Confessions of a libra

Bad bitch hours | Credit: Here

05.06.25

My first spiritual awakening was the kind of horror that would make many surrender on their knees and beg the Gods to end it all. I was 21, I had been ill for 12 months straight only to find out it was stress related IBS. I had changed my entire lifestyle; I was eating well, I had adopted meditation/yoga/walking daily during this era, I was thinking of making a career change because I had no qualifications to get me a better job than the one that drained me.

My quitting the job that made me ill triggered a break up with someone I had been with for roughly 2 and a half years. Which to me was a powerplay. I had outlived my usefulness by then so the fact that I was struggling with depression and sick made it the perfect backdrop to be discarded like yesterday’s meat. It doesn’t help that I felt the animosity of the different people in his life who craved more access to him. I wish I was more surprised when it happened.

While I had been in relationships before, this felt like my first soul-bonded relationship. As such, this is the individual I refer to as my first love. The kind of connection we had – at least for me – was so intense that during the breakup I dreamt of him almost daily. Sometimes it was spirit just telling me the lay of the land. I moved in with my best friend and I was roughly a size 6 by that point due to the IBS. The following months while I was working on healing, it got worse before it got better. In that 12 months before the breakup, I had lost 10kg. Following the break-up I lost so much weight I was wearing a size 4 and reached 37kgs before the age of 22. It was hard for my loved ones to watch. My relationship with my family was already on shaky grounds. Were it not for my best friend, I would have felt totally abandoned by the universe.

We spurred on each other’s interest in spirituality. We would go buy these cheap The Reject Shop candles, our favourite were the apple and cinnamon. We would light them and sit parallel to each other, reading up on different forms of spirituality. We started trying out spiritual baths. We meditated together, did yoga together, went to metaphysical shops and had long interesting discussions about the intersection of spiritual practices. We had our moldavite period during this time and we would sleep with it taped to our third eyes because we are crazy. Mine ran away first, hers was useful for a little while longer. During this time, I had a pivotal dream.

I’m in a large hallway with other souls. I can’t see them here but I feel them with me. The hall is spacious, well lit and there’s a golden quality to the energy and surfaces. I am floating. I am floating slowly towards the ceiling but there is no ceiling. I know I am not the only one. I feel watched, welcomed. Likely the ancestors I assume. I keep floating and the feeling is a rush. It’s beautiful, I feel welcomed, I feel safe and I could be ascending forever for all I know.

We spoke about this dream and its symbolism. The fact that I can still remember it to this day shows its importance and having asked spirit, they confirmed that it was a visual representation of the ascension I was having. I had been initiated and was accepted into higher realms. At that time, we surmised that it was a good omen, but we were dealing with yet another devil. While I lived with my best friend, we were living with her ex-best friend. A sociopathic, blonde Scorpio who brings out a wrath in me reserved for few (she triggers my justice sensitivity bad).

As I was trialling a new job, my bestie would be sending me text messages about new forms of psychological warfare this young girl was imposing upon the household. Often we would arrive home and the Scorpio in question would decide to start having loud, egregious sex. So while this house was supposed to be my new refuge we were often leaving the house to sit at Brighton beach. At night, with our chai’s. Perplexed at the chaos of our early 20’s and actively trying to manifest a better life.

My early 20’s felt like navigating so much betrayal and condescension. People around me who had projected arrogance upon me due to their own self esteem issues, took any opportunity to make themselves feel better than me. All the while, I was genuinely just trying to survive. I often asked if I deserved what I was going through but inside, I knew I didn’t want to be the kind of person perpetuating harm upon me. You see, my softness is something that I value. I have loved gently in a world that asked for me to clench my fists and know my place. I was loved for being brave enough to express my opinion then punished for ever having dared to at all. My refusal to accept any status quo eventually rubbed many people the wrong way, except my best friend. Let’s call her by her preferred name, Weneiya.

I am a Taurus moon in astrology. The moon represents; our emotions, our subconscious, our intuition and even our mothers. I view softness as a human right. I deserve to eat my meal and have it take 2 hours if I want it to. I view my sensuality as a coming home not a costume to try on. When we were still living with Ms Scorpio, we went out of the house a lot to avoid conflict. I have always felt that removing myself from situations that are beneath me (in maturity) is the only reasonable option.

The aim was not simply to remove ourselves so we could mope. We removed ourselves and created new memories. As such when I look back now at that time, I look back upon it with more fondness for how intentional we were in the face of hardship. We would go to the beach with a joint to journal. We fell in love with Chapelli’s a 24 hour cafe in South Yarra. We had so many meals there and overheard some pretty hilarious conversations, I’m sure we will recount them one day on our podcast.

