I'm Forgiving Myself

I'm forgiving myself.

I'm forgiving myself for having a fridge filled with no apples,

A container with one inch of milk,

And four moldy bell peppers which I had to toss into the garbage yesterday.

I'm forgiving myself for the child who is not here who would be 32 this year.

It's okay,

I tell myself,

Whispers of her wafting into my memory every now and again.

I'm forgiving myself for leaving the Catholic Church,

The church who houses a bishop who refuses to call trans or non-binary folks by their chosen names,

Their new names,

The names in which they feel the most at home in a body that has been foreign territory.

I'm forgiving myself for the 10 pounds that seem to have found me in perimenopause.

I used to wear a badge at Weight Watchers that said my name,

How many pounds I lost,

And the date I lost the pounds.

I also carried a lifetime Weight Watchers card in my wallet until recently.

I set it on fire.

I'm forgiving myself for peeling kitchen laminate,

Outdated linoleum,

And faded countertops.

For a kitchen remodel that I'm fairly certain will never come to fruition because the one we did 24 years ago left a mark that I don't wish to revisit.

I would much prefer to either move or burn the kitchen down.

Besides,

Where will I put my moldy bell peppers?

I'm forgiving myself for being a messy,

Honest,

Foul-mouthed,

Religionless human who requires less these days.

This is my prayer for all of us.

Lay down the stuff that we've held on to for far too long and be set free.

Embody our divinity.

Let's do that,

Okay?

Let's do that.