You Too

So the majority of women I know and love, who are on social media (and many who are not),  have been victims of sexual and other forms of gender based violence. Men and people responsible for raising men, are you fucking telling me that our daughters do not stand a chance in living lives without being preyed upon?! Are we expected to warn them that their bodies & spirits will always be under attack by you, people who look like you, and the sons of the world?! Please tell me this is NOT normal but our testimonies, both spoken & unspoken, say that sexual assault & rape are expected, normal, pervasive & chronic! Do not respond to this post, just go do the work of humanizing manhood and masculinity.

And if anyone even tries to come for me with that “not all men” bullshit I will quickly shut that shit down by saying, I’m not a fucking idiot. I live with 3 beautiful feminist men. I know what manhood and masculinity can look like and I have faith in men’s capacity to grow and evolve. Having said that, it is up to ALL MEN to address rape culture head on with all the other men they are connected to. We are tired and many of us are assaulted just as much by your silence & apathy  as your son’s, brother’s, uncle’s, father’s, grandfather’s, teammate’s, frat brother’s, pastor’s, coach’s, friend’s, neighbor’s, colleague’s, coworker’s, favorite athlete’s, and your boy’s attack on our humanity.

Mother's Day is Coming!

Mother's Day is coming so solidarity and hugs to  all the folks out there with shitty/complicated/no relationships with their mothers or who have lost their mothers or who have lost their children or who are not able to have children or do no want to have children or who do not have all the resources and support they need to take good care of themselves or their children or who are locked  up and can't be with their children or who are locked up and can't be with their mothers. Solidarity and long hugs to you all as we navigate the heaviness and complexity of Mother's Day

Make a plan: Guard Your Spirit

I know some folks hate lists but I'm too drained after the heaviness of this weekend's pain to write sentences. This is what poured out of me this morning right before I let the tears flow. I call it, "how to survive tolerating/being in a relationship with family members who have hurt you". It might come in handy for some of you, especially during holidays, graduations, weddings, funerals, or pretty much any other "obligatory" time we are sacrificing our souls in the name of "family"

1. Prepare an escape plan-have somewhere to go if shit gets too heavy. I was lucky to have a friend offer to let me come to her house if I needed
2. Be open with your support network about the status of your mental health before, during and after they arrive. Let them know so they can be available if you show up at their door in your underwear in the middle of December or you need call/text them at 2:34am. I was grateful to receive texts and hugs from friends all weekend and openly told people I was not feeling ok.
3. Build a support network that can handle your anxiety laden, random, and frequent texts or calls (you need this to do #2)
4. Force yourself to drink water
5. Force yourself to eat 
6. Leave the house solo to go run "errands" without apology. 
7. Have a place that brings you joy to retreat to if things get bad--for me it's thrift stores (went to 3 of them yesterday) or I go somewhere in nature-flowers, water, weeds--whatever!
8. Process your trauma with a therapist. Process the ways maintaining this relationship affects your life with a therapist. This level of support is needed in addition to the support we receive from friends, family and our faith communities.
9. Eat ALL the fucking sweet potato pie you like and fuck anyone who judges you for doing so.  
10. Go for a walk, run, etc-be active, it helps release the endorphins you need to balance out all your feelings of depression, anxiety & rage! 
11. Ask other family members to act as your buffers/stand in hosts. My grannie and Ced do this for me all the time. I love them both deeply for enduring when I cannot
12. Take "naps". They can be real naps or fake ones but take 'em! Anything to run out the fucking clock! Including faking headaches!
13. Don't feel obligated to be "on" or host around the clock
14. Don't tolerate anymore abusive or controlling language or behavior! It is a privilege for them to even get to see you so fuck them if they start acting a fool! Seriously! Fuck them! Show them the door! This is your life! 
15. Decide which environment and what time periods work best for you. I prefer hosting because I feel more in control. If on their turf--hotels it is for me. In both cases 48-72 hrs is all they get and I consider that a gift. It's sucks no matter what but I have learned where my tolerance limits are and don't give a shit whose feelings I hurt. 
16. Name your pain!! Share your story of trauma AND your story of survival! Your silence will not protect you (Audre Lorde)
In short, make a plan for your survival but remember you DO NOT have to stay in relationships with people who have hurt you. I don't care what your cultural, religious, or gender norms say! You deserve to be safe and if you are not safe, get safe! ️

Deep Breathing...

Deep Breathing as Survival (drafted March 2017)

Last Wednesday the temps suddenly dropped and everyone had to put their winters coats back on. I work in a historic building in downtown Chicago and our heat comes from radiators. 

