What poisonous mushrooms taught me about Self Love
False Parasols (Green-Spored Lepiota) in Winston Salem, North Carolina
I found these lil’ shroomy dudes in the grassy lot next to my house yesterday while walking back from my weekly date with myself. This is a practice I started a few months ago as a form of self love. I’ll dress up (if I feel like it) and take a book to the taproom on my street and spend an hour or two on the porch enjoying my own company. I’m turning 30 this year and finally feel like I’m actually starting to know who I am after pretending to be what I thought was the ideal for so long.
As a collective, I think us millennials feel so adrift in adulthood because it was drilled into us that we need to obey broken systems (hey there, capitalism!) that separated us from our core selves.
Part of my rewilding process is slowing down into Stillness and letting the soft little girl in me call the shots when it comes time to rest.
Yesterday, she wanted to sit quietly in a field of poisonous mushrooms wearing a pretty dress that sparks joy.
False Parasol (Green-Spored Lepiota) in Winston Salem, North Carolina
YES, I was worried about looking pretentious. Fear came and brought along its close friend, Hot Waves of Shame. But I did it. Because it doesn’t matter what anyone thinks. What matters is that I’m doing what feels deeply right in each moment.
I know that little girl isn’t sitting there for the aesthetic, she just loves moments that feel magical. To abandon her because others might think a negative thought about me would be to abandon a part of myself. And I simply can’t afford do that anymore. I only get to be Katelyn once. It’s high time I start paying her some goddamn respect.
I wasn’t born knowing the rules of western culture, I had to be taught them so that I would pay attention to adults while they talked at me for 8 hours a day. I was taught other things too: Obey your parents. Wash behind your ears. Play nicely. Say your prayers. Always put others first. Be a good girl.
Whatever you do, DON’T BE DIFFERENT.
Well, good use that did. I did everything “right” and even still decades later, all I want to do is sit quietly in this damn field of poisonous mushrooms. The only thing all those rules left me with were the lifelong companions of Fear and Shame. Oh, and an enormous split in myself from where I tried to hack away at the parts of me that weren’t good enough for my culture.
I bet you’re like me. I bet you too grew up being told you were “different” and tried to force yourself through a peg that you just couldn’t fit into no matter what you did. I bet you were stuck in your “differentness.”
Because you know what? Not one of us is really “different” at all.
Who doesn’t want to sit in a peaceful space surrounded by lovely sights? Who doesn’t want to wear their favorite clothes free of the fear of being judged? Who doesn’t want to spend their days pursuing their passions instead of being told what to do?
Our tastes vary in the way only a beautiful mosaic of human individuality could, but at heart we are the same.
So go ahead and let yourself enjoy whatever it is that you’re afraid to do or wear because of what people might think. Most people are more concerned with how they themselves are perceived to even notice anyway.
Or they might see you and think, “Wow, I wish I could do that.” Because of your bravery to be yourself, they might decide that very day to quit their soulless job, get that wild haircut, or muster up the courage to declare their love to a lifelong friend. Maybe they just need to see you go first to know that it’s possible.
And to the ones who judge us? Oh well, that happens. We’ve all done it, we’ve all received it. Wish them well and keep doing your thing.
False Parasols (Green-Spored Lepiota) in a green field in Winston Salem, North Carolina