Cycle breakers: a love letter

The first homes we inhabited and the first surroundings we were exposed to, decided our privileges and penalties, the kind of opportunities, and the intensity of instinctive survival skills. The first people and places we met gave us memories and traits, mannerisms, and maybe even an accent. Sometimes this legacy also bequeathed wounds.

These wounds hurt the most when you try to heal them. They would name medicine destructive and not therapeutic. These wounds would call themselves an illusion and would have you believe that you are crazy.

Some of us carry these wounds. The rest of us carry scars from generations of people who stood up and broke cycles, who tried to lessen the blow of existence on us, though they weren’t healed enough to leave us unscathed.

Some of us were raised in patriarchal or homophobic structures, abusive households, or traumatic surroundings. Some of us are tired, enraged and annoyed at being forced into an existence we didn’t choose. Some of us are still figuring out if we are wrecking pieces left or aiding it sail. Some of us just want to see the shore. 

Some of us do not have people to hold accountable for the scars on our backs, that we blame the reflection on the mirror.

Some of us are too afraid of never being free from these traces, that we are too afraid to breathe.

Some of us are trying to heal; Some of us are healing.

Luckily some of us also took the first step. We decided we have had enough of hate, neglect and shame. We decided that we’ve got to heal either for ourselves or the world. We decided to break the cycle. We decided to try.

If you stood up or even tried to and said” This ends with me”, I hope it does. I also hope that you know that you’re doing the right thing, and whatever you’re made up of (stardust or not), it is beautiful, incredible, and resilient.

Writer: Annie Iniya J