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I am feeling the weight of grief. It came in three’s, sudden and inevitable.

like it is a weighted blanket, built to hold the weight of all three of the lives I lost this week.

Why do emotions have to be connected? Like grief and guilt. Why can’t I feel the grief without the chains of feeling that I should have been better – or done more. Like I can no longer undo what I have done and who we meant to each other.

So strange how much grief is focused on feeling the feelings because I feel numb, like that part of me left with you, the part that feels alive.

Just like someone who doesn’t know what they have till it’s gone.

There is this motto that takes up space not only in my mind but in my everyday life. I use it both personally and professionally to support others and remind them that even when things feel like they cannot get any worse, sometimes it’s those moments that catapult us into what was meant for us. It is the catalyst for our evolution.

“Sometimes gifts are wrapped in shitty wrapping paper.”

I have experienced this several times throughout my life. Through the demise of relationships or the ending of jobs, trauma experiences, or even a pandemic. I have had really shitty things happen, but also I often look back on those times with gratitude because they got me where I am today.

I remember sitting in a classroom. It had to have held over 400 students. We had a teacher that stood on stage at the head of the class and talked about the prevalence of rape and drew attention to stereotypes of rape and its inconsistencies with how it is commonly experienced on college campuses. While other students were writing down information, and other students were filling the uncomfortable air with poorly timed jokes and awkward giggles I was experiencing my very first panic attack. See the teacher did more than educate us about sexuality, his example of rape on college campuses was a carbon copy of my own sexual assault at 14 years old. Until that moment I had never thought what happened was sexual assault. I walked out of that class that day, straight into one of my worst depressive episodes that lasted several months. I was isolated, barely eating, not going to school, or completing work. It actually got so bad a day I was able to peel myself out of bed and go class my teacher out of concern, locked me in a classroom and wouldn’t let me leave until I called for help.

Honestly, that teacher probably saved my life.

That was the moment that I was introduced to therapy. It was such a transformative experience. I learned about myself, how to love myself, and how to better love others. Following the experiences I had in therapy, I decided from there on out I wanted to give others the same gift of life that my therapist gave me. Today I sit, 6 years into social work and after over a year of my own private practice work meeting with others and helping them live a life that feels good. I often look back at that experience in that classroom as a gift that was wrapped in shitty wrapping paper. While I did struggle at times, made many mistakes, and had some setbacks, I will always look back at that difficult memory as a gift because it has led me to where I am today.

While I understand that not every situation can be applied to this motto, I do still hold close to this idea. Similar to the lotus flower, painting the cracks of broken china gold or nights being darkest before the dawn, I find this motto can build resilience and give the grace and space to move forward. Those things that really make us who we are. It can remind us that we have strength, agency, and choice. It instills within us the idea that we have agency over how our future looks and what it holds.

I ask you to spend some time asking yourself. What is a gift that you got that was wrapped in the shitty wrapping paper? What bad experiences propelled you into a better version of yourself?

It is amazing to think of the many costumes ones trauma can dress themselves in. Ever changing, it is amazing how they sneak into our days, our thoughts,

our consciousness,

without invite, or an agenda.

It just shows up. Cloaked in my uncontrollable emotions, dripping in the memories that haunt me, and dangling from it shiny pieces like jewelry, which symbolize all that I have lost along the way.

I am a queen of my trauma, but that is not without the weight of all that I have conquered and lost along the way.

Although there has been many years since my life changing pain was experienced, over time those experiences have created deep pathways in my brain. Fast tracks for my trauma to get where it is going, and interrupt my day. To remind me of my pain, to interfere with my relationships, to make decisions about my life, while I stand frozen.

While I stand there mesmerized by how it always looks so different, but is experienced the same.

It is a strange intersection between being pissed, and not wanting to fulfill the stereotype that you are mad because you are a black woman. I get it. My life has been a series of scenes where I intentionally silence myself to not let the ignorance of someone else in my life be satisfied. My experiences include ones where the pain I experienced was invisible to those around me, including the people I needed support from the most.

To tell you the truth I am mad.

Im fucking pissed.

They say that systematically racism is handed down throughout generations. That the centuries of America’s history include examples that blacks have been pushed down, behind the ball and unable to catch up in a way that is authentic in themselves. It is taught that in order to achieve actual success we must assimilate with those who hold the power. To be raped and deprived of our autonomy- to make ourselves less seen. To willingly comply to our whitewashing. This is often discussed regarding race and class, but the systematic oppression has much larger impacts including our sense of self and safety, spirituality, community, family and mental health.

