I am so happy to be writing today. Describing the last almost three months as difficult would be a major understatement . I have wanted to write— to tell you what my family and I have been facing. I have wanted to write about the truth of walking my child through a traumatic experience. I have wanted to share the intimate details of a helpless mother… the heartache of watching the best parts of you become the darkest part of you.
But this is my safe space… my joy.
This is a blog read by many people and yet it still feels so intimate to me. I didn’t want to tarnish it by discussing an experience I haven’t healed from. I didn’t want to transfer these negative emotions. I’ve been so angry and sad and angry and enraged.
I don’t like belaboring anything. I work hard, in fact, not to do it because it’s rooted in ego; not understanding… annnnd I don’t like it done to me. I am a person who will travel to a far away land in my mind if someone keeps saying the same thing repeatedly after I’ve demonstrated understanding. However, there is a distinct difference between belaboring and reminding or reinforcing.
*Stick with me. This isn’t a thesis.
Belaboring speaks to continued talking for the purpose of self-aggrandisement after the point is made and understood. It’s for the speaker. Reminding and reinforcing speaks to bridging the gap between knowing, understanding and execution. It’s for the recipient. Belaboring is punishment. Reminding and reinforcing are tools of continued learning.
I said all that to say, personal evolution is hard AF, and not enough people understand this.
Then, something broke in me as I approached my 40’s. I remember telling a dear friend, “I just feel so open.” I didn’t even understand the extent to which I was open and how my life would change as a result. I just felt the opening so strongly. And it wasn’t that I didn’t care what other people wanted or thought. It was more that what I wanted and thought was finally my priority. It was as if everything I was suppressing refused to remain submerged. My heart and mind insisted on BEING in the way God initially created me. I remembered who I was and I refused to abandon her again.
Parenting is hard. I’ve said it in the past. I’m saying it now. And I’m pretty confident I’ll say it many times in the future. Parenting. Is. Hard. Everyone talks about baby showers, beautiful birth stories and funny toddler tales, but no one is discussing, flatly, the difficulty associated with raising children. Why can’t we stop using our children as a measurement of how much better we are than other mothers? Why don’t we all just admit we don’t know what the hell we’re doing and meet at Chili’s for $5 margaritas to discuss strategies and support each other???
Do I ground him for this? How many fruit snacks is too many? Should she be friends with that girl? Why won’t he stop lying? At what age should they date? How many wipes should I use before I give him a bath? How much fast food is too much fast food? Why am I more uncomfortable watching love scenes than violence with them? Is cookie dough really bad for them?
At the present moment I am feeling a little anxious about choices we are making for our children and choices they are making for themselves. This isn’t a positive or negative admission. It’s just me standing in my truth.
I love this platform… this blog I created to share my experiences and express myself. On the surface that’s what this blog is. It’s a tangible conduit for my thoughts. In essence, it’s a journal. A very public journal. Everything I write here is true. Don’t get me wrong, I love creative writing and I have some of that in my repertoire too. Still, the only creative license I take when writing here is the names I change to protect privacy.
I use my life as a catalyst for reflection. I am transparent to influence and impact those who humble me by reading my words. I think it’s funny though… Sometimes, I start writing and I influence and impact my own self #Winning. It can be frustrating because I start writing with the end in mind and then I get in it and reflection takes me somewhere else. I love writing. I love reflection more.
It follows that the time we get to live our best lives for our best selves is also incomplete.
I remember when Aaliyah died. I was so hurt. I met her once, but I didn’t know her. Still, I cried and lamented on a life lost way too soon. She felt like a friend. Her swag was ridiculous, we were close in age, and everyone loved her. Her death felt… close.
The one thing that made me feel better after her death was the life she led. She came from a wonderful family. She experienced great love and she accomplished so much. Regardless if you liked her singing or acting— She did it all. Aaliyah was a successful, world renowned artist. She was going for it. She was striving to live her best life. I was so proud of her for that then… even as I failed to give myself the same gift.
It is irresponsible to do all the housework in a home full of able bodied individuals. Put your mini-me’s to work. They need to understand what it takes for everything in the house to GO! I don’t know about y’all, but there isn’t a magic fairy that puts away groceries and washes dishes at my house. So... my children do it🤷🏽♀️😂.
I love my lil babies. There are few things that bring me greater joy than their happiness, but their happiness cannot come at the expense of me. The happiness of your children is not more important that you. So, while we work hard to provide them with a particular lifestyle; they need to understand that it is their shared responsibility to help maintain it… all of it.
I am fighting with all my might to dodge the grumpy old man in me, but he’s a feisty son of a gun. I tried to use one of my strategies to avoid negative engagement. I cooked dinner for these people. I retired to my room. I didn’t even eat. Guess what my wonderful, loving husband did? He devoured his food at lightening speed and followed me upstairs. I am intently working. I would like to finish writing. Perhaps then I could enjoy a bath and maybe an adult beverage. He entered the room, walked over to the television and turned it on. Then, he started talking to me.
I cannot imagine the turmoil, the pain, the absolute heartbreak of her absence in my life. As Mother’s Day approaches many will be faced with the reality of more than “almost”. They will wake up every single day with their beloved mothers still in heaven. While the Christian thing to do is to rejoice knowing that she is with her heavenly father… the heart of a motherless child can hardly find peace; let alone rejoice.
Today I am writing to reach the sensibilities and cognitive capabilities of good White folks. The power to change the status quo lies primarily with you. You need to say something... At your dinner tables, at your school board meetings, at the deli counter. You know racists. Your neighbors, family and friends express racially charged sentiments that apologetically end with, “you know what I mean.” Or “I don’t mean it like that. You know I’m not racist.” You must call them out.