As I walked through the office that day trying to focus on my mounting list of work tasks, I began to hear the all too familiar clicking sounds of the radiators. I had heard them all winter but after having the heat off for a while, the hissing clicks  sounded especially loud. 

I grew up in public housing projects that had radiator heat. The clicks of the radiators reminded me of both of my childhood home. A home in which I was not safe. A home in which I was sexually, physically and psychologically traumatized by my father. A home that I escaped and never returned.

As the clicks continued, I found myself unable to focus on my work but without really knowing why. I felt panicked and unstable even though I knew I was not in any direct danger. I was distraught because I needed to settle since I had a shortened work week given a surgery that I had scheduled for later in the week. 

I breathed deeply and I just survived the day. I struggled emotionally throughout the work day. I prayed that the cold days would end. 

On Friday, I was admitted the St Francis Hospital in Evanston for an outpatient procedure. During the pre-op process a nurse shared that I would be given a sedative that would put me asleep so that the surgeon could begin my surgery but that I would wake up mid surgery. My heart immediately began to race. My father used to sexually assault  me when I was asleep so the thought of waking up when someone was hovering over me was unsettling. I tried to express my general concern to the anesthesiologist and he did his best to be reassuring. I still felt uneasy. I worried that I would wake up feeling startled/frightened and instinctively try to defend myself. 

I breathed deeply and tried not to angst. 

I was then wheeled to a pre-op/post-op room to await being wheeled into the operating room. For some reason the multiple beds in one room and an older woman who began moaning after getting out of her surgery reminded me of being in the hospital for my first abortion. It was a late term abortion and women and girls all were put together for our procedures. I was the youngest person there and it was one of the scariest experiences in my life. I hadn't thought of that day/night and those collective moans for a long time but suddenly, the memories came flooding back.  

I had to force myself to stop thinking about it. I needed to hold my shit together since my surgery was about to happen. Breath, Sekile. Breathe. 

I was then wheeled into the operating room. I was not scared but was still unsettled about waking up mid surgery. My anesthesiologist tried to chat with me to keep me calm by chatting about music he liked from South Africa. Then the nurse began to use "soft" restraints to strap each of my arms down so that I would flail around once I woke up. This almost pushed me over the edge,  even though theoretically I understand the purpose of the practice. All I could think of was waking up and not being able to defend myself because I was strapped to the bed. In an instant, I was disempowered and trapped. My anesthesiologist began asking me where my name was from and I blurted out "I can't focus on that right now, I am feeling anxious and overwhelmed!". He continued to do his best to keep me calm but it was a lot to take in and was happening so fast. I guess I breathed through it.

Luckily when I woke up in the middle of the procedure, they had put a tent up that visually blocked out what was actually happening. I was able to hear first and then adjust to the situation. Not being able to see was a good thing for me in this moment. Like I've already said, I thought I would wake up and want to protect myself, especially if I found a man hovering over me. 

In the end, everything went well. I was even able to go to a party yesterday, less than 24 hrs after the surgery. But this situation reminded me how much I live with my trauma daily. Trauma histories are heavy and looming. These experiences are sometimes hard to carry and are unpredictable.

I know there was nothing that could be done about the radiators but the hospital experience could have been improved upon. I wished I had found the courage to inform the people who were providing health care to me that I was a sexual abuse survivor. I just kept saying I was feeling anxious. I could not name my pain. On the other hand, I feel like this should not have to come from me.  All health workers should be trained  to provide trauma informed care and know that the hospital experience itself can be a traumatic event.  They should be aware that many of their patients may have trauma histories. It's more than just being nice and saying "you'll be ok". I had to do a lot of self regulation to get through that minor procedure. They all were medically competent but were clueless about how their "standard" practice of strapping someone down can illicit strong feelings of vulnerability and anxiety for some patients. I do recognize that I am economically privileged given my access to health care. That does not preclude the fact that health professionals can be more responsive to the complex needs of their patients. Asking me if I have trauma history should be right next to the asking me if I have any allergic reactions to medications. 

I breathed deeply through it all and survived yet again. But this post is evidence that I am still haunted by my brief hospital experience 2 days later. Luckily, there's lots of air out there...

*************************************************
Here's a gift to all of you out there breathing through it all:

1 minute breathing exercise

My 13 yr old's walking review of "13 Reasons Why"

My daughter and I walked to school together today. We talked about the show 13 Reasons Why. She said she viewed it as a TV show not representative of real mental health issues that lead to suicide. She said she watched the interviews with the directors (producers?) who said that their intended goal was to raise awareness about suicide. She said she thought they failed at it but she still liked the show. She also said that none of us are perfect, so we all have the potential for hurting people without realizing it but they shouldn't then make a video about it for revenge.

