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.
That’s where I found myself… overwhelmed, sad and tired. So much so that I actually went to the doctor. I thought I was sick. I told him that I was just so tired and no matter how much I rested; I never felt like it was enough. Then he asked me about my mental emotional state. At first I was confused. Like, what do my emotions have to do with me being tired? Apparently, everything. My dear friend, restorative justice guru, Dr. Shaniqua Jones says, “Sleep won’t help if it’s your soul that’s tired.”. I don’t know if truer words have ever been spoken. My soul was tired.
I went home that day and reevaluated my… everything. I didn’t even realize how my inability to reconcile my choices against the expectations of other folks was effecting me. This is why it is so important to be dialed into yourself. You need to reflect and question yourself about yourself.
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.
Don’t get married. Don’t have kids. I said what I said. I got married and had a child in my late 20’s. I was 28. I would encourage every woman to wait at least that long. Secure education. Secure financial stability. Secure yourself. I’m a stay at home mom NOW, but when we met I was taking care of myself. So much of who we are as women is tied to how we interact with men. The ideology that if you’re not married or seriously dating, then something is wrong with you, must be killed.
There is no correlation between your value and your desire or ability to secure a man.
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.
Here’s what I know. I know that in my past I have judged people for being in a way that made me uncomfortable. “Why is she so loud? Why does she always have something to say about everything? Damn.” These people usually irked me. They had not attacked me or been negative toward me in any way. And yet— I was annoyed.
I realized that my annoyance was about me; not them. It was directly related to my insecurities… to my fear. I was uncomfortable because these women were free in a way that I was not. They had either consciously or unconsciously decided that how they showed up in the world was not for the comfort of other folks. In other words— Their behavior was for them; not me.
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.
Imagine a female president or vice-president—Not just on television, but in real life. I mean, I love the idea of women knocking over walls and breaking glass ceilings. I just don’t want it at the expense of someone standing on my head.
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 believe there is a distinct difference between growth and evolution. I see growth as one dimensional. It’s either yes or no, up or down, left or right. Evolution is a comprehensive, multidimensional web of changes in multiple directions that contribute to your all encompassing wellness.
Growth is… I quit smoking because it’s unhealthy. Evolution is… The continuous pursuit of understanding and self awareness. Why did I begin smoking? What space was I trying to fill with cigarettes? Growth is movement on a chart. Evolution is the process of understanding that you have the power to create the chart.
To be clear, I’m here for all of it. Growth, change and evolution— Each declare: I am no longer standing in the same space.
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.
This isn’t the land of make believe and you don’t have the ability to see through walls or leap over buildings in a single bound no matter what your children, spouse, or other people in your life think. I know. I know. The idea of being able to do anything at any time sounds fascinating and productive. Other people believing you can do anything, at any time, regardless of circumstances makes you feel important and needed. Look at how proud they are of me doing everything under the sun. Look at your chest all puffed up with the “S” stamp. You can’t get enough of the accolades. You feel amped. You feel invincible. Thing is…. You’re not.
You are not invincible.
You cannot do anything at any time regardless of circumstance. You know who can? God. You, my friend, are not God. I can tell you who you will be if you keep this charade up though. Resentful. Yep. Resentful. And who wants to wear resentment as a badge of honor?
Say what now?!?!?!! Is this really happening? I was simultaneously mortified and totally excited at the same time. Rob… since we calling him that now… Rob wants to talk to me on the phone? On the inside I went into total teenage girl mode. Conflicted, shocked, elated, scared, annoyed and gassed up all at the same damn time. To him I said, “Oh, ok.”
I was shocked because his brother had confirmed what the world wanted to know so badly. R.Kelly and Aaliyah were engaged in a kind of relationship that prevented him from approaching me, another girl, directly. I was conflicted because I was a huge fan of Aaliyah. Was I willing to betray her? Also, does he know how old I am? I mean I'm totally mature, but I'm just wondering. I looked down at my plaid uniform skirt from my single-sex high school and resolved that to him age truly ain't nothing but a number.
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.
Women, we need to share our stories. Your friend is smiling every day and is devastated by things she thinks she can’t discuss with you. She’s struggling with something you can’t see. Your daughter thinks she needs to suck it up because you did. Tell her the truth… your truth. Admit you wish you didn’t have to suck it up. Tell your daughter about the mistakes of your youth. Be as specific or as vague as your comfort level will allow, but tell the truth.
Too many of us suffer in pain and silence because of perceived judgment, shame and stigma. When we speak truth by sharing our stories we normalize those things we were once ostracized and isolated by. Do you know how many times I have revealed something and heard… Are you serious, Stephanie??? Me too! Telling the truth helps you reclaim your power. It draws you to women who have yet to secure the footing it takes to stand tall and speak their truth. Truth unifies. Telling the truth says I know I am enough.
My experiences do not minimize me; they elevate me.
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
