Impoverished Thoughts: The Dark Side of Healing
Author: Tyonna Newton
My understanding of healing was incredibly misconstrued. I was content with being broken because I was unaware that I needed mending. Blissfully ignorant of the hand-me-down traumas passed down from previous generations, I was blindly in love and cloaked in the toxic mistreatment of my bloodline. I stepped into a world already stained and torn.
The person who vowed to accept my second-hand clothing and heal what was underneath only violated me. He pushed me down, stealing threads of me, and leaving my first bruise on my knee. I tried to stand with a new cherry stain on my clothes. The hand-me-down clothes needed to be tossed and replaced, but they were hiding the fresh cuts on me. I vowed to never remove my clothes again, despite the filthy stains and tears left by others.
I thought my tattered clothing would make me invisible, but instead, they made me a target. It was as if I had an “abuse me” sign on my back, and I was the only one who couldn’t see it. As time passed, my body outgrew my clothes, but I still carried my ancestors' baggage. I continued the tradition of holding onto trauma instilled in me, still believing my worth was given to me by others. I thrifted for new clothes. The world isn’t kind to people who dress like me. I held my family’s luggage, concealing my scars with the thrifted stress of others. Constantly holding others' pain while enduring my own, I was convinced I was undeserving of luxury—what I perceived as luxury.
To wear untouched clothes, to purchase new items on my own, seemed out of reach. I was taught to be grateful for what was given to me because others had it worse. So why do I need to heal when there’s more tragedy to endure? Taking up less space is better for survival. Take what’s given, and focus on the next day.
There’s a luxury to healing, especially when you’re battling impoverished thoughts. Today, I understand that healing begins with my thoughts. Today, I’m learning to tend to the garden of my mind.
