Katherine Perry 4/29/23 Katherine Perry 4/29/23

lovebirds, swans, and unwanted threesomes

on reflected darkness, forgiveness, and metaphorical deaths (2/7)

College was the first time I began receiving more external validation that I was beautiful. My braces were off; I grew into my body; my hair was a bit longer and fuller; I traded my glasses for contacts; and what I wore was entirely up to me (finally!) (I know, super cliché). Oh, and I was in a more diverse setting, i.e., I wasn’t only being compared to the same picturesque white girl I was used to seeing everywhere. (I’m unsure how much this had to do with it, but something tells me that everyone in my hometown was only used to seeing one type of beauty while the people I was meeting in college came from at least slightly more diverse backgrounds, i.e., they were a tad more open to what a “beautiful” person could look like. I.e., it probably helped.) I reveled in all the compliments I wasn’t used to receiving. I was beginning to blossom.

Even though I was blossoming on the outside, I was utterly hollow on the inside. I soaked up all the foreign adoration like a sponge because I didn’t know I was beautiful (like everyone else). At that point, I still needed other people to tell me. I didn’t understand that regardless of what our cultural consciousness reinforces, no one person is more or less anything than someone else. I had no sense of value; I had no intention or sense of self. I think that’s okay for where I was. It wasn’t ideal by any means, but it was okay. College is an opportunity for many people to begin exploring themselves and figuring that out. This exploration of self leaves room for people to reflect to you what you need to know about yourself. Although, depending on how you learn about your shadows, these lessons can feel brutal and unending.

John (1) and I were on the same rowing team at university. John was charismatic, energetic, and hilarious. He was extremely likable and got along with pretty much everyone. He had an infectious energy that lit up every space he entered. He could make any situation fun (even fifteen-hour bus rides to regattas) and transform anything into a punchline in an effortlessly clever way. John was also attractive and flirtatious (a dangerous combination). I can’t recall anyone that disliked John. John’s persona was seemingly magnetic.

John was in a relationship for two years with a woman, a teammate, that I admired. Confident, savvy, and outspoken; she was who I wanted to be. She called out everyone on their b.s. and was the opposite of a people-pleaser. They broke up around my junior year due to negligible reasons. I don’t know if anyone thought of John “in that way” because he was in this devoted relationship for half his college career. She had just graduated that year but still lived in the area; I would see her infrequently. When they were no longer together, I am sure some were curious about what kind of girl John would wind up with next.

John started showing interest in me later that year. I can’t quite remember if it was “too soon” for him to begin looking around (whatever that means since everyone’s timing is different). It came to me as a surprise. I considered us friends because we were on the same team, and everyone on the team was a friend of mine. However, we weren’t the kind of people to hang out one-on-one or in smaller groups since we didn’t have much in common. The more and more I flirted with John, the more I realized that I didn’t know much about him. In college, I found that people ranged from telling you their deepest darkest secrets when they first meet you, e.g., “I have XYZ unresolved trauma from my childhood,” to completely clamming up when asked a more personal question. John was closer to the latter. He maintained an air of mystique. He revealed enough to bond because most friendships require some depth but not too much, you know? John somehow made everyone feel like he was his friend, but I’m not sure how many people knew him besides his ex-girlfriend. All I knew was that personality-wise, we didn’t share many similarities. Although, I’m not sure that’s how people find each other anyway.

(The more I reflect upon relationships of all kinds, e.g., friendships, romantic partnerships, work relationships, roommates, etc., the more I find that we find people based on what we need to learn about ourselves at any given time. There is a beautiful synchronicity to everything; nothing is a coincidence. It’s so fascinating to me. Regarding romantic relationships, sure, there is an element of physical attraction at play. Not everyone is attracted to everyone. The world would be a mess if everyone wanted to “get with” everyone. We have discernment; we have free will. How we choose people or how people come into our lives is multilayered. It has little to do with physical attraction and more with how we need to grow. It’s just a theory.)

When John and I began flirting with each other, it was fun. It seemed harmless because, if I had to guess, neither of us genuinely liked one other at the time. I didn’t even know enough about him to like him. Besides, he had just exited what seemed like a serious relationship, and I was freshly in a new one. (I know, I know.) Admittedly, there were so many problems with this. To keep it brief, my ex-current-boyfriend and I were giving our relationship another try while he was long-distance for a study abroad program. We kept it a secret until he got back. It may have been because we wanted to see if it would work out before we told anyone else to alleviate some pressure. It may have also been because I was an immature asshole that didn’t want anyone to know, so I could do what I wanted when I wanted without consequence. It was probably both.

Dating has become more and more nuanced since I was in college. I love listening to dating podcasts for that exact reason. What is “right” or “wrong” is wholly up to the people within the relationship container. I knew we had crossed the line well before most people would have said things got out of hand. I tried keeping myself in the moral grey area by saying that everything was okay because we hadn’t done anything yet. I had done this before. I had a habit of getting into relationships and, soon after, ending the relationship to get back into a vague situation-ship where we weren’t “officially” together but would keep it a secret. Make sense? It shouldn’t because it is a crazy, thoughtless, and yet calculated thing to do. It was all fine in my mind because I didn’t owe anyone anything as long as we weren’t in an “actual” relationship. I lived and died by the word “technically” even though I was a total hypocrite because I always knew that if you had to use the word “technically,” you were probably doing something wrong. I’m pretty sure I even said that out loud to other people. Even worse, I was in a relationship this time instead of some purposefully-undefined situation-ship I concocted. I was unempathetic and inconsiderate, no matter how I wanted to lie to myself and interpret my actions. I was simply in the wrong. If I had thought about my partner’s feelings for over thirty seconds, I would have understood how much this would have hurt him and stopped immediately. I was selfish and kept going until everything crashed my senior year.

Thank you for being one of the first people to highlight my intricate yet simple shadows. You showed me that even though we all have a shadow, that is no excuse to hurt others.

I first came clean to my partner during my junior year. (I lied and said that the person was random and didn’t tell him about John. I didn’t want anyone to know about him a) because I didn’t want to ruin the group dynamic; and b) deep down, I was ashamed even though I could barely admit that to myself.) We tried to work things out. By my senior year, we weren’t together anymore. We still liked each other enough, but too much had happened for us to be in a healthy relationship. I knew I was in the wrong for what I did but didn’t comprehend how much what I did hurt until much later. I continued exploring things with John (despite everything) because I was having fun and didn’t see the point in getting into a serious relationship my senior year. We weren’t anything close to a couple. It was amazing that even though we spent all those nights together, I didn’t know much about him, and he didn’t know much about me. I liked it that way because I knew deep down I couldn’t trust him. (That should have been a red flag, but what can you do? We all have to learn at some point.) Bottom line: I knew he probably didn’t care about me, so the less we knew about each other, the better. We kept it a secret. I didn’t want anyone to know, and neither did he. Everyone on the team was pretty close by the time we entered our final year of university. Even though I was relatively private compared to others on the team, they had witnessed enough of my relationships, so I just wanted to keep something that didn’t mean much to me to myself. Maintaining the guise that we were just friends like he was with everyone else on the team was easy. I didn’t spend extra time with him while the sun was up, so there was likely nothing to be suspicious of. I also try not to underestimate people, so I am sure someone at some point figured it out. However, in my mind, everything was fine.

