Notes from March

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March brought me a gentle realization: I am capable of loving and trusting myself far more than I thought I was.

A huge chunk of that self-love and trust was tied to forgiveness.

After finding all the ways I traded my peace in February, I was really hard on myself. It’s a thing I do — I cry over spilled milk and hope that regret is going to make me wiser.

I’m convinced that if I hate myself for what I did, then I won’t do it again.

But the truth is, self-loathing is just poison.

It’s not a catalyst for change. It’s not productive in any way. It just makes you feel unsafe in your own body — a body you cannot escape.

So I had to forgive myself.

For my emotional reactions.

For all the tears.

For being weak and needy.

For exposing my vulnerabilities.

For abandoning myself.

Even for sidelining God.

But most of all, for my humanity.

I had to forgive myself for being human because I would much rather be a god.

Sometimes, I think I am above being human. But here I am, stuck in humanity — the kind that comes with a need for connection, a nervous system that needs regulating, a body that needs tending, and a mind so wild it must be tamed.

March said:

Chinelolum is human, but God can handle her humanity.

Chinelolum is human, so emotions are expected from her. They are normal, not an emergency.

Chinelolum is human. She’s complex, complicated, weird, and wounded — but Christ is her simplicity. His love interprets her in ways even she could never have done for herself.

Chinelolum is human. She will have desires. It is not a betrayal of contentment to want more than this provincial life.

Chinelolum is human. She will feel a wide range of emotions. Some are chemical, because hormones are interacting. Some are spiritual, because she hasn’t been praying. Some are psychological, because her mind is working overtime to protect her from pain. But they are all part of her human experience, and God is not unaware of them.

Chinelolum is human. She will get attached to someone who feels like an exhale after holding her breath for so long. She will get excited. Then she will want time, attention — anything that keeps the feeling alive. She will get a little entitled, but that doesn’t make her needy or spoilt. She’s just human.

Chinelolum is human. She will gravitate toward people in search of connection, safety, and solace. But because she is dealing with fellow humans, she may be disappointed. She may not find what she’s looking for.

But how she deals with that disappointment matters.

Will she make desire the villain and say, “I’ll never seek connection in people again. I’m fine on my own”?

Will she make the people villains and hate them for the same humanity she has?

Or will she accept that not all stories have villains and realize that what she wants is not perfection, but company — a human to be human with?

Because in acceptance lies great freedom.

Yet we can only accept others if we accept ourselves.

If love is accommodating a person’s humanity, and we ought to love others as we do ourselves, then love starts within.

We must first make room for ourselves, determine how much space we take up, and become comfortable with it.

So much of the hate we feel toward people — and the world at large — is hate we have for ourselves. We are often just projecting.

But oh, I am so done hating myself.

In March, I learned to accept myself.

I accept my strengths, so I exercise them.

I accept my beauty, so I take compliments with grace.

I accept my hysterical laughter, so I go where there is humor.

I accept the way my mind works, so I write — I do not hold back.

I accept my body, so I care for it, adorn it, and steward it.

I accept my voice, so I speak. I ramble. And if you let me, I’ll minister truth to you.

I accept my hair, so I wear it proudly, and when I want to switch it up a little, I get clean braids.

I accept my weaknesses, so I ask for help. I refuse to romanticize false independence.

And because I accept her, I am now armed with enough love to change her, grow her, teach her, and align her with the vision God sees for her — a vision He is opening her eyes to see too.

I accept her, so I trust her.

I trust that she will not bleed again in the hands of people who merely opened a wound they did not cause — a wound that never really healed.

I trust that she will treat her emotions as the information agents they truly are, not as catastrophes.

I trust that she will no longer abandon herself in search of things she already has.

I trust that she will not shrink again, because she will not be ashamed of her totality.

I trust that she will forgive and release resentment.

I trust that she will not betray herself by doing things that do not contribute to the life she wants for herself.

But the flesh is a wicked thing, and it cannot really be trusted. So when all else fails, and it turns out that I am not so trustworthy, I trust not in myself, but in Christ in me — the hope of glory.

With love,

Chinelolum.

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Thank you for reading this letter. I hope it resonates with you. Do tell me about your March in the comments — I’d love to hear what it taught you. And if you’d like to keep receiving these reflections, subscribe. 💕