The real me is scared, the remarkable me is posting this

Where do we begin writing the authentic story of ourselves? Whose eyes will these stories fall upon and will they be met with grace? What is the story we are telling, anyway? When will these words be shared, and finally, in the words of John Locke: “How long have you been holding those words in your head, hoping to use them?”

“You have a story that deserves to be told,

But you will have to be strong, be courageous, be bold.

Trust your knowing and let your life unfold,

For though your body is young, your soul is so old.

Share the story of who you come from;

How some were settlers, others were sold

Because now it is your chance to turn dust into gold.

And though the path has been rocky,

Know that you are never alone,

For there are others like you, too, who spread love where they go.

And though, yes, the journey will now require you to be braver,

Worry not now, nor never,

For the wheel now turns in your favour!”

We all have a treasure trove of words we have been waiting to say but are likely too afraid to use. All of us; an interesting and unique story made up of bits and pieces, here and there, ugly and beautiful, confusing and at other times very clear. All of us, with these fears and failures in our pockets, too afraid and matrixed to think them important enough to share, yet all worthy of being heard. And yet, with the weight of accessibility on our shoulders and at our fingertips, somehow we have a duty to share them, for when the spirit calls, we must speak.

“When the spirit speaks, the water whispers.

When the spirit speaks, the water stills.

When the spirit speaks the waters swell.

When the spirit speaks, it wishes you well.”

Here are some poems and here is me, demonstrating how I have grown and who I hope to be. The real me knows that many versions of myself exist, and the remarkable me wants to share those with confidence. But how do I tell people that although life took Nikihil’s breath away in 2016, he still speaks to me today? Or that although we lost Lebo on the first day of my last year at school, she still visits me today? In fact, she is holding my hands as I write this. How do I tell you that I speak to the dead? And yet, I know they never really went anywhere, in fact, they have merely stepped away; are in the next room.

Well, I suppose I begin with courage and I suppose I do it here, on Vocal +, because although that sentence doesn’t sound too poetic, it is the remarkable truth of how I will share this story.

“For when courage comes to find you,

Go with her. Come take her hand.

I promise you this, my darling, this will be so much better than you ever could have planned!”

The real me writes myself love letters, and writes messages from the spirit realm. The real me is the conduit for miracles as my ancestors speak through me and to me, even though my family doubts me. For how do I tell them, confidently, that the poem on courage above were actually words from my late paternal grandfather, who I hardly knew in the living, but have become so close to in his death? Well, I have turned to social media for most of this sharing, and have allowed these platforms to be the host to newness and connection to community. This time, with more wisdom.

To be remarkably me, as a 25-year-old navigating my way through the shallow waters of social media, and the deep waters of my mind, writing sometimes feels like drowning. The real me knows that fear is just an illusion, whilst the remarkable me knows that fear and courage sleep together in the same room and that we must awaken the beast anyway, with a bowl of water prepared to quench its thirst.

The real me was scared to post this, but the remarkable me did it anyway, for I know that I am my most authentic self when I can answer the call and share my words. The remarkable me is sitting at this laptop writing this story, finally answering the call, while the real me is dancing in the garden and singing the wrong lyrics to her favourite songs. The remarkable me is focussed on one thing at a time, while the real me is thinking about all the text messages she hasn’t replied to, as she waits in vain for the one person who she already knows will not reach out. The remarkable me writes eloquently, and consistently, while the real me interchanges while and whilst and although she studies Journalism, hates the news. The two versions have merged here today, and somehow remarkably come together when they hear a call. Here is an example of that version, which exists on Instagram now, and belongs to everyone who reads it; and let me tell you, all versions of me are very proud. Below lies the text that accompanied this photo:

Let me tell you what I see when I look at this picture: I see a red bikini I love, a body and hair that I finally embrace, and a sky that enchants me. A closer look reveals a fungal skin reaction and angles more flattering than others, but a deeper look demonstrates my fear of judgments and insecurities I’m still outgrowing.

At age 21, you’d never catch me in a bikini without shorts on and a serious pep talk in the mirror before coming outside. Since then, at age 25, the notable flaws have moved from my thighs and body hair to this newest edition of my flaws. Science gives this fungus a name - Tinea Versicolor - and curates a very specific story about how it came to be, but as a highly sensitive person, I’ve always had intense physical reactions to my environments; internal and external. So when I reconnected with my paternal family this year, man did this thing spread like wildfire! At first I was like ‘damn’ but then I thought, ‘DAMN! ’. See, the real me is skeptical to post this, but the remarkable me is doing it anyway. The real me remembers seeing these spots on my father’s chest before and is self-conscious about this, while the remarkable me understands that this too shall pass, and indeed, is a message from the spirit.

By now I know the body has this magnificent way of talking to us and that this is all, in fact, a spiritual experience. So here, I see the little girl who quit the swimming team in grade 9 because she was so concerned with the way she looked. This racially ambiguous girl who didn’t want people to figure out what she was made of because her curly hair was a giveaway. But more prominently, I see this self-loving, accepting woman who finally cherishes herself and is so grateful for simple yet life-changing confidence. I used to fear judgment on my looks and captions because I was so insecure but this I worry that people will judge the audacity I have to love myself and express that love out loud. The opinions of the world online shouldn’t be a marker of achievement or aspiration, however. So, I’ll continue to do my inner work and remind people here that mental health really does matter, and it seeps into absolutely everything else! I’m not saying that people are all creating false impressions - I LOVE to see human creativity in the form of edits on this platform. I’m just saying: be mindful of which standards you’re holding yourself to based on what you consume. You’re always worthy of support, and if you don’t feel you get that here, step away or speak louder because in that way, you’ll really find yourself, and then, your people will find you. And that’s one of the best feelings in the world!

Today’s affirmation:

It is a blessing to be in my body

The real me wrote some poems and added to this story, and the remarkable me is ready to share them here. The remarkable me just rescued a fly that was trapped in the sliding door for three days, and although anyone else might have thought it dead, she literally felt its vibration and looked a little closer. The remarkable me knows that that cat on the mat, is the real master and is healing the space around it. The real me eats the honey, while the remarkable me speaks to the honey. The real me has turned down so many job opportunities, and lied about applying to all those other ones, because she wants to be a writer and an artist. The remarkable me knows that I am a healer through my art. Both versions want to stay alive and be seen.

The remarkable me has so much more to add, so much story to tell and editing to do, but the real me is tired and honours the things that make her human, and so she’s going to stop right here. Yet all versions of me hope that this has been, if not remarkable, at least a very, very, real read.

A note from my ancestors, and yours too, if you are reading this:

You are excused

If you are not your best

You may excuse yourself from the table

Give yourself permission step away

Take a break, go play, rediscover the fables

You are now invited to release the things that no longer serve you

You are now encouraged to give yourself only to people who deserve you

We watched you doing all the work,

And we watched you as you cried,

You are now allowed to step away from a pattern of pain and old lies,

For this is your mission, this is now your path

The worst is behind you

Golden child, you played your part

May you move forward with a hopeful feeling

As you acknowledge and thank the cycles of healing

May you grant us permission to gently guide you

As we already powerfully hover over your ceiling

We heard you crying in the night,

(Oh how we laughed as you got a fright)

But those lights flickering wildly -

It was your ancestors celebrating, for you have won the fight

And though no one else has said this in words today,

We hope our whispers are enough:

You are lovely, you are whole, you are remarkable

and you were always more than enough.

May you recognize your path

May you surrender to the next parts

May you soften that sweet heart

May you surprise yourself along the way

Thank you!