I lived with two women during my senior year. One was my junior-year roommate; we got along well and decided to live together for our final year. My junior-year roommate’s inner and external beauty radiated. Her implicit kind, beautiful, secure, and graceful energy reminded me of a swan’s (2); she glowed in my eyes. She grew up outside the States, which allowed her to have all these life experiences, leaving her more self-assured and mature than anyone I knew. She was dynamic and unassuming. Her perspective on life wasn’t anything unusual, but she was embodied, which was rare at our age. She was a natural and genuine humanitarian. (For someone like me who rarely thought about someone or anything larger than themselves, this left me in sheer awe. I had yet to discover this dimension of myself then, but she always inspired me by caring about the Earth and those who needed help. I knew that someday I wanted something I was passionate about that served something other than my self-interests. This was one of the most beautiful things about her, and I knew I wanted to be beautiful in that way, too). She was open but didn’t overshare. I also admired the way she treated other people. Everyone on the team was close, but that didn’t stop people from gossiping. She didn’t partake in that. She stayed above the fray and even brought a more calming presence to the group. My junior-year roommate was genuinely a lovely and confident free spirit. Everyone loved her, and I understood why.

My other roommate was… unplanned. It’s common for housing situations to fall through when you are that age because so many things change frequently. What classes are you taking? Do you want an apartment closer to the majority of your classes? Do you have a bike? Do you want to live with this or a different group of friends? Would you rather avoid the drama and live by yourself? Do you want to live by your favorite cantina, a chicken shack, or Whole Foods? Living closer to your favorite banh-mi shop could be nice… I don’t know what series of events led her to live with my junior-year roommate and me, but we were all on the same rowing team, i.e., we were friendly enough, and we were all on the same sleeping schedule, which was the more important requirement to me for a roommate.

The main issue was: I didn’t like her. When she asked to live with us, I messaged my other friend immediately, dramatically stating that my senior year was over. “Justifiably,” the girl that wanted to live with us had a demeanor that rubbed some girls on the team the wrong way. I didn’t have the wherewithal to tell my junior-year roommate, the one I admired and was thrilled to live with, that I didn’t want to live with this other girl. I admired her because she was so loving and accepting; she instantly offered to start looking for three-bedroom apartments. Damn. The dream was over.

Let’s be honest; even though our personalities didn’t mesh, I didn’t like the unplanned roommate for two reasons: 1) I was jealous of her, and 2) I didn’t understand her. I knew I didn’t understand John fully either, but he was light and fun, so that was okay. I didn’t know anything about her, so I couldn’t begin to appreciate her for the beautiful woman she was. She just irritated me, which leads me back to reason number one: I was probably just jealous. Even though, beneath the surface, many girls were annoyed with her, all the guys wanted her. She was beautiful in a way that represented everything I wasn’t and couldn’t be. She vaguely reminded me of every picturesque girl I knew from high school (why does everything seem to go back to some stage of primary school?). She reminded me that no matter how I reinvented myself in college or how confident I seemed, that shadow followed me like a ghost.

More importantly: my other roommate, the girl I originally wanted to find a two-bedroom with, seemed to like her better. Writing this seems so juvenile because now I know friendships aren’t the same, which is good. Diversity in all kinds of relationships is beautiful and necessary. For example, not everyone can be your “best friend” (if that still exists). That would be so much energy to devote to your friends, which would be exhausting depending on how many you have. We all have friends for a reason, season, or lifetime. We don’t know which category they will fall into until we can look back further down the line. Nevertheless, at the time, this was hurtful. I don’t know how it happened, but they got significantly close to one another, which left me feeling like the third wheel. I felt unwanted but in a different way. This isn’t their fault; we don’t choose who we click with. It especially wasn’t their fault that I was so insecure. It was just hard to have that insecurity reflected upon me in a place that was supposed to be safe. Another reason why this hurt was because I had this massive girl crush on my junior-year roommate. She was incredible. I wanted to get to know her better and wanted her to like me, too. What did it say about me if she liked our other roommate better? Being left out sucked but feeling left out by someone I admired really stung.

During our time together, the unplanned roommate ended a long-term relationship that lasted about three years. She was self-proclaimed as lost for a while which was understandable. When it was time, she wanted to have fun before the year ended. Amidst all her exploration, she found herself in a love triangle with a different guy and a girl on the team. It isn’t necessary to get into all of the gory details (also, it would be difficult for me to remember them accurately anyway). It’s just so fascinating how multidimensional mirrors are. I vaguely remember that none were in a relationship, so no one “owed” anyone anything. Everyone knew what was happening (to some extent), but that didn’t stop people from getting hurt.

I continued to hang out with John. We only had about a month of school left, so I told my roommates about him. They were both surprised. The unplanned roommate warned me he could be a player (or whatever the modern equivalent of that word is). I assumed he was probably hanging out with other girls, which was fine. We weren’t in a relationship, so who was I to dictate who he could and couldn’t be with?

John drank a lot. In college, it is hard to distinguish who is just enjoying their time away from parental supervision and who may have a real issue with alcohol. I began to suspect that John may have been the latter2. The more we hung out other between the hours of one and four a.m., the more often alcohol was involved. I would take a shot here and there (probably because our situation was becoming uncomfortable in a way I wasn’t ready to admit to myself). We didn’t get super drunk when it was just us. When we were at parties with the rest of the team, I noticed John seemed to want to blackout. When we were alone, I tried probing a bit deeper to see if there was anything I could do. I wanted to see if there was something else going on. Ironically, we just weren’t close enough to open up to one another. I wanted to make sure he was okay, but I wasn’t ready for that level of intimacy with him (what?!). He opened up a bit sometimes but mostly shook it off. John’s drinking was my first glimpse into an unseen side of him; it was my reminder that I didn’t know him well at all.

