When I was a girl, all I dreamed of was love.
It was what I sought. It was what my spirit craved.
It was a deep need ~ a tangible sensation that I could not quite describe yet knew was vital.
For the most part, however, it was absent - at least in the way that I needed it.
The love that I initially grew within was fierce and painful. Sometimes, it struck me - with a leather belt, with a swift slap across the face, with a fistful of hair being pulled from my scalp. Sometimes, it looked like a white bar of Ivory soap being disgustingly dragged across my teeth. The most hurtful times, though, was when it sounded like, "You good for nothing lazy lout." Or, "You bitch!" Sometimes, it sounded like the upstairs bathroom window being slammed shut and the heavy commode doors, to where my father's thick leather strap was kept, being opened. When I was girl, love was not respectful. There were no words with which to share the hurt feelings of days passing. Honest vulnerability was viewed as a weakness - it was something to be ashamed of and hidden.
When I was a girl, my first true love was gymnastics. Physical movement has always been my refuge - the place where I could fully express my deepest longings, my sadness and my pain, my elation and my joy. On school campuses, I gravitated towards the grass fields for games of softball or tag, towards Chinese jump ropes, to jungle gyms and swings, to anything that kept my body in motion while creating relations with others not through words but through touch, contact and movement. I've never been one to be able to stand around and talk. For the truth of the matter is, I am still learning how to communicate honestly and with vulnerability with my fellow humans.
As I grew into my developing woman's body, I began to attract more attention based on how my physical appearance was unfolding. I mistook this attention for love. How desperately I craved it, yet how ignorant I was of what love actually is. So, I sought more attention. I sucked it up like a fish out of water. I took and I took and I took. I gave very little because I was afraid - for the only love I knew physically and emotionally hurt me.
I left San Diego County, and all that I had known for twelve years, for a college located six hundred miles north. My own rife insecurities broke me open. I had sacrificed my voice, my humor, and my personality, for this so-called "loving" attention. I grew angry - angry at men and society for reducing me into an object to be externally consumed (although, now I get that I reduced myself). I rebelled. I shaved my head and then I refused to shave. I refused love when it was offered and I continued to pad my still unfolding curves with the thick walls of fear, insecurities and anger. I removed myself from most conventionality and spent much time alone and in solitude. I tried to learn how to love myself. For the first time publicly, I opened up my mouth and spoke one of my truths, of growing up with domestic violence. The gaping jaws of my peers, after telling an April Fool's story from my childhood when my mother pretended she was going to beat my siblings and I, showed me that this was not normal behavior, Cara. This was not okay. What, then, was okay?
So, I walked and rode my bicycle. I painted with watercolors and sang to my heart's content - Ani DiFranco & the Indigo Girls are still on the top of my play lists. I continued to write - writing has also always been a refuge. I tried to make food in the comfort of my own kitchen - steamed zucchini and broccoli over rice was an easy menu item. I danced and I danced and I danced. I still didn't know how to love others but I was learning how to take care of me. I was learning how to feed my spirit.
