I’m excited about my very first article, “Carry On Tradition” on CLUTCH MAGAZINE. The piece was inspired by my rereading of Joan Morgan’s When Chickenheads Come Home to Roost and how I missed reading books by young black women that spoke to our complexities. Please read it & comment on their site. [...]]]>

First: A little self-promotion.

I’m excited about my very first article, “Carry On Tradition” on CLUTCH MAGAZINE. The piece was inspired by my rereading of Joan Morgan’s When Chickenheads Come Home to Roost and how I missed reading books by young black women that spoke to our complexities. Please read it & comment on their site. Show them that intelligent and well-thought-out articles (that don’t deal with gossip or fashion) are worth being published on mainstream sites. Thanks!

~~

her side-eye is EPIC! her expression says: "we don't believe you, you need more people!"

Today, I went back to work. We didn’t have students but instead had a day full of meetings and trainings. The day was very low key (read: boring), fairly informational, and was going along smoothly until it became PAINFULLY clear, that God was testing/teaching me.

One of my coworkers is annoying. He is one of those dudes who has to fill up any room with the sound of his own voice. He’s arrogant. I never talked to him too much last year because it was clear that he only liked to hear himself speak. So I stayed down on my end of the hallway, while he pontificated up and down his.

But today, he and I were seated at adjourning tables and I could no longer avoid his brand of crazy.

Being the person that I am, I am always in the company of men, mixing it up, talking about sports, being sarcastic. The usual. Mr. Arrogant was wearing a “The Mack” t-shirt, so my other coworker and I were cracking ourselves up with different quotes from the movie. Mr. Arrogant sits down while I’m talking to my other coworker and he started to get a bit greasy.

I ask Mr. Arrogant if he was a fan of the movie or if he was just wearing the shirt. He responds, “What you know about that?”

I roll my eyes (playfully), and let him know I’ve been entertaining myself with quotes all day. Cool, that went well. He goes on to say he got the shirt in Harlem last year and that he just had to get it when he saw it. Ok. Fine.

I made the mistake to engage him further, be nice, ask about his trip and where he stayed. He mentioned staying in Lower Manhattan, “the uppity part,” he says. I add that that real uppity part of NYC is the Upper East Side, but he argues back (like I didn’t live there for years). Then he says…

“Year two? Year two people talking now?”

I had to cut my eyes at him. Had to stop myself from turning into a stereotypical, neck-poppin, around-the-way-girl (I was at work, after all). I was close, though. I let his little snide remark, about it only being my second year at the school, slide and kept talking with my other coworker.

A few minutes later he starts talking loudly about year two people being too comfortable. He keeps on about securing the hallway and covering my class. He says something to the effect that he’s had to put my kids in check (umm, not when I’ve been there) and basically insinuates that he knows more than me. I even let THAT go (I’m not into workplace drama).

He then gets on the phone with a woman, and starts yappin about women saying no when they mean yes. He tells her, “you sure? You women know you say things you don’t mean. You be saying no when you mean yes.”

Tired mack aside, that sounded like rape to me. Any one who negates your boundaries doesn’t care about you and only wants to push their own agenda.

Mr. Arrogant turns to look at me and smiles. I guess he was hoping for some sort of cosign (was he serious?). Now, I could have let it go. I could have kept working on my laptop, but instead I said, “that sounds like rape to me.”

He gets silent. Goes back to rappin with the girl on the phone. And soon mumbles something again about year two people getting too comfortable.

I ask him, “I am supposed to feel uncomfortable?”

He smiles it off, and keeps talking loud and saying nothing.

My issue was not only what he said, but also the fact that this man is a teacher. Is he passing this line of thinking onto his male students? How he acted today was how I’ve seen him act toward students in the past. He fancies himself too cool, too smart, all knowing. My students have told me that he clowns them. He has also said lots of inappropriate things to other teachers (i.e. he teaches a “real” class & some of us don’t). Yet no one seems to want to rock the boat and call him on it.

