Kava Tea & Being Human

This being human thing, there's no escape from it. There’s no running away from it in all of it’s more painful and mundane times. You can try, oh baby can you try. You can try to escape through drugs, pleasures of the flesh, work, school, what have you, but when all of that is gone, when the high wears off, you’re still here, human as hell.

I’ve learned that there is nothing that I can do to be less human without sacrifice. Being cold, you sacrifice caring and supportive relationships. Trying to escape, you sacrifice feeling the better, more authentic parts of life. Pretending to be okay when you’re not, you miss out on the opportunity to actually be okay by prolonging unnecessary suffering.



Kava tea. I’m currently trying to fall asleep without the use of help and baby steps have me at kava tea. Let me tell you about it.

Kava tea helped my family and I sleep during the most painful and surreal time of our lives. The smell of it literally brings me to sobbing tears, but those tears need to be here. I’ve been covering my pain for far too long, and I appreciate those things that remind me to feel.

Kava tea reminds me that I’m human, and the facade I’ve been carrying around immediately shatters. There’s no more hiding.The hint of cinnamon reminds me that being strong isn’t holding it all together; being human isn’t walking around trying to be some kind of badass. The slight sweetness of stevia leaves says that being a strong human is recognizing our vulnerability, our fragility, our easily broken hearts and that we can’t run away from anything.

Loss is one of life’s most notorious teachers. If I’m going to be honest, I’m probably one of its worst students.

I remember being pregnant and worrying about how I’d show Noah affection in front of my family when we weren’t an affectionate family. When he got here, somehow that worry flew out of the window. I was in absolute love with him, still am, and how could I possibly not show him that love physically? Though I could be affectionate with him, I still couldn’t be affectionate with them, and to me, that was a problem.

When he passed away, I remember thinking that this was my opportunity to turn to my family and be vulnerable and raw and honest. In those first weeks after the accident, I had no problem breaking down in front of them; there was no stopping the heartache that needed to be released. Eventually, things started to go back to the way they were. I talked to my therapist about it, afraid that the window of opportunity was closing and that I was closing; it was as if I’d predicted my own fate.

Loss was trying, is still trying, to break me open and, like a stubborn student, I keep trying to hold myself together. Maybe the fear of being broken wide open is scary because it’s a place that I’ve only caught a glimpse of and it’s scary as hell. Maybe that glimpse was enough to know I never want to go back there to such raw, heart-wrenching pain. Maybe it’s because I need to lean on my family, and I can’t take seeing them cry or in pain, just as much as it hurts them to see me this way.

Either way, at the end of the day, there is no escaping it. I can no longer continue on this path without acknowledging such a deep, emotional trauma. To live everyday as though I’m just a regular degular old non-feeling human (mostly because they don’t exist) denies my baby boy the place at the top of my heart that he deserves and it denies me the opportunity to be a human, feelings and all.

Here are some of my feeling affirmations:
It’s okay to feel this.
Let this pain flow all over you.
Feel this pain in your whole body.
Let this pain fill you from your toes, to your finger tips, to the top of your head.
Let it permeate every atom of your being.
Know that this pain won’t stay forever.