“God I love that smell”
There it is.
Man wash.
Manpoo.
Beard conditioner?
They make that stuff?
All of these wonderful, glorious, exhilarating masculine smelling items littered about my bathroom.
“You’re smiling to yourself again” whispered with a giggle under the hot water.
Steam encompassing me.
Showers have always been my safe space. Baths too. When you are naked your mind exudes vulnerability. To me I have always believed that to be a strong woman you MUST be vulnerable. Yet I have spent so much of my life hiding it, even from myself. Many times in my darkest moments I have curled up in an empty tub naked with the kind of tears that just stream. Not cry and not not crying. I had made my safe place my prison as well. Not a place of relaxation but of decomposition.
I catch myself lingering in the spots where those smells permeate.
It has been almost two years where nothing but lady and baby items have been contained in my spaces. Two years without anything resembling forward movement when it came to mind, body, soul connection with another human. Two fucking years without someone to say that they took out the trash and a “Have a great day beautiful” text.
It has been far too long.
Until now I didn’t realize that I missed it.
An exclusive party that only a few are invited to I did not think I would ever meet someone who wanted to sit in the silence with me equally as much. Nor did I think I would allow anyone that close again.
The first year of widowhood was hard. Like a young kid off the streets I chose over and over again those who would treat me as I felt. I wanted them to hurt me so I was not the only one doing it. I wanted to feel something within that numbing vortex of loss. Even if it took pain at least I remembered in blips that I was still alive although so completely dead inside. “Smile. They are watching.” Was the mantra as I self-destructed in front of the blinded.
I.
I isolated myself.
Pushing myself further away from anything/everything that would reiterate that I would indeed open my eyes again the next morning. Day after day. Month after month. Seconds sometimes lasted forever in this place of complete self-hatred.
No one understood. How could they? Even my tribe felt far from me.
Then I was seen.
Like really looked at.
This was not some sweep you off your feet, run away with me, let me impregnate you and grow old together type of look.
This was “oh, you are a very cool, person. Can I get to know you more?”
Instead of the typical:
“You’re crazy.”
“Do you even have a filter?”
“Oh you’re a WIDOW?!!?!?!”
A year into complete loss I was seen again.
This look was so incredibly necessary to lead me to this moment in my shower.
THIS moment.
Smiling to myself.
Full of love and respect for me. Growing. Always.
I have no idea what the future holds. Not even what will happen in an hour. I do know that I have worked and waited for this moment. I know I have the capacity now to give the very best version of me. The most authentic me. All of me.
If I can just be brave enough.
*Inhale*
I am so in love with the pieces of us scattered in this space. 💗
The Optimistic Widow 