I was too through.

Although I was very, very annoyed by him, I learned something about myself this past year. I am becoming bolder about confronting ignorance and SPEAKING up against it.

Normally I would have just let him keep spewing his shit without calling him on it because I don’t like drama. But why should I sit there feeling uncomfortable while he revels in his big ego? Why should I signal to him with my silence that’s it’s ok to disrespect me as a professional AND as a woman?

Nah, I’m not having it.

Speaking up is not always easy. It damn sure isn’t always comfortable, but I didn’t walk away from him fuming and wishing I should have said something. Furthermore, I’m pretty sure he will think twice before popping his shit my way again because he has been warned. I am not 14 and will not be bullied with his attitude and arrogance.

This year, and especially these past few months have continually shown me the importance of claiming my own voice. I’m not sure that had this been a year ago, pre-therapy, pre-30 –year-old reflection, I would have said anything. I’m glad I’m growing and becoming GROWN.

You will not walk on me.

And it feels GOOD.

~~

Fam,

when was the last time you spoke up, even if it made you uncofortable?

did i deal with Mr. Arrogant properly? or should i have just let it slide?

how do you deal with folks who only want to hear their own voice?

Last Friday I was feeling very alone. Sure, I have my son and my family, but for the first time in a while I felt….lonely.

You’d think I was up close and personal with loneliness, but we ain’t really been that cool. Even though Beloved’s been gone nearly five years now, and I’ve never sought the [...]]]>

Last Friday I was feeling very alone. Sure, I have my son and my family, but for the first time in a while I felt….lonely.

You’d think I was up close and personal with loneliness, but we ain’t really been that cool. Even though Beloved’s been gone nearly five years now, and I’ve never sought the company of another man, I’ve never really felt lonely. Perhaps I blocked out what I was missing: having someone who listens to me and cares about me and who is present. Whatever the case, loneliness came down hard and made me feel like I needed to be held.

Feeling some type of way, I sent Brooklyn Boy a text. Big mistake. We ended up getting into a debate (ok, an argument & yes, via text message. sigh) about our possible meet-up. We have still been dancing around whether or not we should hang out given the situation. There is no denying that we dig each other, always have. The issue is that he is afraid of what hanging out might mean. He’s afraid that we’ll be forced to answer the “what’s next” question sooner rather than later, and when both of us are somewhat entangled emotionally. For me, I just want to chill. I’ve chosen not to focus on the “what ifs” and just focus on hanging out with a friend I’ve known since I was 19.

Our conversation on Friday, and subsequently Saturday, just didn’t seem to make much sense. I felt like I was banging my head against the wall and could not, for the life of me, understand his point. We usually communicate fairly well, but shit just wasn’t going right, so I gave up.

I took to twitter (as usual) and tweeted something quite emo. My twitter twin (we share a bday), @JameyHatley, told me that Mercury was going into retrograde and that we (geminis) are especially vulnerable to its effects.  I know what you’re thinking (or maybe it was just me?) what does this have to do with anything, but I started to do a bit of research and it made sense.

A few times a year the planet Mercury appears to travel backward (retrograde) and during that time communication can sometimes go awry.

The key issue here is one of focus. Mercury’s retro phase tends to bring unforeseen changes and blockages, but the aggravation and frustration that many of us experience during these periods is often due to our own inability to roll with the punches. Is this due to our ego-fixation?

Mercury sets out to restructure our thinking processes and for many of us this is painful and frustrating. Unresolved issues from the past tend to push themselves forward. (read more)

I’m not sure if I completely believe the hype about Mercury in Retrograde, but I cannot deny that my mood has been a bit off kilter lately and my attempts to communicate how I feel haven’t gone so well. So I’m going to take advantage of this time to reflect (again) on what I want and need and try to sort these things out.

I am still learning, growing, and thankfully I have y’all and my therapist to help me make sense of the world.

