me out for regulation.
And unconsciously crowned me “therapist,” free of charge, with no return.
I allowed myself to exit with love and integrity, choosing not to let my heart calcify.
To no longer explain my worth.
To no longer become the starved, but the abundant.
To lean into it heavily like Boondocks on The Itis.
I was finally in a place to receive the peace I believed I already possessed. And to rebuild quietly once more.
This month asked that I sit with the discomfort and confusion long enough to find clarity, even when grief was unbearable.
For I have come to realize that all growth hardships don’t arrive by happenstance; they are tailor-designed.
Gratitude Notes
What I have been most grateful for in January:
1. Oxtail Soup for the soul.
Again, not one for the celestial. Spiritual, certainly. But never sign-seeking.
And yet it just so happened, unexpected and serendipitous.
A friend had shared a photo of the butternut squash soup I had made for her, in a bowl we didn’t know would make me tear up with memory.
It was a vintage stoneware Oxtail Soup bowl. Cauldron-shaped with a ‘60s flair.
A bowl in the exact likeness of the one I ate pepper soup from as a young girl at the dinner table of my family home.
It was less about the bowl and more about a father no longer within reach.
The bowl now sits gifted in my cupboard.
I have yet to eat from it, but when I do, I’ll be sure to fill it to the brim with nostalgia.
2. Walking in union.
I’ve always loved a wholesome challenge, and this month found me participating in a group walking challenge with a few co-workers.
To witness how everyone showed up despite the “calls of life.”
I even had competition that I met with curiosity, surpassing the steps I thought possible to win.
For I couldn’t have done it without my alter-ego: The Annihilator. My thanks to Arnold.
3. Labour, a love expressed.
I recently planned and celebrated a friend’s 40th birthday with a foul-mouthed comedian, followed by an intimate dinner and candle-blowing.
It reminded me of the importance of creating experiences, both personal and shared.
Experiences are the highlights of living.
Vivid splashes of aliveness on the grand canvas.
It comes with a toll, but then again, so does all.
For all that is meaningful asks that it be met with energy and effort.
As long as it is served where it belongs.
And so I find myself here, with over a dozen posts written in quiet consistency, remaining thankful for those who have chosen to follow me on the journey.
From all that has unfolded, both with lessons and bittersweet memories, I carry only the words of Maya Angelou as I walk into February:
“Do the best you can until you know better. Then when you know better, do better.”
And here’s to meeting ourselves again and again in the small moments between the lines.
Until next time,
Reflective Self