Am I getting by?
Am I happy?
Am I still the girl I used to be?
Barely.

I’m not the person I once was and I’ve spent way too much energy in denial about the (undeniable) change. I’m mourning the loss of who I thought I’d remain. I think it’s time to surrender to the truth of it: the Ntoetse I was when I started this Baby Reg journey is someone else now. Every single thing I’ve said about this period in time is true. My last post, where I felt like I needed to call upon every woman I’ve ever been, my entire lineage and higher power so that I don’t lose my mind (and spark), is absolutely true. I’ve had no time. No time to breath, to grieve, to study, to fall apart, to reflect. It’s a brutal crushing weight to carry because there’s nowhere to put it down. There’s no off button. And baby, if you wait for people to treat you like you’re a human person with a life and boundaries, you’ll be waiting a very long time (I’m still waiting).

You get calls to perform miracles from your bed (rest is not respected), you get whatsapp messages in the middle of the night (boundaries are not respected), you’ll get feedback that you can do nothing about (honesty is not respected), you’ll be spoken about and never spoken to (vulnerability is not respected), you must work at lightspeed but never cut corners while also knowing details that require TIME and thought to acquire (reality is not respected). TLDR; you are not a person you’re a reg and you can do anything, anywhere any time (your limits and time, as a concept, is not respected).

Now.
Now I have no answers. I am learning to embrace my new life and finding pockets to make it my own. Reshape a new image of myself. I’m going to spend less energy pretending I can go back, “we’re not in Kansas anymore”. My only true goal at the beginning of the year was to strike a balance between the Ntoetse I unearthed when I stepped away from medicine and the Ntoetse I am now (honestly, medicine’s bitch). My now ex, laughed: “that’s not a real goal” he smirked (it is one of the reasons I couldn’t ever truly picture him in my future). He had no appreciation for how close I was to drowning at all times; no concept of the daily, all-consuming fight to just barely keep my head above water. He saw only how much (or rather how little) time I could dedicate to him.

For the record: I know exactly what I’m supposed to do BTW. I have a plan. Plans. I have a white board with a study list, textbooks, to do lists, calendars. I have a therapist I haven’t been able to make time to see in MONTHS, a physiotherapist whose face I see in my mind when my ankle aches after a brutal call (until I’m reminded that that she works normal working hours and I’ll ever be able to see her until I do the same). I have 2 expired massage vouchers (and a 3rd one that is a gift; I have every plan to use it this very weekend). I have a whole entire gym membership that is gathering dust and so. many. intentions. I am not unaware of what needs to be done. It’s just impossible. When you’re working basically 10-12 hour (inhumane) shifts every single day (an “early” leave before 6pm day feels like a miracle unicorn), when exactly is one supposed to do any of The Things?

My new toolbox: I am going to seek, accept and collect micro moments of joy peace and contentment. Moments that make me feel like myself. I’m calling them: triumphant returns😊. I coined that today because I made it to the gym for the first time in almost 8 months (for my long since-abandoned 5pm Wednesday yin yoga class). I was looking up at my toes as the sun set my skin ablaze in a red-gold glow. I was in a quiet room with my thoughts and slowly stretching my body as the sun set over my face. And knew I a frighteningly rare moment of peace. This entire piece walked into my mind, fully formed. I thought I’d been too busy to write but today I learned that my muse is a patient (dramatic) hun who never left me. She just couldn’t reach me, or rather I couldn’t hear her (or myself) until I dialled everything way down. I realised that yin-yoga is one of the ways I know that God loves me. I know this despite being bad at “regular” yoga (made even funnier because my introduction to yoga was through a once beloved friend whose wedding I attended that I no longer speak to because she’s a proud Zionist who has since emigrated to Israel). I asked myself, what are the other moments I know God loves me?

And dear reader: I will share them, seek and embrace them because they are beautiful little moments. And they are more than enough. They will be the gentle rain that nourishes me through this storm raging all around me. A Rainbow Promise and North star.

I feel it when I’m Watering my plants, when I’m rapping as fast as I can post call, in Walks around my neighbourhood. It’s there when I’m Drinking the magical mocha from the breakfast place around the corner from my home. I feel it when I laugh from my belly and when Sitting in the sun with a friend and saying “look at us, who would’ve thought”. While Bearing witness to the passage of time with my (sleepy) eyes wide open: milestone Birthdays, graduations, promotions, engagements. I see it by the gifts for loved ones that litter my home. It’s in the way that my creativity, in the absence of a formal outlet, bleeds out of me in unexpected ways. In surprisingly poignant, furiously written whatsapp statuses that I’m archiving. In unexpectedly directed photo shoots. In silly outfits. In my maintained whimsy and ever present giggle. In the beautiful house I get to live in that feels like home (and feels like me).

I see it in the little things that make me sad that remind me how easy I am to please: unfinished cups of tea, weeks without a bubble bath, months without finishing a single new movie on my To Watch List (at home). In the joy of an excellent breakfast, a well textured blue slushy (with a dollop of red added), in the beauty of a bouquet of flowers and having all my vases in use because I’m loved. It’s in the easy satisfaction of a long lazy stretch. In the lifesaver that is supplements and multivitamins. In the gift of good skin and healthy long growing locs. In the comfort blanket that is Abbott Elementary and the foot-kicking adorably romantic moments in an Emily Henry book. It’s in an open casting call and the 3rd Children of Blood & Bone book dropping this year.

It’s In my quiet inner voice reminding me that all the girls I’ve been before are still alive and along for the ride even if they’re no longer at the steering wheel. That they’re all cheering for me and proud of who I’ve had to become and the part they all played to get me here. That this version of me has the honour (and tools) to collectively get us through this. And that is how I know that God loves me.

I’ve been so busy that I haven’t even had the time to sit with the magic unfolding within me. I’m falling in love. Well, I’m not so much falling as walking purposefully and clearly into love. It is a gentle sweet deep thing unfurling slowly in my chest. I almost can’t believe its mine. That this is also me. That all of this pain and sweetness is coexisting inside of the human I am right now. And if life is just a constellation of sweet small moments I am, in fact, living. And collecting. And breathing.

The plan is to celebrate every single “triumphant return”, collect small moments and have grace for every ball I am definitely still going to drop during this painful time. Ironically, I am still on track with my year goal: all of me can coexist. The old me still exists, the new me can find pockets of joy and new unexpected things altogether. If only just barely.