with picking out bright yellow sunflowers from Trader Joe’s and hoping my eyes aren’t still puffy from crying myself to sleep last night
with wearing my expensive Dior lip gloss 026, intense mauve shimmer, because it makes me feel fancy
with drinking water from the turtle cup with the metal straw, the one my best friend made for me, because it makes everything taste better
with seeing the text I sent my dad about my feelings was read on Sunday but he’s still not responded, and deciding not to send another one
with wearing the colorful flower dress my four-year-old nephew said was his favorite because it makes me look like a garden
with playing the absolute stupidest game ever on the Nintendo Wii with the teens, drinking Grimace’s birthday shakes, and laughing so hard I remember kegel exercises are important
with waking up early to water outside and saying hi to three bumblebees and one hummingbird who lingered close enough I could see how incredible their wings are
with moving my watermelon plant to another part of the yard because it’s getting choked out by the enormous pumpkin leaves and wanting it to have a chance to survive
with watching all 10 episodes of Drag Me to Dinner with my daughter and wanting to hug every LGBTQ person on the planet and tell them they are loved
with having teary conversations with my teens about respect and communication knowing they will always have me and each other in their corner no matter what
with replacing the bowl of old candy on the counter with a bowl of fresh apples because I can’t make others love me the way I want to be loved, but I can eat healthier
with turning to words again and not worrying if they are good enough because that’s not the point and I can show up exactly how I am
Turn up the music, turn down the lights I got a feelin’ I’m gon’ be alright Okay (okay), alright It’s about damn time
On Sunday, my daughter and I attended a Lizzo concert in downtown Sacramento. It was a combined birthday present for us both and it was life-changing.
We got to the arena five hours before showtime and were lucky enough to be number 35 and 36 in line. The fans we stood beside became our friends as we waited in excitement to be let into the arena. I’d never done pit tickets before and didn’t know what to expect, but our new friends took us under their wing and walked us through the ropes.
Once inside, we got a spot on the barricade—right beside the stage! My daughter and I kept turning to each other in disbelief. It was more than we could have hoped for.
Lizzo’s DJ opened the show followed by the gorgeous Latto. One of her songs featured protest signs and we chanted “My Body, My Choice” as a crowd. The energy felt incredible.
Then, the moment came. When Lizzo took the stage in a striking purple sparkling outfit, my daughter and I cried. She is more than a performer to us, she’s a symbol of how to love your body. She’s a role model. She stands for self-love in the biggest way possible. We were starstruck! We danced, sang along at the top of our lungs, and laughed. We felt free and beautiful. We felt her magic.
When Lizzo appeared in a stunning silver robe and removed it to sing Naked to the crowd, it brought up some big feelings. I’ve had such a hard time loving my plus-sized body, but she made me believe I could. She made me believe I deserve it. We all do. What a gift!
Let down my guard, undo my robe I’m standing here, don’t need no clothes I’m naked Love how you look at me naked Come make this body feel sacred I’m a big girl, don’t you waste it, naked
The most powerful moment of the night, for us, was when Lizzo played the song Special. This song is an anthem in our house and has played a major role in my daughter’s mental health journey. It’s a mantra and a call to self-love. We play it on the dark days as a beacon of light. We cling to it when times are hard. To hear Lizzo sing it mere feet from us was transformative. My daughter and I sobbed beside each other feeling the weight of the last few years, the bigness of what we’ve been through together, and the love we share.
In case nobody told you today You’re special In case nobody made you believe You’re special Well, I will always love you the same You’re special I’m so glad that you’re still with us Broken, but damn, you’re still perfect
At one point during the song, Lizzo saw my girl sobbing and they had a moment. She gave my girl love. Directly. Life can be so hard, but that moment was pure and utter magic. I can’t thank Lizzo enough for seeing her, for her powerful music, and for making me believe in the good of people. Here’s a bit of the song for you to enjoy:
It’s been a few days since the concert and honestly, I still feel transformed. My body feels somehow more comfortable. More like my home. I wore tighter clothes the last few days and didn’t hide my arms. I felt more peaceful about my body. More in love with it. This morning I even caught my reflection in the back door while watering and thought I looked pretty. I snapped this picture so I can remember this feeling.
If you are reading this today, consider it partly a love letter to you. Yes, you. I know it’s hard to love our bodies when they don’t look like we think they “should.” But it’s okay. It really is. You can work on yourself and love yourself. You can be happy with your body right now. Please, be kind to you today. We all need you here. One more time, all together:
You’re special I’m so glad that you’re still with us Broken, but damn, you’re still perfect
sadness takes residence inside my bones sometimes. it drives tiny sharp stakes deep into marrow before releasing its large grey tent. i don’t notice until the fires start and thick smoke takes my breath away. no. not again.
reaction isn’t quick—no flashing lights or loud sirens. instead, i silently wait for dancing girl to wake. press needle onto vinyl. stretch. sing. call. dreamily she’ll arrive amid bubbles, swirls, golden light. sadness doesn’t stand a chance.
