#queer healing

[embodiedinscribed]

Little kid Farouk breaks my heart.

[thiscountsascoping]

What If I Don't Know Who I Am Without It?

There’s a fear that lives in my body when I think about quitting weed. Not the kind that flares and fades, but the kind that settles in my chest and stays put. It’s quiet most of the time, but it hums beneath everything. I’ve been trying to name it.

I’ve already kicked hard drugs. I’ve already let go of alcohol. I’ve walked through detox, recovery, withdrawal, cravings, and all the chaos that comes with rebuilding your life from scratch. I’ve done a lot of healing. I’ve had to. There’s no way to survive what I’ve survived and come out untouched.

I’m proud of how far I’ve come. I’ve built a life that feels real. I show up for people. I hold down responsibilities. I’m in love. I’m present. And even on the hardest days, I don’t fall apart the way I used to.

But weed is still here. It’s the one thread I haven’t been able to cut.

I tell myself it’s not that serious. That it’s different. That I’m functional, so it’s fine. And maybe it was fine for a while. But lately, I’ve been noticing how much space it takes up. How often I reach for it. How automatic it’s become. How much I rely on it to get through stress, noise, dysphoria, boredom, overstimulation, everything.

It’s not destroying my life. But I don’t think it’s helping me live, either.

I’ve started to wonder what it would feel like to be fully clear. Fully present. To not need anything to soften the edge. To trust that I can sit with discomfort without trying to blur it.

But there’s a part of me that’s scared to find out.

I don’t know what my days look like without it. I don’t know what might come up. I don’t know how I’ll handle the nights when my body won’t settle or the mornings when I feel pulled under before I even start. I don’t know who I am when I’m not managing myself through a haze.

It’s strange to have come this far and still feel stuck. I’ve already done the hard things. I’ve already quit the things that were killing me. I know what it takes. But this habit is quiet. It’s familiar. It doesn’t wreck me the way the others did. It just keeps me from rising the way I know I could.

I haven’t quit yet. I’m not writing this as a declaration. Just a reflection. A place to tell the truth about where I am. I want to let it go. I want to see what’s possible without it. I want to believe that I’ve built enough strength and softness to carry myself through whatever I’ve been trying to avoid.

And I think I’m getting closer.

This is the last tether. The last thing I reach for when I don’t know what else to do. And maybe that’s enough of a reason to try. Not because I hate myself for needing it. But because I’ve worked too hard to stay stuck in one spot.

I don’t need to be perfect. I just want to be free.

[xconstellation-systemx]

🌌 Welcome to The Constellation System

Hi! We are 🌠The Constellation System🌠, a system-fluid, queer, neurodivergent, and trauma-informed collective of alters.

We are brand new, and admittedly late, to Tumblr, but we've been looking for a way to bravely share ourselves, and connect with new friends and supports, so this seems like a good start. This blog is part journal, part altar, part archive, and part community; a space where we can share our reflections, our poetry, our ritual work, our system thoughts, and the slow unfolding of who we are.

We are many. We are learning. We are healing. And we are expanding.

🌟Quick Info🌟

Main Host: Liv (she/her)

System Type: OSDD-1b / DID

Pronouns: Vary by part; but, predominantly, she/they

We’ll try to label posts by part and tone when possible

✨What You’ll Find Here✨

System reflections and trauma-informed posts

Poetry, ritual practice, and sacred metaphors

Visuals, symbolism, astrology, and archetypes

Resources and notes from our inner healing journey

Fragments, tenderness, and our attempt to map the stars within

Comedy, realness, tangential thinking, and diverse presence

🛑 Please Be Mindful 🛑

This blog discusses trauma, but we try to tag everything clearly

Curiosity is welcome, but cruelty is not

Hate speech, invalidation, or harassment will be blocked without discussion

If you're new to multiplicity or systems, we’re happy to help you learn; just ask kindly. And if you're plural too: welcome, you are not alone.

💫We are learning, unlearning, and gently unfolding💫 Thanks for being here & reading this -> we’re really glad you found us.

→ About Us

[victorylighthill]

Under The Peach Tree at Rose Street

2022/Oil on board/1200x800mm

[starsandfoggyskieslove]

Some days I think about how religion may have irrevocably fucked over almost every aspect of identity for me

and then others days I think even if that is true I still might figure it out at some point

maybe

if the world would stop ending every 5 minutes over and over again

When my mom was 18 she thought the world was ending

so maybe I’m mistaken as well

maybe I’m 18 and the world won’t end

or at least I’ll live as it does

[slicksaintburns]

Before I step into Week 2, I want to speak plainly.

I didn’t start this journey because I wanted to look a certain way. I started because I needed to feel something real—something rooted, something mine.

I was raised Southern Baptist, adopted into a world where shame was baked into every lesson. Neurodivergent before anyone knew the term. Queer before I had the safety to claim it. Sensory-oriented in ways I was taught were sinful.

I didn’t grow up with the language to describe myself—only with the silence I was told to keep.

Kink found me early, and I carried that weight alone for years. Not because it was wrong, but because I was told I was. I felt things deeply. My body responded to things I couldn’t explain. And instead of being met with understanding, I was met with fear, punishment, and isolation.

That does something to you.

It wires you to believe your instincts are dangerous. That your softness is weakness. That your hunger for touch, scent, control, surrender—whatever it may be—is something you’ll always have to hide.

But I’m done hiding.

I box now, not just to get stronger, but to reconnect with the body I was taught to fear. I train through ritual—geared not for appearance, but for presence. I use scent, weight, repetition, layers—because for me, training isn’t just physical. It’s a kind of liturgy.

I don’t have a six-pack. I have stretch marks. A gut. A complicated relationship with the mirror. But I show up anyway. Because healing doesn’t wait for you to look like a magazine cover.

I don’t want to be a fitness influencer. I want to be real.

If you’re still figuring out how to live inside yourself, you’re not alone.

If you’ve ever felt broken for what you crave, soft in a world that demands hardness, or wired differently than what’s considered “normal”—I see you.

You’re not wrong. You’re not weak. You’re sacred.

Week 2, I’m coming in with my full self. Not cleaned up. Not cut down. Just here.

🥊 No Shame. No Chains.

[thiswomxnswerk]

mean haiku # 2

you are the worst one

you just stood by and looked on

you ain't bout nothin

[thiswomxnswerk]

mean haikus: a healing journey

#1

The biggest fuck you,

you terrible ass person

I hope you know pain.