homelessdoula-blog

[homelessdoula-blog]

Going into the City

Im going to the City

I shall dance into the City

I shall prance into the City

painted my soles with the blood of my matriarchs

Im swinging my hips into this City

leaving foot prints on their streets

leaving my scars imprinted in their eyes when I flashed them

they thought they saw my bosoms but in truth i was wearing my Grandmother’s chest that once fed my body

they thought they saw my striped hips swaying but in truth they were scars from having opened up as an Earth portal to my children’s bodies

after dancing and prancing in their streets I make my journey into another City

leaving disruptive and bloody footprints in their City........

Im going to the City

I shall dance into the City

I shall prance into the City

painted my soles with the blood of my matriarchs

Im swinging my hips into this City

leaving footprints on their streets

leaving my scars imprinted in their eyes, when I flash them

they thought they saw my bosoms but in truth I was wearing my Grandmother’s chest scars which once fed my body

they thought they saw my striped hips swaying but in truth they were scars from opening up as an Earth portal to my children’s bodies

after dancing and prancing in their streets I make my journey to another City

leaving disruptive and bloody footprints in their City.........

[homelessdoula-blog]

Trust = Quality

Like a very expensive writing prompt kit, I can practice finessing my pretty thoughts into Quality writing. There is so much beauty in my mind waiting to be released from the shackles put on me as a Rajput, Syed, first born Muslim daughter. I trust my audience’s curiosity to want to learn what a Rajput or Syed or the Muslimah daughters significance are to my story. My tool box is filled with colors from that exotic world. I trust myself to paint a quality picture filled with aromas of my Indus ancestors market adventures. I trust my audience to believe me when I say, we can smell an intergenerational adventure. I can show them it when I trust myself to write a quality piece of writing.

[homelessdoula-blog]

Revisiting

Writing has been a challenge for me. Dropping out of high school made me lose out on the opportunities which could have made me better equipped for today. I have so many things to say but I get confused. My brain has to formalize the thoughts in Urdu then translate it into English. So much gets lost in translation. Looking back at some of my previous work I can definitely say Ive gotten better at this. I am overcoming this challenge by revisiting and correcting my flaws in writing.

[homelessdoula-blog]

Getting to the help

I got home from getting Qayse from school. I got myself together this morning and managed to FINALLY get to a Psych appointment. This is a huge win. Everytime I see the Doctor’s cell phone number in my Whats app im reminded of the several appointment times I wasted. I didn’t do it on purpose, so much was happening in my life, I was scared of going there. I told my doctor that I won today by just getting myself there.

She told me the type of things that were available to help me. We clearly discussed my needs. I was able to narrow it down to the specific incidents of sexual abuse in my childhood that stemmed into domestic abuse. Coming from a place where hiding secrets of crimes against humanity is a common practice in my family. I learned it really well. I responded by demanding a way to unlearn the words and the hurt I still felt in my scars from old nightmares.

I understood Harry Potter’s pain, I too had a scar on my forehead in the shape of a lightning bolt. Mine didn’t come from an epic battle of good and evil magic forces. I earned mine through the application of a broken plastic clothes hanger to my face. Dad had a power practice moment when the 15 year old me was no longer interested in letting him penetrate my world again through abusing my mother. The last time he left September 11 thing happened, this time around I knew his stupid ass was here to stay.

Mom and I had such a good thing going. She went to school and work, we all worked together as a team. We earned fun restaurant trips and movie nights with her. She didn’t let a looser come ruin our freedom, we wore whatever we liked, ate where we wanted and even hung out in churches with friends. At some point I feel like she stopped trying to help me when he came back because that empowered woman let herself become a victim again. In her failing to protect herself she further left room for my sisters and I to become his and his family’s victims.

The pinnacle point where a woman decides to leave an abuser, she automatically removes her children from that possible place of being her abusers victims too. Perhaps this is all part of my transition out the second stage abused women’s program. Realistically i’m quite on the mark if I were to plot my situation on a timeline. Its January 13 today. I moved out the program exactly 105 days ago.

Actually wait, wait, wait!

I’m giving myself a pat on the back. My instincts are just reassuring I won’t become a victim again. I did all the right things, as Judy A likes to affirm me. I did indeed do all the right things because I am making sure I am strong enough to not become weak like my mom. Her hunger for status, success and power make her weaker than me. I am indeed different and NOT her!

[homelessdoula-blog]

LOST

Thu. Jan 12 2017

I'm starting to get comfortable. That overwhelming need to be in survival mode is slowly going away. It's scary to be friends with Gerald he has made me lose trust many times. Im also not that dumb girl anymore. In the last 3 weeks I have had over 3 men invite themselves into my home and my life. Wow these sharks are really out there. It was not about running away from Gerald, it was leaving that scared girl behind.

I started writing this post in an attempt to express how lost I felt. Im overwhelmed that I have to write my first ever sermon. The gut wrenching idea of having a whole congregation hear me preach. Thats huge. Im not sure I can do this. Thinking about how freaking awesome my sermon is going to be, I dont feel unqualified at all. I have lots to say and am looking for the Holy Spirit to help me pick through these stories. 

