Soul Stories: It was Sunday, the time is Happened


It was Sunday, the time is happened…

The cupcakes needed to be made.  What did I need from the pantry?  Flour, sugar, butter, yes for sure.  Cupcakes on a Sunday.  For no reason.  Or. For so many reasons.  To celebrate an awakening.  An invitation to do more that just what is needed.  To be more extraordinary in the ordinary.  Cupcakes seems to me to be just the right amount of cake. 
I never let myself have cake.  Like EVER.  There is so much guilt tied to it.   I remember eating a piece of cake when I was younger and my mom saying, “you are going to need to run around the block a few times to get it off.”  How old was I? I lived in the house on Harned.  In Detroit.  So younger than 12 or 13 I think.  The same age that Josey is now.  I noticed the other day that Josey has a body identical to mine.  And she is in no way fat.  And this is the body my mom was talking to.

I find lately that these little conversations from my past trigger me and I go from rage toward a woman saying these things to her daughter to a place of pity that she had bought into the lies of the times told women.  And I am trapped in those lies.  And they are so hard to banish them from my brain.  Turning 50 is triggering nutty thoughts in my brain.  Like think of how much cake you haven’t eaten.  And how many pieces of cake do I have left to enjoy.  Like it’s a privilege.  How have ai missed it?  Where else have I missed out on the privileges of life?  Deprivation has become a way of life for me.  I know I need to change this.  One choice at a time.  So, I can savor it.  And celebrate it.  And so that it feels so subtle that daughter never catches on that this was a thine that used to defile me.