Weneiya has her Venus in Taurus. Venus is the planet of love, business, creativity, balance and relationships. It made it easier for us to think of slow movement and integrate intentional sensual practices together. Our bond is not built on love alone, and many who have come into my life seeking to take her place fail to see the genuine hard work we have done together. We did our shadow work together. Our friendship has never been a place to go hide and live in la la land. We have held each other accountable and we have brought each other up.

I don’t view life’s hardship personally as an excuse for complete self abandonment. I think hardship gives you a lot of leeway though. I credit my ability to see and action moments of pleasure or softness during hardship as the reason I never lose myself. You could tell me my house burnt down with all its belongings today and I will go buy some white chocolate and eat it while doing the insurance paperwork.

Society assumes softness is naivete. As though choosing to dress like a character, and live in your own reality makes you obtuse. That it makes you unable to understand the realities of the world. I have often heard men speak to women like that. As though doing Construction is the height of life’s hardship. Women are often keeping from you so many debilitating reproductive issues. We are always managing our emotions, as well as everyone else’s. I think women understand hardship, even if they aren’t driving a ute to prove it.

Observationally I have always found it funny that some people freak out at the smallest bit of hardship, and that shows me that they haven’t experienced anything truly that harrowing. Once you have reached a level where you laugh at the absurdity of life ramming you up the arse, you won’t bother swearing expletives at the cashier in Woolworths.

Black women often have to work harder to preserve their softness. This is because society doesn’t see us as soft or deserving of it. We are seen as loud, brash, blunt and capable. I have been excluded from girly things because what would I learn from it that since I already know everything? Once again, black people have to fight to be seen as feminine where others femininity is a given and respected. If I ever wore short shorts it was a problem because my butt was big, but the next white lady could do it because she had the benefit of not being oversexualised. Her fashion choices can be seen as creative outlets, while mine are seen as attention-seeking.

Tenderness has given me a better relationship with my body. Over the years I have worked on not making casual negative remarks about my body. Women’s relationships to weight loss and weight gain can be disorienting because of how loud and wrong society is with its opinion. So I started actively curating my social media back then, and by now I do regular social media edits. I want to be surrounded by voices that advocate for loving your body or even learning to be neutral about it.

I for the longest time, was insecure about my stomach because of some hyperpigmentation marks I had from scarring. After that breakup one of the first things I did was get a belly button piercing. I had wanted one since I was a teenager but even my progressive African mother wasn’t having it. I did it because it was worth me looking down and feeling anything other than judgement. I’m still happy with my choice till this day. I also ended up getting a tattoo in the spot that irked me within a couple of years. It was my first tattoo, and it says “I am magick”. Talk about foreshadowing.

I have learnt to touch my own body and skin with the care that it deserves. Like most Black people, I was taught how to take care of it from home. What I learnt outside of home is to appreciate that I had that upbringing. I encountered a lot of Australians who didn’t have any rituals that they upheld about their skincare. Their philosophy was they would start buying creams when the wrinkles came, then they would likely get botox. My thoughts and feelings about this I will write about in a separate post about my journey to become a Dermal Therapist and what I want to do with it moving forward.

My tenderness taught me that I find life to be bleak without it. I love slowing down and smelling the roses. I love buying cheap magazines and doing a moodboard while some aspect of my life is seemingly falling apart. When I lean into my creativity, when I nurse myself – I rebuke the hardening that comes with losing hope. I infuse hope into my environment. I still allow myself to cry and say everything is unfair, but being intentional changes the whole game.

It gives you structure and a framework to lean on while you survive, until one day you are simply thriving. My tenderness has facilitated a relationship with my ancestors. Though many of them also suffered through hardship, they would have also taken liberties were they can. I was being supported my elemental forces who I knew didn’t think I deserved what I was going through. It made it easier to hold onto what little embers of light I could, in the hopes that they would clear a path forward for me.

Your sensuality, romanticism and eye for beauty doesn’t have to suffer from your circumstances. I think it is really healthy to learn to find hope in the darkest places. Black people have often used music as an anchor for any hardship; whether it be slavery, displacement or racism. It’s as much my own thing as it is inherited. You do not have to perform your suffering in a way that makes the next person happy to have placed you in a box. I wish people would stop equating people’s worth with their present circumstances. You are worthy of tenderness and love even when you feel that you are falling apart. You were not born to suffer, you were born to grow through the suffering. May your softness be the thing you guard with your life, so it may lead you back to yourself.