~~

Fam,

Do you follow astrology at all?

Do you feel any emotional changes when mercury goes retrograde?

Am I just crazy? LOL

Last week I accomplished another writing milestone. I had another essay, Killing Superwoman, accepted and posted by Essence.com. Once again I was excited. For me, Essence represented a goal, sort of a legitimacy as a writer, that I’ve been striving for since I cracked open my first magazine in middle school. So of [...]]]>

Last week I accomplished another writing milestone. I had another essay, Killing Superwoman, accepted and posted by Essence.com. Once again I was excited. For me, Essence represented a goal, sort of a legitimacy as a writer, that I’ve been striving for since I cracked open my first magazine in middle school. So of course I was geeked to see my name and article posted. Until I read the comments.

Thankfully (I suppose) the comments weren’t directed toward me this time. My last go-round with Essence.com readers left me feeling some type of way about being vulnerable in a different space. I mean, some questioned my parenting skills, my intelligence, and even called me pathetic for writing about my experience trying to ensure my son knows BOTH parents, in spite of prison, love him dearly. I won’t lie, some of the words hurt. But ultimately sharing my story was a positive experience. I received supportive emails/tweets/comments and it sort of reaffirmed my voice and kind of propelled me further into claiming my name and my voice.

But this time, the comments section just seemed all types of wrong. A LOT of the comments were fraught with stereotypes about black men/women, blame, and just blatant self-hate. It seems as though being allowed to post anonymously fuels people’s need/wish to be rude and over the top.

The aim of the essay was to discusses how being superwoman, meaning being everything to everyone but yourself, is not healthy. I talked about my need to start putting myself first and how I’m going against cultural norms and seeking therapy. I was hoping to find more comments about how women (or men) have sought therapy as well to deal with their issues, but instead, a lot of the comments were just dysfunctional.

Exhibit A:

Posted by “Q”

Black women would not be so stressed if they were not having ooww children and having unprotected sex with ex-cons thugs, and nig…ers! Black women are the sole creators of their problems. P for President 2012.

I won’t even get into the spelling and grammatical errors. The underlying issue is that this person feels like women are stressed solely because of their own actions. As if outside pressers (uh sexism, anyone?) have nothing to do with how we can become stressed out. Nothing is ever that simple. But when people are allowed to hide behind computer screens, they start feeling all sorts of brave. The fact that this person is even commenting on a site for women, and specifically Black women, with SUCH hate towards us tells me a lot.

Exhibit B:

Posted by: “I HATE BLACK MEN”

@ P and Q

why are so many black men unemployed. black voices came out with a study that says that black men represent the highest number of unemployed men in the WORLD. why because they are so uneducated, dumb, lazy, and stupid
Oh and I forgot most are criminals LOL

I don’t have to add any commentary to this one. It speaks volumes.

My goal as a writer is to not only share my own story and perspective but to also start and/or continue a discourse. I love to debate as much as the next (wo)man, but I also know that trying to reason and debate with irrational people is futile. So sometimes viewing some of these comments makes me question if it’s even worth it. Is it worth sharing my voice, only for it to fall on irrational and dysfunctional ears?

James Baldwin would argue that it doesn’t matter. In his letter to Angela Davis, Baldwin writes,

Since we live in an age which silence is not only criminal but suicidal, I have been making as much noise as I can…

If we know, and do nothing, we are worse than the murderers hired in our name.

I am in no way likening myself or my writing to Baldwin, but his sentiment, that we MUST use our voice to help/teach/enlighten, is apropos. For so long I blogged anonymously. I didn’t want to be confined to people’s judgments. This has been evident in my real (read: offline) life as well. I tend to keep things to myself or just only share the good parts of myself in order to not be judged. But operating like that has stunted my growth. It made me feel like I was leading a double life and not being genuine. So I decided to claim my own voice.

