Can you please get your people??? Especially the ones who keep admonishing folks who are afraid. I don’t mean GET THEM. I mean get them. Can you let this virus kill religious dogma? We could start there. These religious folks are I R R A T A T I N G and dangerous. Confessing fear is indicative of a lack of faith? God’s got you. So, you can still be in these streets? *face palm*
I cannot be afraid and have faith???I do not want that religion.
The bible says God is my strength and refuge. He is my hiding place and my shield. When do people hide? If I am not allowed to be afraid, if I have risen above every adversity; why do I need strength, refuge, a shield or a hiding place? Why do I need God? All this religious dogma and hierarchy amongst human beings has folks either lying or denying the fullness of this emotional and mental experience in an effort to appear more closely connected to God.
The truth is, God has given us a place to hide in Him.
This week while Gayle King was interviewing Lisa Leslie she asked and assertively pursued a line of questioning in relationship to the allegations of rape against Kobe Bryant. The clip quickly went viral. Folks were deeply offended by the line of questioning, with Gayle prodding Leslie to acquiesce that Kobe was indeed guilty and that his legacy was tarnished. Leslie held her ground and reinforced that her friend, Kobe Bryant, would never have engaged in the behaviors that he had been accused of(The case was ultimately dropped). Folks are BIG mad at Gayle. Snoop Dog took to instagram to call Ms. King a “funky dog head bitch.” He went further to say, “Respect the family and back off before we come and get you.”
End scene.
I only added the above paragraph to provide context. Although, I am not convinced that context is actually necessary to say what I am going to say next. We could insert any name into this interaction and my interpretation and response would be the same. It’s just that some folks start acting exceptionally obtuse when they are called out because the very delicate fabric of their moral slip is showing.
This isn’t about the allegations of rape made against Kobe. This isn’t about if Gayle King was right or wrong in her line of questioning. I have opinions about both. They do not matter.
When death comes to visit, it can be so devastating. All we feel is loss. We feel that our heart bank is in the negative, but that’s just our pain. Grief is really just an overabundance of love that doesn’t have a receptacle to receive it. Think of a bottle filled with your favorite beverage poured right onto the counter… The beverage is amazingly delicious and refreshing from a glass, but when you pour it onto the counter it makes quite a mess… an inconvenient, unpretty, unpredictable, nasty mess. The drink… is amazing when it has a place to go, but when the designated vessel is missing— the drink… the love… the thing that once brought so much joy suddenly hurts like hell. That’s grief.
I choose to believe that in each loss, when someone is taken from us… something is left behind.
The holiday season is fully upon us. There’s less than one week before Christmas and I am super excited. Christmas is a family favorite. Obviously, the children love it because… GIFTS. I’ve tried to provide the giving is better than receiving narrative and they think that’s great and all, but they’re children. So yeah… YAY GIFTS!!! Hahaha!
I grew up in a house where Christmas was a big deal. I mean, multiple Christmas trees, decorations everywhere, gifts galore and the joy of the season in abundance. My mother orchestrated the production of Christmas and injected it into everyone around her. So, it still stands. The tradition is firmly planted.
Imma be honest though. Christmas stresses me out. We have four children. That’s a lot of seasonal “joy” to spread around. And it’s not even all the money. Trust— there’s a lot of it being spent. It’s the doing of it all. And I’m conflicted; right? Because I love the outcome of the doing. I even actually love the act of doing, but it is also wearing me out.
When people see you, you look good. People love you, you laugh a lot… by societies standards you’re successful, you have friends and you’re gorgeous. You don’t see what they see.
Depression distorts the lens of your life.
You don’t see whole reflections. Your view is produced by a dirty, broken mirror.
The first thing you hear when you wake up, the last thing you hear before you go to bed and in every single free space in between, your mind hears that sad song and those demeaning words together, infinitely looped… convincing you that this world and you would be better served without your existence.
Today, I am so aware of people who are in a state of missing. I’m thinking of people who are dealing with disappointment, loss and grief.
To be clear, there are many types of loss and grief with varying degrees, swinging like a wrecking ball on a pendulum.
And death isn’t the only pathway to grief. Grief can come from an anticipated loss. When you know that while you still presently have something, you will lose it imminently.
Consider folks who are in the process of divorce, a friendship that is on the rocks, abortion, layoffs, illness that causes loss of body function or lifestyle. Someone just found out their baby no longer has a heartbeat. Someone else has a home in foreclosure or found out their parent has 4 weeks to live. In the last month, I have heard of at least four different missing women.
Growing up Black is a be seen and not heard kind of existence. In my experience, to find a Black child with the authority to fully BE, in the presence of adults is the exception; not the rule. Control, rules, excellence and respectability are major components of the Black child rearing experience. Black children need to grow up with their shit together. This didn’t happen in a vacuum. It’s a direct result of slavery, Jim Crow, the Civil Rights Era and a post racial America *side eye*. The privilege of speaking about anything at anytime was snatched from us and whipped out of us on slave ships, auction blocks, in the fields and in the big house.
Saying the “wrong” thing or being at the “wrong” place at that time could get an adult or even a child, literally killed— It still can. We have too many examples. Being seen and not heard is not a simplified way to parent; it’s a safety mechanism. Part of the Black experience is simply trying to keep your children alive in a way that it isn’t true for other races. The same is true of how we are steered towards career choices. Careers that are perceived as frivolous, i.e. dancer, artist or musician are not routinely supported.
I’m a sunshine girl. The sun makes me feel invigorated. It makes anything that I am doing so much better. It’s funny because as much as I love the actual sun; I am a huge proponent of carrying your sunshine on the inside. I determine my mood; not the weather. I am the thermostat.
Still, I’m not feeling it today. Which proves the journey of positive thinking and practice is ongoing.
Reflection helps me to be more intentionally empathetic. As an individual who isn’t living with anxiety, depression or grief, but who still feels”UGH!” During repeated overcast days; how do folks who regularly live with these negative emotions feel?
I was pretty rough and tumble as a child. I played with my brother and his friends all the time and wore my tomboy title like a badge of honor. I even earned a few bumps and bruises along the way. So, the scab didn’t concern me at all. I'm not a free range parent, but I'm also miles away from helicopter parenting. I mostly let children being children. They run, they play, they fall. The end.
My boy was up in his Nana's lap when she noticed the atrocity on his knee."What happened to my baby’s knee!?!” If your children have a Nana like my children; you know she acted like the boy had staples in his knee. She was appalled. So, I quickly told her what happened according to his father who was his caretaker at the time in question *snicker. At the end of my explanation, I gratuitously added, “And he didn’t even cry.” *insert my proud face
