Just love her, love her hard.

Still I Rise

BY MAYA ANGELOUYou may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I’ll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
’Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I’ll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops,
Weakened by my soulful cries?

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don’t you take it awful hard
’Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines
Diggin’ in my own backyard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I’ll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I’ve got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history’s shame
I rise
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I rise
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.

Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.

I love Maya Angelou, Phenomenal woman used to be my favourite of her prose, or Touched by an Angel- but these last few weeks have had me drawn to “Still I Rise”.

I don’t want this period in my life to define me, I don’t want to be forever talking about it. I want my family to rise from it, stronger and more bonded then ever before. I don’t want to sound like a cliche, but I want to grow from it.

By keeping on being drawn into anger, resentment and pity at and for him I am continuing to give him control, give him space in my head. This needs to stop, these blogs need to stop. I need to talk about things with give me joy, not pain.

He keeps telling me he is changing, I want so desperately to believe it is true, that he is simply Ill and can get better. I think it’s because I want to believe that I wasn’t a victim, I have never wanted “Victim” to be my narrative. By continuing to try amd find the good I am denying his abuse.

I had a new client in today and she touched on the fact she had been through an awful time, emotional and horrific physical abuse, something she said resonated with me, “it’s not a bad thing to admit I was abused, it was in no way my fault. By admitting I was abused I take ownership, I tell the world that I am a loving, trusting and warm person, that I see the good in everyone and everything”. The relationship we have as stylists with our clients often crosses boundaries, and in some cases, such as this, it’s not necessarily a bad thing.

He keeps asking me what I want from him, and I now realise- I want, because i refuse to believe he is evil, just damaged, for him to meet someone and just fucking love her. Be kind to her. Be the sunshine which helps her grow, not the frozen ground which makes her die. Show her, even when you are arguing, that her thoughts and feelings mean something to you, that you care. Support her, talk to her, compromise. Just love her hard, love the essence of her. The good and the bad. Be her rock when needed but also her softness and her joy. Never stop stroking her hair, touching her waist. Always dance with her in the kitchen, make love to her with the lights on. It’s not your job to challenge her, it’s your job to encourage her.

Just show her her value, tell her you know her worth. Just love the bones of her.

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