I am no different. I am light skinned, educated and raised by whites. I had better access- but that was not without pain. I have spent my life fearful of rejection, fearful of being other’d, and defending myself against others assumptions of me. I have spent decades walking a fine line of silencing who I am or standing up for myself risking others interpretations and judgements. Im tired of being silenced- even if I do view it as a form of self preservation by not fulfilling others stereotype.

I have been told that the mouth on me is too much, too reactive and too cutting. As if I have not learned that it is one of the only weapons I have when feeling suffocated by forced conformity and compliance. I have been told that my mouth is surprising because I use big words and have a brain and can use it. I have been complimented for having a life beyond being a young mother and instead focusing on pursuing an education. I have been sexualized for the color of my skin and been objectified because I am sexual. For the many men I have dated have made it clear that I am a vacation and not a destination.

I am angry. & Im tired of silencing my anger to appease those who don’t want to experience the pain of my emotions or of my anger. Im sick of catering to those who don’t feel they should listen.

*BITCH IM HERE.

I am unapologetically here. I have endured, survived, fought, waited, accepted, and moved on. I have learn and I have grown. I am continuously evolving and for that I am thankful. I have learned the importance of education and connection. I have made mistakes and wanted to crawl away from embarrassment. I am human. I love, and I want love. I have learned the importance of choosing to love with intention, for myself and others. I am learning constantly, in books and with hearts.

I have shed tears over those undeserving of my love, and those who hurt me. I have internalized and I choose give myself the love they could not. I deserve nothing short of everything from everyone including myself.

I am here and live with intention to respect those who fought for my ability to have connivence, and choice. The sacrifice was great, and their stoic nature resulted in opportunity and change. Learning the history of women before me inspires me to fight- to use my privilege and platform to instill hope. To inspire others to live with awareness and intention. To educate and inspire those around me, and display what a strong black woman looks like. I want to be a hero like the hero’s that inspire me.

The most powerful thing I have is my intention.

The most powerful thing you have is your intention. 

Do you ever meet someone who completely shakes you to your core. Someone that all of a sudden makes you question how you have made it in life thus-far without them. A person that makes your blurred vision of your life all of a sudden come into focus.

Have you ever met someone who encouraged you to do better and be better just by them being around? Someone that without any words inspires you to live fully.

 

Has that person also ever walked out of your life. taking with them your heart and soul. Are you constantly plagued by their absence, and obsessed with their rejection. Are you praying daily to a god your not even sure you believe in for their return- only to instead be faced with their silence, drowned out by the voices of your own insecurities playing tapes of inevitable rejection and isolation.

Have you tried to move on, filling your loneliness with the figures of people who painfully remind you of what you are missing. Voices reminding you that ‘They aren’t him’ playing over and over in your head.

How can one be so shaken to the core by another- without reciprocity? How do you meet someone that you instantly see forever with- and their lenses aren’t the same. How do

you move on from someone you don’t want to move on from? How do you persist when you just wanna stay in the moment, or go back in time to feel like that again. How do you stop throwing a fit for them not staying, for you not getting what you want?

Asking for a friend by the way

 

.

Sitting in my underwear on my back porch on a Saturday morning thinking about how to manifest my destiny. Im 31 in two weeks. Maybe its the weed talking, or the espresso, or this book on being Single and Happy but i’m stumped. How to I manifest my biggest values into my future. How to I really stop living to live, and trade that in for living with a purpose, and intention.

I am not saying i’m  not halfway there already. I have a rewarding job where I effect change through education and counseling. I often remind myself that I am part of someones solution, instead of their problem. I maintain authentic and supportive friendships, and have learned in various kinds of relationships to leave the table when love is no longer being served. I am self sufficient (for the most part) and I am working on my personal shortcomings to improve myself as a human. I have goals- and fears. I drink too much, I get lonely.

What is it that I really want to do? I want to effect change. I want to know that I contributed to the world in a way that made it better. I don’t necessarily think I need to be learned about in history class. But I want to leave my mark on people. I used to want to be a writer. Again, it could be the vast amount of time I wasted away my youth watching Sex and the City, wanting to be the black Carrie Bradshaw (I envisioned myself looking eerily similar to Scary Spice) but that whitewashed unrealistic fashion fiesta was my dream. But I never worked towards manifesting it. I just assumed it would happen like when Alice fell into the well. Now I will attempt to live with intention. I want to write and express myself and utilize my values to engage in life. It starts with this, just doing it even though it feels uncomfortable.

