#LessonsFromMyCat

My mental health has been shit this summer. I’ll admit that my self-care practices aren’t great- I’ll sleep away bad days and crappy feelings. I hermit and push people away. I disappear, physically and mentally. But it’s hard to hide from your pet.

Canela Jospehine Tyrell is my fur child. She is named after a deer (a “savage thiccum”) and her personality matches her namesake. She’s vocal about receiving her breakfast and dinner at the exact time each day and loves to go outside to munch on grass. Canela attacks my feet in the middle of the night but knows when I’m sad and in need of comfort. Her sassiness and sweetness (key Calico traits) provide me with desperately needed moments of laughter and warmth when dealing with my depression lows.

Canela was a birthday present from my friend four years ago. I missed having a furry friend after my cat, Hova, passed away from kidney failure. Elli drove me to the local shelter where I played with a handful of cats before I came upon Canela in her cage. She was aloof as I reached in to pet her and cautiously sniffed my hand, terrified that another stranger wanted to touch her. I thought she was beautiful and asked the shelter attendant if I could spend one-on-one time with her. I sat on the floor of the visitors’ room, leaning my back against the wall. Canela stood in the opposite corner, sizing me up as I talked to her. I told her that I was her friend and tried to coax her over to me. After a few minutes of sweet talk, she walked over and sat next me. She looked up with her big, yellow eyes as if she said, “You’re okay. I like you.”

I learned from the shelter that Canela was returned by the first family that adopted her. She was labeled, “aggressive,” but I believe that she was abused. To this day, Canela doesn’t like most men. She tolerates my roommate, Pete, but she has never warmed up to any of my male friends in the way she approaches my female ones. Trauma in animals, just as in humans, can have a lasting impact on their behavior and social interactions.

Canela took a while to adjust to her new life after I brought her home. For the first month, she only slept under my bed. She wasn’t interested in cuddles or toys. She’d bite everytime I tried to touch her. I didn’t know what to do. I was hurt and concerned. The advice I was given simply stated to leave her alone and let her come to me when she was ready. So, I did. I made sure she had a safe space to grow to love and respected her boundaries.

It was a Tuesday morning when I woke up and found Canela sleeping on the edge of my bed. I shrieked with delight, causing her to wake up and run to the closet to hide. As the days progressed, she became more comfortable sleeping out in the open. That led to her becoming more accepting of snuggles and attention. Now, Canela is a clingy purr machine who follows me around the apartment (she especially loves our bathroom visits together). She lets me bury my face in her soft fur when I cry and loves scratches behind her ears.

When I think about my journey of growth, I often compare it to Canela’s. There are times when I’m incredibly frustrated with myself about my lack of mental progress. But then, I look at Canela and am reminded that progress happens in gradual, incremental steps. She has shown me how to embrace small wins and how to stay consistent with routine. Growth can happen. It just takes time. I need to be patient with myself, just as I am with my cat child. Every day, she reminds me to stay curious and adaptable to new challenges. Moreover, in her own charming way, she’s highlighted the value of having a support system, much like how Canela relied on my love and guidance. You can’t evolve alone- surrounding oneself with a supportive network can make a significant difference.

My relationship with Canela goes beyond companionship and love; it’s a source of wisdom and inspiration. She has become my source of structure and motivation (I say that I work hard to give my cat a good life). Watching her overcome fears and obstacles has inspired me to face my own problems with a similar spirit. Canela’s presence in my life is a beautiful reminder of the healing power of the human and animal bond. I wonder if she knows how much she takes care of me as much as I take care of her.

And remember, dear reader: adopt, not shop. According to The American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals (ASPCA), about 3.4 million cats enter animal shelters nationwide every year. 1.4 million of these cats are euthanized. If you have room in your heart and your home, please consider adopting a new family member/emotional support animal/best friend today.

#Manifestions

It was around this time last summer when I manifested my first snake.

