It’s Hard Out Here 4 A Pimp

I didn't grow up in an affectionate household. Maybe that's why my father's hugs and kisses and the constant slew of “I love you’s” has always felt foreign to me despite its frequency. There were no “I love you’s” or reassurance of my good qualities. No hugs or holding hands. No pep talks or casual appreciation for each other outside of a thank you. Even when I got hurt as a kid, the most I received was a “hush.” A normal reaction from Jamaican elders. I don't know. I guess I never thought anything of it as a kid or even in college. But this lack of affection and kind words and hugs and reassurance has definitely crept into my adult life. I yearn for it. I cry for it, even in spaces is where it isn't appropriate or necessary. This is the realization I've had recently. Underneath this strong persona is a gentle little girl who needs a loving hug from her family. Everything I have ever battled, every ailment, mental illness, cut, sore, burn, stress has been actively handled by me, on my own. I guess I am partly to blame because I don't reach out. But how can I feel comfortable reaching out when I never got so much as a hug. I actually cannot recall ever hugging the members of the family I grew up with outside of a joke or sarcasm. And sometimes that's all I want: a loving hug, a kind word, a reassuring smile. As I age, I grow colder and colder on the outside and mushier and mushier in my own body. I wish I could step outside myself, have there be two of me so we can give each other exactly what we need. I don't know what to do about this, especially because it's not me who lacks giving affection to myself. I speak highly of myself to myself all the time. I make myself laugh. I tell myself I love you. I spend time with me. I do all my favorite things. Shit, I even hug myself. I just wish those I love, the people I grew up with, would do the same. And then again, for them to do so now just seems like too little, too late. It's hard out here for a pimp.

With love,

Asia