I stand huddled over the sink in my empty house. Some days the emptiness is joyous, as light filters through the vast kitchen windows; some days this house feels dark and lonely as if it’s closing in on me. I meander between these walls as the hours turn into days, which turn into weeks and have now become months. I miss my family. I daydream about wanting a family of my own. Quarantine stripped the everyday distractions self-medicating us from the very real trauma we carry within the strands of our DNA (epigenetics).
The burned-out neural pathways of our childhoods, sit on repeat and reaction like drains we circle in survival.
Before I started the work, I was a queen of self-medication. Scrolling through Instagram to avoid emotional intimacy, numbing myself with alcohol and drugs, or even events. Hell, I’m a parentified and achievement motivated workaholic at times. My career gives me social capital which one could argue is its own self-medication.
Read more