I'm Cake & You Are Too

I'm participating in this very powerful, very deep, mind-blowing writing course - Writing the Womb. I knew this kind of writing was going to stretch me - I enjoy writing and I can spew journal pages and streams of consciousness with the best of them but Isabel Abbott is a different force of nature. I connect with her writing in a way that I do not understand, but I connect. So, I took the plunge.

It's late and I essentially just had an hours long therapy session with my journal and pen so I'm going to nutshell this.

Ok - so the writing prompt was to spend some time writing out all the stories we've been told. Down and dirty, quick and raw - I was told... I was told... I was told... - you get the idea. I set the timer for thirty minutes and went for it.

I filled four pages.

I sat in the dark wanting to puke, scream, weep, and throw my naked body back to the earth and call it home. I went back through each line and gave an internal 'fuck off' to all of those 'I was told...' And then I realized my kids were finally asleep so I got up from my cozy spot, clicked off the lava lamp and kissed them goodnight. And vowed to be mindful of the 'I was told...' stories I'm offering to each of them (I'm a bit fear-stricken at the journal entries of my daughters when they hit 40...or 11, for that matter.)

And then it hit me. I'm cake. I am not these stories - these statements - these ingredients - I've been told. I'm not just the flour or the egg. I'm the cake. I am the sum of my parts...and THOSE parts aren't actually in my recipe. And my recipe changes from day to day. I'm tired of feeling shit-tons of  remorse because one day I feel this way and tomorrow I'll feel that way.

We are all cakes. We have to stop defining ourselves by these stories that have either been told to us or are being told about us. Am I emotional? Yes. How does this play into my cake? It makes it rich. Am I intuitive? Yes. This makes my cake delicious. Does it take me two hours to shop at the grocery store? Well yes because most of the time I'm solo or down to one kid and, well, we go slow. Does this make me selfish and irresponsible? Wait. What? No. Shut-up.

I was told I am lazy.
I was told I deserved it.
I was told it didn't matter.
I was told I could handle it.
I was told I was her best friend.
I was told to quit.
I was told to stop crying.
I was told to get over it.
I was told to do it (insert anything) on my own time.
I was told I don't make sense.

Those stories are not mine. Those stories grew from the fear of others. This is truth. However, in that truth I surprisingly found acceptance and empathy, or was it that forgiveness thing that people keep talking about? I don't know but...I realized that these others are also cake. Their love for me or their desire to love me should not/is not defined by their fearful statements. They are also not defined by their ingredients. We are all just cake - sweet, delicious, could have you every day - cake. And that's when I realized what was mine.

My recipe goes something like this:

I am love.
I am light.
I am power.
I am strength.
I am determination.
I am whimsy.
I am connected.
I am intuition.
I am laughter.
I am a child.
I am imperfection.
I am trust.
I am whole.

This prompt ended with an entirely different affirmation then what I thought going in. It's the alchemy of Isabel.

Who wants cake?