 

The magic is outside my comfort zone too.

so comfortable, yet so destructive to my soul.

chasing the need to  be needed

chasing the need to be someone’s savior

because i am nothing,

if not everything to someone else.

i am nothing for myself

Even though i have saved myself many of times

those victories not worth counting

those ribbons are packed away in some closet somewhere

out of sight, far away.

 

CAUTION

failure to save others from themselves

leaves the heart an open wound

with scars much deeper, that take longer to heal

 

CAUTION

failure to save others from themselves

could cause serious adverse reactions

financial issues, depression, PTSD, suicidality, even death

CAUTION

Even when others tell you it’s not your fault

you wont believe them

when you are encouraged to be proud of your victories

failures will always cloud your vision.

 

 

 

 

 

Well, its happened again. Another police officer, another traffic stop, another gun pulled and another black man dead. But as the tears of yet one more senseless murder start to run down our faces- BANG BANG; shots fired, another state, another traffic stop, another black man dead on the side of the road.

 

History.. what is the history of black man devalued lives. Was it the arrival of slave ships to Africa the kidnapping of my ancestors bringing them to America and forcing them to work. Not even seen as human, auctioned off like cattle standing on blocks. You raped my sisters to make more slaves. Was it Jim Crow? The scent of a black man hanging from a tree covered in tar and feathers, burning. Was it the countless brothers and sisters lost fighting to be seen through the Civil Rights Movement. The murder the of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Was it the crack crisis of the 80’s or the blind eye to AIDS crisis and the killing of over 20,000 ‘social deviants’. Is it the all too common police brutality we now face? Or our children’s textbooks referring to our slave ancestors as unpaid workers.

I saw this quote that said, ‘the violence is not new, the camera’s are.’ I thought of the power technology played when Rodney Kings life was blasted around world. The outrage through riots. The anger displayed through violence. The proof.. the proof.

So now our black men are dying without reason. So many senseless reasons they are killing each other these days, we don’t need more help with killing our men. We need help keeping them alive. We need help morning all that has been lost, and we need help changing the system so that this happens less often. So black men are given the chance to be fathers to their children, and husbands to their partners. So that they can be whatever they wanna be, including what they never thought they could. We cannot do this fists swinging, we have to do this with arms outstretched willing to accept help and love. We need to be loved, and to give love.

 

Believe it or not, this was a dream of mine. Well; sort of. I mean, since my youth I have imagined myself amongst other things, a writer. I mean apart from my horrible grammar and spelling, I am educated, and opinionated. The cherry on that sundae?  Im also fucking hilarious. I have shit to say about anything, even the things I shouldn’t.

Im sure like many others my age my dreams were vastly shaped by media. Although at times my most feminist self is ashamed to admit it, my youth was vastly shaped by the life of Carrie Bradshaw VIA Sex and the City. I dreamed one day to live my life in lavish clothes, with my best friends, fucking every beautiful man that crossed my path. I would become the black Carrie Bradshaw. (In my mind she looks like scary spice, dresses like posh spice and seduces like ginger spice) #getonmylevel

Two weeks ago I stood in a cap and gown, and was hooded. Officially earning my Masters Degree in Social Work. As the speaker droned on and on about the importance of continued learning, I reflected about the many ways learning has influenced me. With my third degree in tow I have spent quite a bit of time learning. I have learned a lot about things that I didn’t want to, but when the topic was appealing, learning came much easier. Learning is not just external. Through therapy I have done some of the most empowering and valuable form of learning. I learned about what drives me (both positive and negative) I learned about how my experiences shaped me. Most importantly, I learned how to be kind to myself, to let in uncomfortable things exist, and to forgive. Throughout my Masters program I learned of the root of pathology. I have learned the many shapes a person emotional pain can hold. I learned the of the tightrope that one walks, engaging in things that are meant to decrease pain and yet simultaneously hurt us. I learned of what makes person tick, What stands in the way of those scared to be outside of their comfort zone, learning, trying, failing, and even succeeding, most importantly I have learned the rewards of helping others grow and blossom into something more.

You see that for me

learning also means growing

growing sets you free