Since I can remember, I’ve lived with this dread that the other shoe is about to drop.
I don’t have all the answers as to why yet, but in short, I think it has to do with some
deep anxiety in my ancestral history and a religious upbringing that was
preoccupied with Armageddon and whether you’d be on the right side when it all
went down, compounded with the fact that the world actually is a scary place that
often feels like it’s getting scarier by the minute.
Seven years ago, when fifteen women gathered to bring in the New Year with collage journaling and picking Words of the year and sharing stories in a circle, I had no idea what I was doing. I just knew that I needed a space to be real, so along with the help of a few good friends, I decided to try and make the thing I longed to experience.
It will never take you to where it is you want to go, and you will never know where that is unless you stop long enough to catch your breath. To look someone in the eyes. To see yourself. Besides, you’re skinny as shit and no, it’s not your genes. It’s because you’re slowly running yourself to death, doing damage to your precious and delicate and life-giving insides and you’ll still be paying for it 10 years later when you’re trying oh-so-desperately to have a period and keep your brittle bones from breaking. You’ll call these your lost years.