It was no surprise to me that sometimes you can develop feelings when you give yourself to someone for several months. One night when we were together, he told me he loved me. His dark skin shone, almost glowing under the moonlight when he said it. I didn’t believe him. We still didn’t know much about each other, so he was either trying to mess with me or he felt something, but it certainly wasn’t love. The statement was disingenuous. I said it back, which was also dishonest. I did have feelings for him, but they weren’t love. I was likely feeling attached. Nevertheless, months after John told me he loved me, I told John that I liked him and wanted more. (I don’t know what I could have wanted from him then. As I wrote earlier, I was probably more attached than anything. My unplanned roommate was also right; he was with other people. I wasn’t delusional and wanted to protect myself from potential pain. I thought us being together would protect my misguided feelings.) He said that he wasn’t in that headspace. I was hurt, but I understood.

Soon after, I discovered that my unplanned roommate spent a night with John. I confronted her because she knew about John and me. She explained the (strange) circumstances to me, and we had a good conversation. It bothered (3) me, but I wasn’t mad at her. A few nights later, I discovered that John had been with another girl on my team about a month prior. That bothered me. I didn’t blame her; she was my friend, just as hurt and in the dark as I was. I don’t know what they talked about but she didn’t know about me. A couple of days later, we discovered he was with approximately seven other girls. They were all from different groups, so he likely thought that we would never know since we had never met, and our chances of meeting, let alone talking to one another about him, were slim. (Have you ever seen John Tucker Must Die?) Or maybe he didn’t think anything of it because no matter what, it wouldn’t be cheating. That was the last straw. None of us knew about one another because we all presumably kept it a secret in some capacity. None of us were in a relationship, so we didn’t “owe” each other anything… but why was it still painful? Everything was unraveling.

John came over to talk to my friend and me one morning. We all sat at my small, circular kitchen table. It was awkward, and the thick tension filled the room. I was emotionally exhausted; my demeanor was cold. John apologized when we confronted him (the second time’s the charm). He admitted that he was working through some personal issues that were the source of his behavior. I wasn’t buying it. I was too hurt and embarrassed. Now I understand that even if he wasn’t telling the truth at the time, in a way, he was because no one does that unless they are somehow wounded. I would know. When I looked at him, the charismatic person I once knew vanished. He seemed tired. He looked as hollow as I felt; his eyes were empty. What John did wasn’t cheating because, as far as I knew, he wasn’t in a relationship with anyone. “Technically,” he didn’t do anything wrong. All of the dating rules that I had heard disappeared from my mind. From that moment forward, I knew that what was more important than any rule that could draw the boundary between “right” and “wrong” was how the person you care about feels. In this instance, John and I didn’t care about one another; we (or I’ll speak for myself) just needed people to make us feel less empty.

As I examined the mess I was in senior year, I began to understand how my past actions hurt so many people. Unfortunately, I was the kind of person that needed to experience my behavior firsthand to know that it was hurtful. I was John in previous scenarios. I didn’t realize how bad that pattern was until I was a part of someone else’s. The first time I got an inkling of how wrong I was was when I cheated on my ex-boyfriend with John (a classic example of what goes around comes around). It wasn’t until I got “got” that I fully understood how I could never do anything like that again.

Months before this moment, when I was traveling in Australia, I was thinking about John and what our relationship would be like our senior year. We didn’t talk much that summer except when he wished me a happy birthday (I was ecstatic when I received that message). (I wasn’t delusional thinking we would be like lovebirds (4) senior year. Nonetheless, I assure you that I didn’t imagine all of this.) I knew then from his excessive drinking that John wasn’t the carefree, jovial character he portrayed himself as. I had seen a darkness in him that hadn’t impacted me yet. But subconsciously, I knew that it would come for me eventually. So I sat in the botanical gardens, pondering John’s puzzling nature while focusing on the lush green grass.

“Everyone has a mother. Everyone out there is someone’s child. Imagine if the person you are thinking about was your child. What love and grace would you show them?”

The thought formed in my mind, and it calmed me.

John’s darkness was no different than mine. It wasn’t his darkness that I was waiting to catch up with me; it was my own. When I looked into John’s eyes across the kitchen table, I found myself in them.

It has always been easier for me to give grace to others than myself. Forgiving John was easy because there was nothing to forgive (6). Everyone fucks up, but he wasn’t even in the wrong. I was hurt by John, and I honor that painful experience. I don’t believe he intended to harm me. With time, having empathy for John was easy. If I were a mother, I imagine would tell my child the same thing. I imagine that I wouldn’t judge them or love them any less.

So why was it so hard for me to apply the same consciousness to myself?

I am deeply sorry for projecting everything onto you. None of this was ever about you; I was judging what I didn’t like about myself and take full responsibility for the part I played in our relationship. I am sorry for all of how I hurt my loved ones. I am my harshest critic; I carried a lot of guilt, regret, and shame from my past actions. From our time together, I have learned to have patience, compassion, and love for the darkest parts of myself. I can honor where I was coming from and that I was doing the best I could with what I knew at the time. You have challenged me to learn how to empathize deeper and hold space for the inherent multidimensionality of perspective.

Weirdly enough, even though the situation with John was an absolute nightmare, my unplanned roommate seemed to haunt me even more. I didn’t think about John much after we all graduated and moved on; that situation was cut and dry. Curiously, my roommates remained in my dream space for several years.

The dream always felt the same. It didn’t matter where we were or who else was there. They were always together in some capacity, and I was left out. Even though John was involved in the sticky web of relationships, he was never in the dream. It was always my two roommates, happily together with me on the outside.

Dreams are raw, honest, puzzling, challenging, revealing, unpredictable, uncontrollable, wild, and free. They are the candid, innate, kaleidoscopic compasses to navigate the complex emotions and dimensions of the human experience. Dreams are a gateway to our inner oracle. We are filled with infinite symbols and inner knowings that activate our endless, loving medicine. Dreams are the compassionate, wise, discerning, multidimensional mirrors and portals that allow us to be our own healers. As we interface and cultivate a relationship with our dreams, we interdimensionally develop deeper, richer relationships with ourselves, something greater than ourselves and the collective. Aligning with our inner oracles allows us to embody responsibility, integrity, and sovereignty as we continuously see ourselves for our radiant, dynamic spirits. Dreamscapes dismantle everything familiar. They transport us past duality into the unknown.

All of this being said, to this day, I don’t know what this dream means. That’s not entirely true. I have some ideas due to what I felt in the dream. Dreams are interesting because the most unexpected characters (7) and symbols can float throughout your subconscious for years while revealing endless wisdom. Every time I feel like I nail down a dream, it continuously reveals itself and reminds me how endlessly mysterious they are.

One of the main takeaways from the dream featuring my two roommates was that I needed to let go of any need for external validation. I was and am imperfect. Being imperfect doesn’t mean you deserve less love than the next person. I have always hated and criticized myself mercilessly for my imperfections (more on this in the following essay).

