The space I have occupied for the past few months was suffocating to say the least, and practical to say the most.
Being without a means for money-making has been severely impacting my self-esteem, (like any other post-grad
kid adult,) and knowing that it was partially from physical circumstances was even more frustrating.
I’ve been busting my mental lobes and back tendons open to make situations work for myself, and I’m ever so relieved to at the very least, have a space to call my own. A space where I don’t have to worry about interjecting energies and irresponsible folx provoking my sense of safety.
A space where I can shit with the door open and shower as long as I please.
And I would feel ungrateful to not give my due thanks for being able to squat (literally and figuratively) under someone else’s roof for the time I needed during recovery. For the times that I had to repeatedly claim “unemployed, uninsured, with no local address.”
But that space was claustrophobic in it’s own sense, and I felt my fight or flight responses constantly quivering under my surface. I was told that I should entirely “heal” before moving onward and outward, but I replied that I wouldn’t be able to “heal” until I achieved a sanctuary for myself, where my previous physical issues weren’t aggravated and re-activated daily.
As I fluttered and struggled to break out from that uncomfortable space, I financially felt like a failure. And I still do. But I’m also really fucking sick of non-creative people refusing to see the beauty in the matters that don’t make money. And I reason with myself that this small, money-mongering mentality has played a large part in this insecurity over being a broke-ass person in general. In being joked at and boxed up as a “starving artist” of minuscule proportions.
The only time money matters to me, is when it provides a sense of safety. And lacking that, I’ve had to push against my creativity and towards the achievement of financial security, no matter the exhaustion.
And so, here we are- finally farther away from the trauma and drama that’s haunted me for the past 4.5 months. And finally in a place to really release the demons with kindness. To converse with them over tea. To be unmediated, uninterrupted, and comfortable. That’s all I’ve wanted for a while now.
Achieving this materialistic space and buying items that I have been longing for does not solve my problems, for certain. I would be incredibly dense to say that they do. But they at least afford me an area to allow myself to feel deeply and profoundly what I have only been able to skirt around while living with others who I did not trust. I finally have freedom to be my own private self without the wariness and weariness of the performative expectations of the more public eye.
And that sweetness of freedom tastes damn sweet.
Solitary shits, showers, and sanctuary- nothing better.