“Crazy how those old wounds will rip open again on a random Wednesday”

…but at least i know what they are

 

9. Punitions et pansements

Fin de l’été 1955. La traversée a été épouvantable, tout le monde était épuisé. On débarqua, soulagés, à Marseille. Il manquait des bagages, s’ensuivirent de longues palabres, on les retrouva, fouillés sans précaution, mais il ne manquait rien, il n’y avait rien de précieux. Bienvenue en France. Je fis connaissance avec mon pays. Le désordre du port m’intéressait, mais vite on dut se rendre à l’hôtel. On nous attendait. Je dus dormir avec ma grand-mère. Ma grand-mère m’était inconnue. À la maison, elle dirigeait son monde avec une autorité sans appel. D’emblée, son despotisme s’abattit sur moi. Je dus réciter au coucher des prières que je ne comprenais pas, j’avais peur. Je voulais aller dans la chambre avec ma sœur et mes parents. Puni. La nuit, ronflements. Je ne dormis pas. Le lendemain matin nouvelles prières. Je tombais de fatigue. On me donna du Banania, oubliant mon intolérance au lactose. Je vomis.

La France d’emblée devint le pays des punitions. Je réclamais ma nounou, je voulais retourner dans le delta, on me dit capricieux et insupportable. Ma sœur, 12 ans, parlait un excellent français acquis chez les sœurs, moi, j’étais un petit sauvage, un niakoué. On prit le train pour Nantes le surlendemain, pour un long, long voyage, je pus enfin dormir bercé par le tacatac régulier, hypnotique des roues, je pus aussi libérer mes pieds. On y colla des pansements Urgo. Les pansements Urgo deviendront mes compagnons. Je collectionnerai longtemps les petits emballages parmi mes trésors. Mes pieds ne se feront jamais aux chaussures « de ville » que ma mère s’acharnera à me faire porter jusqu’à ce que je finisse par imposer des tennis (Springcourt) ou rien. De ce jour, je commençai à pouvoir marcher et courir sans boiter. Je devins d’ailleurs un excellent coureur de fond. Ma révolte, vers 12 ans, fut d’ailleurs générale.

#nguolai

I am sleepy. I have clearly forgotten the energy levels of a high-speed bundle of fearlessness. We have sequestered ourselves inside my bedroom and master bath. They are the most peaceful and kitten safe areas of my apartment. They are also a jungle gym of goth curiosity.

You may be saying to yourself that it is not like Phoebe can literally climb the walls. Did I mention the black and periwinkle acoustic fiberboards covering two walls? No? Let's just say that they will support the weight of a kitten, and I managed to catch her before she flung herself at the over-the-door potion shelf. I did not catch her before she got into a head-butting contest with the small jewelry box I keep my dainties, rings, cuffs, and industrials in. I'll sort the mess later. I'm just happy she didn't eat any of them.

We've gotten into a routine: eat, poop, go rabid, sleep. She did quickly escape into my studio when I was washing up her dish. I cut my temple on my bench-pin when trying to catch her before she got behind some drawers. So much for situational awareness. 🙄 She meeped when I ouched.

She is now letting me know when she wants more food as opposed to me scheduling it. She runs to the bedroom door and mouths a silent meow. If I don't respond, she'll run back to wherever I am and climb until we're face to face so that she can scream a single meow for my oblivious self to get with the program. She's still very good about waiting for me to get everything prepared, but tonight she did have thoughts she wanted to share about how slow I was moving. She still won't drink water beyond what I add to her food. Not atypical for her age.

She is fast, gentle, curious, and open to trust. Her claws are razor sharp, but she only uses them when lost in a hunting frenzy. She hasn't completely learned to groom herself yet, but she is doing her face. I started teaching her today with a microfiber makeup remover cloth. She fell asleep, purring.😹 I'll lightly dampen it tomorrow.

My sleeping is totally jacked. I don't really sleep much in the Winter, but Summer and early Autumn kick my ass. She wakes me as soon as I start to fade. Sometimes I manage to get her to curl up with the hypnotic double head-stroke. Other times it's a no go.

She is puuurrfect.

© 2026 AnOublietteofThought. All rights reserved.

“Wholeness isn’t about perfection, it’s about coming home to yourself.”

For so long, I believed healing meant fixing what was broken. piecing myself back together until I resembled the woman I was before the storm. But I don’t want to be her again. She didn’t know how strong she could be. She didn’t know what it meant to lose everything and still rise.

I’m learning now that wholeness isn’t perfection. It’s accepting every scar, every crack, every moment that tested me. And realizing those are the very things that make me real.

I used to look in the mirror and see everything that went wrong. Now, I see a woman who didn’t give up. A woman who learned to stand alone. A woman who cried, broke, and kept going anyway.

Becoming whole isn’t about finding every missing piece. It’s remembering that I was never missing anything at all. I just had to uncover the parts of me buried under fear, under shame, under the noise. That quiet rediscovery has been the most sacred part of this journey.

Some days I still wobble. Some days the old pain still knocks at the door. But I don’t live there anymore.

I’m building something steadier now. A peace that doesn’t depend on anyone else’s choices, a forgiveness that doesn’t ask for permission, and a love that finally begins with me.

Healing doesn’t mean the hurting stops. It means the hurt no longer decides how I love, or dream, or breathe. It means I can look at what broke me and say, “You didn’t win.”

My future is still uncertain. There are still check‑ins with probation, still waiting, still questions without answers. But I’m not defined by any of it anymore.

Whatever comes next, I’ll meet it as I am, stronger, calmer, and finally at home within myself.

Because even if the world doesn’t understand my story, I do. I know what I’ve walked through, what I’ve endured, and the part I played in all of it. I know my truth.

