Imperfectly Sane by Hoch Stacy

Author:Hoch, Stacy [Hoch, Stacy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2017-06-06T16:00:00+00:00

An Intentional Love Affair With My Vagina.

“Shit happens. Life is tough. Drink plenty of water. Stay away from mean people. Take care of your vagina. Listen to your gut. Learn to say “Fuck you, I’m awesome, smart, and beautiful.”

—Twitter Meme

SURROUNDED IN SMOLDERING darkness, I pressed my feet into the earth and opened my mouth. The motion was so delicate, yet automatic I’d questioned who’d moved my jaw. The me that was witnessing from above, not from inches behind my eyes, smiled like if the color purple had a smile, would smile, watching it all go down.

Trust. She was watching me trust her.

Vibrationally, she was also letting herself be seen by the small me, that still frequented hell as her playground. She was power, unhidden .

Native American chants bellowed while my knees pointed to the sky, squished in between the wall of the sweat lodge, the coal pit, and two people on either side, combining our bodily fluids. Images of two Native American’s pouring something into my mouth with a large wooden spoon filled my sight in the pitch black. I had a serious intention to heal that day.

This was the last of a series of mental, emotional, and spiritual exercises I’d embarked on in attempts to never have to tell anyone again that I have herpes and HPV. I also intended to never allow vulvar cancer to enter my body though my oncologist asserts that there is an eighty percent chance it will return throughout my lifetime.

I dug my brain into somatic psychology as a hobby, which sparked another memory. It was the summer after first grade. I peered out of the car window while my father was driving, realizing something unusual. “My stomach doesn’t hurt,” I thought to myself. I didn’t notice when it did, only when it stopped hurting.

The discrepancy in the polarity of pain made me aware only when I wasn’t experiencing it, that’s how common my pain was at the time. I had no doubt the stresses of my childhood and my first grade year were the culprit of my never ending, undiagnosed stomach pains. That, or being fed processed shit far more than anybody should. Either way, I knew the emotional ties to my body went hand in hand with any other variable that could be accounted for.

I was putting together pieces of my body’s puzzle. My nutritionist gave me a hair test with results that were off the charts. Knowing nothing about me, she said, “You must’ve had a parent that was exposed to Agent Orange.” Some of my heavy metal levels were two thousand times what they were supposed to be.

Much like the realization that whatever I put on my body via the skin would go directly into my blood stream which automatically effects the physical body, and in turn, the emotional and spiritual, and vice versa, the realization that I was a walking result of my father’s traumatic experiences came with deep trepidation about my own children’s experiences. The physical idea of epigenetics taught me that my father’s experiences likely flipped a switch in his DNA, thus mine.

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