Running Towards Softness : Black Queer Living with Chronic Pain
Part prose, part affirmation
*mentions of abuse*
In 2020, while the world began to observe its own unravelling through the pandemic, I had to find anchors in my day to day. Anchoring meaning, the activities and rituals that I go to that provide relief from and space around my existence. Rituals that allowed me to slowly process the experiences in the wake of injustice, which also have triggered a lot of past memories. I knew that in order for me to move forward into my own spiritual journey and to continue to be in compassionate collaboration with my body I needed to clear space in my mind and spirit.
Accepting that I live with chronic pain was not an easy place to get to. Experiencing dismissal from doctors who didn’t listen to my concerns, made it hard to even be in conversation with myself and how I was feeling in my body. Watching my mother struggle to be a mom, homemaker, provider all at once at the expense of her rest, well being, reflection made it all the harder to hear my needs. I watched her not realizing that it had made an impression. Not knowing that it made it almost impossible to imagine what rest would like for me.
My body has been heavily policed, controlled and abused most of my life. I have been told how to dress in order to be an acceptable wife. I have been told that black men would not like me because of lankiness. That I had to wear bras to keep my breasts up and perky. That tight clothing would give the ins with men and that clothing in other areas in my life should be modest to be respected. I was basically taught that my body was for another’s playground.
I recount these experiences (not an exhaustive recap) , to give you an idea of how I struggled to love my body and be in my body. These acts were violent, and I was often blamed for what took place. It was not till much later, and almost my complete undoing before I understood consent, boundaries, self preservation.
One night lying on my back relieved by my tears, I was finally able to validate that I too live with chronic pain. I was finally able to feel it, know it and not ignore it. I've been slowly letting go of the stigma created around cannabis use. A bowl of indica released the entanglements I felt in the left side of my back and hip, resting on my back allowed me to find some relief from strain. I have learned to ignore these signals from my body, because for a very long time beginning in childhood it was tortuous to be in my body. I did not know how to protect it or knew that I could.
I was intrigued and horrified to learn that most queer and trans humxns live with chronic physical pain. Early in my recovery from abuse, a friend pointed out to me that I was disassociating. It was her loving attention, that began to pull me back inward. I have attended a series of workshops over many years; stated intentions out loud in witchy circles. My training with GOODBODYFEEL studio had become an integral part of my healing and acknowledging the ugly I was holding. I am telling you the short version. It took lots of time to reconnect with myself and everything I was actually feeling.
In my later years I paint that pain, prompted by my expressive arts therapist. Chronic pain is one of those difficult things to talk about because I look just fine. Often in my life, when I have expressed distress to friends and family, I was not believed and quickly dismissed.
RUNNING TO SOFTNESS, I decided to call that painting. I framed and hung it up on the wall to remind myself to listen, to bring loving awareness to my body.
Lately,
I grab pillows, I hold them close. I hold them like lost lovers from life times ago, finally finding each other here. At last I sigh, I have a moment of relief. Embracing the difference between daydreaming, visualization, fantasy, vision and astral travel. The past year, I have allowed myself to invest in my body more readily. That investment looked like more pillows, softer blankets and clothing. I am slowly building a sweatsuit collection. I have puffy holographic house slippers to keep my feet warm in winter. It's not about the items really, but the care and attention. I am listening, what does my body need when its yelling at me. I stopped telling myself that I am over sensitive.
Movement has also been that soothing balm for this very tired queer. Running has reminded me to breathe hard and breathe deeply. I hear, be right here, you are existing. I find myself often lighting candles at night dancing in front of the mirror. These are just some of the ways I move through pain, move out of pain, communicate with pain, express my pain.
I am not here with myself to necessarily be without pain, and what I mean is I am coming from a headspace where I am connecting with myself rather than trying to fix my body. I do not need to be fixed, I need love, understanding and compassion. I do that for myself now.
When I am feeling flared up and electric, my body is telling me to lie down and allow myself relief from strain. It means propping myself on pillows in bed rather than sitting at a desk to do work. When I am on the mat, I use blankets to cushion my knees, my bum, and sometimes my lower back. I root down in my softer textures and from there find strength.
At one point in my movement journey I used to view the need for blankets and pillows as some kind of weakness. I thought if I just strengthen a bit more, the pain will go away. Educating myself about trauma bodies, particularly bodies of colour, I've reframed this toxic perspective. I now see my blankets and pillows as preservation, but also self nourishment that I have gravely needed throughout my childhood and beyond.
Enveloping my black queer body in soft textures, I get to explore the meaning of tenderness and how it paints itself in my life. These are the love letters I need to keep me going another day existing on this earth plane because it doesn’t feel easy and I am often very tired. I often want to check out.
MY BODY IS HERE FOR MY OWN EVOLUTION, I affirm to myself.
Traumatized bodies need options. Lots of them. I am learning them, and deepening my comprehension of softness and being gentle with myself discovering that it is not a destination but a journey. It is not perfection it's committing that is allowing me to have a loving relationship to my body.. Choosing in each moment to stay right here and not abandon myself. Not like society has done to me.
I am proud of myself for getting here. It has been one foggy road along the way. I love being here in this black queer body, even when its on fire a lot of the time. I put on lipstick and wrap myself in cotton. I discover many moments to melt my armour through the tiny rituals that keep me facing myself. As I write this I am feeling a lot of uncomfortable sensation in my shoulder and hands. It is cold, it is winter and I am going to stick by my side and embrace my stuffy and stay.
You are worth protecting. My body is home. Being here is enough, right here, right now.
Clair(andean) they/them is a Queer Artist, Tarot Reader and Movement Instructor. They released a lofi EP in 2020 entitled Moving in the Dark. Working from a developing trauma informed framework and a gender inclusive framework to facilitate acessiblity and self compassion in a movement practice. They are currently writing another EP and making art videos.