homing device

I revise my life narrative of family and survival each time I come home to NC. 

Mother's Day: My glass box of emotion

I feel every emotion on this day and no one feeling outranks the other. It is this day that leaves me emotionally drained every year. every year. Nonetheless,  I remain eternally grateful for the JOY of these three rays of sunshine!! The polka dots make me smile, too. 

If you or someone you know is feeling similarily by the heaviness of Mother's Day (and/or Father's Day) as a child abuse survivor,  here's a validating read. (Please note that some of the content can be triggering for some) http://www.slate.com/articles/life/family/2013/02/abusive_parents_what_do_grown_children_owe_the_mothers_and_fathers_who_made.2.html

on the balcony

 I shared my trauma story with my daughter yesterday. I shared it with both of her brothers in the past. My oldest son came into my room one time when I was sleeping and his presence triggered a flashback. I screamed at him to get out of my room. I decided shortly after to share with him that my father would molest me at night and that I got freaked out a bit but was truly sorry. He was understanding. my poor baby! I shared my story with my younger son out of anger and frustration. He was angry with his dad about our then upcoming move to Chicago and I had had enough of his jabs at his dad. I confronted him and shared that while what he was going through was tough, that is was not trauma and that his father was trying to make a better life for him. I shared what having an abusive father was really like and said I wished I had a loving dad like his. yeah, I went there. He soon chilled out and he is the most adjusted of my 3 children since we have moved. Our talk will probably will have him in therapy later in life but my buttons were pushed. (note to self: have a 2nd talk with him) My poor baby!!!! But yesterday was the last time that I shared my story with one of my children and it was the one I dreaded the most. Telling my daughter...

After a week long hectic move, it was the 1st day Z and I were hanging out on our new balcony. She was sharing how she and some girls from her school were organizing a protest against the school's sexist dress code. We talked double standards and respectability politics. She mentioned that it is just the older women, particularly black women that say something to her. I told her I had her back but also explained that some black folks are conservative and some may mean no harm and think they are protecting you from men's/boy's advances. I explained that black women's sexuality has historically been exploited and our responses (good and problematic) have been attempts to reclaim our dignity. I explained that even with those histories of racism and sexism, black woman and girls should demand their bodily autonomy. We agreed that what someone is wearing has nothing to do sex or enticement and people should not police a girl's/woman's body. I noted that men and boys should be in control of themselves. We discussed rape and rape culture. We both acknowledged that people rape people and that it is wrong. 

 But I also confessed that even I had to get used to her wearing leggings, short shorts and bikinis once her body started filling out. I told her it was hard and that I too wanted to protect her/cover her up. I then shared how it has been a struggle watching her do her thing as she grows up but I know that I have to let her go. I finally took a deep breathe and said that "it happened to me" and that I wanted to be sure it didn't happen to her. If you could have seen my baby's face when she realized what I was saying and as the tears welled up in her little eyes as my voice quivered. my poor baby!!!!! I kept going before I lost the nerve to get it out and shared that it was my father. She came over and hugged me.  I told her it was a scary time in my life but that I was ok. I told her I was her age. I told her I was proud of her for knowing that her body is hers and that no one should tell her what she can and cannot do with it. She said, with tears streaming down her face that she was sorry that IT happened to me. I thanked her and we comforted each other. 

The moment was both incredibly heavy and somehow also very light. If felt like we saw into each other's souls when we looked at each other with shared love and concern. I asked her if the balcony could be our "spot" for sharing and connecting and she said yes. Then Cabral called us for breakfast! Perfect timing, pancakes sooth the soul! 

p.s. School District 97, you'd better look out because my daughter and her crew are coming for ya!!  

I"ve got that joy, joy, joy down in my heart!

Today's theme song "I got that joy, joy, joy, down in my heart"! Sometimes when my kids are being ungrateful or when they can't see the blessing that is their lives, I say "you are blessed, be blessed!" Taking my own advice today. Feeling blessed and thanking the creator for my joy!  I had this romantic notion that Ced and I would close on our house, get the keys, and go straight to our new home and make love on the floor. I was going to pack a picnic basket for us and I bought a bouquet of flowers to put on the mantel. But when we found out we can't get into the house until 4/5 I felt defeated. We have been working so hard to get this place. So much has gone wrong so we thought if we can just close all will be good. I actually got my period last night after 20 rounds of phone calls and emails to broker, lawyer and agent. It's been like this for weeks. Calls. Emails. Franticness. The last time I got my. period was back in August when a colleague stepped on my spirit. Stress induced periods?!! No ma'am!! So I'm sitting here this morning reflecting. I have come to realize that life is not romantic. It is real. And that it is up to me to decide how I will feel about it. So I choose joy today. Today I become a home owner at a time when that reality has sadly become harder and harder for hard working and deserving Americans. I am recentering myself, recognizing my privilege, rejoicing in my blessings, and reclaiming my joy. 

Happy New Year!!!

Happy New year to you and yours! Wishing you a 2015 filled with joy, healing, peace and justice!

Warning: Incoherent free write/journal entry posing as a blog post

My final post for 2014 is a strained one. I suppose the easiest thing is to reflect on my year using the checklist method. The joys and the pains. marathons. travel. new professional collaborations. family achievements and intimate moments. joys. check. global injustices, inequity and unrest. strained and toxic work relationships. time off from teaching disappeared. my love of carbs and disgust with gyms. no publications. pains. check. 

