It’s been a hard day.
A hard day on my healing journey. I find it so difficult to be patient with my body, especially when I’m feeling sick or in pain. I have a habit of being verbally abusive towards myself, blaming myself for the way I feel, and then spiraling into shame because of it.

Sure, yes. It’s entirely my responsibility to break the cycle, to stop my own mind from berating me for not being okay every single day. To stop expecting myself to show up at 150%, 365 days a year. But I’m only human. And I’m trying (really trying!!!)to allow myself to have bad days.

When those days arrive, I need to stop proving, to myself and everyone else, that I’m somehow stronger than my body’s signals. Stronger than my body screaming at me to stop and look inward.

How ridiculous does that sound?

Today was hard. It was hard to say,

“I’m not coming to work,”

and not feel a crushing sense of guilt. Honestly, I’ve been battling this guilt since yesterday. But today, I chose to be stronger than the abusive thoughts telling me

I’m useless,

weak,

incapable.

Telling me I’m just some woman who blows her PMS out of proportion, like she’s dying.

You know what? Fuck that voice.

Yeah, that’s right! I feel horrible.

My stomach hurts, my back is killing me, my head feels like a ticking bomb. My boobs feel like they’re about to explode, like the world’s biggest pimple ready to pop. I feel like eating everything in sight, but also nothing at all, because of the nausea. My back and muscles ache like I’ve run a marathon without even moving a step.

And no, that’s not weakness.

That’s the result of months, maybe years, of ignoring my body’s signals. Of completely neglecting the signs that something wasn’t right, that something needed to change.

But today? Today, I think I’m making progress.

Today, I didn’t let my abusive self sit on the throne.
Instead, I protected myself—from myself.

At all costs.

I decided to honor my womb today.
I didn’t go to work.

I’m drowning in guilt.
Guilt for putting myself first.
For putting my body first.
For listening to my needs, to my organism that’s screaming at me to stop, to rest.

I cry, telling myself it’s from the pain, but deep down, I think it’s more than that.
I think it’s because, for the first time in my life, I’ve put my womb first.
For the first time, I’m consciously killing all those thoughts that attack her, those thoughts that tell me I can’t function like everyone else because of her.

No.

She builds a home every month.
She’s a nest for the future.
She is the center of my power, the heart of creation.
Of course I’ll protect her with everything I have.
Of course I’ll honor her exhaustion.

She’s been used,

stretched thin,

and never truly appreciated.

Not anymore.

Let me know, how do you honor your body?