I have always had a wound surrounding never being someone’s number one priority. This was primarily reflected in friendships. Even though John was with many other women, which I always suspected, I secretly liked when he told me he loved me because he made me feel special. I never felt special.

But it wasn’t him in the dream. Something is compelling about those two women being the characters in that dream. Sure, it reflected a real-life situation because they were so much closer, but the feeling in the dream was so exaggerated in a difficult way to ignore. Imagine if John was in the dream. If he had been there in any capacity, I might have just chalked everything up to being upset that some guy I wanted didn’t want me in the way I wanted, which was far from the point. Moreover, my unplanned roommate was with John at one point, which was probably enough regarding symbolism. But somehow, he felt more like a supporting character to highlight her significance. The fact that she was somehow the most powerful symbol of this entire situation was captivating.

I primarily felt this feeling in friendships. My mom used to say never to hang out in threes because someone always felt left out. Naturally, I was always in a group of three girls. I never felt “chosen” or prioritized until my best friend from middle school. We were inseparable until one day, everything burned to the ground (perhaps another story for another time). Our roommate situation from years prior opened the wound, which was being reflected in my dreams. It was the same feeling dressed up as different characters in various settings. Issues with lovability and desirability aren’t just confined to romantic relationships; they can be found in all kinds of containers.

The wound of belonging (and, resultingly, desirability) is so profound for me. My unplanned roommate is one of the few people, if not the only person, that accurately captures this wound’s depth, nuance, and multidimensionality as a symbol. This is only the beginning of how she has been integral in my healing process (I am so thankful for you). You can only hold onto a wound for so long before it swallows you whole. I had hurt many of my ex-partners, been hurt by John, and probably self-sabotaged my way out of the incredible friendships I desired because I had done nothing to heal what was truly eating me up inside. One of the many things this dream has taught me is that if I want to create meaningful, healthy relationships, this part of me needs to die.

These metaphorical deaths can point to something beautiful. Sure, it feels safe to fit in and to be wanted by everyone. What if I was never meant to? What if that was okay? What if that was the most beautiful thing about me?

I love you.

John1 and I were on the same rowing team at university. John was charismatic, energetic, and hilarious. He was extremely likable and got along with pretty much everyone. He had an infectious energy that lit up every space he entered. He could make any situation fun (even fifteen-hour bus rides to regattas) and transform anything into a punchline in an effortlessly clever way. John was also attractive and flirtatious (a dangerous combination). I can’t recall anyone that disliked John. John’s persona was seemingly magnetic.

Thank you for being one of the first people to highlight my intricate yet simple shadows. You showed me that even though we all have a shadow, that is no excuse to hurt others.

I lived with two women during my senior year. One was my junior-year roommate; we got along well and decided to live together for our final year. My junior-year roommate’s inner and external beauty radiated. Her implicit kind, beautiful, secure, and graceful energy reminded me of a swan’s2; she glowed in my eyes. She grew up outside the States, which allowed her to have all these life experiences, leaving her more self-assured and mature than anyone I knew. She was dynamic and unassuming. Her perspective on life wasn’t anything unusual, but she was embodied, which was rare at our age. She was a natural and genuine humanitarian. (For someone like me who rarely thought about someone or anything larger than themselves, this left me in sheer awe. I had yet to discover this dimension of myself then, but she always inspired me by caring about the Earth and those who needed help. I knew that someday I wanted something I was passionate about that served something other than my self-interests. This was one of the most beautiful things about her, and I knew I wanted to be beautiful in that way, too). She was open but didn’t overshare. I also admired the way she treated other people. Everyone on the team was close, but that didn’t stop people from gossiping. She didn’t partake in that. She stayed above the fray and even brought a more calming presence to the group. My junior-year roommate was genuinely a lovely and confident free spirit. Everyone loved her, and I understood why.

John drank a lot. In college, it is hard to distinguish who is just enjoying their time away from parental supervision and who may have a real issue with alcohol. I began to suspect that John may have been the latter3. The more we hung out other between the hours of one and four a.m., the more often alcohol was involved. I would take a shot here and there (probably because our situation was becoming uncomfortable in a way I wasn’t ready to admit to myself). We didn’t get super drunk when it was just us. When we were at parties with the rest of the team, I noticed John seemed to want to blackout. When we were alone, I tried probing a bit deeper to see if there was anything I could do. I wanted to see if there was something else going on. Ironically, we just weren’t close enough to open up to one another. I wanted to make sure he was okay, but I wasn’t ready for that level of intimacy with him (what?!). He opened up a bit sometimes but mostly shook it off. John’s drinking was my first glimpse into an unseen side of him; it was my reminder that I didn’t know him well at all.

Soon after, I discovered that my unplanned roommate spent a night with John. I confronted her because she knew about John and me. She explained the (strange) circumstances to me, and we had a good conversation. It bothered4 me, but I wasn’t mad at her. A few nights later, I discovered that John had been with another girl on my team about a month prior. That bothered me. I didn’t blame her; she was my friend, just as hurt and in the dark as I was. I don’t know what they talked about but she didn’t know about me. A couple of days later, we discovered he was with approximately seven other girls. They were all from different groups, so he likely thought that we would never know since we had never met, and our chances of meeting, let alone talking to one another about him, were slim. (Have you ever seen John Tucker Must Die?) Or maybe he didn’t think anything of it because no matter what, it wouldn’t be cheating. That was the last straw. None of us knew about one another because we all presumably kept it a secret in some capacity. None of us were in a relationship, so we didn’t “owe” each other anything… but why was it still painful? Everything was unraveling.

Months before this moment, when I was traveling in Australia, I was thinking about John and what our relationship would be like our senior year. We didn’t talk much that summer except when he wished me a happy birthday (I was ecstatic when I received that message). (I wasn’t delusional thinking we would be like lovebirds5 senior year. Nonetheless, I assure you that I didn’t imagine all of this.) I knew then from his excessive drinking that John wasn’t the carefree, jovial character he portrayed himself as. I had seen a darkness in him that hadn’t impacted me yet. But subconsciously, I knew that it would come for me eventually. So I sat in the botanical gardens, pondering John’s puzzling nature while focusing on the lush green grass.

“Everyone has a mother. Everyone out there is someone’s child. Imagine if the person you are thinking about was your child. What love and grace would you show them?”

The thought formed in my mind, and it calmed me.

It has always been easier for me to give grace to others than myself. Forgiving John was easy because there was nothing to forgive6. Everyone fucks up, but he wasn’t even in the wrong. I was hurt by John, and I honor that painful experience. I don’t believe he intended to harm me. With time, having empathy for John was easy. If I were a mother, I imagine would tell my child the same thing. I imagine that I wouldn’t judge them or love them any less.