My hope is that those who must decide can see the whole picture. Not just the reports or the paperwork, but the heart behind it. There are always two sides to every story, and the truth usually lives somewhere in between.

I don’t know how much faith I have left in the system, but I still believe in fairness. I believe in honesty. And I believe that what’s right will find its way through, even if it takes time.

Whatever comes next, I’ll face it with open eyes and steady hands. Not because I’m unafraid, but because I finally trust myself enough to stand in my truth.

No matter the outcome, this is not the end of my journey. I will continue to stand. I will continue to heal. I will continue to show up, to learn, and to become the best version of myself.

(NEXT – CHAPTER 8)

“I don’t forgive because it’s easy. I forgive because I deserve peace.”

Forgiveness has never come easy to me. It feels too big, To unfair, Like saying “It’s okay,” when it never really was. For the longest time, I thought forgiving meant erasing the hurt, or pretending I wasn’t still angry, confused, or broken. But that’s not what forgiveness is. Not anymore.

Forgiveness, I’m learning isn’t about the other person. It’s about setting myself free from the story that keeps replaying in my head. It’s about loosening the grip of what happened so it stops choking the air out of my future. It’s about finally saying, “You don’t get to own this pain anymore, I do.”

For so time, I carried anger disguised as strength. It made me feel powerful, Like if I held on tight enough it would somehow protect me from being hurt again. But all it ever did was keep me tethered to the moment everything fell apart. And I’ve lived there long enough.

I don’t forgive to excuse. I forgive to exhale.

Some days, forgiveness looks like whispering, “I release you,” under my breath when the memories try to pull me back. Other days, it’s forgiving myself, For the times I begged for love that wasn’t returned, for not walking away sooner, For all the things I said when I was drowning in pain.

Self-forgiveness might be the hardest of all. It’s easy to blame myself for everything, For the fallout, for the mistakes, for the way it all unraveled. But I keep reminding myself, I did the best I could with what I knew then. And that has to be enough.

Forgiveness doesn’t mean forgetting. It means remembering without letting it poison the present. It means acknowledging that something hurt deeply, And still choosing to move forward anyway.

There’s a strange kind of freedom that comes when you stop waiting for apologies that may never come. When you stop replaying what you can’t rewrite. When you realize that closure isn’t something you’re given, it’s something you decide to create.

I’m not saying it’s easy. There are days I still feel the sting. But I’m learning to let it pass through me instead of letting it live in me. Because I’ve lived long enough carrying pain that wasn’t mine to keep.

I forgive not because it’s deserved, But because I want peace more than I want answers. Because I want my heart to feel light again.

Forgiveness isn’t a destination. It’s a practice. One I have to choose again and again, Until the hurt stops echoing and the past finally rests.

But for now, I’m breathing easier, I’m sleeping better, And every time I choose grace over bitterness, I feel a little freer.

(NEXT – CHAPTER 7)

Purpose: Sun in The Star

There are two figures, two women on this card. They are of a lighter blue than the background colour. One of them appears very relaxed, and is reclined with her hands interlaced behind her head. She has put down her vessel beside her. She is floating in a galactic liquid. Apparently, daydreaming, and pursuing grand adventures in her mind. The other woman, appears to be the traditional visual representation of Aquarius, and is more focused on her task at hand. She is carrying a vessel similar to her companion’s, over her right shoulder and something is being poured out of it. More stars? Dreams? Whatever “it” is, their bodies are immersed in it, this shallow galactic river bed. The one lying down, her buttocks is fully immersed, but the rest of her limbs are raised slightly, like she is about to get into a “happy baby” or a “butterfly” yoga pose. As for the one with the vessel over her shoulder, the galactic river comes up to her knees. Does it flow forever?

My self-expression and power source, does tend to honor both these women. One is coming from ease, a relaxed place, while the other is also fully committed to the task at hand, to her purpose—to pouring and sharing a dreamy, hopeful soup from a very abundant vessel.

Body: Moon in Temperance

The 14th card, is Temperance, in other words. Moderation. There is water flowing straight down from The Source, placed right in the middle of the card, from the top edge. This blue liquid, flows straight into four stacked cups on a saucer, which is balancing on two fingers of a blue hand emerging from a lotus flower. The ‘water’ or liquid then overflows from two thin steams on either side of the stacked cups and into other cups. On the left, the water stream is flowing into a single cup on top of a saucer, balancing on another blue hand, also emerging from a lotus flower on a lily pad. To the right of the middle hand, the other stream flows into 8 stacked teacups with no saucer. Still, it is also balanced by a blue hand. There are also thinner water streams flowing out from each of the cups on either side of the stack of cups in the middle. In spite of the individual elements looking a bit abundant, indulgent, and somewhat chaotic—upon closer inspection, everything is balanced. All is well. There is poise and even, restraint.

My body needs to be in a state of equilibrium in order for it to function with poise. I notice a change, when I am jolted by something from the the outside. My body tends to react first. I need to learn to respond. To feel, but I still need to sit. To breathe. Being.

Motivation: The Emperor Rising

The figure has a golden ram head. Is he half-man, half-human? His ram head is very imposing. He’s not facing the viewer. We see only one side of his face. He is seated in a chair made out of diamonds, or perhaps some kind of crystal… is it jade? He is holding a scepter in his left hand and his right hand, is very casually placed on his lap. His left foot is firmly planted on the ground, while his right foot is able to balance a golden apple on the tip of his shoe. He looks calm and he knows what he is doing. He is striking a balance between power and poise, while still able to pull off a rather unorthodox, and unnecessary showy move, with the apple. He appears in control and unbothered.

Am I a master of the skills that I have acquired and what I have learned? Can I be confident in my actions? What can I do to be more secure and confident? What do I need? Can I ask for help?

_When will she stop pouring from the vessel and just be?

#magic #tarot #knowthyself