Hiya stranger. I know it’s Easter and all but my babes are with their dad and I can’t help but reflect on something I feel like sharing.
For the last 3 years I’ve been working with meth & opiate addicts and their babies. There’s this common thread I just can’t let up. This body thing. This repetitive matter that cries for coddling and cushion.
My clients continually reveal and rereveal this dissatisfaction with their bodies, self image and appearance. While some
people of this world find salvation in diets & distraction, others only salvage shattered pieces of themselves they struggle to reassemble bc nothing “fits.” Ragged edges against ragged edges – drugs are like drippy glue with a metabolic shelf life of a few hours. The sought after softening, even if just for a minute of relief. Often in the death of their childhood that never came to be or the death of a loved one who signified their only reason to live. The trust that was lost – or stolen – from their bodies becomes an instinctual hardwiring that in order to reprogram takes mind bending therapeutic and clinical application, commonly not without the help of medication.
_ oh this isn’t me, we say, but the funny thing is – this is everyone.
Hence, Therapeutic Eating.
My heart, time and pre-licensure hours go out to the women I sit with on a daily basis who tell me so little and so much at once. That their bodies are often the punching bag for the abuse, neglect and violence they’ve endured and that their babies are one of the best (and only) motivating factors to keep them keeping on. We all need something right?
One day. Some day. We’ll rise up to the beauty of our own resurrection. Because no matter the prize or privilege of our existence here, we’re here to keep on becoming.
Enjoy the Cadbury’s