Note: I don’t always remember the power of movement, but once the music starts my body does. This poem and photos were created as part of the “What Moves You?” challenge. Thank you Michele Lee of My Inspired Life for your continued support of my healing journey. I can’t wait to read all the moving posts.
i’ve been to this beach before but i’m thinking of that one time when i cried into the wind begging spirits to save my trapped soul and something answered. not mermaid
goddesses wrapped in shimmery light, but a sea hag draped in foggy sadness. “you want out?” she hissed through cracked lips. i nodded feeling the air leave my lungs. slippery
quick, an eel through water, my knees buckled as knarled hands placed a rotted seaweed crown upon my matted hair. “i deserve nothing but pain,” i managed to say. manic
laughter roaring with the waves, calling me a liar. red-bearded pirates pointed rusty blades at my pale neck. i ran. and ran. for years. and years. jellyfish growing fat
within my belly. sharp spiny barnacles grow under my breasts and between my thick thighs. ice forming heavy around my heart, protecting soft starfish memories from spilling. but now
oh now
my seaweed crown is slipping. walking in my old footsteps, i sing “you are special” under my breath wondering if i believe. a lilting voice joins mine and I follow
into a narrow rocky cave. here a siren gently whispers seashell songs which vibrate through my body, rocking me like golden sunset waves. warm fingers find my face. “you are
loved,” she sings. “time to forgive yourself.” salty tears fall from hazel eyes as slimy seaweed slips onto the cold sandy ground. i see not her beautiful garments nor her
phosphorescent glow, but feel her spinning me around. and around. strong hands pluck hardened crusty foulers from my body and smashes them hard onto the uneven stone walls. powder turns
powerful. light burns brighter. i shudder as the foggy vines the sea witch weaved deep within me unwind faster. and faster. healing. releasing. forgiving. without a word, the siren leaves.
lavender flowers fall around me. “goodbye” i say under the golden sky. four sandpipers watch me walk across the beach. lighter. they don’t run but i do. time starts again.
sandpiper friends.my cave.the view looking out from the inside of the cave. do you see the siren?
Note: I celebrated my birthday today by spending hours wandering the beach taking photos and writing poetry. I hope you enjoy this poem of healing and that it helps you too.
The song I was singing is “Special” by Lizzo. Watch the music video. It will do your heart some good.
he climbs tall swaying trees all the way to the top. i eat handfuls of unsalted almonds with bites of banana while reading book after book. sun-kissed, my toes press into the soft green grass. freckled shoulders out. “hi mom,” he calls. i wave back all smiles. my naive trust easily covers fear. i lean into
full moons, rainbow wishes, fairy protectors. i believe my love will shield him from harm. but it doesn’t. once. and then twice. i drink sugary coffee in hospital rooms while staring at tiny bright screens. shoulders slumped. “hi mom,” he calls beneath many bloody bandages. with a fake smile i tell him everything will
be okay. home. darkness. healing comes. i sneak candy nightly hoping it will shrink fear. it doesn’t. my body swells. aches. i pull away from everyone. hiding panic with manic activity. secretly building giant blame barriers. “hi mom,” he calls but i don’t hear him. i don’t want to. walls protect right? but i am lonely in my padded
cell. sunshine bursts through swaying trees. they miss him too. but fear stopped the climbing. we circle each other arguing. forgetting nose kisses but not bloody faces. time moves so fast. too fast. his blue cap and gown sits on my dresser. “hi mom,” he says. i listen. we eat seedy crackers while our shoulders touch. can trust regrow after fear?
Note: I’m attempting to use poetry as part of my healing process. I will return to short stories and the Shoebox Poetry series soon. Thank you for reading and supporting me during this transition time. It’s long overdue.
my body does not understand reacting with sharp vibrant stabs singing fight or flight ballads —do or die chorus numbers where kids say teary goodbyes under too-far-away stars under wet weeping willow trees under rich dark black soil under sadness turned into madness —my wounded heart finally stops
no, I tell the flowers that’s not the real story not yet anyway, not now —curving pink petals nod agreement where hummingbirds take small sips under muted late February sun under thick cotton candy clouds under pale white peach blossoms under folded tissue paper cranes —my healing heart grows stronger
through multi-colored glass down simple carpet floors white walls turn brass tears transform into doors
shadow trees grow there lightening flowers do too whispers come for repair howling monsters to spew
creaking boards hold ache light bulbs illuminate pain rafters rattle and shake trauma flows like rain
lose yourself, my child within safe caring walls connect with inner wild listen to phoenix’s calls
for inside healing house nothing stays for long come in quiet mouse leave brave lion strong
*This poem was inspired by a comment left on my blog by Grounded African and is dedicated to everyone attempting to enter a building like this to heal and connect in therapy, especially my darling daughter. May you find your way through the dark.
Bridgette Tales 