Think of social media as a scrap book or family photo album. Picture your mother or grandmothers photo album on the coffee table. I don’t know about you, but I have seen those photos a hundred times and I never tire of them. They make me feel good. In every picture, the subjects can be found living, laughing and loving. In every picture I feel positive energy.
I haven’t seen a photo of a divorce decree, a police report from a domestic dispute, a custody order or a child’s failing report card in there. I’m sure the people in the photos experienced some of those things. YET… I have never had any expectation to find that information or evidence of that information in the photo album. I look at that book to see the very best of the people in it; not the worst. So, why do we look at social media any different?
Stop crucifying folks for only showing you the best of their life. That behavior only exposes the worst in you.
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.
Right up until the breathing I was like, “But when are we going to start doing yoga?” —Not realizing it started when I walked into the studio.
When I laid on the floor, breathing in through my nose, down into my belly, opening my rib cage… I stopped thinking about what was going to happen next. When I stood to learn Tadasana, a foundational yoga pose, I was so focused on my pelvis, the corners of my feet(I bet you didn't even know your feet had four corners. I certainly didn’t.), and breathing— I literally wasn’t thinking about a single other thing. I need yoga because I know it’s gonna teach me how to truly BE with myself.
I am so ready for this added layer of self discovery.
I can’t sleep. It is currently 2:06am and ya girl is sitting at the kitchen table talking to you. Not that I don’t enjoy y’all, but you know. The room is the right temperature, my bed is super comfy and I’m freakin sleepy. Not to mention my handsome, lightly snoring husband is up there. Buuuuuuut so is my toddler. So there’s that.
It’s raining cats and dogs, which usually equates to excellent sleep. Not today. Today I am awake. Because this rarely happens to me— I know something is up. I’ve always been a night owl, but this ain’t that. I am not currently choosing to be awake. My mind is trespassing. It won’t stop wandering over my life.
I’m leaning into transparency and vulnerability today.
I want to apologize.
Life is hard. I don’t look at the world through rose colored lenses. I don’t think anyone should. I think you should work towards the life you want until you see the life you want. While I believe you can choose to be happy; I know it’s more nuanced than just deciding. For my friends and readers who are living with depression and anxiety. I see you. I am you.
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.
Revealing my struggles felt like weakness. Until recently, I prided myself on being the strong one. So, I refused to disclose the fullness of my pain. But people love me. Without fail, they all wanted to comfort me. They all wanted to fill in the places I could not. A few wanted to know everything. Others wanted to get by with as little information as possible. And I get it. I think people understand the complexities of choosing to have a hysterectomy.
After all, 40 it is relatively young to remove reproductive organs. In this day and age many women, at 40, are just embarking on their first pregnancy. Women are choosing to a party, travel and pursue their careers as priorities over marriage and children. I, of course, think this is wonderful. It means that more women are choosing to invest in the desires of their own hearts rather than the desires of their circle of influence or the insistence of the world that marriage and motherhood define womanhood.
We need to re-contextualize strength. Like, what does it even mean to be “the strong one”?
Because it is NOT the absence of fear or pain or desire or disappointment. I believe that we have, in error, taken a patriarchal view of strength and applied it to our emotional sensibilities in an effort to make us appear less weak. They told us that strength and weakness cannot dwell in the same space. Men, for too long, set the expectation for tolerable behavior for women. Women are killing themselves to meet it. And women are cosigning this behavior. It must stop.
I am trying to negotiate an understanding of literal strength, figurative strength and the reality of my actual strength. What does it look like? What does it feel like? How have I previously misunderstood and in turn misrepresented strength. I am currently being forced to confront these feelings of wanting to be strong, solvent and also having to embrace that pieces of me breaking.
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
I’ve said it many times and I’ll say it again today. You are your only competition. The moment you start competing with other people; you've already lost. The only person I want to be better than is the woman I was yesterday. And listen, I think the woman I was yesterday is pretty dope, but I know on this journey there’s always room for growth. I cannot compare the today me against the today you because it is impossible to do and it just doesn’t make sense.
In scientific terms, when doing an experiment, to see the similarities and differences in something you would have to watch those things exclusively from start to finish; recording everything. You would need to know all variables or things effecting the subjects of the experiment. And therein lies the problem with social media. You can not see all the variables in the life of someone else.
