Open handed and hearted.

Control.

This is all I want. I just want to know that the people I hire are going to be the right choice. I just want to know that the space we move into will be like the most perfect, snug, crab shell that we’ll cast off for another, even more perfect fit. I just want to know that the yoga instructors will bring their yoga healing magic to the children. I want our therapists to help people heal their own hearts with surgical precision.

I just want an all-will-be-well-promise of Biblical proportions.

I want my children to be safe and ethical and warriors and brave and kind and safe. I want my husband to be able to fulfill his dreams and live a fulfilled life with me and our little (big) babies.

I want my collaborations, projects, ideas, pitches and workshops to be needed, on time and enjoyed. I want our families to always feel connected, heard and supported. 

I want so much for all to be well.

Survivors of sexual trauma control nothing. We cannot stop the attack(s) on our body. We cannot always control our physical, mental, spiritual responses to that trauma. We cannot always control our symptoms. We live with the knowledge that at anytime and in any place, everything – from our bodies to our dreams – can be ripped away with one violent and unwelcome hand.

This is the story that often frames my life.

I don’t spin plates. I cling to them. I hug them to my chest. The joints in my fingers ache and the strain is exhausting. Even when I offer a plate to someone else (delegate) I am keeping one eye out for that plate’s well-being. I’m ready to snatch it out of this air should it be dropped. Like Spiderman. Obviously.

Control. It’s a wicked mythical beast. I am a person who seeks it out even though I know I’m looking for the lochness monster or a werewolf. I see footprints and I follow them into the woods but I always leave unsatisfied.

My life’s work is to constantly be ungrasping the plates. I am committed to sharing my work. I am committed to finding those who can embody the work to the people we serve. 

Nothing is ever all well. It’s not meant to be. All is meant to be mired in mistakes, imperfections, confusion…possibilities for growth and blossoming.

I can’t have any of that real, nitty gritty, trenches kind of work with fists clenched.

This is work for the open handed and open hearted. 

Ever opening,

Tashmica

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