It’s been a while since I talked about Aphrodite.
Dealing with the fallout of abuse is hard. You’re angry or sad or scared and that’s it. No in between. It’s hard to find compassion when everything reminds you of him and it’s all you can do to continue living.
Therapy is a great boon. Local rape crisis centers often offer therapy free of charge, which is good for a small scared enby like me. But therapy is stuffy. It’s psychobabble and retraining your brain. Not a lot of love and compassion.
Yesterday I went to a group on my campus that’s for spreading love, kindness, that sort of thing. Vaguely white feminist, but decent. At the beginning they did a loving kindness meditation. This, strangely, was fantastic. As the firey red head guided us in sending out loving kindness to our friends and family and ourselves, I felt her wash over me. Visuals of rose petals covering me, love overwhelming, the whole nine yards.
Sometimes the gods come back to us in times of trouble. Sometimes they carry us through hardships. Others though, we have to find them again. We must wallow and mourn, ues. But we get up, dust ourselves off, and offer ourselves up again.