sacred space

I didn't notice it until now, but Ramadan took a toll on me.

It's frustrating to realize, yet again, that my mother doesn't grasp the severeness of the trauma that I still battle with now. I also felt hurt. Ever since the end of Ramadan, I've been missing my siwoh more. I've been missing her arms around me, telling me everything will be okay while she massages my legs. Today my body gave out. Again. I was at my aunt's place. She's the only one from my mother's friend group who's also a practicing Muslim who accepts me as I am and who I also let her come near me. During revalidation, she was the only one who visited me at my siwoh's place. I still remember that day. We sat in the adjacent garden from my siwoh's house. I sat on her walker while she hugged me. We cried and she apologized for my mother's behavior. It felt like a mother's hug. Something I desperately needed, even though I was too proud to admit it. I bawled my eyes out.

Now I'm sitting on her couch and I know she knows I'm "off". She didn't ask me about it, but held me instead. I felt her hands on the top of my head. Mind you: I never let anyone touch my head. Growing up, I learned it was my sacred place. Combined with the fact that I'm not a touchy-feeling person, most of the people felt a bit apprehensive to hug me while coming into adulthood. Most of the time I take the initiative but when I don't, I can see most adults don't know what to do with themselves when greeting each other. Call me arrogant, but I couldn't be bothered to let someone else touch me that I wouldn't want to. I might not hug you when seeing you first, I will always say hi politely but depending on my mental state, I might offer a hug when saying bye.