Anami Grace | Made Up Life

In the 5th grade I was one of three girls in my class. I do not remember my teacher’s name. Only that her hair was always perfectly styled in the ugliest style I’d ever seen, and she hated me.

It was the first year that I was aware that I was very different from my peers and held a depth that they would never understand. I got in trouble a lot that year because I was still practicing my childhood magic, and everyone wanted to be apart of it until they got in trouble too.

I would spend hours observing my peers trying to understand how their cattiness came so naturally for them, and only seemed to harm me. There was a classroom suggestion box, and one of those three girls was always writing complaints about me to be read in front of the class so I could hold my own humiliation alone.

It was impossible. And that was the year I was diagnosed with ADD, which was what all of the autistic girls were diagnosed with in the 90s. I remember the pain of that year like the knife is still being pulled out of my soul.

Nobody. Anywhere. Was safe for me to be around. And as puberty dawned I lost my connection with the wild places of my childhood. I lost interest in the secrets of the trees. The way the rays of light shone through the wild side of the lagoon. The way it smelled. Like wild radishes and wet dirt. And the little wooden bridge that held my weight more often than my own mother.

That was the year I was lost trying to be the good kid. But never even doing that quite right.

Also, that was the year that my abuse changed too. No longer a child to be used up in my sleep. Too close to the borders of adulthood to be attractive for the vile people who consumed me.

It was the first time I remember trying to use my power to gain love.

I wanted. More than anything for someone to hold me tight and pet my head and tell me that I was going to be okay.

I’ve always understood what others dismissed: The magic of any moment is held in your perception of it.

So I would weave these moments. I would add my magic to them. And I would try and get my needs met by holding them out for my mother, peers, teachers, playground attendants, really. Anyone who I could see. But nobody could see.

It was often eclipsed by my mother’s lies and jealousy of me.

And so I retreated into myself. I stop trying to even get my needs met. And the past 18 months have been a quest to that sweet girl who needed me.

And the shadow work needed in order to hold her magic again.

But in order to hold her. I had to become the version of myself I could trust with her magic, and no longer sell it to try and get my needs met.

Because for the first time in my life I was meeting my own needs, healing myself, moving through my shadows and holding the little pieces of me as whole.

It turns out that the better you take care of yourself the better you’re cared for. And that means that you’re better able to hold the magic of your childhood in your adult body.

But herein lies the rub: part of my healing journey was holding the tragedy that I was the only one who seemed to understand that each moment was special, because it was never to be had again. And I was constantly in trouble for knowing that and having a very hard time with transitions because I was never ready to let go of the way the grass looked when it sparkled in the sun. Or my perception of its beauty.

This life has been a rescue mission for my soul, to bring her back from the depths of what was lost for me through many lifetimes, and part of that mission has been honoring the understanding that I have to hold presence with every moment as it comes to me.

And that was going to be my ultimate success. Was presence with my human body, not escaping the moment through substances, holding my own ridiculousness all the time, and constantly holding my own curiosity as a piece of the greater magic of Anami Grace.

Because. My grandpa was right. Kiddo. If you like it. It will change. Kiddo. If you don’t like it. It will change. The only constant we’re given in this life is change, and we’re taught that consistency, conformity, and predictability are the only keys to success.

But magic? I finally held my own magic when I stopped chasing all of those things and finally embraced that my life was always going to be held in cycles, and once I finally rescued my inner child through the shadow work of loving her and giving her what she needed. Then. Then I was able to fully hold my own presence for each moment as it came. And ask the question with the full backing of my curiosity and love: where is the expansion? Is there anything this moment needs? Is there anything that I can add to this moment to make it more magic? Is there anything I can do to hold my human body better?

And today. On my walk. As I saw the way the frost sparkled in the sun. Felt the joy of moving music through my fascia, and finally held the last piece of my own understanding. Was when I invited the heartbroken 5th grade shadow along to shine with me as we allowed the words for this post to be held in our body one last time before they were released into the world.

Anyway. Love and light to you all. Take Care. Bye.