Woof. What. A. Week.
On Monday, I had to rush Ted to the vet after a sleepless night of painful whimpers. $802 and a panic attack later, I found out he was dehydrated. Thankfully, the revival of my precious petunia was possible with fluids, antibiotics, and lots of rest. But, watching him wilt and lose his spark for a few days sucked me dry.
On Tuesday, I began my work week with zero spoons and a post-panic attack migraine.
On Wednesday, Diddy was found not guilty, and the men at my job cheered. I hid in the bathroom and cried for all of the women who continuously witness abusers gain power.
On Thursday, the government passed a bill declaring that people like me are undeserving of health care, calling it “beautiful.” I cried at work again. Except this time, I didn’t have the energy to hide it.
Today, I am bedridden, while my country has a boozy red, white, and blue celebration of white supremacy.
Fuck. This. Fucking. Shit.
Despite the darkness, the wildflower garden I planted almost two months ago started to bloom this week.
It’s as if my BFF Mother Nature said, “I see you in the dark, Kelsi. Here is some extra support in the form of delicate white and purple blossoms. You are never alone. I love you.”
Six months ago, I decided to make 🌸 WILDFLOWER 🌸 my word for 2025 after seeing an Instagram reel from Morgan Harper Nichols. To wildflower is to grow and thrive in uncultivated soil, to bloom in all of the places people never thought I could.
The following affirmation essay is the first one I ever wrote in 2021. It will always hold a special place in my heart, as it was the first step toward recovering the home within.
Since then, I have planted countless seeds in darkness and grown sturdy enough roots to flourish no matter the terrain.
The soil of this country is not making it easy to bloom right now. But I’m a goddamn wildflower. I can bloom anywhere.
Things are dark.
That’s okay.
I am free to bloom.
Enjoy. :)
WEEKLY AFFIRMATION #7
I AM FREE TO BLOOM
Whenever I woke up from a drinking black out, usually around 4am, I would think, “I wish I could crawl into a hole and die.”
A few hours later, I would force myself out of bed for a cigarette and shower in the dark. That was my morning ritual before I got sober.
Maybe I did crawl into that hole for a while. I tried to make it my permanent address because that felt way easier than being with myself through the pain. Eventually, though, I wanted out.
Years before my sobriety began to stick, I attempted different routines and planted various seeds to aid my recovery. I tried rehab, meetings, halfway houses, several antidepressants and vivitrol, drinking herbal tea, getting a dog, reading Brene, Glennon, and Oprah, writing my own blog, and countless therapists.
One ritual that really stuck was reading a book of poetry before bed called All Along You Were Blooming by Morgan Harper Nichols. Here is one of my favorite pieces:
The sight of old photographs
sends a sharp pain up your spine.
The days are not going to look the same
from this day forward, but you will move forward,
for all you have endured, you have blossomed.
Which was possible only by the rain.
And perhaps this is your becoming,
your unfolding into a grace-filled bloom.
Her words reminded me that I was free to bloom, even while buried in that hole I had created. I was still free to dig myself out of the dirt and grow with the sunrise. Now, after a few months of hangover-free mornings and witnessing the perennials fill my life with vibrant color after a long winter, I can feel myself blooming, too.
Things got dark.
That’s okay.
I am free to bloom.
