Small Progress Report!🥹

The Gospel according to the Chief Softie

Ba Softie bange, mugyebale kko.

For my international darlings and the fellow “i donno Luganda” sufferers, well done.😂

When I began learning Luganda and found out this translation of the popular greeting, I was found on the floor, laughing off what little was left of my booty. However, in this socio-politico-economic situation, I think it is an apt greeting; surviving requires congratulations. I know I deserve them, so allow me also extend that courtesy towards you.😘

I have had the longest week of my life and I genuinely wish I was exaggerating. —Alas!😭

On Monday, I came down with the flu. (I originally followed this declaration with a long list of the issues I was having and got flashbacks of 2020... so I guess it’s a great thing I haven’t left the house this week, and do not plan to do so for at least another week.) To add to that, I was on the eve of a particularly difficult luteal. Then, remember I was gallivanting in and out of central Uganda? Yes, for good reason, but my ailing body was the vehicle I was using and good sis had plenty to say this week. The problem is I am too mentally exhausted to listen, and when two major mistakes marked my exam as “missed”… I must confess, I had trouble holding onto what is left of my sanity.

I am self-aware enough to know that I am either on the verge of a breakdown or in the early stages of one; whether it was triggered by physical or mental stress, that is yet to be discovered. Unfortunately, that very mystery might actually be the reason I tip over into crisis mode unless I lock in and sit with myself, and it’s honestly scary to think about because there are some things I cannot change so I feel quite helpless honestly.

I spent most of Friday evening crying. I began in the living room where I had been attempting my exam and those first 10 minutes were quite heavy because I just got into it; the heavy sobbing, snot-forming —all of it.😂My mom is extremely uncomfortable around my intense expressions of emotion so her first instinct was to get me to stop. I didn’t stop (I couldn’t, really; my body was finally getting the release it so desperately needed. All this to say, we were on a roll), so I went to watch the final episodes of The Ultimatum: Queer Love Season 2, and the drama of reality TV distracted me for a few hours… I did not come here for this flavour of dump, please, I just have not yet journalled.

Fast forward to today, while planning for this edition, when it hit me that I was sitting in real-life updates, and answered prayers. I’ve probably lost you so let me backtrack.

Many of you weren’t here when I shared in 2023 about a long breakdown I was having, triggered by a pcos diagnosis and exacerbated by my moving to Western Uganda. If you need a reminder or donno what I am talking about, you can read it here.

Then, last year, I shared something related, about accepting my ability to process my emotions more naturally than we’re conditioned, inspired by my annoyance with the stoicism wave hitting the people. “I don’t send paragraphs, I just say, ‘okay.’ You should try it. First of all, Emily, you’re boring as fuck. Secondly, I like sending my paragraphs; I love having the last word and triggering identity crises while I’m at it. Sorry that you don’t possess the skill. Wama let’s leave Emily, you can also catch up on that one here.

I like recording things because you can definitely track the little steps I was taking forward, and now I am here to add to the story with pictures of the view from up here.🥹

It recently came to my attention that I actually never really had an issue being sensitive and expressive:

I love that I can cry easily; it means energy never stays pent up inside me. I love that when I am becoming overwhelmed, my body sends clear signals before I enter the danger zone. I love that when I am excited, I become animated, my movements and the loudness of my voice harder to control. I love that I find many things funny, that my laugh is unmoored and real. I love that you can tell what I’m thinking or feeling by simply looking into my face; some things don’t have or need the words. I love that I can feel everything deeply and fully; after being on antidepressants for over a year, I learned that the opposite is unnatural and certainly not a way for me to live. I love that it is easy for me to express all my emotions; I did not have to learn how to do it, it was always inside me.

All I had to do was discard all the discomfort and shame that was projected onto me, look underneath the internalised misogyny that made me want to be more ‘logical’, and clear the room for my emotions to occupy the space allocated them at my birth.

So I don’t care anymore who knows that I cry, when I cry, why I cry, because I am as much myself while releasing all my emotions as when I solve problems in the space of a few heartbeats. I no longer care when people (specifically men) say with disdain, that my “problem” is “I am putting too much emotion” because I have proven to be more rational than most of them when I pay attention to my feelings and use them to guide my thought process. I simply laugh it off when people tease me about how chatty I am or how loud my laughter is, because I have spent days in total silence and I appreciate when I have space and reason to talk and laugh uninhibitedly.

The real moral of the story is: journal, kids. Keep track of yourself, archive your experiences and inner environments, mark milestones. There is always something to be proud of, even when you’re fighting for your life.

I’m too ekzosted to continue so please accept my small offering, my darlings. I love you, always.