Claiming my voice hasn’t been easy. It’s been a little scary. Even making the move from @prisonerswife to @BritniDWrites was a little daunting. I wasn’t sure if I was ready to be SO open, so public about my life, but I came to the realization that if I am going to have the life that I want (which includes writing publically), then I have to go ahead and put myself out there. In doing so, I am at times confronted with dysfunction and negativity (see, random essence.com comments), but I cannot let that stop me.

~~

what makes you want to quit and how do you overcome it?

How did you feel when you claimed your voice?

So I officially have a therapist. It’s a strange thing to say, but lately I’ve found myself saying, “well, my therapist says…” or “that’s what I’ve been talking about in therapy.” Yes, I’ve become one of them.  You know, those people who are now in counseling and every thought is somehow connected to [...]]]>

So I officially have a therapist. It’s a strange thing to say, but lately I’ve found myself saying, “well, my therapist says…” or “that’s what I’ve been talking about in therapy.” Yes, I’ve become one of them.  You know, those people who are now in counseling and every thought is somehow connected to their sessions. Those people used to annoy me, but I have seemed to become one. So I’m going to embrace it.

I am two weeks into therapy, and my last session was much, much easier than the first. If you’ve been following me on twitter (check the new name!), then you already know how the first session went. But in case you haven’t, I’ll give you a brief recap.

I cried. For 55 minutes of that first hour, I cried.

The first session was all about tears. I released so many pint-up tears and emotions, that by the time I left his office, I felt like I was floating. It was kinda surreal. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but I knew I’d probably cry, but I didn’t realize just how much.

Between the tears we identified my goals for therapy. Through the course of our sessions I plan to:

1. Gain some general life direction. Focus on the life I want & go for it.
2. Build closer relationships with my friends & family. Pretty much, stop diving my myself up and REALLY embrace the phrase, “Love me or Leave Me Alone.”
3. Be happier. I think the first two will help this out a lot, but overall happiness needs to be increased.

I walked into session 2 extremely hopeful. The week in between sessions was spent writing, thinking about what kind of changes I want in my life, and trying to take some actions.

Baby steps. It’s all about baby steps.

I’ve been reading Anne Lamott’s Bird by Bird. In it, she writes about how writers just need to write. I’ve been making excuses for so long about NOT writing, that this idea struck me as revolutionary. So I wrote. And I re-uped my She Writes page, I tweeted, I read, and I pitched another idea to Essence.com and I reached out to Bilal’s PR people and asked if I could interview him.

I think this week has been sort of a tipping point. You know, that moment when you’re making strides to reach out and grab what you want. I have been in motion. I have not only thought about what I want, I reached out and grabbed hold of it.

I relayed this to my therapist and he told me that I was brave. For a moment I was caught off guard. When I think of people who are brave I think of those who risk their lives for others. You know, going to war, pulling someone from a burning car, those types of things. But when I sat back to think about it, saving yourself is the BRAVEST, most necessary, thing any of us will ever do. So yes, I am brave.

Seizing this moment, as small as it may be, has helped me tremendously. Since beginning therapy I have been stepping out on faith. I have been going against the grain, saying no when I mean it, and have been making baby steps toward the life that I want. I plan on reaching my destination, even if it takes a while.

~~

fam,

When was the last time you remembered you were brave?

Have you been taking steps to make your life into the one you REALLY want?

ps: so i broke down & joined tumblr. check me out:

britni danielle: the writings & ramblings of a postmodern b*girl

“I have come to believe over and over again that what is most important to me must be spoken, made verbal and shared, even at the risk of having it bruised or misunderstood.” –Audre Lorde

Yesterday I had an epiphany.

There is far too much weight placed on these shoulders. Although they are broad, and [...]]]>

“I have come to believe over and over again that what is most important to me must be spoken, made verbal and shared, even at the risk of having it bruised or misunderstood.” –Audre Lorde

Yesterday I had an epiphany.