So why was it so hard for me to apply the same consciousness to myself?

All of this being said, to this day, I don’t know what this dream means. That’s not entirely true. I have some ideas due to what I felt in the dream. Dreams are interesting because the most unexpected characters7 and symbols can float throughout your subconscious for years while revealing endless wisdom. Every time I feel like I nail down a dream, it continuously reveals itself and reminds me how endlessly mysterious they are.

I love you.

(1) Disclaimer: Anything I write about anyone in my essays results from my subjective, human, and imperfect perspective. None of my essays aim to portray anyone negatively; that would be unfair, as this is my side of the story. I do not claim 100% accuracy of anything but my perspective, mainly because I have not had contact with some mentioned people in several years. We all grow and change.

(2) Lovebirds and swans mate for life.

(3) Disclaimer: I am not an expert on alcohol use, nor am I attempting to diagnose anyone. That would be wrong and misleading. These are purely my own observations and perspectives on a past situation. This says nothing about who he is now, as I have not had any contact with him for several years.

(4) This essay is long enough, but I would be remiss if I didn’t address the underlying impersonal dynamic of this interaction between John and my unplanned roommate. In this collection of essays, I discuss what it is like being a black woman in America who continuously attempts to fit into an impenetrable beauty norm perpetuated by the white male gaze. That in itself is complex enough. When you bring the black male gaze into the conversation, there is even more complexity to navigate.

Cultural beauty standards aren’t universal; they evolve and change throughout time and in various spaces. For example, there are time periods and countries where a fuller figure is celebrated. Black Culture has its host of rules that define what is desirable. Some of those rules diametrically oppose what is considered desirable according to the white beauty standard. For instance, to keep it simple, Black Culture is more apt to celebrate fuller, curvier figures than White Culture which considers thinness the beauty standard. So as a black woman, what standard do you want to appeal to? How does one reflect the duality of beauty?

There is another conversation regarding black men “choosing white women over black women.” Look, in an ideal world, everyone would be able to a) individually decide what they authentically desire and b) pursue those authentic desires without all of these complications, and that would be the end of the story. We don’t live in an ideal world. It was subconsciously damaging to see the black man I was with choose a white woman in less-than-ideal circumstances. I wish that that wasn’t a thing, but it is. Not only that, but my unplanned roommate somehow managed to be desirable within both gazes (from my admittedly immature perspective, I subconsciously wondered how this was possible). It wasn’t personal, and neither of them intentionally tried to hurt me that way (that would be unfathomable considering the numerous, nuanced intricacies), but it still had an impact. I am grateful for that experience because if I hadn’t lived through it, I don’t know that I would have had the glimpse that I do into these complex cultural dynamics. (Please note that I am not a cultural expert; the following observations and oversimplifications are my speculations.) There is probably some unspoken thing where if a black man has a white woman as a partner, that says something positive about him. Furthermore, for black men to benefit from the white beauty standard, black women must do their part by internalizing it so that if they do have a black female partner, it will reflect positively on them.

Tressie McMillan Cottom, the author of Thick, describes phenomenally how black women must try to achieve the paradox of white beauty while simultaneously cultivating its counter-paradox for black men to reap the benefits of choice between different potential racial partners. For a more professional perspective, check out her book.

(5) Refer to the second footnote.

(6) I don’t use the word “forgiveness” often because it usually implies that someone was in the “right” and the other person was in the “wrong” when perspective and truth are fluid. That is not an excuse to run around wreaking havoc on unsuspecting people. This word can lock people into polarity if not used carefully, possibly preventing movement and growth. There is nothing to “forgive” because we all do our best with what we know and the tools we are given. It doesn’t mean we didn’t cause pain, and it should not be used as an excuse. Most of the time, we miss that people act with what they believe are the best intentions, further separating us from understanding one another. That is something I want to change.

(7) The term “characters” refers to different people that appear in the dream. You may or may not recognize these people from your waking life. Instead, they act as powerful symbols and mirrors for hidden aspects of ourselves.

Katherine Perry 4/28/23 Katherine Perry 4/28/23

girl-on-girl crime

on comparison and belonging; shared (personal and yet impersonal) dreams; and our collective value system (1/7)

A month ago, I was out celebrating St. Patrick’s Day with John (1), John’s fiancé, and my partner at the time. What do any twenty-somethings do for St. Patrick’s Day? We went to a bar. We spent the night watching the local Irish step-dancers, eating fried chicken wings, and drinking. The bar was exceedingly loud and absurdly busy, but we had been there so many times that we didn’t mind being patient for service. Besides, there was plenty to drink while we waited.

John is one of my roommates. Finding my roommates was serendipitous. When I was moving, I had a week to figure out my entire living situation. One day, I was showing my mom how to use FaceBook Marketplace since she was downsizing (we agreed we would save a lot of time and headaches by just showing her how to use mine), and I stumbled upon a roommate ad posted by one of my high school classmates. (Mind you, if I wasn’t showing my mom how to use FaceBook, there is no way I would have seen the ad because I hadn’t been online in about a year.) I didn’t know her well in high school, but I remembered she was always kind to everyone. She met John in college, and they were living together. They needed another roommate because their previous one wanted to try living independently for the first time. I trusted her enough to know that she probably wasn’t hiding any bodies in the freezer, and John probably wasn’t hiding any in the freezer by association. That was good enough for me to request a tour. We spent a couple of hours talking since this was the first time I would live with someone I didn’t know. They seemed kind, caring, and respectful when I first met them (that remains true). I had a week to move, so I was ready to move in if they decided I was a good fit. Everything worked out; I couldn’t have asked for better roommates.

What stood out to me the most amidst that three-hour conversation was John. I thought I should have been nervous about living with someone I didn’t know. I wasn’t nervous about John. At the end of the conversation, I asked if they wanted to talk about anything else. John said something along the lines of, “We just want you to feel at home.” When I heard that, I felt peaceful about the situation. They weren’t empty words. On the first day I moved in, they cleaned everything, gave me a ride to go grocery shopping, and took me out to dinner. They gave me a tour of our city and introduced me to my favorite London fog. Both of my roommates are very attentive and generous. They made sure I had everything I needed to feel comfortable and continue to do so. I could write an entire essay on how thankful I am for them. We may not have the same personalities or living habits, but we all genuinely care about one another, so we have made everything work. I appreciated it when it came from John because he didn’t even know me. John is very caring. It is rare to find people genuinely kind to people they don’t know.

