Consistency of Trust
On Commitment to Self
“Even if I am not tender, I must tend.” -Safia Elhillo
“Sit down. Look around you. Take in the walls. Look at that shade of green. You chose that.”
Carolina’s voice stretches through the phone and sets its hand on my back. Which is connected to my shoulders, my arms, my center, my hips, my thighs, my legs. My body. I am in my body. Her hand guides this body of mine to the floor of my room, motioning to its very middle. A clearing for me. Here, I find myself coming to terms with an all too familiar ache from the realization that I, once again, diminished my desires in hopes of appearing more digestible to someone else.
Once again, I subconsciously muddled my wants and needs to settle for some semblance of commitment from someone in an effort to substantiate my worth. I abandoned myself. This realization hits me hard as I spiral through old narratives in my head that I had thought I had overcome already. Dizzy and overwhelmed, I felt stuck in shame that not only was the worn playbook still in my hands, but I’ve been the one writing it all along, chronicling my own deception to my most authentic self.
I shut my eyes trying to leave my body on the floor, attempting to stop feeling this ache. Begging for something other than that to hold me together. My legs give out, and I collapse. Carolina’s voice softly peels open my eyes. Stretches the delicate skin trying to shut myself out of my life. “Look at the world you gave yourself.”
-
Fervent Brass is a color full of contradictions. Muted yet bold. Cool yet warm. Cozy yet breathtakingly expansive. I had considered this ambered olive paint color for weeks. Placed it against several other sample chips, all which were a shade too wrong in comparison. I envisioned what stain of wood would feel most natural with this as its backdrop. Which stain would appear as if it grew from the honeyed hardwoods, daring to break through the plaster ceilings. Whether brass frames or black frames would resonate more harmoniously against the bounty of the earthy green expanse I could picture so clearly in my head. Eventually, I realized that I’d just have to trust myself to try.
It was the only sample I had bought. Partially because paint was more expensive than I had anticipated. Partially because I just had to commit to something. So I walked into Sherwin Williams ignoring the endless sample chips and overpriced but conveniently displayed tools, and zeroed in on the kind man behind the counter. “Hi, I’d like a sample of Fervent Brass, please.”
I watched him place a plastic container under the paint making machine. That’s the technical term. A mechanically programmed amount of yellow, red, and blue dove in headfirst. With practiced hands, he held the container, checked that the lid was secure, and moved it into the paint mixing machine. Again, another technical term. And then, the machine grabbed hold of the plastic container. Tight, secure, safe. And in an instant began to jolt it all around, shaking it with purpose. Fervent Brass was coming together before my eyes. After its birth, I placed on the passenger seat of my car, brought it home, and let it sit. And sit. For days. Partially because my existing to-do list was long enough without adding this to the mix. Partially because I had realized I didn’t actually own a paint roller.
But the night eventually came as it always does. The one where, now roller equipped, I began painting swatches on each of my bedroom’s four walls. Alex, my dear friend who recently embarked on starting his own painting company after years in the trade, told me to consider how each wall will hold and reflect light differently. This was important to not ignore because the color will change through seasons and under varied light exposure, and I need to be open to its evolution. So I tried. The first coat was atrocious. A streaky, pissed yellow stood stark against the off-white walls. But I was committed to seeing this through. I would wait for it to dry then paint another coat. I’d try again.
The second coat is where the magic began to seep through. Still streaky and teetering on a bit unsure. Cautious but nearing something closer in resemblance to the image in my head. Altogether, it was far more confident in its hue than the first coat. And so I trusted. I committed. And I tried a third coat. It was here I saw it. Rich and luxurious and a terrain I sowed through the consistency of trust. I couldn’t stop smiling. In real time, I saw what could come of trusting myself. I continued on the entire wall across from my bed. I painted as high up as my 5’-2” body could reach with my folding step ladder.
As I rolled further into this commitment, I felt myself surrender to tears. I began witnessing the enormity of the moment in earnest. I was painting the walls of a home for the first time in my life. A home I felt permanence in after years of transitory spaces. A home where I was consistently showing myself love and kindness and forgiveness. A home where I was unlearning shame and guilt that attempted to split my body from my soul. A home where I got to decide how high the volume of voices could go. How records will spin and candles will be lit even if I do not have company over. How I am not by myself but rather with myself. A home where I could practice the practice of sitting by my shoreline’s edge no matter what state I was in. Because even if I am not tender, I must tend. In that moment, I realized committing to painting the walls in the home of my dreams I had spent years working towards was far more than just committing to a paint color. I was committed to consistently trusting myself to live this life.
-
I sat on the floor thinking about how I had gotten it all wrong again. How I was so far from “healed”. How I was making the same mistakes in different shades. But Carolina told me otherwise. She said it was brave to trust someone. It was brave to want them in my life. That this only hurts the way it does because I move towards people with genuine care and goodness. That its is okay that this meant something to me. While the journey to understanding what I had actually wanted was longer than I had hoped it be, I eventually figured it out. Unfolded the layers of confusion and witnessed my desires taut. I eventually trusted myself. Rather than spiraling in shame for wanting commitment from someone else any longer, I considered what it would feel like to strengthen the commitment I had to myself.
Carolina reminded me that there were times this, the concept of feeling safe and comfortable in my own home, was once something I couldn’t imagine. And how I gave that to myself. How there are ways I am already committed to myself.
I am choosing to consistently trust myself even when the future is uncertain. It is a practice. And I can either continue forgoing parts of myself to be more manageable in someone’s life, or I can bring every part, even the imperfect and unsure, with me wherever I go. So I will keep showing up. I will commit to myself by consistently trusting myself. I will keep opening myself up to people despite pain and rejection being very real possibilities. I will learn with each one how to hold my boundaries better. Understand my needs and wants more clearly and possibly even sooner. This doesn’t mean I won’t hold contradictions or my feelings will take time to come to the surface. I will simply trust that I will hold myself accountable to trying.
Carolina tells me there will be a day where the self-abandonment that right now feels like it takes over my life will one day not be a thing I even dare to consider. I won’t give up an inch. I’m not there today, but I am committed to pushing past shame and embracing myself to get closer to that place everyday. To practice the practice of sitting with myself until I am ready to open my eyes.
Thank you for reading the first essay of my Commitment Series. I have been thinking about how consistency buoys commitment, and I am excited to dive into how that may look with self, intimate relationships both romantic and platonic, and community. This essay exploring commitment to self reminded me of a poem I wrote in March 2023. The poem is inspired by the Safia Elhillo’s quote that introduced this piece, and the essay borrows a line from the poem. The conversation all three pieces have is one I am so grateful you joined me for.
How Do You Want Your Life Cooked?
“Even if I am not tender, I must tend.” -Safia Elhillo
Steaming, I have stepped away
from the stove. Tired of leaving myself
in the same spot where I am
the only one who burns. So please
let me salt this water,
stretch into each season. Well,
maybe I can soft boil this life.
Practice the practice of sitting
at my shoreline’s edge. Even if I am not
tender, I must tend. So please
let me indulge myself in everyday
luxuries by the dozen. Take my time
to understand how long I need
to turn an egg into a meal. So please
let me perfect the gentle whack
of metal to calcium to satin to
slip underneath my membrane
made to come undone. So please
let me watch golden yolk run
wild into the fault lines creased
into my palms. Canyon deep
fractures jamming shut. Now
I can unscrew the top of my life,
spin dizzy, spill it on its side.
Watch it stain everything it touches
then lap it up until there is no more.