 I struggle with this format, though. Highlighting the joys, which have been plentiful, feels like I’m minimizing the real struggles that I face day to day. feeling my actions toward righting the world are not transformative/impactful enough. insecurity. self doubt. feelings of incompetence. fear of failure. fear of rejection if I share my real shit. Yet, noting my pains makes me feel trivial, whiny, privileged. Not saying anything leaves a gaping hole of silence. So I sit here unsure of what direction to go in. Maybe listing is the best strategy. But I can feel myself also wanting to make sure the good and bads of 2014  are balanced. But life is messy and uneven. there is no balance. I keep trying to impose structure and order on this mess. I attribute my lack of discipline as failure. I struggle with following tasks  that don’t feel good in the moment. I am not sure if that is an inability to delay gratification or if it has become my survival strategy. If it doesn't feel good, i stop. I usually do what feels good as long as it feels good, when it feels good and for however long it feels good. i steer away from pain and struggle, especially the kinds i have cannot see as part of a longer journey towards joy.

I feel so much pressure as the year ends. Such a sense of failure although I have been successful on many fronts…especially in the eyes of others. Yet, there are other others who I have given power over my fate. This has produced a level of anxiety that seems to be consuming me. sucking the joy out of my life. I fight it daily, ordering myself to not let it/them/the game/the matrix consume me, shape my sense of worth. It works momentarily but it is an active and exhausting practice of holding my head up. I quiver at the thought of them judging me. Also of me having to figure out the what next. To be cast out of a play I don’t really feel a part of anyway.

********* blog post is becoming sidetracked*******other thoughts and emotions are surfacing. am i  journaling?

I need a safe space to speak. to share my darkest secrets. To have long  sustained conversation with. I feel like I am living such an inauthentic life. A life that I have crafted. One that others would be proud of. I feel like a hypocrite. A fake. I don’t belong here. How did I get here? Why do I stay? When will I exhale and get free? Who will be hurt by my actions? Yup, I’m coming undone as 2014 winds down. I have a lot to meditate on. 

I hope that being still will bring me relief though I fear it will just put me back together until the next pity party/break down. I seem to live from break down to break down. I need better self care practices in place. Key Ray read me way back in 1996. I hold it together and melt down at the end of each semester. Like clockwork. 

I need to take my 5 good minutes. I need a once a week phone call with my girls. A monthly massage.  A regular journal session to share these thoughts, feelings, haunts, and dreams. A committed exercise routine. I need to establish a healthy relationship with myself. All of this needs to be on the calendar. A mentor of mine charged me with an important task. She suggested that whenI began developing a semester plan, document what professional supports I need in place given the semester I have ahead of me. I am going to craft a plan of general self care and supports that extend beyond my professional reality. I say loudly and quite frequently that I will not let my career be my center yet it continues to be a key source of my stress and anxiety. Impostor syndrome alive and well. black. woman. working class. first generation. spousal hire. you name it. I also need to acknowledge that its demands are not the only sources of my inner turmoil. The things that make my hands tremble the most are buried deep inside, they are the struggles that I cannot yet document. Until I am ready, I will at least find respite in building time for myself for release and regrouping…for my world is a stage and I am performing to keep the peace.  

Depression and anxiety are real. I’m swimming as fast upstream as possible to not let is consume me right now. Karen, I hope you are resting well. Although I did not know you, I feel your pain and joys. I feel connected to you as a black woman. So many of us struggle even as we make others smile. I get you. I feel you. I will wear red lipstick on NYE in your honor. Praying 2015 helps me to break off another piece of this mask so I can get a little more free. 

Eyes up...Dis/Recovering My Body

 When our bodies are free we can move mountains.

I completed my first marathon on October 12, 2014. I finished the Chicago Marathon in 5 hours, 49 minutes and 12 seconds! Not bad!! I was out there with 45,000 other runners, walkers and wheel chair racers---each of us at the start line for different reasons but all with the same tools at hand....our bodies, minds, hearts and spirits ----and the same goal in mind...to get across the finish line. 

As I trained this summer, especially during the longer runs past 13 miles, I became fascinated by what my body was capable of doing. Sometimes I got distracted by what my body was “supposed” to look like but I was truly impressed by what it could DO! Each weekend I would look at the weekly run schedule and think “Damn, that’s far!”. But then I would lace up and sure enough about half way through the run I would realize that I was doing IT.  I also came to enjoy listening to my body. If my heart rate was too fast, I'd slow down. If I became excited because the finish line was near, I'd speed up. If I was struggling, I'd speak up and ask for help. If I felt uncomfortable, I'd tell my run partner the pace doesn’t feel good. If I am slacking, I’d acknowledge it and recommit. If I needed a break, I'd take one. This distance running journey was a testimony and tribute to being in a sustained conversation with my body.  Respecting when my body says No! and responding when it says Yes!!

The conversation continued along the marathon route on Sunday. I checked in with each body part. 

        mile 13: “Toes & toenails, how ya’ll doing?" 

mile 15: "Back, you alright?" 

mile 18: "Lungs, ya’ll getting enough oxygen?"

                                     mile 23: "Bladder, girl, you are doing marvelous!"

mile 24-26.2: "Legs, you betta' work!!!" 

My spirit continually tapped me on my shoulder along the way and reminded me to take it all in. The sights, the sounds, the smells, the energy, the support and the LOVE were all there giving me life and propelling me forward. 

And yes, at times I begged each body part to cooperate and they did, but in their own time and on their own terms. I had set a finish time goal of 5:25 but my body pushed back and said assertively, "I am finishing in 5:49:12!". 

My body, my will, my desire moved mountains that day and another piece of me got free as I crossed the finish line. When I got across I didn’t cry. I just smiled because my body had survived real pain before and this was not pain, this was joy.                                                    





                                           Pure JOY!