John has a huge heart and is genuinely one of the more thoughtful men I know. He adores his fiancé, and they are a really sweet couple. John is a bit hotheaded but also wise and prophetic. When I met him, I suspected there was much more to him than I could see on the surface. For a thirty-year-old, he has been through quite a bit. Whenever I talk to him, it feels like he has lived many lifetimes already. For privacy reasons, I won’t detail his entire life story here, but he has lived a less privileged life than me or his fiancé in specific ways (and more privileged in others, I’m sure). Nevertheless, he is incredibly kind and filled with gratitude. He never complains and is very intentional. I admire how he integrated the wisdom from his tough past experiences; he is appreciative and humble.

I don’t know quite how to describe John when he drinks other than he is relatively unfiltered. It’s great; so am I. He may be “fussy” (as his best friend and fiancé would put it) but always means well. We have always had a great time when we all get together. Amidst the live music, dancing, and drunken cheering, John asked me loudly, “Who’s hotter? You or that girl?”. I whipped around to check out the girl he was referring to. Three margaritas, one tequila soda, and one tequila shot deep I quickly answered, “Me obviously.” My partner asked what was going on since he couldn’t hear our conversation over the loud music, and John shouted, “Nothing! You’re girlfriend is just really confident!” My partner looked at me and smiled saying, “I know.”

I was photographing orchids at the New York Botanical Gardens a week ago when that memory popped back up. “What a disgusting thing to say,” I thought to myself as I reflected upon my thoughtless reaction and snapped another photo. I was disappointed in myself. The dissatisfaction I felt wasn’t for answering the way I did at the time or because of John’s comment because we had both been drinking a lot (although that is never an excuse for inappropriate behavior on my part). I was disappointed that that was my gut reaction when I didn’t have the wherewithal to create a conscious response.

John didn’t just ask me to compare myself to any girl in the bar… he pointed out the only other black girl in the bar (2). It wasn’t until I was away from that setting that I realized how many comparisons I had run through my head in what seemed like a nano-second. I examined her hair, facial features, body, and clothes, all to prove to myself that I was somehow more beautiful or “better” than her. I’m pretty sure that’s not what confident people do.

What did I measure against? It’s probably no surprise to you that whoever has the greater proximity to whiteness or what a white man like John would want would win that competition. Who’s hair texture was finer? Who’s body was slimmer? Who had nicer clothes? (I lost that battle when I decided to wear sweatpants to a bar. Still, I wanted to win the war.) You could go on and on. I would hazard a guess and say John didn’t know that he was pitting us against each other in a way we have likely experienced our whole lives. Was it even his fault? Certainly not. I took the bait. I didn’t notice it because I was also used to constantly pitting myself against other women to compare and evaluate who was more beautiful. It made me feel safe.

I don’t know that I ever felt consistent safety. I was privileged enough to grow up in an affluent town that, from a third-dimensional perspective, was incredibly safe. I was “safe” because I could walk around town as a child and never have to worry about my security. The chances of someone plucking me off the street to kidnap me were extremely low. The chances of hearing gunshots in the distance were unfathomable. I could hang out with my friends without worry just about anywhere, and that alone is something to be grateful for.

Although, in this seeming oasis, almost no one looked like me. I only had my sister and one friend to compare myself to, which I am sure was harmful to our relationship in unseen ways. I always thought this was okay because it was all I knew. I never considered while living there how this could be detrimental. I was lucky not to have been bullied (although, let’s face it, I would have been an easy target). I did well in school, was captain of my golf team, and had an easily likable demeanor. I experienced rough patches here and there (high school can get messy, which isn’t a big deal), but overall, I had a pretty good time. I wasn’t extraordinarily loved or hated. I was pretty quiet and had a good group of friends, so everything was normal outside. Over a year ago, when I was moving and sorting through my childhood belongings, I uncovered a journal from middle school. I rarely reread my journal unless I am looking for something specific. I flipped to a random page and found an entry about an encounter on the school bus. My best friend, a boy I thought was cute at the time, and I rode this bus together daily. (I don’t know how crushes work when you’re that young. It’s funny to think about who you thought was attractive at that age. I’m sure we were all cute kids.) I wrote in my journal that one day he said something like, “You should only date within your own race.” It would be silly to hold a child accountable to those words because he presumably didn’t develop those ideas on his own. My best friend jumped in immediately and said, “That’s stupid.” (She never tolerated any b.s. at any age.) I could tell from the journal entry that I felt hurt, embarrassed, and othered. I don’t know if it was for the first time, but it’s one of my clearer memories. You may forget what people say but not how they make you feel. I didn’t think about it then (we were at most eleven years old), but I carried that consciousness throughout high school, college, and now. Even though my experience in school was fine on the surface, I continuously felt I was less beautiful, desirable, and valuable than everyone else.

Why do we constantly compare ourselves to one another? I’m not sure I can fully explain this phenomenon because consciously, we all know that we are infinitely-varying-dimensional beings, i.e., none of us are or are even meant to be the same. I don’t know if it’s because it feels comfortable to know where you stand compared to everyone else, so you can’t be surprised if someone is rude to you. You feel safe from unexpected and unwarranted comments by running through all of the potential judgments someone could project onto you in your head. It could also be that constant comparison allows us to evaluate where we stand concerning cultural norms. I.e., it enables us to determine whether we “fit in” or feel at home. Furthermore, it allows us to identify how we can feel at home if we are willing to compromise certain aspects of ourselves to find this safety.

I will be the first to admit I have lived an incredibly privileged life. I have never faced housing, food, health, or true financial insecurities. Even when I was most financially insecure, I was fortunate enough to know that my family had the resources to help me if I was in serious trouble. This isn’t a luxury that everyone has. I was safe in all of those tangible ways. So why didn’t I feel safe?

Recently, I was having coffee with one of my friends whom I have known since middle school. We were talking about how places, like people, can be soulmates. All places are aligned with us; however, sometimes, it can take time for them to reveal their medicine. We are aligned with some places because they fit our personalities. I fell in love with Northern California during my first visit. The clear sun and moon; mountains, forests, beaches, and other diverse landscapes; the unparalleled taste of fresh fruit and vegetables; the sound of the crisp air; breathtaking flowers; delicious food… it was pure magic. My friend feels this way about Europe, whereas I don’t. Similar to soulmates, not every place is meant for everyone during particular seasons in life. Other places are aligned with us to reveal our shadows. We both grew up in this same small homogenous town. She is white but didn’t feel “at home” either. There is a lot to feeling as if you fit in somewhere. I never felt at home there for obvious and unseen reasons. I spent so much time trying to fit in. The closer to white I thought my peers saw me as, the safer I felt. I chemically straightened (burned) my hair for just over a decade. I begged my parents for the “right” clothes (they didn’t comply, so I had to wait until I was out of high school for that). I did all the “right” things to ensure I didn’t stick out in ways I could control. I thought I could breathe in relief if I checked all these boxes. None of it mattered because I couldn’t compensate enough for feeling out of place. I may not have felt at home there when I was younger, but it was a critical mirror of everything about myself that I needed to pay more attention to. My hometown was precisely where I needed to grow up.

