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.
Social media in theory is an amazing tool for enhancing relationships. Too many of us are using it as the canvas for our relationships when it should only be one of the brushes we use to paint. It’s one way to manage relationships; not the only way. It’s supposed to bring us together, but the truth is that it does the exact opposite. It gives a false sense of unity because you can see what’s going on in the lives of others even when you’re not an active participant. Some of our friends are at the end of their proverbial rope and we don’t know because we’re using Facebook pictures and posts to determine their mental and emotional well being. You think you know what’s going on, but you really have no idea.
Smiling faces tell lies.
For me, it’s the difference between shopping online and walking into the store. From the comfort of your device you can see the color, size and fabric. That is good information. But… You cannot feel the weight of the material, the vibrance of the color or how it fits on your body.
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?
I have previously discussed the issue of dating. Even as a married woman I still have perspective. Partly because I have single friends. Partly because I wasn’t born married and partly because I have eyes and ears. As you know, I don’t claim to be an expert. Lord knows I made some poor choices as a single woman.
TWICE, I unknowingly dated married men. The signs were there. Flashing lights is more than a Kanye song. I simply ignored my intuition and common sense. We went out regularly. This threw me off because I had no idea the boldness philanderers operate in. Who takes the side chick out in public? You would be shocked. More than once, I have bumped into a married spouse on a date without their wife.
In my case, both men had limited availability, were extremely inconsistent and I never met anyone in their family. They never met anyone in mine either, but this is still a good indicator. If you never meet their family; be wary. Friends might approve or at least go along; family members rarely do. Someone in their family will burst your bubble. I’m not saying you should be paranoid. I’m just saying pay attention. In my case, I finally started adding things up and exited quickly
I have worked in corporate America. I have worked in inner city classrooms of Chicago. Being a SAHM is still without question the hardest work I have ever done. This is in part because being a parent is more difficult than anyone lets on. My understanding of parenthood was incomplete… at times I think it still is. Being a stay at home mom is a 24/7 endeavor. From the time I wake up until I close my eyes, I am meeting the needs of someone who is not me.
Please don’t consider this a declaration of my unhappiness or complaint. On the contrary, being a stay at home mom is a gift. But it requires compartmentalization and understanding. There have been many days in this social political climate that I was grateful I didn’t have to go to work. Hell, sometimes I don’t even go to the grocery store because I don’t want to see the world. So, I know I would dread going to the office.
This isn’t complaining. This is me, sharing pertinent information. Also… listen carefully, I am not ignoring or minimizing the plight of working mothers. Most of them do what I do while working outside the home full time. For me, what I noticed and miss most was the drive to and from work. You know? Those small periods of time when I was alone to make uninterrupted phone calls or listen to music that is inappropriate for children who can talk. #JudgeYourOwnSelf
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.
Date who you want when you want. Put yourself in a situation where you have choices. Men always have choices. That’s why he’s texting what are you doing instead of CALLING to ask your availability. TRUST… someone is getting a call— It’s just not you.
Wanna know something else? I don’t care what he tells you. New Year’s Eve is one of the best relationship barometers. He is not just chillin at the crib on Christmas or New Year’s Eve. His insistence that he just isn’t a big fan of holidays is a lie. New Year’s Eve is the climax of “Do we go together or not” season. If you and your significant other are not together on any of these holidays, but especially New Year’s Eve... one of you isn't significant. *blank stare* If the person you're "dating" hasn't asked you out yet— he has another date and again... One of you isn't significant.
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 our job to combat misogyny, toxic masculinity, predatory behavior and rape culture by educating and empowering children. Talk to them about predatory behavior and grooming. Tell them, age appropriately, what these creeps say and do… Wait. Obviously, parental discretion should be used, but nothing predators do or say is age appropriate.
Tell your children the truth.
Tell your them what predators say and how they manipulate.
And for God’s sake stop insisting your kids hug and kiss everybody. What if I told you— YOU are grooming your own child for predators. You are the biggest obstacle to your child’s understanding that permission to touch their body can only be given by them.
As I began to reflect; expectation boiled down to two things: Vulnerability and Trust.
We have previously discussed vulnerability. I have written about its’ importance and the strength we find when we embrace vulnerability. Yet, here I was beating myself up for being vulnerable… for opening myself up to disappointment. This is why I say, “I’m not here because I’m an expert. I’m here because I have experiences.”I’m no master at this. I’m struggling and growing and learning just like you. I stand out only because I share my experiences; not because I’ve mastered them.
I decided that in 2019, I would spend more time focusing on my writing and my blog. See, that's one of the things I have been doing as the year is quickly coming to a close. (Yes bih, I said coming to a close. Can you believe it's already November? Macy's already has their Christmas display up? I'm already planning my Thanksgiving menu? WTF??) Planning what is important to me and what I want to accomplish in the new year.
But why? Why am I planning for 2019 when I have an entire 2 months left of 2018? 60 days to get closer to my wants, goals and desires? 1460 hours to make shit happen! 87,600 minutes to get it poppin'! LET'S GO! *Diddy voice* Ok, I got a little too excited, but you get the picture.
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.
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 will discuss shame and guilt often during our walk together. I see shame and guilt together as one dangerous pandemic… heart disease. The implications are far-reaching and catastrophic in their impact. Guilt and shame affect our worthiness… the essence of who we are as individuals. They tell us that we were complicit in what happened and in the manner in which it occurred. As such, we should be forever enslaved by the choices of our past. We don’t deserve joy. We don’t deserve peace. We don’t deserve restoration.
Of course those are all lies. Unfortunately, not enough people know this.
Anytime you have the desire to lie you need to stop and reflect. Fear is the only reason we lie. We keep secrets because we don’t want to feel the judgement of others. While no one may ever know the truth; you will always feel the shame.
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