Im a master at writing about something where I am writing about something. I do this with everything in life, it lets me sit in the passenger seat allowing God to sit in the driver seat. My psychotic need to be in control is evident in my expressions of mistrust, especially when I slam my foot on the invisible breaks. The fact that I have to write about The Sermon on the Hill, I just gotta be like Eminem and tell everyone to “please Stand Up”. Or be like Beyonce “lets get into formation”. Everyone else is doing the role call, some do it in their support of certain brands name labels, social group, institutional memberships, you all did it; when Jesus called to come to church every Sunday. 

I was born and raisd in the Muslim tradition. When I was 7 i remember living in The United Arab Emirates in a up and coming port city called Dubai. Through my bedroom balcony door: I heard a wailing call to prayer 5 times a day. There was always a huge wall in between me and that voice. My vision was  of a sharply dressed and gruesome, dark, yet diciplined knight, that would come crashing through that concrete wall to hand me MY BATON and directions. My job as a faithful follower was to bow and wait in prayer.

I wrote about meeting this Radical Dude that stalked me since I was an 8 year old girl. Following me like a shadow, I found his presence in every dark corner I went into. Even when I hung out with the sexworking 16 year old roomate from Covenant house a shelter for homeless teenagers, this stalker dude told me to hang out with him around the corner making my money as the lookout that night. 

It wasnt until 2008 when the 20 year old me found out I was pregnant for baby number 2, while I had just had baby #1 less than 90 days ago. He introduced himself by his name this time. In a Place called Jewels for Jesus I went to get the courage the walk in clinic nurse forgot to give, when she confirmed the fetuses age at 5 weeks. I went there to get help because the name implied I was a gemstone of some sort, I liked the comforting idea of being loved by someone else in that Love giving overdrive mode I was about to go in.

So I figured out a few things...

He Loves me, He has my back and helps me figure out the right things for me, Im starting to feel the importance of this person. Lets hear him out, where can I listen to the things he said, I knew I didnt wanna go to places where I would have to read stuff. I wanted to hear stories, words and a variety of them. Songs told me about him and the sacraments like my baptism and confirmation let me physically experience my emergence into the other side of the font water, in a whole different world. 

I haven't been able to leave since May 10 2015, Im delivering my first sermon about Jesus’s sermon. This Radical message made me join this Anglican club, I was already hanging out at the Anarchists club they didn't have all the pieces to keep a ritual lover like me to stay. 

[homelessdoula-blog]

Letter to my Mentor

So here I am on a Thursday evening eating pizza on the couch. Surrounded by boxes and chaos I can’t keep this nagging voice in my head from telling me that it’s all your fault, you wanna be like her.

With all fairness I figured I share the journals with everyone else in the process because I am ME. To be honest with you I really don’t know what I am doing either. Its one of those things where I felt the strongest tug, in the same place the umbilical cord used to be.

It’s one of things I feel called to do.

My life is a messy room. I managed to clean it up into a big giant pile of dirt. There is the exact same amount of dirt and mess as there was before but I’ve managed to contain it. Every day after living my life in my Now, I manage to save up some energy to be able to sort through the contained pile of dirt and mess. Some days I manage to get all the big things and am left with dust that just needs to be scooped up. After all that effort I end up undoing it all some days. I get too lazy to scoop up the dust and it immediately scatters back into the beginning of the uncontained mess. The struggle some days has been to do the right thing no matter how tired I am. There is no better feeling of being in a chaos free environment.

Exactly a year ago my life was in a very bad version of that uncontained mess. I had no energy let alone strategy to start containing that mess. One day at church I heard the priest say something about some seed and how it took time to get ready for the season in the roots before he decided to sprout upward. It’s a plan. I had church but no Jesus, Father or Spirit in my life. I was listening just not paying attention.

I found all 3 of them over and over again as I got better at clearing up those piles of mess and dirt. I’m about to go to “My New Home”. I really want to live my life with my community. My soul will only be happy among other people. My life’s mess will be contained in a manageable pile every time it starts accumulating again. My village has this amazing way of spiritually keep me energised and keep my gifts flowing. Community has been the source of my strength at my most weakest.

What better than the Co-op housing, we are excited to have earned our own little safe space to call home again. I’m supposed to be packing but I don’t move for another 57 days. There isn't much to pack since all the furniture, linens and all other household items belong to the shelter. As I count my days to start my new ventures, a sense of feeling safe again, basket filled with gifts and new skills. I am ready.

It just so happens that the Learning on Purpose workshop starts in 10 days I am also very nervous but I am ready. I accommodated my children’s needs for the summer season, got excused from participating in the programing at the shelter. I even got around the whole babysitting dilemma by discovering the gifts of a friend when I decided to love her like myself. Everything is happening like the way an uninterrupted birth unfolds. Today was the day I was going to read my course readings and catch up on the materials. However I decided to take a more applied approach to my course and do the action part of what I’m reading. My whole day has flashed before me with the best adrenaline rush. I helped a friend then I helped some random elderly woman by delivering her furniture while I was supposed to be delivering my friend’s desk from the local thrift store. I always see the woman in there. When I was walking out her place after lifting up her entertainment shelf into the corner of its new home. The lady gave me some change and asked if I were an angel, my immediate response was nope “ I just really want to be an Anglican Deacon tho”. I feel really beat up after another round of delivering over 100 pounds of paper to my sons co-op daycare. I came home with so many goodies and necessities to pack away for my new home. The best thing about it all was the part where I heard myself accept this calling for the first time. I declared it to the universe today and I am ready.