Son Shining

On June 3, 2018 I was all smiles as he walked across the stage but the next day I woke up back in my feelings about my sonflower graduating from high school and heading to college. We moved to our community 6 years ago and he began his time here as the middle child entering the 7th grade, the middle of middle school. He was a free spirit back then—mohawk and skate boarder. Marching to the beat of his own drum. He signed up for club soccer and realized quickly that our laid back nature about team sports and life was not valued in the culture of our new over structured and intensified suburban reality. He dropped skate boarding and double downed on soccer. He cut his mohawk he had worn for 7 years. He navigated the sea of other middle schoolers and the ocean of high schoolers over the past 6 years. He also has maintained an honor roll GPA despite the constant life stress and family transitions. In his senior year, he decided that he did not want to play club soccer any more. It was like he woke up and remembered he was enough and he had had enough of the team sports hamster wheel. He decided to play soccer and live life for the joy.      

He began spending time playing basketball, working out and hanging out with friends whom we never met. At times, I did not know how to parent him. He was fiercely independent and private and I, a social worker and self professed super mama, just wanted him to "share his feelings". He chose not to go to homecoming or the prom. I learned new notions of a "normal" high school experience. He applied to college without my help. He was accepted in 7 of the 8 colleges he applied to but only 2 of the 8 accepted him into the Civil Engineering & Architecture programs that he applied to. I stewed as I thought about the structural ways Higher Ed pushes black and brown folks out of STEM, knowing he was a strong student. He decided that he would major in communications not Civil Engineering or Architecture, though as a Lego kid he had spent his childhood building and drawing new worlds. I wanted to advocate and fight the systems that stood in his way but to be honest, I felt powerless. I held my tongue and my heart.

 I also didn’t quite get his sharp pivot since he had already taken 3 courses in Engineering but I was learning that supporting and loving him meant following his lead not understanding him. Still I was haunted by all that I imagined he was navigating. He reminded me often to stop constructing his journey as a victim narrative and to trust him when he said that he was good. He soon announced that he and his 2 best friends, whom I met on graduation day, had decided to go college together and would be room mates. And days after dropping him off at college he announces that he is joining a fraternity that is not one I am familiar with from the black experience. Initially I felt like I had failed to help him appreciate our family’s traditions and valuation of black organizations and institutions. But I forgot that what I also value is bodily autonomy and freedom of expression. I forgot that I raised my child to blaze his own trail and to live beyond the boundaries of what the world, including our family’s world, defined for him. I raised him to chart his own course--and so he is. 

I have loved him deeply as I had hoped to be loved by my parents. Which at times, I admit, may have even been smothering. Parenting is hard. Parenting as a black mother of a black son is harder. Parenting as a survivor of emotional, physical and sexual abuse further complicates it all. I generally parent out of worry, fear, anxiety and then somewhere down the line, I remember to just breathe and let them blossom. It does not come naturally to me. Letting go, loosening my grip, is healing. Tightening it risks producing intergenerational harm. I am learning and he is teaching. 

I dropped my son off at college 9 days ago. I have felt every emotion I own since I dropped him off but the 3 most prominent are love, awe, and pride. He is a beautiful and brilliant human and I am so grateful the world gets to experience him. Keep shining brightly, sonshine!

                                                                     Love, Mom!

    

About Last Night

I am hard on myself. I work really hard but sometimes when I am trying to articulate myself while speaking I stumble through my words. I then become anxious worrying that my audience will think I sound incompetent and I begin rushing to finish, which makes me stumble more. This most often happens in academic settings and even after being a professor for most of my adult life, I still find myself almost in tears after I speak in front of academics. This is a carry over from being socialized in a culture that has made me feel like I don't belong despite me working so hard trying to be their kind of smart. 

Recently I have been resisting and in fact rebelling against trying to "sound" smart. I recognize it as Western middle class cultural imperialism and have begun saying fuck you--i may not speak your language but I have shit to say. And right when I think I have recovered from feeling like an imposter and begin feeling myself for the bad ass I am, I stumble in the middle of a speech and I am spiraling downward again. My heart races, I feel small, I speed up, I skip over sections of my paper to get to the end faster. It's like all the self work disappears. Sometimes i catch myself and remember to breathe, sometimes I lie in bed playing it over and over in my head, tossing and turning wondering why I still suck at this thing. But what I will say is this--fuck academia and the damage it does to us (women, first gen, POC, queer, immigrant, people with disabilities, etc) and the way it violently dulls our shine. I'm working to embrace my stumbles and will keep saying what the fuck needs to be said. My people will hear me and those who focus on my articulation and enunciation are not the people I am speaking to in the first place.

 I also must remember that my harsh evaluations of myself are often unfounded. Last night, when all I wanted to do was crawl under a rock after I spoke, an audience member walked up to me and thanked me for including my sexual abuse survival in my remarks. She said she was especially grateful that I named it in an academic setting because said she had been sexually assaulted at Northwestern and had not told anyone yet. She said maybe one day we could write about it together. She re-centered me and I affirmed her. I am not here to sound eloquent. I am here to tell the truth. and so are you. 

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...

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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.