After participating in World’s Naked Bike Ride, my friends and I continued our night swimming in the springs. We were inebriated, laughing and dancing in the water. Me less so, always trying to be extra cautious. It was dark. The only light shined from our bikes. I sat in the water, being mindful of the current but also of the creatures we couldn’t see. I’ve watched enough horror movies to know that certain things prefer to come out at night. I sat next to a friend, a summer fling, and stressed about the group’s safety, especially concerning things that could bite you. “I know there are poisonous snakes living along the water. I read about them all the time on Reddit.” I thought back to my elementary biology lessons and the Kill Bill movies: cottonmouths, copperheads, corals.

My anxiety started to poke at my brain, telling it that we, the body as a collective and a whole, no longer felt safe sitting in the water. I fought with Summer Fling, explaining to him that something just felt off. I was terrified in that exact moment of something slithery swimming by. And as the words flew out of my mouth, the recognizable shape of a snake curved through the water. Summer Fling and I screamed and ran back to the shore. I was in disbelief but also in awe.

Words have power. I’ve always known that. But I always thought the idea of manifestation was a bunch of witchcraft or ideas with religious subtext. In my 20s, my friends raved about The Secret. When I read its jacket cover at the library, I couldn’t understand why some of the most brilliant women I know believed this New Age bull. The older I get, the more I understand to not yuck anyone’s yum, spiritually or otherwise. What works for some people doesn’t work for others. With that mindset, I listen to my friends passionately ramble about the power of manifestation.

The ideas and things I’m currently manifesting

Are you happy? Like, truly happy? What are the things you need to make life a little bit better, a little happier? I’ve been asking myself that a lot this summer. Although my life is wonderful in its current, survivalist state, I want more. A job where I create work that I’m proud of, with the benefits I deserve. To be financially healthy, as well as physically and mentally. I want to get the hell out of the country for a while. My body yearns to be squished in the middle seat of a busy airplane between two linebackers, heading to a mountainous destination that makes me feel like I’m in an Outlander episode. And I’ll admit it- I’m ready to start dating again. I don’t think that I desire too much, I explained to my friend, Naomi, as I wrapped bubble wrap around a glass bowl. Naomi was moving to Virginia and I came over to help her pack. The walls of her sunlit bedroom were covered in positive affirmations and handwritten manifestations. She told me about how the affirmations and manifestations were particularly helpful after a bad accident.

“They really work,” she said. I asked if they could help me find that job that I yearn for, the one that paves the way to travel and provides financial stability. I was just laid off a couple of weeks before. Naomi gave me a thumbs up, the universal hand signal for “stop overthinking and just fucking do it.” So, I listened and I did it. I wrote down the dreams I’m manifesting on sheets of paper and posted them on my bedroom wall where I can view them every day. I look at the sheets most mornings and most evenings before I go to bed, wondering and waiting.

In the 68 days since I put these up, I have :

• Gotten a job. I’m back to working service industry. I’m grateful to be working again. Unemployment nearly killed me. But I know that I can do something else. Something more. I deserve to be doing what I’m good at, what I like to do, and get paid decently for it.
• Managed to make some pretty good financial decisions. Fuck, I’m just grateful that I didn’t overdraw my bank account during this unemployment mess.
• Gone on some dates. Met some lovely people. One I’d like to stay friends with. No one I could see a future with. I really relied on my friends this time around, though. It was nice to feel loved and welcomed in spaces that I once felt awkward in.

Am I manifesting correctly? (I think) I’m seeing results. They’re not the exact ones I’ve been hoping for. Do I need to be more specific? Do I need to say something particular? How proactive do I need to be? That last question reminds me of Jenna Elfman’s character in the high school genre classic, “Can’t Hardly Wait.” She plays an angel/sex worker who encourages our hero (and my high school crush), Preston to tell someone how he feels. There is fate. But it only takes you so far. Because once you’re there, it’s up to you to make it happen.

The perfect day on Padre Island

Since the beginning of the year, I’ve fantasized about being on a beach. Just me in a little bikini with a good book, a margarita and a pretty coastline with blue water. A friend graciously let me use his car as he traveled out of Austin. I had the day off from work and didn’t want to spend it at home. I decided at four in the morning to drive three hours to the Texas beach town of Corpus Christy. There, I spent hours roaming the beach, pretending to be a mermaid in the warm gulf waters, talking to strangers and catching up on some reading. It wasn’t the Caribbean fantasy that I imagined but that Friday was the best day I’ve had in a long time.

