On Leaving.

The battle with making a decision knowing what my brain is saying, but hearing everyone else telling me otherwise.

Trying to choose anything with intergenerational shame and guilt hanging around like two uninvited guests who never quite fuck off.

And learning you can’t actually tell them to fuck off.

You have to sit with them first.
Make them a cup of tea.
Ask what they need.
What they want.

And then you realise all they ever needed was to be seen.

To be heard.

You wake up to the thought… that’s all you ever wanted too.

That those two loud, heavy guests are just projections of your own unmet needs.

And in that moment, you lose your mind because suddenly you’re in some sort of META universe with intergenerational trauma. So you channel it into:

THE HAUSE OF PUSSAY

And you remember, you have no choice but to leave and face into you.