There is far too much weight placed on these shoulders. Although they are broad, and I’m a grown woman, I’m tired of carrying it alone.  So I’ve decided to see a therapist.

Ok, so that’s not exactly earth-shattering. But this is kind of a big deal.

Yesterday I was reading, Jo’s essay about patriarchy and how it can literally kill, and it just brought so many thoughts to the forefront of my mind. Her argument centered around the fact that not allowing yourself to be vulnerable can be detrimental to yourself and others. Stay with me.

You see, Brooklyn boy and I are still talking. Despite our decision to step back a few weeks ago, we have kept up our discourse. The other night we had a particularly thorny conversation and I held my tongue, in the interest of keeping the peace (Or keeping a piece for myself, which I have always done). But I went to bed cursing. After reading her piece, however, I saw how…unproductive keeping shit bottled up can be and I just spilled. My mind spilled all over the email and he responded in the same manner. Vulnerable. No fear of being open. No fear of not looking good or being judged. Just. Open.

That got me to thinking.

I tend to live inside my head. I will over-think things to DEATH. I have conversations inside my head, and respond to people, passionately (in my head), but won’t do so in person. It’s almost like I have dual parts of myself. The “real” Britni, who’s all passion and fire and quirks, and the calm, aloof, too-cool-for-school Britni who is quick witted and is able to hide behind a silver tongue. Both of these are parts of the whole, but rarely does the “real” Britni show herself, bare and uncaring of what others think.

The other thing Jo’s essay brought up is the fact I have some unresolved issues with Beloved. This thing with Brooklyn Boy, the fact that after years of not speaking, we are this close this fast says a lot about what I need and want. Beloved and I have been disconnected for nearly a year. He is in solitary and cannot make calls. He rarely writes, and the last time I saw him was February. It’s been hard. This situation with Brooklyn Boy came at THE worst and THE best time. Worst because it’s easier for me to fall, have real feelings. Best because I need(ed) the intimacy of having someone get to know me, care about me, be worried about ME for once. This Brookly Boy conundrum has also highlighted the fact that, although I love Beloved with my whole heart, I have some unresolved anger at him. It is because of his choices that I’m forced to live this abnormal life. His decisions put us here. And that pisses me off.

All of these things swirl around in my head. They rarely gain escape save for a few confessional-type blog post or poems. But I have not and do not speak them aloud. I’m starting to see that this is not how life should work. I don’t want to resent Beloved. I don’t want to walk around, mind full, waiting to explode. I don’t want to constantly question if my decisions are good or if I’m just crazy. What I want is a normal life. A normal load. The ability to be my whole self, no matter how weird, or how quirky, or how Punky Brewster I may be. I want to be me. And not care what people say or think.