She's 13, uses the word bogus a lot but has critical thinking skills to understand fact from fiction. I don't think we should ban TV,music or movies but our kids do need a few things from us so that they are informed. I think we should be talking to kids about mental health and how to reach out to ask for help if they need it (sidebar: We should also fight to ensure mental health services are publicly funded and not only accessible to middle class families). We should also remind them of their personal power so survive and that they should fight back at life, even when it's shitty. I'm not victim blaming those that lose their lives to suicide, the rates are going up in the US and are concerning. Instead I'm saying we should destigmatize seeking mental health treatment and we should teach children (and the adults in their lives) the symptoms so that they learn how to respond. I also think resiliency has to be fostered--our children need adults affirming their worth but they also simply need to know they are worthy. These should be a normal part of our daily conversations--at home, in schools, in youth organizations, and in faith communities.
Hi I shared my suicide attempt during our walk. I shared my bouts with depression stemming from my trauma history. I shared that I went to therapy. I told her that I was happy I woke up from the overdose and I was happy to still be here. She listened and asked questions but kept a fast walking pace because she was meeting up with her friends--I did say she was 13, right? I wanted to kiss her on the forehead when she turned left to head towards school and I turned right to head towards the train but then I knew that would be bogus of me.

Birthing Healing

As I got off the CTA train yesterday evening, I felt a twinge in my midsection. I wondered if it was my uterus actually hurting because I was grieving my son’s impending move to college the next morning. They felt a bit like cramps so I decided to call them “labor pains”. 

I needed a familiar reference point to process and cope with the pain I was feeling, whether physical, spiritual, emotional—or combined.   I needed to push myself to accept that the life that I had brought into the world was about to enter another stage of life’s journey. I also knew I had survived labor pains before so I told myself that I could survive this life transition as well. So with my hands gripping my abdomen and at times throwing up into one of Illinois State University's garbage cans, I’ve spent the last 24 hrs laboring and reflecting on the past 18 years since I’ve become his/a mother. 

One of my biggest goals in raising a son has been to make sure that he never intentionally hurts women and that he would grow to advocate for their freedom. I prayed for him to be gentle,  justice minded, peace loving, and to have a fighting spirit. I am so proud to say that the 18 year old that began college today, has become a warm, caring, sensitive, fun loving, and informed young man that I hoped he would become. 

A few examples flashed through my mind during the 2 hour car ride and like calming waves they washed over me dulling the pain. Sometimes it was remembering the small things like his love for cats or being a caring and highly flexible older brother. Other times it was the big things like remembering him sitting in the back seat of the car explaining the menstrual cycle to his little sister (thank you, World of Inquiry 8th grade science teachers!) or when he asked to stay while I delivered the placenta following his sister's birth. I recall, at age 4, he reminded me to be more patient and gentle with his younger brother who would not go to sleep as instructed. He said calmly but assertively, " He's just a baby, Mom!". Then there was the time he tied a pink bow in his hair during track meets in support of his coach’s wife who was undergoing treatment for breast cancer. She mentioned that he would always check on her. I didn’t even know they had a relationship but to learn your teenager found space in his heart to care for another is heartwarming.  Or the time he came home from school raving about Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie's Purple Hibiscus. Then there was the day he began to draw connections between my life and the Black women characters in Alice Walkers' books. He was the one who got me into reading the Suzanne Collins' "Hunger Games" series. Here was a boy who wasn't big on reading was suddenly under his covers for days diving deep into fiction worlds of injustice & resistance with a girl as the shero. 

He, like his siblings, have always been supportive of my dreams and interests. They understand me as a working mother and they also get that I value life outside of motherhood. He has always been there coaching me along whether it was roller derby or road races. He was one of my first customers when I began selling vintage clothing. He partied hard with a drag queen at one of my fundraisers for the Chicago Abortion Fund. He wears a button on his visor that says “Value Women” and proudly identifies as a black feminist. Yes, his room stays a mess and he plays video games nonstop. 

But he has blossomed into a young man that moves through this world not harming others. This is an essential intervention that I and his father have been committed to in loving our son. His masculinity is his own and is not bound by other people’s limited views of what it means to "be a man". (sidebar: His blackness is also his own and not bound by other peoples’ limited notions of what it means to "be black").

All of this floods through my mind as we unpack and get him settled into his dorm. I did not cry because I began to realize he’s ready, not only academically ready for college, but ready to offer the world the positive energy that it needs…the peace loving and kind man that it needs. Just like labor, it felt horrible during but then there was pure relief and elation in the end. I knew he was going to be alright and that he understood what was expected of him as a human.

His presence in my life and our world has helped me to heal.  He is joy.