The collective standard of beauty was my safety guide. I constantly compared myself to it to determine whether I was safe. If I strayed, I would feel anxious. This intangible safety was one I only felt when I felt as if I belonged. Is how we perceive beauty as a collective a “luxury” issue? Sure. I would agree with that. The answer to that is wholly dependent on who you ask. It could always be “worse,” especially considering all the tangible ways people encounter daily insecurity. No, I have never worried about where I would sleep at night, and I am lucky for that. My mom always says that the only difference between myself and anyone else is the circumstances in which we were born. I am forever grateful for my circumstances and can admit that how I am constantly devalued by others (and myself) is heartbreaking. Just because it “could be worse” doesn’t make anything I am experiencing less real. I have had to find my way of balancing honoring what has hurt me and having some perspective regarding the issues other people in entirely different circumstances may face.

Thank you for challenging me to redefine my definition of “belonging” and “home.” (Also, thank you for being a wonderful roommate and making me feel at home from day one.)

I love pondering how we can redefine our concept of beauty because it’s not really about beauty. What we consider “beautiful” reflects how we understand “value.” It’s just a metaphor, and plenty of other metaphors help convey the same message: some people are more valued than others in the culture we have all created together. I am not saying that we are all directly or consciously responsible for the society that we live in. None of us were even alive at the very beginning, especially if you’re reading this essay. However, consciously and subconsciously, we reinforce ideals of what makes certain people more or less valuable, whether with our thoughts, actions, etc. John and I were doing just that when we were in the bar. No one is perfect.

Recently, I have been thinking about the value of perspective. I have felt so blocked lately, unable to write because I didn’t think my story was “unique” or “special” enough. There is nothing about my life that is especially distressing. That was before I thought: what about the daily toll of constantly being reminded that, from a collective cultural perspective, I have always been valued less than everyone else for simply existing? What about how I was constantly comparing and devaluing myself, consciously and subconsciously perpetuating these unattainable standards? Was that not distressing enough? Is all of this not enough to warrant a deeper conversation? Even though I haven’t experienced anything truly deplorable, simply existing with these reminders that no form of external validation could fix, e.g., more money, a particular job, etc., was harrowing enough. It is painful enough to look in the mirror or have other people serve as mirrors, constant reminders of where you fall on the lovable scale. We all have infinitely unique perspectives because no one is out there like us. Even though my circumstances aren’t particularly extreme, I found that even sadder because hundreds of thousands, if not millions, share this experience by simply existing.

This is one of the reasons I love writing this story; it is a shared experience. I enjoy writing about how we perceive beauty because I know I am not alone. Do you have that recurring dream where you are back in high school and you forgot your homework? What about the one where you didn’t know there was a test and are completely unprepared? Or that heinous dream where you have been absent from school for months, no one noticed, and then you have to turn in homework, take an exam, etc.? I have, and so have many others. You know the fear, panic, anxiety, etc., I feel during that dream because you have probably had it too. It’s a collective dream. The feeling of not belonging is a collective nightmare. You probably know this feeling even if you haven’t had the dream. You don’t need to be me or black to know exactly what I mean. There are so many other ways to experience discrimination, whether it is ageism, ableism, colorism, classism, elitism, homophobia, transphobia, xenophobia, etc. You get it. Even if you are not marginalized, I am sure you know what it is like to be compared (by someone else or yourself) in some way. It is such a commonplace wound, but everyone knows to some degree what it is like to feel unsafe or like they didn’t fit in somewhere at some point in time. You know what it’s like to have your lovability, your value, negotiated. It is a universal, pervasive wound that needs to be healed.

I am sorry for internally negotiating my value and constantly comparing myself to others because, in truth, we are all equally loved.

We all share dreams and nightmares collectively; it is everyone’s job to heal the collective culture. I am so aggravated when people blame things on “society” as if “society” is some distant, unrelated monster that will stay under our beds while we remain protected simply because our bedsheets cover our eyes. Um hello? We are “society.” Collectively, wedecide what we value. Value runs deep. There are so many systems at play that influence what we value. Getting to the root of our true values isn’t easy and takes some reevaluation. We all share the power to pay attention, learn, and heal the collective culture. There don’t seem to be any shortcuts that I am aware of. It may take consistent and constant reevaluation and integration to heal core, shared wounds. However, I don’t see why this cannot be done.

It is also essential to consider why these systems and standards are alive and well. I have internalized these narrow cultural beauty ideals even though they don’t benefit me at all. Or do they? One of my favorite shaman-podcast-hosts (I am sure I will mention Shaman Durek again throughout these essays because he is truly brilliant) used to say something along the lines of, “When we want something to change, and it remains the same, we need to begin questioning the parts of us that want things to stay the same.” (3) Why would we want these paradigms to continue to exist? Why do I continue to internalize them? Why do I continue to measure myself against a standard that is literally impossible for me to attain? Because it benefits me in some way.

No one would ever mistake me for white. Even though I am not the darkest person (due to the white people in my ancestral history), I would never pass. I am, however, the darkest person in my immediate and close extended family. When we were much younger, my cousins and I would joke about one another’s complexions. We noticed who would tan heavily in the summer (me) and wondered why some people in our family looked “white” in their birth photos. Did anyone mean anything by it? No. We were kids, and none of us were malicious. We were more confused than anything concerning our family’s vast spectrum of skin complexions. Attempting to pass could be a key to safety for those with a lighter complexion. (This was especially true at certain points in history.) Is there some internalized colorism in my family? Probably. I’ve always wondered about that. It’s hard to escape when that seems like your way of attaining the unattainable. For some people in my family, that could be their ticket; that could be how this system benefits them. This is only one example. For every marginalization, there always seems to be a way for the marginalized to counter-correct. Is it ever enough?

The collective beauty paradigm runs so much deeper than I could ever describe in this essay. It exists because right now, we want it to. Whether it’s family members who could try to pass or me who can try to stay thin, those who have some aspect of themselves that allows them to come close to what is “beautiful” have more to gain from abiding by the rules rather than saying “fuck it.” People love boxes and rules. People love hearing that if they do X, then Y and Z follow. Rules keep us safe. The rules make this system seem beneficial to me; if I can follow them, I have a chance. We may hate the rules, but they give people like me hope that we will someday win the impossible game if we follow them closely.