Maybe this manifestation shit does works. Can I manifest this sunburn away?

#FeelingRepressed

Last month, I went to my first kink conference, South Land Plains Leatherfest (SLPL) in Dallas, TX. I spent four days talking about Master/slave and Dominant/submissive dynamics and the role of race play in BDSM, meeting wonderful people and letting my sadistic side play with some consenting adults. That Saturday night, I dressed in blue lingerie and matching knee socks and went to town on two individuals, bitting, scratching and hitting them with various impact toys and my bare hands. 

I posted some photos of the weekend on my Instagram, excited to share this side of my life that I don’t often share with the public. I received a lot of comments about the things I was learning and doing at SLPL, including some DMs that mentioned how my bravery. Some of my friends wished that they were able to sexually express themselves in the ways that I do, with an emphasis on sado-masochism. Although I do appreciate my friends’ comments, I don’t consider myself brave. I’m just at a place in my life where I not longer feel oppressed by it. But it has been a journey to get to that place.

I started thinking a lot about sexual repression and how so many people hide their most inner desires not only from the outside world but from themselves. Sexual repression is one’s inability to express their sexual likes and dislikes. The act of being sexual carries a lot of weight, triggering feelings of guilt, shame and embarrassment. There is the heaviness to figuring out one’s gender, orientation, desires and hard limits that many don’t discuss. Some have been shamed about sex since their youth- before they have an understanding of what sex is, they already feel that the sexual part of themselves is dirty or wrong. Sometimes, sex is painful. Sexual trauma also comes to light, as well as society’s influence, negativity steering mindsets. As a result, those who are sexually repressed have learned to squash perfectly natural desires in order to protect themselves.

I’ve always had a healthy curiosity about pleasure and the human body. I always saw sex as something to explore and expand on. If we are expected to grow as people, shouldn’t we expand our sexual preferences, as well? These days, I don’t feel much shame about my sex life. I’ve done the things and the people that I have done and it is what it is. I like what I like. I know that I like some weird stuff but it is what makes up me and I like me. 

I, like many American women, have felt the sexual repression our society as put on us. It often starts with remarks from the people that we’re closest to- I think about my mother being the first person to body shame me. I had D-cup sized breasts since I was ten and I hated wearing a bra (still do). 11-year-old-me was outside one afternoon, playing with my sisters when my mom drove up. I ran to her car with what my mother called, bouncing boulders looking like they’d smack me in the face. I started wearing bras at every day since then, a habit that I only broke when I was in my 30s. 

Appearance aside, women traditionally have the expectation of needing to be demure and submissive, which can be pretty limiting when you’re not that, especially if you want to let your more dominate side shine. Gender roles and the patriarchy have told women that sex is for procreation and that our pleasure doesn’t matter (look at the majority of online porn- the majority of it caters to hetero men). Our sexual power is diminished or reduced to a little box of expectations when it should be celebrated and coveted. 

I wish that I had the answers on how to be less sexually repressed. I’m not a therapist but I know what has worked for me. Masturbation is a great way to get to learn your body and what you want. I have done a lot of shadow work during self-pleasuring, connecting with my body during times when I really hated my appearance and battled with thoughts of being undesirable. At those times, I focus on making myself feel good in the safety of my bedroom. Fuck a partner (both literally and figuratively) but I am first. I cum first. My heart is taken care of. My pleasure comes first.

Talking therapy is also a great tool. Being open and talking with your partner about your history with sex and how your mind and body feel during all the moments of intimacy is important. I learned that it is vital to have that space to explore and be vulnerable, from long-term relationships to one night stands. I enjoy the kink stuff that I enjoy because of the grace that I’ve been given with past partners. 

I ask you today, dear reader, if you feel any sexual repression, why do you feel that way? What brings you shame, confusion and feelings of powerlessness and inferiority? What is holding you back from being your true self? Sexual repression is driven by negative emotions and sex is already taboo to talk about. However, everyone has a right to pleasure, and that there is nothing wrong with enjoying your sexuality. Ending repression is a journey but it’s a journey worth taking. 

American public school sex education… Sexual repression at its finest.