Funk, Fire, and Friction

Notes from the Cocoon

Funk, Fire, and Friction by MaMuse plays in my head as I slowly wake to a new day.

Depression has had its heavy grip on me for weeks now. The familiar tug began at the end of August. I resisted it as long as I could…firm, stubborn…but one final blow was enough to catch me in the undertow again. Suddenly, showing up feels suffocatingly difficult.

So I bargain with myself: just one hard thing. And then another. Sometimes that means getting out of bed. Sometimes, brushing my teeth. Sometimes, eating or simply taking a deep breath.

Today, I managed a shower. Rose soap for the heart chakra. Sandalwood for grounding. The song grew louder in my mind as I moved through the motions. I trimmed my nails, surprised to see how long they’d grown…long enough to dig into my palms as I lifted weights yesterday. That session with my trainer was another difficult “showing up” moment. I almost cancelled, but I didn’t.

I keep circling the word sovereignty. Wanting to write about it. Wanting to define it. What is sovereignty, really? To me, it begins with knowing myself well enough to honor myself. To see myself with clear eyes and offer compassion for the truths I’d rather not face.

Like this one: I am often so disconnected from my body that when my trainer asks, “Where do you feel it?” I can’t answer. I don’t know. What I do know is that the weight feels good in my hands. Heavier and heavier. I want to lift it. I want to feel something in my bones that isn’t grief, shame, or sadness.

Still, I don’t feel hopeless. Hope is the fuel that has carried me through forty-five years. Hope that there is more to this life than suffering. Hope that all is well. Faith that the sun will rise tomorrow, and that its light will reach the damp, hidden places inside me that haven’t seen the day in far too long. Hope that I will finally honor and release.

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Take the funk and the fire and friction
Transform it all in me
I am my own magician
Making magic with my heartbeat

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I want to thrive…because I’m not sure I ever truly have. I want to honor the sacred cocoon of depression I’m in, trusting that I will emerge. I will emerge. I emerge.

“Say it like you mean it,” a voice whispers. “Say it with conviction.” And I know it helps, but darkness still plays tricks. Light and shadow dance across the walls, illuminating monsters creeping about. Monsters who are only my younger selves in masks and costumes. Nothing to fear, but they still startle me.

Someday they won’t. Someday I’ll chase them around with playful jump-scares, and we’ll laugh until our sides ache. Until then, I return to my rule: just one hard thing. One hard thing at a time.

Put on socks.