Nourish Me...

My kitchen receives the most sunlight in my home. My favorite places to sit are where there's natural brightness and warmth. I take most of my Friday morning virtual therapy appointments from my tiny kitchen island. It's at peak time when the sunlight directly hits the little houseplant with one leaf in the window. I can trace exactly how the shadow hits part of the windowsill because that is where my focus goes whenever my therapist asks me the hard question(s). Sometimes I stare at it thinking, "My poor plant"... I'm not sure what I need to do to make it bloom bigger. I'm not sure how to nourish it. 

And that was the hard question my therapist asked me. 

"What do you need from people to pour into you? How can they nourish you?"

I sat there baffled. Shit, I have no clue... I sat there staring at the plant, thinking we were both stuck. The plant stuck with that one leaf, and me with just myself to provide nourishment. 

"Can I get back to you with that?"

The life coach in me made journaling prompts for myself to notice when I feel poured into by friends, family, and peers. The problem is that most women of color who lack a solid foundation must navigate the world on their own. Through your own trials and tribulations, you push through. You figure it out on your own and become successful. 

I nourish myself. I rely on myself, especially as a solo parent. And when you aren't used to seeking support, you aren't used to being vulnerable.  Even if I knew what I needed, am I comfortable expressing it? There's a hesitation because there's also a fear of how the other person will respond. Will they be able to provide that for you? What if they let you down? Then you have to be disappointed, and you're tired of being disappointed by people, which is why you rely on yourself from the get-go. See, it's a whole complicated cycle! The narrative (trauma response) becomes that there isn't anyone else to count on or ask for help from. 

What does it mean to be nourished? From a plant perspective, I'm not a good plant parent. The most I can give on any given day is water. Clearly, that's not enough for growth. To be nourished by another human, I realized I want more than what I have been receiving and accepting. 

My journaling prompts came to this definition: 

Nourishment from others looks like having relationships where I feel emotionally safe, consistently supported, and genuinely considered. Where I do not have to prove my worth, overfunction, or carry everything alone. It feels like joy, ease, reciprocity, and being deeply seen and held when needed.

I'm still working on what this definition translates into in action, but I'm happy with the starting point. 

I know how I give can be different for each person I have a relationship with, which can range from a random dinner DoorDash for my friend's family, a Lyft gift card in a time of need, holding space for venting or advice, even if I'm tired, or allowing friends to cheaply travel with me because they are going through it. But it has come at a cost. Every time I pour into someone else, I'm depleting myself even if it's just a little. 

Like my plant hanging on to that one leaf, I'm hanging on to get that one source of nourishment. But this time, I've depleted myself so much that it's impacting my health. And just watering isn't enough. This time, I have to pause pouring into others and truly pour into myself. This brought up a lot of emotions, but it also came back to my therapist's question. As I nourish myself, I realize I may actually need help. I have to be vulnerable enough to ask for it and trust that the people I am asking will provide that nourishment.  

And if not, the Scorpio in me will make them a non (mf) factor in my life. I'm just kidding... maybe. 

For my high-performing women doing it all, how are you being poured into and nourished? 

Loving me first,

 Laticia (aka Kahleesi)