There are always more layers. Value is decided collectively. I would speculate that white women want, consciously and/or subconsciously, non-white women to aspire to fit into the beauty mold because then that would mean that they are intrinsically more valuable. I.e., they benefit more from this system when there are people who will do anything to “earn” the beauty they already have. I’m sure men love this because it puts them in a power position to have nearly half the population doing whatever they can to attain desirability and approval within the white-male gaze (4). One layer above is all companies and industries that prey on women’s insecurities to market “beauty” and “empowerment” while keeping everyone small. They flourish. There are all kinds of stakeholders in the exploitative beauty industrial complex. They all benefit from those oppressed by this system internalizing their oppression. I am sure there are more stakeholders than I have listed here. Acknowledging and identifying how we are one of them is the first step to creating change.

I love you.

(2) Let me make this abundantly clear: knowing John’s character, he didn’t mean anything by the comment and definitely did not say it to make me uncomfortable. None of this is a critique of his character (the same goes for all of the people I mention in my essays). To anyone at the bar, it probably seemed like an insignificant comment. Even I didn’t know it meant something to me until later.

This is important because I wholeheartedly believe we need to do a better job of not assuming the worst in people. I know John well, and he has a good heart. That is one of the reasons I wanted to write about him. He has so many people who love and admire him. His relationships and community speak volumes about his character. I may not know everything about John, but I know enough to know for sure he wasn’t being malicious. John is an excellent example of someone who said something that did mean something to me, but that doesn’t mean he is a bad person. I was never upset with him. I was only upset with myself for my response. He highlighted my unseen internalized biases that needed to come to light. Thank you, John.

This does not mean that people shouldn’t be accountable for their words. However, I don’t think we should wait for people to be responsible for their words to make ourselves feel better. First and foremost, we need to take responsibility for our feelings and heal whatever needs to be healed within ourselves. Imagine if we all cleaned up our sides of the street instead of constantly telling people how to clean up theirs. We don’t control anyone. What do we do when we encounter hateful people? Can you make them un-hateful by trying to shove your dogmas and ideologies down their throats? No. Change and reflection only occur if that person wants to create it for themselves. We can, however, engage in conscious conversation.

If I thought John was hateful, I would have confronted him like I always do if that is what I suspect. It’s important to me. Not everyone who says something they don’t realize is hurtful is hateful. You, your neighbor’s cousin, and I have probably all said at least one harmful thing before. It happens. We don’t know everyone’s triggers. Being unaware or unintentional is not an excuse either. We can consciously confront them if appropriate, but that doesn’t mean we need to write them off. There is a balance. I know that we know where that balance is. Use your judgment. If confrontation will bring more peace somehow, say something. We don’t need more chaos. I am very tired of this behavior and cancel culture. How we show grace and compassion to others often reflects how we show it to ourselves and vice versa.

This is a common theme throughout my essays. I will never blame anyone for my feelings because it is disempowering. As I said earlier, I cannot control anyone. I certainly cannot make anyone apologize for any pain I have experienced, and I wouldn’t want them to anyway. It doesn’t help me. The pain I experienced, as a result, was already within me in the first place. An apology doesn’t magically make it go away. This was not the case with John, but there are many people out there that do want to hurt other people. I will never wait for someone else to bring me resolution or peace.

(3) Disclaimer: I am heavily paraphrasing; that is not a direct quote.

(4) The following essay will address the white and black male gaze.

Katherine Perry 4/28/23 Katherine Perry 4/28/23

an introduction to the "dear john" project and its following seven essays

Our relationships with our bodies vary in meaning depending on the body we are born into and how that body is perceived by the collective culture. Some people don’t have any complex awarenesses surrounding their bodies; for others, their relationship with the body is mythic and metaphorical. This collection was initially intended to heal my relationship with my body. I have carried this wound with me for several years; I finally made it a point to question it and open up a conversation. When something stays with you for that long and has such a potent impact on your life, chances are the source of the wound isn’t what you think it is. Instead, it is something much more profound.

Practicing healing ourselves is one of the most powerful things we can do. Let me be clear: I am not invalidating the benefits of therapy or seeking professional help. I have been fortunate to have very proficient, seasoned, and caring teachers. How else do we learn and grow if not by observing and interacting with one another? Healing ourselves does not mean that we do it alone. We all leverage diverse relationships, whether a therapist, teachers, or loved ones, to heal.

It can be challenging to see the shadows or unintegrated parts of ourselves, let alone objectively. One of the most beautiful parts of being human is that we aren’t alone in our experiences. More often than not, the people around us have experienced, are experiencing, or will experience many of the same archetypal dimensions of humanity as us in our lifetimes. We all reflect one another. If we are open, everyone around us is our teacher. We may learn from people by observing them, engaging in conversations, etc.; there are infinite ways to learn. As humans, we are more interconnected than we can perceive. Everyone has their way of coming home to the idea that we are all connected; my way is through The Mirror.

Relationships are some of the most powerful mirrors we have. When I want to see, heal, and integrate unseen parts of myself, I often look to the people closest to me. Seeing parts of ourselves that we often overlook, i.e., our blindspots isn’t always easy. Relationships, especially our closest ones, offer an objective mirror into those disregarded and disowned parts of ourselves. How many times have we told a friend to do XYZ but needed that advice for ourselves? How many times have we looked at our loved ones and seen more parts of ourselves in them than we care to admit? The more we know ourselves, the more we see ourselves in others and vice versa. Relationships are not only mirrors for discrete qualities but also for how we interact with the world. I.e., someone may not be an exact mirror for our personality traits, but how they upset or inspire us is an informational compass for how we can grow.

Each of the following seven essays focuses on a relationship that had an extraordinary impact on me at some point in time. Every relationship revealed the depth and intricacy of this wound in its own unexpected and remarkable way. If I had a major “character flaw,” it would be that I easily show grace and compassion to everyone else before myself, which is one of the reasons healing my relationship with my body and my relationship with that relationship has been so convoluted. Examining these relationships has allowed me to trace the wound to its origins. They revealed unknown aspects of the story to create a clearer, fuller picture, ultimately allowing for closure and renewal.

This project began to explore the deeper nuances between my relationships with my body and our collective cognition of beauty. Every personal wound is simultaneously impersonal and vice versa; this is one of the most beautiful parts of humanity. You may not identify as a black woman, but I am confident you will be able to find yourself somewhere in one of these essays. As I mentioned, our deepest wounds are never what they seem to be on the surface. Unearthing the unseen dimensions of my relationship with my body revealed an archetypal sentiment we can all relate to.

with love, katie