Deciding to call a therapist is big. It’s scary. But it’s also the first step in getting to the life I want. So I’m going to jump at it and hold on.

~~~

Fam,

have you been to therapy?

did it help/hurt?

have you thought about going? what’s stopping you?

*shout out to all of you guys who were SO supportive of my decision to seek help when i tweeted about it. y’all are AH-MAY-ZING! 

How many times have you stood in the mirror and picked yourself apart? Were your hips too big? Your nose? Your pores too large? Your breasts too small or was it your belly…a little too full?

Too many days have started like this for so many of us. Even if we are thisclose to [...]]]>

How many times have you stood in the mirror and picked yourself apart? Were your hips too big? Your nose? Your pores too large? Your breasts too small or was it your belly…a little too full?

Too many days have started like this for so many of us. Even if we are thisclose to perfect, we find the imperfect in ourselves and beat it to death. It becomes our mantra, our theme song. “I would be so hot if I could….(insert personal gripe here)”

I have my hang ups, but overall I thought I had a pretty good self-image. I’ve always been a thick snack (shout out to @beautynubian) and it never bothered me. I was comfortable being tall, being curvy, being a little more woman than the average. I’ve had this body, these hips, height, and Double Ds since middle school, so it was second nature. But lately, I found myself obsessing focusing on parts of myself that I want to change. That I want to conceal. That I feel some type of way about. Case in point, my arms.

I never wear sleeveless shirts or dresses. Never. Not even in the dead heat of a hot ass California summer, my arms will be covered. Over the years I have been very self-conscious about my arms, not only because they are on the thick side, but because I have stretch marks on my shoulders that sprang up when my body started to outgrow its little girl self. I have always been so insecure about these stretch marks, these growth scars that seemed to spring up overnight and tattoo my arms with an imperfection so great it traumatized me into years of covering up. It’s deep. When Beloved and I were in the begging stages of our relationship and I wanted him to think I was perfect, I would shy away from being intimate because I didn’t want my arms to be a turnoff (yes, my ARMS!). I tried to anticipate his reaction. Would he notice? Would he care? Would he be turned-off? It all got to be too much, and would ruin the mood. Eventually, I got past it with him, but the arms stayed covered. Lately, however, I’ve been thinking about my obsession.

And I am SO over it.

Yesterday I threw on a tank top and told my bestie I was going out, arms exposed. Her response, “Bout time, B!” She said something that stuck with me…“Others can’t be comfortable with you, until you are comfortable with yourself…”

I’ve spent the better part of 30 years trying to get comfortable with me. I’ve obsessed about things, I’ve prayed to God to just let me be great, when really, I already am.

Turning 30 has made me very introspective and has helped me to acutely tune into what I want for my life: happiness, love, acceptance, vulnerability, fun. And none of those things will happen or thrive if I keep fixating on trivial things I cannot change.

SO I am letting go. Letting go of the false ideas of perfection, of the worries about how I appear to others and am just doing me. Because in the end, If mama’s not happy, no one will be happy.  

~~~

Are you letting yourself be great?

Do you obsess over your body or things you cannot change?

When did you learn to just let go of the negative self-talk and just LIVE?

(Stretch mark advice? No, really lol)

“What I know now, after all these years trying to climb out of a hole, is that I am part of a long line of women, Black women especially, who believe we have no right to pain, rage, sadness, that to acknowledge them, let alone walk all the way [...]]]>

“What I know now, after all these years trying to climb out of a hole, is that I am part of a long line of women, Black women especially, who believe we have no right to pain, rage, sadness, that to acknowledge them, let alone walk all the way into them, walk all the way into feelings so we can at last deconstruct them is weak, weird, wrong, just plain wring. But when we banish them, send them out of our consciences and conversations, where do they go, all those hard, hurt feelings?” ~asha bandele from Something Like Beautiful

I am good at swallowing my tongue. Perhaps it’s why I write, or why I blog, but I’m not good at sharing things about myself.

For nearly four years I blogged anonymously just so that I could freely share whatever I was thinking with the world without judgmental stares (but I still felt them).

In those difficult first months/years when we (Beloved and I) were so, so new to the world of prisons and jails and parenting across phone lines, I hurt badly. I hurt and I didn’t/couldn’t tell anyone because really, what would they say? What would they think?

Slowly, I am letting go of the fear of “what will they think.” Slowly I have reveled myself in this space, my space, in all of its public intimacy. It’s kind of ironic, no? Beloved and I have been forced to cull some sense of privacy in the midst of the surveying eyes of the New York Department of Corrections, so you’d think I’d be used to it, but no.

Being vulnerable, even anonymously, is scary as hell.

There are some days I feel like I’m a failure. Feel like I’ve made all the wrong choices. Fear that my son will pay for our decisions and question if I’m making the right decisions for his life. Fear can be overwhelming. Soul-crushing. I used to cry a lot. Nights were filled with tears and pleas to God to just let me get it right this time. But even then, when I felt like I was suffocating from sadness, from being alone, from feeling abandoned, I still told no one.

