My Referencing Points.

Photo by Beth Tate on Unsplash

On the 1st of April 2017, I started my cold water bath journey. I had been reading about the cold water therapy and its benefits weeks before this date and I was taken by its praises. Ordinarily, bathing with cold water wasn’t my thing. Who on earth gives up the comfort of a warm bath for cold spanking?

As I read about bathing with cold water, I imagined taking up this gruesome challenge. For me, it wasn’t for the benefits. No. It was to build a step to mount on. Something to refer to. A referencing point of a thing.

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That Sulky Feeling of Underachievement.

I have reached the bottom line a few times in my life. I have dealt with feelings of loneliness despite being in the midst of loved ones. Consequently, I have also had recurrent emotions of worthlessness., the sulky feelings where nothing seems to make sense despite traceable achievements.

I have got to deal with a lot of not-too-happy feelings. Many times, I feel am not where I really want to be on the ladder of success looking at my age. No one has ever told me that age and success are twins, but, somehow I find myself scrutinizing my very essence of existence.

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Somewhere, In The Quietness Of My Mind.

Somewhere in the quietness of my mind, I remembered how I planned my life. The life I planned was a far cry from what I live right now. I planned a life free from worries and frivolities of now.

I was young and free when I had my life planned ahead of me. I was a Journalist in my planned life. Marriage was never part of it. I owned mansions in my planned life.

Children were never part of it, despite my love for little children, I didn’t see any from my loin. I was a career woman whose trade took to any part of the world, to whom children would be a hindrance.

I planned a life far from what I experience as a child. A life free from poverty and maltreatment. I never planned to fall in love, this was for the weak and helpless. I grew up seeing maltreatment from menfolk and I planned never to be a victim.

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