Humanity
The Power of a Word
Labels define us; some find freedom in theirs, while others feel restricted. For me, having one opened up buried inner strength I had long forgotten I possessed. One word, six letters, revealed that I’m beautiful just the way I am. That word was: Empath.
By Britt Blomster 4 years ago in Confessions
Spirituality Is Not Arrogance
One of the best way to fool ourselves is to be too sure about our opinions. It’s true that many things are ‘wrong’, that we could’ve done them in a better way. But that’s where we are right now. There’s no need to give a meaning to our ‘spirituality’ out of the unfortunate things we see in the world.
By Rabih4 years ago in Confessions
As of last Night
What is this story as of last night? The one of the wounded, perishable essence of the existence or the one of the discriminatory, alive version of the existence? There are only two proven ways to know whether we are here or there. We can only be alive or in death.
By Yanet Gonzalez4 years ago in Confessions
How did we get here?
Sometimes I look at where we are, and I honestly wonder how we got to this absolute mess. Im not just talking about the last few years either. I remember a quote going round a while back, and im paraphrasing here, that “9/11 happened and then nothing got any better” and you know what? That’s not too far off.
By Ben Graham4 years ago in Confessions
Hair Tales
Let me tell you the story of curly-haired girls before it was fashionable. I am naturally curly and have never straightened my hair even once. As a child, I have been called many names for having this wild hair - Bhadrakaali, Parachi, Aadivasi et al (These are some caste-based slurs in my mother tongue). All these insults were not from strangers, but from within the family. It is one of the reasons why I still have to struggle with self-confidence. Everything starts at home.
By chembarathi4 years ago in Confessions
Diagnosed Again
My doctor just came out and said it: "I'm sorry to hear you got cancer again." The past few months, my doctor keeps saying he wants to talk about my prognosis. It's the same thing he's said every time I see him for the past few months. My oncologist even said it, and I know he's looking for an apology. I don't want to talk about it. I want to write about it.
By William Bamberg4 years ago in Confessions
The Me You Can't See.
I'm extremely emotional today. For several reasons, if I'm honest with myself. And I would like to be honest with myself. I'm not sure how long this will be, but the length doesn't matter to me. My honesty with myself is my only goal right now. I think I've done a very good job of lying to myself about why I'm upset about things in my life. Mostly for fear of seeming weak, or broken, or unsure of myself. So basically human. But the more I teach about self-awareness and emotional intelligence, I'm truly realizing I can't be preaching this stuff in workshops and not being honest with myself when I'm upset about things that deeply hurt me or affect me. Call it a side-affect of childhood trauma, but as a kid, I was never allowed to feel or express my emotions. I had to suppress my deepest fears, anger, anxieties, sadness's, etc. So now as an adult, I still sometimes struggle with acknowledge things that bother me. But after years of therapy tied in with the work I'm currently doing, those faucets are open widely and will not be closed any time soon. So, here goes…
By Whitney Smart4 years ago in Confessions
The Kaleidoscope that was You
The last time I saw him he was in bright yellow socks, gray vans, and a tie-dyed shirt. Now that I think about it, it was the perfect outfit to describe the resplendence that was us. The white representing the pureness of what I felt for him. The pink and red were the cruel things we did to one another. The green showed the small little lines of hope that faded in and out just like we did. And finally, there was a blue undertone that showed the damning fate that we both knew had to happen. The blue was my favorite, maybe because it made his “stop me in my tracks” eyes pop or maybe because it was the only honest color of what we were. Orange was his favorite color, bright neon orange. He probably doesn’t even think twice when he sees mine, something he had memorized at one point.
By Kenlea Barnes4 years ago in Confessions