I wrote. I blogged. I lived inside my head. I felt guilty, I felt ashamed, I ate my words. I tried to show strong and cope, but inside, I was a mess.

I wonder how much easier those early months/years would have been if I would have just talked to someone? If I would have just called a friend and said, “you know what? I’m not ok.” How much better would I be now? Maybe I could have saved myself a few years of pain had I just admitted I wasn’t fine.

How many times does that happen to you? How many times have you just grinned and bared it? Gutted it out?  When really, all you wanted/needed was for somebody to see through your façade of strength and ask, “no, how are you really?”

I know what pint-up pain does to people. My father is an example of it. He’s let his past—losing his father, driving my mother away—eat him up. I do not want to become him, I cannot become him. I have to be a good example for my son. I have to show him it’s ok to get help when needed, it’s ok to show emotions. Love and longing and loss are normal. Nothing we/he feels is abnormal and I will not let him fall victim to the same demons that dismantled his father, my father.

I picked up asha bandele’s book, Something Like Beautiful, and was struck by her words. Page 2 hit me in the heart, right in the middle of the line at Borders and I had this post on my mind.

Tears flowed while writing this. Anytime I get some shit out, tears manage to flow, but that’s ok. I am being vulnerable and there’s nothing wrong with that.

~~

Have you ever just grinned & bared it? Why?

When was the last time you feared less?

Yesterday morning I had a conversation that got me thinking.

Twitter was poppin with discussions about the death of actor Corey Haim  and my girl, Bassey, offered up her thoughts as to what may have led to his demise: mental illness. She’s quite familiar with the subject because she suffers from depression and is [...]]]>

Yesterday morning I had a conversation that got me thinking.

Twitter was poppin with discussions about the death of actor Corey Haim  and my girl, Bassey, offered up her thoughts as to what may have led to his demise: mental illness. She’s quite familiar with the subject because she suffers from depression and is currently writing a book of essays about Black women and mental illness.

Her tweets got me thinking about my father and about beloved. Both men have found themselves between a rock and very hard place.

My father has gone from being a vibrant and talented high school basketball coach, with several offers to coach at the college level, to a functioning addict, using alcohol and cocaine to cope with his demons. He has lost nearly everything. He has no house of his own, no car, no material possessions and is on disability from work. He gets by, but is not living the life of a nearly 60 year old man, who has spent his entire life working hard.

And then there is Beloved. I remember thinking he was suffering from depression or perhaps even bipolar disorder the year before he got locked up.  That year his emotions varied wildly. He seemed to be getting increasingly paranoid and had trouble dealing with certain people. At first, I brushed it off as stress. The months leading up to his arrest we had found out I was pregnant. Neither one of us were working, and we were both in school. He was so worried about how we’d make it and conflicted about having the baby, that I figured he was just buggin. Looking back, I think that was the beginning of his illness manifesting itself. Often times bipolar disorder manifests itself fully in the person’s 20s, and before getting locked up, Beloved’s drinking increased (a coping mechanism) and so did his paranoia. After he was sentenced and sent upstate, Beloved was diagnosed with schizophrenia. However, I now know that bipolar disorder is often misdiagnosed as schizophrenia. Currently, he isn’t being treated for either and I’m scared. I don’t want him to be left to his own thoughts, which have again becoming increasingly paranoid and disjointed. It’s good to know what the issue may be, but knowing is only half the battle. 

Not letting it destroy you is something else entirely. 

My father has not dealt with his issues of abandonment. His father died when he was 8, and he was left to help my grandmother out. He’s also never gotten over losing my mom to divorce. STILL, after 15 years, he holds onto to the idea that they will remarry someday. 

Beloved has been through so much in his short life. Abandonment by his parents, his father’s alcoholism, homelessness, his mother’s constant uprooting, the list goes on. He has a lot of pain that he’s yet to deal with and I feel like it takes his toll on him. 

I love both of these men. Watching them suffer kills me. Knowing that they can get help if they JUST acknowledge the need is like a kick to the gut. 

Too many times we suffer in silence, shamed by the thoughts that asking for help signals some sort of weakness. As black folks, many times we discount the need to seek help for our mental health. We think if we pray a little harder we will be fine, but that isn’t always the case. 

I look at my students. They’ve been through so much in their young lives that thearapy is a forgone conclusion, but i know they will have someone that tries to tell them only weak people get help. 

When will we learn?
How many of us will take our own lives or someone else’s before we acknowledge
we can’t do it alone?

Being vulnerable. Asking for help. Dealing with emotions is necessary if we are to survive as a people.

Whole, and not damaged. And not passing these emotional handicaps on to our children.

~~

how do you deal with your mental health?

do you have a friend/relative that is hurting in silence?

The new year is quickly upon us and as usual, it’s a time when most turn to reflecting on the past and planning for the future. Resolutions are made, gym memberships are purchased, and we set off to change our lives. However, in a matter of weeks most of us get overwhelmed, sidetracked, or just [...]]]>

The new year is quickly upon us and as usual, it’s a time when most turn to reflecting on the past and planning for the future. Resolutions are made, gym memberships are purchased, and we set off to change our lives. However, in a matter of weeks most of us get overwhelmed, sidetracked, or just lose steam. Before we know it, we end up right back where we started. Planning to do better, and pissed at ourselves that it hasn’t happened yet. 

Well, the negative self-talk and blame game is over. 

In 2010 we will get it right! (or keep trying to!)

2010 is not only exciting because it’s a new decade, but it’s personally exciting because I’ll be turning 30. In the new few days I’m going to create a list of 30 things (my “30 in ’10″ List) that I want to accomplish during the year. Some goals will be loafty (finishing my novel), some will just be things I haven’t experienced yet (getting a professional massage & facial), but they ALL will get done between January & December 2010. Daunting? Possibly. But to help me stay on track I’m going to create a Vision Board. 

from magazine junkie to Vision Board queen!

Vision Boards are collages of images that represent what you’d like to see happen in your life. Want to quit your job and write a novel? Put it on the board. Want to find a loving relationship and have children? Put it on the board. Want to travel the world? Put it on the board! Vision Boards operate hand in hand with the “Law of Attraction” (putting the right kind of energy out to attract what you want) & helps people stay focused on what they want to accomplish. Vision Boards aren’t complicated. All you need are some images (magazines or photos from the ‘net), glue, and a poster board. I posed the question on twitter of who’d like to join me in creating a Vision Board for the new year and I’ve gotten a great response.

In 2010 we will name it, visualize it, and get it done!

Won’t you join me??

UPDATED!!

The response on twitter to the #VisionBoardCrew has been amazing! So many people have chimed in to say they are down, that it’s hard to keep track. If you are going to create a Vision Board & have joined the #VisionBoardCrew, be sure to drop your link to your post so we can keep track of your Vision Board updates!

4 year olds + iPhoto=Pure Comedy!

questions come to mind what’s for dinner, will we survive will tomorrow be like this?

who cares. all i need is you on the other side of the bed, giggling tell me another story mommy

when it all falls down i know you will never judge never care if a check bounced or if it took me [...]]]>

questions come to mind
what’s for dinner, will we survive
will tomorrow be like this?

who cares. all i need is you
on the other side of the bed, giggling
tell me another story mommy

when it all falls down
i know you will never judge
never care if a check bounced
or if it took me all day to cook this

when it all falls down
all I need is your laugh
reminding me why I keep trying

(c) me. 2009

read. savor. repeat. 

~~

haven’t posted a poem in a while. wrote this earlier this month & it’s been in my email inbox ever since. sometimes it’s good to remind yourself why you try so hard. we all have our reasons, he’s mine. 

bless.

~~

what keeps you going?

why do YOU try so hard?